It took Maxwell all of ten minutes to wake up as Lily pounced on top his mattress while screeching at him to rise and shine. Since three months passed on after Brogan’s departure, he began returning to a much healthier sleep schedule. Of course, having bribed Melanie a small fortune to stay in Denver for an extended period of time certainly helped his sleeping habits. So many positive changes graced his world in the recent months, his twin sister’s eagerness to rejoin his presence being one of them.
Even though the Baxter family seemed to shove their stingers into Maxwell’s bare ass immediately following Brogan’s death, he was able to brush them off his leather-thick skin knowing there was his twin sister—and partner in crime—in his corner of the ring. Not a month went by after the funeral, before he received a legal notice from the Baxter’s brood of attorneys. They actually attempted to claim the $5M Cherry Creek home was rightfully theirs and moved on to sue Max for rightful possession of the deed. However, it quickly backfired when Maxwell’s esteemed lawyer proved Brogan filed a living trust which stated all assets which weren’t already in joint-ownership with his husband be turned over to him in the event of his own death preceding Max’s.
Another stick in their craw was the FedEx Letter surprise which appeared on Max’s desk at the same time as the property debate. This was a pivotal moment in Max’s life which stood to alter the entire course of his and Lily’s life forever. The $10M life insurance check allowed Max to put his worries about a financially sound future at bay. He rested easier knowing that having given up his career as a fashion photographer, that decision wouldn’t have negative long-term effects down the road.
“Wake up, Maxie, wake up!” Lily bellowed into his ears, slapping his cheeks. “You’re going to be late, you big oaf!”
Max quickly sprung up in bed after feeling the tiny cold hands manipulate both sides of his face. He figured he must have been sleeping well enough since he didn’t hear his alarm go off an hour prior. Because of this, it was no less of a shock to him that he now was running late for his flight.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Maxwell hissed, frantically trying to remove himself from the covers.
Lily gasped. “Ahhhhhmmmmmm... you owe the swear jar mister. You can’t talk like that.”
Maxwell rolled his eyes. He knew that swearing in front of her was more than just frowned upon, but his surmounting sarcasm begged to release from within.
“Here, take this,” he insisted, lunging his Capital One ‘No Hassles’ card toward her. “That should cover me for the whole month. Have fun shopping with Aunt Mel.”
“What’s this?” Lily questioned.
“Insurance, Babe. Insurance,” he retorted.
Max was thankful he thought to pack ahead the night prior for his trip to Seattle. Because Lily adjusted smoothly with having Melanie live there temporarily, he took advantage of this opportunity to jet off toward the Washington coastline in search of some peace—and perhaps even a new place they could call a home. While they were all good ones, the abundant memories within their Denver residence didn’t seem like a healthy constant reminder of everything they were now learning to deal without—a daddy and a husband.
Insurance by means of plastic money in hand, Lily headed back downstairs to tell Melanie that Max finally awoke. He finished wiping his face with a refreshing washcloth, slipped on his windbreaker and traveled down into the kitchen.
“Okay, Sis. I’m running behind as you can tell obviously,” he announced, pacing into the breakfast nook with his Uber app pulled up.
Melanie looked puzzled. “Yeah umm... Lily came running in here waving one of your credit cards saying she had insurance?”
“Yeah, I said shit or something like that,” Max replied, placing his request within the ride share app. “Then...”
Taking a real policing posture, Lily interrupted. “No, you said fuck.”
“Oh lord, Sweetheart. That doesn’t give you permission to repeat it,” Melanie kinda chuckled.
“Kids say the darnedest things, don’t they? I have noooooo idea where she gets it from,” Max admitted, bending down to hug ‘Lil goodbye. “Try to be a good little girl, would ya?”
“Okay, Uncle Maxie. I’ll be good. We’ll miss you.”
“He knows, Hun,” Melanie said, placing her hands on Lily’s shoulders. “Max, here’s your MasterCard back.”
“No, it’s okay. Go shopping. Have fun while I’m out,” he insisted, “just remember no overly stimulating shops, no large crowds, no loud music...”
Mel nodded. “Ten four.”
Maxwell blew a kiss to the two girls in his life before stepping out from the front door with his suitcase rolling behind him. As the door latched shut, he spotted a silver Dodge caravan pull up in front of the automated gate.
The transition through TSA and baggage check-in went smoothly for Max and before he knew it, the airline was paging overhead to board first priority passengers such as himself. Air travel became second nature to him years prior after flying all over the world for work. But this was the first time flying that he wasn’t lugging expensive camera equipment and worrying about two and three checked bags. This trip, he just brought an overnight suitcase with a few changes of clothes and minor electronic accessories. Within an hour or so, the Boeing 747 reached its peak altitude and an overhead ding was heard throughout the plane.
“Attention passengers, the captain has turned off the ‘fasten seat belts sign’ and you are now free to move about the cabin. So get up, stretch your legs, use the lavatory and relax. We’ll be up here a while!”
As the flight attendant passed through the galley with her beverage cart, she hunched down to offer Maxwell a cold drink and a snack.
“Just a Pepsi and ice, please,” Max requested, glancing up from his iPad. Since he was a Delta Airlines VIP member, he received unlimited free in-flight Wi-Fi access each trip.
He continued to peruse the real estate listings while exchanging in conversation with he and Lily’s pharmacist, Dirk, from Rite Aid. There were too many great properties and he was anxious to see all of them very soon. The other factor in moving was that of child psychiatry and if he could find a stellar replacement for Kim, Lily’s current psychologist in Aurora. Dirk Halstead was very familiar with this aspect of the industry as his secondary major in college was child psychology.
Yeah man, look him up. His name is Durango Walters. I know him from school when he gave a guest lecture on the importance of boundaries for children on the autism spectrum.
Max responded.
So he’s that good? You think Lily would have any problems opening up to him, since it would be somebody brand new?
It seemed to take a few moments for Dirk to respond, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for him if he was in the pharmacy that day—being the district office and one of the highest script volume stores next to Phoenix and Portland. Since he figured Dirk got busy again, Max switched back to Zillow to finish admiring the many awesome homes up for sale in the Seattle area. Having a similar atmosphere to their current Colorado residence was important to him because he wanted to ensure Lily had plenty of free space to run around and just be a kid in. Besides, what kid doesn’t like having spacious hallways and massive, lush green lawns to play on? Granted she was only seven, but the day would soon come where she’d break her curiosity of the fleeting experience of staircase surfing.
***
The bright afternoon sun blinded Max as he scurried out from the terminal departure doors. His phone screen glared under the rays beaming down and it became impossible for him to tell whether he had just one text message from Melanie, or many. He knew leaving Lily in his sisters most capable hands would not be a mistake, but there was always the doubt inside him as a relatively new single parent that some major chaos could break out or his presence was greatly missed. After the past few months, Max could really grow to appreciate all those instinctual feelings that Brogan felt whenever he left Lily in someone’s care other than his own.
He whistled down a cab in the commuter bay and lifted his suitcase to be put in the trunk. As he climbed into the backseat of the taxi, the gentleman returned to the driver’s seat and stepped on the gas like a bat out of hell.
“Where to, mate?”
Maxwell barely finished catching his breath from being startled as a result of the quick acceleration of the cab before he replied.
“Grand Hyatt Hotel on Pine, please.”
“Will do, sir.”
Finally out of the sunshine, Max was able to catch up on the text messages he’d been sent from Melanie throughout the day during his flight, since his iPhone was on Airplane mode the entirety of his trip. The first couple messages were pictures of dresses that she and Lily picked out. Melanie, being on the spectrum of bold and beautiful gals in plus sizes, chose a stunning gunmetal sequin piece accented with a giant black bow on the left shoulder. It said that she spoke to the designer and she was interested in creating an exact replica in Lily’s size. The text read:
Would you object to placing a deposit down for the designer to fix up a matching dress for Lily? It would be real sweet to have look-alike gowns. You’ll never know when it would come in handy.
Max was stunned that Lily took such an interest in fashion. This was kind of a new concept for her to grasp, since she used to hate going clothes shopping in the past. But Max was all for whatever made Lily most happy. In fact, he encouraged the opportunity for new interests. The next text message to appear below the picture and question from Melanie was certain cause for concern.
Sorry to bug you again, I know you’re up in the air still and won’t see this immediately. But I just went outside and signed for a letter. It seems pretty important. Call me when you get this. Love you, Mel.
What was so important that needed a signature upon delivery? Max couldn’t for the life of him come to the understanding of what could be so important that required Melanie’s signature upon delivery. She stated letter and not that it was a package of some sort. Without hesitation, Max dialed his sister at once. The phone rang only once before Melanie picked up.
“Hi, Sis. I just landed in Seattle. On the way to my hotel now. What’s so important that required your signature?” he asked, absolutely concerned.
“I have no idea, Max,” Melanie replied, just as curious as he was.
“Well go ahead and open it, I don’t mind.”
“Okay, hang on a second. I put it on your desk.”
“K. Did Roberta come today?” Max inquired.
Roberta was the housekeeper Brogan hired well before Maxwell even came into the picture. She was by far the best, most detailed maid Max ever knew. That wasn’t saying too much, since before Brogan, the only concept of a ‘housekeeper’ which Max ever could testify of knowing about was his mother.
“Oh yeah, she dropped by and ran a rag through the place. I’m impressed, she’s quick and efficient.”
“Yeah, no bullshit with her. Thanks to Brogan for finding her, I trust that woman implicitly. And you gave her the check I printed out yesterday?”
“Yep. No worries, I got it all under control,” she assured him. “Okay, I’m opening the envelope right now. It’s not folded at all... it came in a very official manila mailer. Almost looks intimidating.”
Max sighed. “Oh God, I can only imagine what next is about to rain down.”
“It’s from Bechtel and Associates, signed in Chicago in representation for Josiah Baxter the third in Paris, France.”
Another sigh escaped from Maxwell’s mouth. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right? What else is up their goddamned sleeves?”
The tone of voice which would come from Melanie next, was sure to bring a sore jab to Max’s gut. “It reads: On behalf of the signed parties, I am writing to you today to inform you of Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Baxter’s intentions of entering a formal custody suit regarding a one, Lilith Ambrosia Baxter, whereupon the proposed initial court proceedings will occur in the seventh circuit court on September Seventeenth of the year Two-thousand-seventeen at sharply Seven in the morning. Your full cooperation is not only appreciated in this process, but also required. Failure to comply with the Federal Court Rulings demands and/or requests proceeding the exclusive international guardianship of said child(ren) will result in automatic favor of the plaintiff(s) mentioned herein.”
Max grunted before letting out a huge screech which put even the cab driver at unease. “Fan-fucking-tastic. They think they can meddle into my life even further and steal MY daughter? Well they’re in for a rude awakening.”
“I am so sorry, this seems really ridicul...”
He interrupted yet again. “For Christ fucking sake’s, who do they think they are, Melanie?”
“I don’t know, Max. But I will do whatever it takes to ensure you have my full support. This just isn’t fair. They haven’t been a part of Lily’s life one bit,” she acknowledged.
The taxi slowed tremendously as the driver pulled into the hotel’s unloading bay.
“We’re here, Sir,” the cab driver announced.
“Mel, I just got to my hotel. I have to check in and take a shower. I feel gross. Call Brogan and I’s lawyer, Derek Lancaster. I’ll forward his contact info from my phone the minute I step inside the lobby. In the meantime, take a picture of the letter with your phone and email it to me so I can read it legibly on my iPad.”
“Okay, you got it.”
“Alright, Sis. I gotta go now, I’ll call you after I get a shower.”
“Don’t make any rash decis...”
Before his sister could finish her sentence, Maxwell already ended the call and stepped out from the cab where the driver retrieved his suitcase from the trunk and met him on his exit from the vehicle.
“Thank you,” Max stated to the driver. “Sorry I was kinda loud there for the last five minutes or so. My world just got trickier, to say the very least,” he added, completely forgetting about a cash tip for the gentleman.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Max tipped the man a twenty before reaching down to raise the collapsible pull handle on his luggage. As he trekked through the large circular rotating door into the hotel lobby, nothing but negative thoughts flooded his brain about the Baxter family. Who gave them the right to have any say in Lily’s living situation? And to steal her away from him no less? What he was certain of, however, was that they would not get off easily trying to ruin not only his, but alter the entire basis of Lily’s childhood. Hell would freeze over tenfold before he’d even give Brogan’s parents the flattery they callously sought after which only had full intentions to destroy him. Destroy everything he had to live for.
Max unlocked his phone screen to forward Derek’s contact profile to Melanie via text message. Once he noted that it sent successfully, he continued up to the check-in counter and pulled out his reservation number from the inner pocket of his ivory blazer. Much to his surprise, the piece of paper hadn’t even been touched by human hands after printing from the laser-jet in his home office. Only then did Max realize he’d gotten distracted by his sister who scurried him up to the theater room the previous night, both arms loaded with snacks and refreshments. Since he awoke late and rushed around getting dressed so he wouldn’t miss his flight, the paper with his reservation information never left the office.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Max angrily huffed to himself.
A look of disgrace appeared on the female hotel employee’s face. “Excuse me?”
“No, no. I’m talking to myself. I am so sorry, Miss. I can’t seem to find my reservation number that I printed out last night.”
“Well that’s not a problem. I can look it up an alternate way,” she assured him. “Only if you keep that filthy language to yourself, that is.”
Max nodded in embarrassment. “Yes, I am so very sorry. It’s been a really terrible day and Washington hasn’t even barely greeted lunchtime yet.”
“Do you have the credit card you used for the reservation?”
“Yeah, I think I can handle that one,” Max admitted, reaching into his wallet to discover that his MasterCard was currently in the possession of his sister back in Colorado.
Max scowled. “Well daaammn-nnnngg it gosh darn it,” he swiftly corrected himself before another curse word would escape his angry wide-open trap. “Actually, no. My daughter took it from me this morning as a compromise for not contributing to the swear jar.”
The lady scoffed. “Hmmm. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Hey, is there any other way to pull up my information?” Max pleaded. “I’ve really had an awful day.”
“So long as you haven’t forgotten the phone number you placed the reservation under, I suppose we aren’t completely without luck. But I do have to update your profile with a valid credit card that is on your person.”
Max willingly obliged. “Of course, thank you for understanding.”
While he relayed his phone number to the front desk employee named Barbara, Max slid his Delta AMEX SkyMiles card from its slot and pushed it across the marble counter top with two fingers.
Within minutes of refreshing his reservation profile with the hotel, the bellhop led Max up to his suite on the tenth floor. Once he slid his key-card into the handle, the door opened allowing a cool breeze from the crisp refrigerated air to welcome the surface of his perspired forehead. Upon walking in, the cozy atmosphere welcomed him inside as he tossed his suitcase onto a chair in a corner of the sitting area. Max tipped the bellhop with a ten-dollar bill and sent him on his way, before closing the door and shuffling to retrieve his iPad from the suitcase.
Max tapped through the screens to open his email on the tablet as he rested his butt on the edge of his large, comfortable mattress top. The message Melanie sent just ten minutes prior popped up first in the inbox and he pressed the attachment to open up an image of the letter from Bechtel and Associates. His blood began to boil progressively as each word sank into his brain—all the while trying to comprehend why the Baxter’s thought it was necessary to try taking away the only other gem of his life. A world without Lily was a universe Max did not want to consider. Upon reaching the end of reading the correspondence for himself, in a fit of rage, he let out a loud roar while forcefully chucking his iPad into the wall on the opposing side of his room. The device shattered on impact and small pieces of hardware dislodged from the now broken unit before it fell to the bronze carpeting.
He threw the palms of his hands into his face as he traipsed into the sitting area where he was greeted by the allure of a large variety of different hotel sized liquor bottles on the other side of the miniature fridge’s glass pane door. It was then when Max realized he forgot to ask the bellhop to remove all alcoholic beverages from his room before leaving. But since he was in such a pissy mood, and rightfully so, he completely forgot to take necessary precautions which would maintain his longstanding sobriety. The demons inside Max fought long and hard inside his conscience as he battled the dilemma of fancying a drink—or many—or calling his sponsor of the greater portion of a decade to talk it through. A slight hum escaped from behind the refrigeration unit as it switched on to maintain its constant cold temperature.
After the horrible news he was inundated with not even an hour ago, Max paced from one end of the room to the other, mumbling incoherent nonsense to himself with each step. The fact of the matter was, this was the first major temptation of easily accessible alcohol he was enticed by in three whole months—since the night of Brogan’s death. And he realized this was the first time he’d be able to consume it privately without the responsibilities of caring for a child at the same time. That very definition of parenthood swarmed the recesses of Max’s brain while fighting the urge to throw away all his hard-earned years of sobriety. Then out of nowhere, the notion of why Brogan’s parents deemed it necessary to fight over Lily’s custody became inherently clear to him. It was the fact of his alcoholism which made him appear to some as an irresponsible parent. He knew from experience that the subject of addiction, no matter how many years without a sip, remained a taboo subject to the masses. Since Max couldn’t even begin to fathom his life without Lily, it was this motivation he needed most to refrain from giving in and ruining the great strides he’d made after all those years.
***
“Hi, my name is Maxwell and I’m an alcoholic,” he announced to the moderate crowd gathered around in a circle.
The group greeted him in unison. “Hi, Maxwell.”
Max drew in a lengthy breath. “I suppose this may seem ridiculous, that I come to Seattle for some soul searching and a new place to call home, but then wind up in an AA meeting not but two hours after landing at Seattle-Tacoma Airport. But well, I got some bad news in the taxi on the way to my hotel and I checked in very distraught and distracted from my normal routine. I usually always request the bellhop or another hotel employee to remove all liquor from my room if there is any.”
He continued his spiel after pausing to sigh, resting his hand at the side of his head. “But this time I forgot, and I almost plunged from the wagon with all my dignity bursting at the seams. This has been the hardest year for me, the first one since I quit almost nine years ago. I married the man of my dreams, we had a kid, we traveled the world together when I wasn’t traveling it myself for business, he died three months ago, left me all alone with a seven-year-old autistic daughter. I know what some of you are thinking- spoiled pretty boy in his tailored Armani sport coat and Yves Saint Laurent jeans shouldn’t have a single thing to cry about. But you know what? Having money is one thing, but having a life is a completely different playing field. And in the end, we all suffer the same for those of us who used to take out our suffering on the bottle.”
Tears gently fell down his left cheek as he wiped them away with the corner of his turned-up palm. “Thanks for letting me share.”
After the meeting came to a wrap, Max approached the refreshments table to pour himself a cup of stale liquid caffeine. Next to the tall stainless-steel percolator was an assortment of baked goods ranging from cookies to brownies and surprisingly enough, French macarons. Taking one glance at the Parisian inspired treat, Max let out a thunderous scowl. Meanwhile, an average height gentleman wearing a violet gingham check shirt with thinning brown hair and bearish qualities came up from behind him, startling Max to no end—almost spilling his cup all over his white shirt.
“You know, I’ve never known anyone to come here for the shitty coffee,” the man snickered, reaching out to shake Max’s hand. “Hi, I’m Trevan.”
Max gasped. “Hi, I’m...”
Trevan smiled. “Maxwell... yeah I’d remember that name from anyone who could pull off an outfit of that caliber half as good as you do.”
“Well, okay thanks I guess?” Max replied.
Though he smiled in return, he wasn’t completely sure how to respond if it were sarcasm or genuine positive feedback. Was this the way people in Washington State treated others they didn’t know from Adam?
“You’re not alone, you know?” Trevan stated.
A look of confusion paled Max’s face. “I’m not alone in what way, exactly?”
“Having wealth and a whole list of problems, including the whole drinky-poo thing,” Trevan snarled.
“Well how refreshing, somebody who gets it,” Max offered back. “And you’d know this because...” he drew out the emphasis on his last word.
“Because I own every BMW-Volkswagen dealership on the west coast from Lynden to Carlsbad,” he affirmed, taking Max’s right hand to gently caress his palm. “And not only do I have a penchant for a well-aged scotch, if I’m not careful, I sometimes wake up to find myself twenty to thirty grand lighter in some overly priced Vegas digs.”
Max replied with an earnest look. “Ahhh, well then you have me beat by a mile. Gambling never was my thing.”
“Well what is your thing?” Trevan inquired with a half grin forming deep within his dimples. “Perhaps it’s more than just substandard coffee? Somewhere like my buddy’s new line of Starbucks Reserve roasteries?”
“Wait, you’re friends with Howard Schultz?” Max replied, shocked as if he were in the presence of royalty.
Trevan nodded. “Mmmm pretty much, yeah,” he confirmed. “I suppose if I weren’t, I wouldn’t have putted a few holes with him every now and again. Or ever been invited to his fancy get-togethers every holiday season.”
“Wow, that’s really awesome,” Max admired. “He’s like one of my all-time idols in the business world. Second to that of Larry Page or Oprah, of course.”
“So what do you say we blow this popsicle stand and I take you for some real coffee?” Trevan offered with a wink.
Max shrugged his shoulders modestly. “It wouldn’t hurt any to replace this tin can tasting shit,” he laughed. “Besides, it’s better for us than Vodka.”
“True, but hey—at least Vodka is made of potatoes. Potatoes are vegetables. Vegetables are healthy, right?” Trevan smirked, taking Max by the arm to lead him outside.
Underneath a storm cloud cloaked sky, Max watched the man who was overtly trying to flirt with him minutes ago wrap up a text message on his mobile device. He was unsure of how he felt, being taken out on what Trevan would probably call for all intents-and-purposes—a date. But he knew it certainly beat the alternative of spinning madly into a downhill spiral of drunktown inside his hotel, while ordering anything deep fat fried or crispy from room service down below. Besides, there was a small part of him that welcomed a little greeting as he kicked off his trip in the greater Northwest. The lifestyle of Seattle folk seemed far opposite of what Max was generally accustomed to from both Denver, or the northern suburbs of Indianapolis.
“With that, Sir, my driver shall be peeling out from around the corner any minute now,” Trevan admitted.
“Your driver?” Max inquired.
“Oh yeah, I haven’t taken public transportation in at least five years,” he stated coyly. “Nothing so much as even an Uber or Lyft thingy.”
Max raised an eyebrow, impressed yet also sort of turned off by the smug snobbery. “Hmmm, then I guess I shouldn’t tell you how much I used to spend in Uber fees back in the day of my occupational adventures.”
“Oh it’s okay,” Trevan stated. “I don’t have anything against anyone for using them,” he rectified.
“Well that’s a relief. I was about to grow concerned about where some stranger was really taking me, if not a coffee shop,” Max retorted, motioning his hand across his forehead in a dramatic sigh of relief.
Trevan shook his two fingers in correction. “No, Sir. Coffee shop is underselling the experience you’re about to have. This is the original Starbucks Reserve and Tasting Room. It’s the creme-de-la-creme of all cafes on the Western seaboard,” he smiled. “Just you wait and see.”