Scene Three

[The J & R Salvage Yard]

The gravel crunches under the wheels of my car as I pull slowly down the winding drive that cuts through the salvage yard where Max’s truck was towed after the accident. The hollow, crumpled bodies of vehicles and machines surround us as we make our way to the office where the owner’s son, Reid, has agreed to meet Max.

We’ve got one week left before we open the play. Things have been progressing—maybe not smoothly, but in a generally forward-ish manner. It’s like Dr. Wallace said, sometimes we take a step forward only to stumble back a few. This, I’ve learned, is true both of grieving and living.

As we get closer to the small office building, the smell of rust and rubber tickles my nose. The beat-up cars and junk are packed tighter together the closer we get, like a maze of ruins. The overwhelming volume of wreckage is making me feel like all the goodness in my life is leaching away. The terrifying realization of what might have been threatens to spill from the safe place I’d locked it away and flood my car, washing Max and me out the doors, setting us adrift in different directions.

I park outside the shabby office. Max leans closer, kissing my shoulder. “Breathe, Bec,” he whispers. When I look at him, he smiles and it chases the Dementors away. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

I nod and touch the bruises on his face. “You’re the boy who lived.” It’s cheesy. I know it. Instantly, I’m blushing. I toss him a smile so he knows I know I’m nuts.

Max’s laughter, not my fear, is what floods my car, and it’s beautiful.

Inside the office, Reid, tall and skinny, just like his name suggests, shakes Max’s hand and nods at me as I linger by the door pretending to read the J & R Salvage Yard policies hanging crookedly on the back wall.

“I emptied out the glove box for ya,” Reid says, holding out a rumpled plastic Walmart bag. “The dashboard figurine you wanted was busted, but I put all the pieces I could find in here. You oughtta be able to glue her back together. You’d be surprised by what superglue can fix.”

Max opens the bag, and I inch closer to peek over his shoulder. Mary’s broken at the waist. One of her outstretched hands is gone. And it looks like there’s a chunk of her mantle missing, too. But she’s still smiling.

She reminds me of the one-winged angel sitting by Charlotte’s side.

Max thanks Reid, closing the bag, and we’re about to go when—“Wait.”

“You okay?” Max asks. He takes my hand and squeezes.

“I want to see the truck.”

“That’s not a great idea, Bec. I don’t remember much, but it can’t be a pretty sight.”

But I look at Reid. “May I see the truck?”

Reid looks between us a few times before shrugging. “Sure, but he’s right. It ain’t pretty. Think you can handle it?”

Something’s missing, and seeing the truck may be the last piece I need to finish the puzzle. I can’t quit now. “I need to see the truck.”

“She’s not far.” Reid ducks his head as he goes through the door. Max and I follow. I have to take two steps for each of Reid’s long strides, and Max is still slower than normal, so we fall behind quickly.

The sun is setting behind the tall pines that border the salvage yard, turning the sky into a watercolor palette of pinks, reds, and oranges. I zip up my hoodie to keep out the slight chill that is creeping in with the shadows.

“Why are we doing this?” Max asks.

It’s a fair question. I don’t have an answer, though. Not one that I can put into words. Instead I lace my fingers with his and pull myself closer so that our elbows and shoulders bump each other as we walk.

We catch up to Reid, who’s standing in a posture similar to one seen at art museums, but instead of studying the Mona Lisa, he’s looking at the half-mangled hunk of metal that was once Max’s truck. The darkening shadows of the early evening drip from the twisted frame like blood pooling under a corpse.

“You were in there?”

Max nods. His face is suddenly ashen, like he’s back inside that wreck. His shoulder is now firmly pressing against mine. He’s leaning on me like his bad leg is about to give out.

“And you survived.” I squeeze his hand.

He survived. He really shouldn’t have. The driver’s side is completely concave. It looks a little like a giant hauled off and punched the side of his car. Where the emergency officers used the Jaws of Life to pry him out, the metal is torn and twisted, the door hanging off at a crazy angle.

I look at Max, and I just know my face looks ridiculous—my eyes are bugging out and my lips are pursed like a duck’s bill—but I can’t contain the tidal wave of amazement that is knocking me on my ass. “Whoa.”

One of Max’s dark brows rises, along with a corner of his mouth. “Whoa?” He straightens up, his legs regaining their strength. He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh at me.

“You survived. In that. And that’s… I mean, I don’t know, but that’s a miracle or something. Right?” Max keeps grinning. I look to Reid for confirmation. “I mean, right?”

Reid opens his arms and turns this way and that, taking in all the wreckage around us. “Miracles as far as the eye can see.”

My knees feel like they’re made of rubber bands. “Whoa,” I whisper, and plunk myself down on the gravel.

Reid shoves his hands in the back pockets of his faded jeans and starts down the path back to the office. “I’ll just give y’all a minute.”

Max thanks Reid as he slowly lowers himself down next to me. “I didn’t think I wanted to see the truck again. I’m glad we did, though.”

I rest my head on his shoulder. “Me, too.”

We watch the shadows slide along the truck’s bruised side, creeping toward us as the sun continues to set. I reach into the bag at Max’s feet and pull out broken Mary’s torso. “I have a confession.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I was angry at her.” I squeeze the little figurine and feel the broken edge dig into my palm. “I had all these crazy emotions, and it was simpler to just be mad, except I didn’t know who to necessarily be pissed with, and she was an easy target, you know? I mean she had one job. Protect you. And she pretty much sucked at it.”

I scoot so I’m facing Max. “But I was looking at it all wrong. Wasn’t I?”

“How’s that?”

“She did protect you.”

“Well, she did have a few tons of steel helping her.”

I roll my eyes like the drammie I am. Max’s mouth twitches into a giant smile. “But you’re here. With me.”

His fingers push a tangle of hair behind my ear and then trace the line of my cheek down to my chin. “I’m here. With you.”

“Then I’d say she did her job.” I open my hand and hold out the Mary figurine. “Will you fix her?”

Max studies her in my hand for a while before he answers. “No.” He takes her from me and runs a thumb over her face. “I think it’s time to let her go.”

Maybe Dr. Wallace would say that’s progress for Max. He doesn’t have to hold on to a physical representation of Beni any longer, because he’s realized Beni will always be a part of him. Like every time he looks in the mirror and sees the scar along his left cheekbone, he’ll remember how he survived the irresistible forces at work against us, even if Beni succumbed.

And that’s all well and good, but I’ve only just made my peace with this Mary here, and I’d like to see her stick around a little longer. “Have I ever told you about the time I fixed an angel’s wing?”

Max blinks, his smile widening. “Excuse me?”

“Yep.” I laugh. “My brother ran her over.”

“He ran over an angel?”

“Oh, yeah.” I stand and hold out a hand to help Max up, too. “Tore her wing clean off.”

“So what you’re saying is that you have experience with celestial healing.”

“I’m a real miracle worker.” I lean into him and touch his scarred cheek with my fingertips.

Max opens my hand and places a kiss and then the Mary figurine in my waiting palm. “Save us, Becca Hanson.”

I tilt my face up and rock onto the balls of my feet to press my lips to his. His arms encircle my waist, and I’m enveloped by his woodsy scent, the warm softness of his flannel shirt, and the sound of his steady heartbeat. And all I can think is whoa.