8. MADDY

8

MADDY

The IT team might not have found anything interesting on Rave’s phone, but I do. It’s another piece that connects me to him.

His screen saver is a picture of Little. My heart warms at the sight. The picture is taken from behind. Little stands on the edge of a cliff, his feet in a wide stance, his fists in the air in triumph. In front of him is the vast azure ocean, the waves crashing against the rocks and splashing. It’s a powerful picture.

I study the phonebook next, the way Raven writes names, first and last, no variations, except “Mac.” I find mine. “Mayflower.”

The word resonates with a pang in my heart. But I can’t cry anymore. I won’t. He’ll come back to me.

I open the picture folder on his phone.

Among many pictures of shipments, labels, guards, and contracts, the ones I’m interested in are pictures of him and Little. There are Little’s selfies, of course. Little is obsessed with technology. But there are also pictures of Rave taken by Little. And those are haunting. They are taken in the moments Raven is not looking, some without focus. Some of Raven smiling. Raven smoking by the ocean. Raven and Little on a cliff. Raven and me in the kitchen, him studying me while I set up the table.

There’s a picture of me sleeping. I know that picture. I fell asleep on the couch, Little at my feet.

I never noticed how Raven looks at me when I’m not paying attention. But there’s one picture, taken by Little, where I sit on the couch and laugh at the camera. Raven is sitting several feet away from me. He’s barely smiling, but he looks like he forgot himself. He’s transfixed on me. There’s no mistake. No mistake that he… He’s in love with me. The usual coldness on his face is gone, his harsh features somehow soft. Raven possesses somewhat brutal beauty. But in this picture, when his eyes are on me, that beauty is soft and approachable. He is mesmerized, and I’m in awe by how peaceful he looks.

There are more pictures in the download folder. College students, though I don’t recognize the uniforms. Some type of community meetings with slogans about minorities and rights. In the background, I see barbed wire. This must be current and from one of the “contamination zones” on the mainland. There’s a picture of a tall black man in his sixties, perhaps seventies, with a loudspeaker, addressing a massive crowd. There’s another picture of several adults with volunteer jackets, all name tags, that same man among them.

Malcolm Wright, says his name tag.

So, that’s Mac…

I pick up Raven’s phone, find Mac’s number, and dial it.

The voice that answers is low and important but somehow soft and trusting. Authoritative.

“Hello, Mr. Wright,” I say nervously to the man who raised my perfect man. “My name is Maddy. I’m calling from Zion.”

“Hi, Maddy.”

“I hope you don’t mind me calling from Raven’s phone. Mathew’s,” I correct. “Mathew Levi,” I repeat, remembering that Mac was the only person who called Raven by his name. “I… I wanted to talk to you. I…”

I stall, not knowing if the man on the line even wants to talk to some random stranger.

“Talk to me, Maddy,” he says after a moment of my silence. “But only if you call me Mac.”

I chuckle nervously. “Mac, sure. Mathew and I, we were?—”

“I know,” he says softly. “I know who you are. What’s going on, Maddy? Where is Mathew?”

And I tell him. Tell him what happened. I say that there is no news. Mac might be the only person who cares about Raven as much as me.

He listens. No panic in his short questions. No condolences, and I’m so grateful for that.

“Mathew told me about you,” he says. “Mathew likes privacy. The fact that he told me about you at all means a lot. You should know that.”

“I do.” I’m grateful for his company, if only remotely. His low, deep voice is like that of one of the narrators of world history documentaries. I just want to hear him talk endlessly.

“Do you have a minute?” he asks, surprising me.

“Of course! Absolutely! I-I… There are not many people who know Raven personally. I mean, Mathew. You do. You know him better than me. He likes his privacy, yes. I wanted to talk to someone who knows him. Especially now…”

“I see.” The softness and warmth in his voice make me feel hopeful. “Tell me about you and Mathew.”

Words pour out of me. I talk about Raven and me. About who I am, not hiding any details or my past. About how we broke up. About Raven’s deals. How hard it was. Our reconciliation. Sonny. Security. Zion. My father. And then I tell him about the day a week ago when Raven was taken, all the gruesome details.

By the time I finish, I’m crying and sniffling.

“I’m sorry, Mac,” I say almost in a whisper. “I didn’t know who else to call who knows him and understands…”

“It’s all right, Maddy. It’s all right.”

“Tell me something about him. Please? Something you like the most. Anything, really. I know so little.”

“Hmm.” Mac goes quiet for a moment. “Mathew is an incredible young man,” he finally says. “When I met him, his anger was like armor. He wore it like a badge. It sliced silently through others like a knife. I met Mathew when anger was his sharpest weapon. It poisoned him the most, you know.”

It still does , I think as I listen.

“He is very selective with who he keeps close nowadays. And incredibly protective. Mathew doesn’t know he has that power—making someone he cares about feel safe.”

I’m so grateful that he talks about Raven in present tense.

“When Mathew got back on his feet and figured himself out, as much as he could, I felt proud of what he was becoming. I never told him that. He wouldn’t believe me, you know. That’s another thing about Mathew—he has incredible strength but he doesn’t trust others’ opinions.”

“He trusts yours.”

“I tried to guide him. I hope I did a decent job.”

I chuckle. “He says everything good he knows is thanks to you.”

“Hmm. Not true. Mathew had a complicated childhood. As adults, we are who we choose to be. Children? Well, children think they are what others tell them they are. And Mathew, unfortunately, had too many heartless examples before him.”

I close my eyes but don’t respond, afraid to interrupt Mac.

“People see danger and pain in him and mostly stay away. But there is… There’s magnificent strength in a man who rarely saw a moment of kindness growing up yet had the courage to carry on and treat others with respect. His determination in life is astounding. So is his loyalty.”

I realize that tears are streaming down my face. “He said, you taught him that.”

“His past did. He thinks his past crippled him. What he doesn’t realize is that the worst experiences also create the most beautiful opportunities. Weeds are invasive, but there’s a limit to how much they can grow. Tree seedlings might be weak but often grow into magnificent trees.”

I observed Raven with Little, his mild irritation at first when Little started following him around, then surprise when Little didn’t get put off by Raven’s hostility. Children see through adults easily. They see with their hearts. Little never gave up. And then something else happened—Raven’s tenderness toward Little, though tenderness seems like a strange word to use when you think of a man like Raven. Maybe it was kindness, though everyone could tell it was affection. It was so-so beautiful. He couldn’t disguise it, though he tried. And he didn’t realize how much it shined through all his pretense and seeming indifference.

“Mac, may I call you sometimes?” I ask. “Just to talk.”

He is my connection to Raven. I pray that we will both call Mac soon.

“Of course, Maddy,” Mac says. “Please do. Let me know as soon as you find out more about Mathew.”

Hanging up, I pad to Raven’s kitchen and pour myself a glass of his favorite liquor. I open the balcony doors, sit in the wicker chair by the doors, light one of Raven’s cigarettes, and take a sip of his alcohol.

When I close my eyes, the scents mix together. The bitter tobacco, the somewhat sweet alcohol. I smell and taste like him.

A sharp knock at the door snaps me out of my sweet fantasy. When I open the door, it’s Little.

His nostrils flare, taking in the familiar scents, and his eyes widen immediately. "Rave is back?"

He darts past me into an empty living room but stops short when he sees the burning cigarette in the ashtray.

"It's his smell,” he says disheartened as he turns his now-sad eyes to me. “Will you tell me where he is?”

There’s that treacherous lump in my throat again. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t know,” I whisper the half-truth.

His sad expression lights up in seconds. “Wanna see something cool?"

He runs to the door and turns off the lights, immediately turning the room dark. He then goes to one of the corners and turns a switch.

The ceiling suddenly illuminates with stars and constellations and planets in different colors.

“Watch!” Little says, and everything on the ceiling starts moving. The planets, the Earth—the entire room comes to life with a yellow glow and the magical blues and pinks and greens for the planets.

Little’s face is turned upward. “He bought this pro-pro-pro-jec-tor of the”—he makes a little pause and licks his lips to ready himself for the word, he always does with the ones that are unusual or complicated—“u-ni-verse when I started learning about stars.” He points his forefinger at one of the planets. “That's Mars, like a chocolate bar. It's an angry planet, Rave says. In ass… Ass…”

"Astrology?” I prompt.

"Yeah. Raven said it’s angry like you are angry at him when, you know, you don’t talk."

My heart does a strange flip. I never knew they discussed me so much.

"And that's Mer-cu-ry.” He thoughtfully pronounces every syllable. “It means wise. Like you, Rave said."

I hold my breath so as not to cry. I can’t cry in front of Little. I can’t cry, period. Crying is mourning. I’m not mourning. Because Rave is alive. He just has to be.

“Come!” Little motions to me and lies down in the center of the living room. “Come!” He pats the floor next to him.

And I do as he tells me.

“Rave said that’s the right way to look at stars. Like this.”

“It is,” I say softly, lying next to the kid and watching the beautiful scenery unfolding on the ceiling.

“I miss him,” Little says quietly.

“Me too.”

“Soooo much. He will come back, won’t he, Maddy?”

I take in a deep breath and hold it so as not to cry. “He will, Little. He will.”

And we lie on the floor, me and the kid, and gaze at the starry universe, missing Raven.