“OHHH, that was a bit loud, Max, wasn’t it?”
Now Max was hearing her voice. It was cruel that his mind could do that. He let his cry exhaust every bit of oxygen in his body until he was doubled over and light-headed. Then he sucked it in again and stood up next to the broken chair.
But the next cry caught in his throat.
Everything in the room had changed.
Mom was sitting up.
She was thin and pale, looking around in bewilderment. She lifted her hands and stared at the gross, sticky liquid that had dripped all over her fingers. “What is that? Did I throw this up?”
“Mo-o-o-o-o-om!” Max cried out. If Alex hadn’t grabbed him by the shoulders he would have jumped on his mother and maybe crushed her. “It worked! I can’t believe it worked!”
“What worked?” Mom said, looking from face to face.
“Honey, how are you feeling?” Dad asked, kneeling by the other side of her bed.
“Like I just had the worst sleep in my life,” she said. “Some horrible dreams. But you know, I feel pretty good now. Except for this foul-smelling stuff.”
“What. Just. Happened?” Alex said.
She was weeping. Bitsy was weeping. Nigel was blowing his nose into a paper towel. Dad leaned over and gave Mom a kiss on the mouth.
“That is so gross,” Max said.
“Then I’ll do it again,” Dad said.
Mom’s body was shaking with laughter. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”
Max took a deep breath and told her everything that had happened—the confrontation with Gloria, the mixing of the chemicals. She listened, shaking her head in amazement. “I can’t quite believe I’m not dreaming.”
“You’re not,” Max said.
“Definitely not,” Bitsy said.
“Nope,” Alex piped up.
Honk, went Nigel’s nose in the paper towel.
“Well, I’m also starving. Please, George, can you clean me up? Whatever was in that potion is absolutely foul.”
Max’s dad stood and pointed to the doorway. “Out, everyone! I will prepare the patient for a homecoming party that will last until the first person says ‘uncle’!”
For the first time since he’d been home, Max felt fine leaving his mom in the room. He ran out to the kitchen and jumped on a chair, screaming.
Alex turned on Sonos and blasted music. She and Bitsy danced into the living room. Nigel seemed to be intensely stomping on insects until Max realized he was doing a jig.
“We did it, Max!” Alex cried out. “I can’t believe we did it!”
Max began singing along with the playlist. He didn’t really know the words, but he didn’t care. He could make up better ones. Mom was well. She really was. That was the most important thing ever. And they still had enough left to give Evelyn. She would walk again. Together, she and he would fly. And someday, some supersmart people would figure out how it all worked and make more of this stuff. For everyone.
Yes.
Max jumped off the chair onto the carpet. From that spot in the kitchen he could see the portrait of Jules Verne they’d rescued from the attic and hung in the living room. He ran to it and gave it a quick salute. “Thanks, dude,” he said. Stepping on the sofa, he gave it a kiss on its face. Kissing a painting was easier than kissing a person.
Being a painting, it didn’t react. But Max could swear it looked ten years younger.
He laughed and began to spin around like the snows of Antarctica, like the rotation of the Earth. As he spun he laughed, and he thought just maybe he would never stop.