“No. Listen. I almost killed myself last year. I overworked my body to the point of … almost … annihilation. And I would have kept going until it failed all at once or stole me bit by bit, as you say. But I had people who needed me. I faced a choice. Continue going as I was or stop.”
“I cannot just stop, Max.”
“Oh? Do I box any longer?”
“No, but—”
“How many shows did I do before?”
“At least seven a week, but—”
“And now how many?” Max’s voice kept its moderate tone, but each word seemed sharper than the one before.
“Two.”
“Precisely. I stopped. I found a new way of being.” He fell into the chair back with a sigh, his eyes closing.
“I don’t want to stop.” Not entirely, at least. He loved the show, the drama, the joy. Yet … how lovely to sit before a fire with a friend now and then, or with a beautiful woman, children playing at your feet. How divine to not feel your bones ache, to not fear the bony fingers of death reaching, always reaching, for you. “If I stop … what then?” How would he fill his hours? He had no talent for words as Max had, no expert knowledge to help him pen articles for papers and charge a pretty pence for each lilting sentence.
Not that money was an issue. He could provide for Freddy well even without a profession. But to waste his mind like that, it would drive him mad. “I can’t, Max. I must have something to keep me moving.”
“Of course you do. What about those inventions you like? Or ask Garrison for a different role in the circus.”
“Damn me.” Grant blinked. “Did Garrison tell you to do this?”
“What’s Garrison got to do with it?” Max grumbled, wiggled, a sleepy bear annoyed.
“Nothing.” He’d spilled too many secrets this evening, and he clutched Garrison’s offer of part ownership tightly to his chest. Max might snatch it up, hold it to the light like a tiny miracle and call it fate.
Grant … wasn’t ready for that yet. He turned to the window, placed a palm upon it. Cold and smooth.
Max stretched his legs out long again and settled in as if forever and yawned. “I don’t see the problem. If Freddy wants you, I give you my blessing.” Another yawn. He groaned, lifted his body from the chair, and lumbered toward the hall. “Go home now. I’m going up to my wife.”
Grant lumbered with him, clapping his friend’s shoulder in the doorway.
Max approved. Max did not know the details of Grant’s relationship with Freddy and thank God for that. He might rescind his approval and wind up his fist to replace it with. A wave of guilt crashed into Grant, near swept him down the hall.
“Max, I should tell you something. About Freddy. And me.”
Max shrugged out of his hand. “Bah. Please don’t. I have a feeling I won’t like it. You’re not going to hurt her.”
“Never.”
“See. You’re a good chap. The best. No reason for me to know anything else. You’re adults. Just … no little Websters running about. Unless they have your name.”
“Damn me, Max. I’m not a reprobate.”
Max grinned. “Exactly. Now leave. I’m tired.” He pointed toward the door.
Grant sauntered in the indicated direction but swung around to stride backward while facing his friend. “Don’t … mention anything to Freddy. About anything we’ve said here tonight?”
Max stopped halfway up the stairs. “Your secret is safe with me until you decide to make it known to her. Won’t even tell Nora.”
“That is high secrecy.”
Max waved off his words and disappeared into the dark air of the landing above.
Grant found the darkness of the street and tipped his face upward to the fog-obscured sky. Was it all as simple as Max thought it was?
