Thank God for the revving engine of Max's Cadillac appearing outside. I toss the tray and everything on it onto the floor, glaring at the woman through my tears as it shatters into a million little china pieces. I start to run out, but I stop and turn to look at her. "Just so you know, I won't be back," I snap. Then I storm out. Max is waiting next to the car and looks shocked to see me in tears. I'm about to scream at him too, for looking at me like no one ever cries, but instead what he does puts me at a loss for words. Faster than the speed of light, he sweeps me over to him singlehandedly and hugs me. In his protective arms, I feel like I'll never be in danger again. His shoulder is damp with my tears, but he doesn't seem to care. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "You have nothing to be sorry for," Max says firmly. "What happened? Did she hurt you?" he asks. "No," I say. "She was talking about my mother, and acting like she knew her better than I did." I can tell he's deep in thought, now that we've pulled away. "What is it?" I ask. "Oh, I'm just wondering about your mother," he says. "She's dead," I say, basically used to the words now. "She died in the floods." It wasn't a question, but I answer anyway with a small nod. "What about your father?" he asks. "Dead too," I say. "And you're not sad about that." That wasn't a question either. "I didn't know him," I say. "He wasn't attentive. Spent his whole life in his office doing God knows what." "I see," Max answers. "Get in the car." "I have nowhere to go," I say. "My house is gone." "I know," he says. "I'm taking you to my house." I get in the car obediently.