Maxwells Smile Read Free

the television. “Part of being smart is using your imagination. How else could a toaster, or a big yellow sponge, have a really big adventure?”
    “I do use my imagination. Look at this graph I’ve drawn to designate the various lobes of the brain. The pink one is the cerebellum. That part fascinates me because it controls motor skills. Don’t you think the colors I’ve chosen are imaginative?”
    “Yep, they are. And very precise. You’ve got mad coloring skills, Maxwell. Bet you’ll get an A on that one. But I still haven’t seen you smile. Give me five minutes with the toaster, and I know you’ll want to watch the whole thing.”
    Maxwell slouched against the thick pillow and crossed his arms high on his chest. He glared at Sam. Sam matched the glare, but with a lot less vehemence. He was prepared to leave if Maxwell insisted. He had no right to be bugging some random kid with homework to do, and he’d probably catch hell when the parents showed up.
    His brother had used the same pouty stare on him many a time to win an argument. Such tactics had always worked, too, ending up in a treat from the Dairy Queen or a round of Scrabble. Or both. “Both” had always been best.
    With a defeated sigh, the boy nodded. He didn’t smile, but Sam felt the same triumph he had a year earlier when he’d finally gotten Jeff to lift his head from the hospital pillow and talk to him—one last time.
    “Five minutes,” Maxwell said. “I’m setting the timer on my watch.”
    “Deal. But you’d better turn down the alarm, because you don’t want it interrupting your enjoyment of this awesome movie.”
    * * *
    Rachel McHenry smiled at the nurse she passed on her way to Maxwell’s room. The staff here at the hospital was kind and supportive, but when it came down to it, customer service still didn’t change the fact that her son had been through a harrowing experience. Only yesterday afternoon he’d gotten the worst stomach pains, and she’d had to rush him to the E.R. Half an hour later, he’d been prepped for surgery.
    She hated the lack of control she had felt, standing back and watching as Maxwell was wheeled away. At that moment she’d been utterly incapable of making things right for him. But it was a parent’s job to keep a stiff upper lip and smile through it all, which she had done.
    Only when Maxwell was taken to recovery had she made a quick trip home to lock up and grab her work files and laptop. While standing in the darkness of her living room, Rachel had finally allowed herself a good cry. Crying always made things better.
    The doctor had said Maxwell was doing fine and could be released tomorrow. Rachel had been able to stay overnight because the hospital rooms featured a pull-out sofa bed for parents and family.
    This morning she’d had a house closing at a mortgage office just down the street from the hospital, so had slipped out at seven-thirty. Maxwell was an early riser, and probably woke not long after she’d left. She hoped he hadn’t felt too alone without her here, but also knew her son was industrious and enjoyed mornings on his own, puttering about the house, making toast with strawberry jelly for breakfast, doing homework out on the patio, and generally starting the day quietly.
    The closing had run an hour longer than she’d expected. Had she really left her son alone in the hospital? Bad mother .
    Bad mother who was trying to support a family and pay medical bills, she reminded herself. She forced a smile for Maxwell’s sake. Of course, it wasn’t hard being cheerful around her son. And she had always possessed an innate cheeriness that sometimes drove even her bonkers. She wished Maxwell had inherited that particular gene. He was such a serious child. Not depressing serious, just…astute for his age.
    Rachel paused outside Maxwell’s room when she heard sniffling.
    “Oh, my baby.”
    She had wondered how long Maxwell would be able to hold up without showing some sign of pain or