friendly and breezy but still interested. He hoped.
He pressed send, and immediately realized exactly why he hadn’t done this earlier. Because now, it was going to be even worse waiting for her to text back.
“Satisfied?” he said to Wes.
Wes dished out some of the salad into a bowl and took a very pointed bite.
“About that, at least. Now eat some damn vegetables; we both need some in this godforsaken town.”
Just as Wes got up to go to the bathroom, Max’s phone buzzed.
Thanks for giving me time to think about it—Saturday sounds great. Maybe the Getty?
Max smiled, for maybe the first time that day. Finally, something went right.
Chapter Seven
Max wished he could spend all day Saturday with Olivia, but he had an event that afternoon to honor one of his old teachers who was about to retire. So he’d suggested they head up to the Getty in the late afternoon to see the art and walk around, and then they could picnic outside at sunset. As soon as Olivia agreed, he ordered a bunch of picnic supplies from his local, exorbitantly priced grocery store—they were supposed to have great pie, so he ordered one of those, too. He hoped the pie lived up to the rumors.
Max slapped on a name tag from the front table when he walked into the event, and was immediately surrounded by people. He hadn’t brought any of his staff along with him today, because this felt more like a personal event than a political one, but now he suddenly appreciated everything they did for him. He shook what felt like hundreds of hands, tried to remember what everyone said to him, and took all their business cards with no idea of what to do with them. He laughed at himself—he’d gotten so used to having one to four extra brains working on his behalf at all times, it was like he didn’t remember how to do all this himself. This was probably a good exercise to go through every so often, just so he didn’t get too soft.
Finally, he made his way over to Ms. Sussman and gave her a hug.
“Congratulations on forty years as a teacher, and on your retirement,” he said. “Best teacher I ever had, even though you sent me to the principal’s office far too many times.”
She blushed and hugged him back. And then scolded him gently, as he’d expected.
“Now, Maxwell,” she said. Ms. Sussman was one of only two people in the world who called him Maxwell; the other was his grandmother. “That only happened twice, and I’m sure you agree with me that you deserved it both times.”
He grinned.
“I absolutely did,” he said.
Max chatted with her for a while, until another of her former students came up to them. They’d had this event for her outside of school hours because so many of her former students wanted to come. She’d worked at his private high school early in her career, and then twenty years ago she’d surprised everyone by moving to a public school in East L.A., and had been there ever since.
Soon, her daughter brought him up to the microphone for one of a handful of speeches. He talked about how much she’d taught him, most of which was about how to be a good person and how to treat other people well, told a self-deprecating story about himself that made people laugh, told one of his favorite stories about Ms. Sussman that made people cry, and managed to weave in his passion for criminal justice reform, especially as it related to kids. When he walked down from the podium, he was proud of that speech.
At the end of the event, Ms. Sussman brought him around to meet some of her more recent former students. He went around the circle and shook hands with all of them, but one of them looked so familiar. Why couldn’t he place him?
“Great speech, Senator,” they all said, and he smiled.
He knew this kid. Who was he? He glanced down at the name tag to see if that would help. Mateo Ortega.
Oh. It all came back to him now.
Mateo’s brother Antonio had been a defendant, early in Max’s career as a prosecutor. He’d stolen stuff from a store, and knocked someone down on his way out. Max, full of his own importance, had thrown the book at the kid.
He’d spent years regretting that. He still did. After he spent a few years prosecuting that kid and some of the others like him, and