The Shape Of My Heart. Ann Aguirre
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Cooper picked up the pace, probably trying to get out of earshot. I watched him go, wondering how he lived with himself. He’d kicked one son out and then couldn’t look after Michael after he got out of the hospital, just went on drinking like it was his reason for living. The whole situation made me angrier than I could recall being in my whole life.
Uncle Lou studied my face with the air of an adorable, aging basset hound. “It’s a mess, no two ways around it. But I hope we can clear up the misunderstanding while Maxie’s here.”
“I hope so, too.” We were nearly to the car when I gave up and asked the nosiest question of my life. “What, exactly, did Max’s dad say that night at the hospital? I know Max left home right after, but—”
“Honey, I think you already know this, but...that story should come from Max. And it’d do him good to get it off his chest. When he’s ready, he’ll tell you himself.”
Maybe, I thought.
And the prospect blazed through me in a shower of joy.
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