58.
“Is this a good idea?” Mink asked as we followed Joleen and Marvella across the Georgetown University campus. (Remember Joleen? She was my parents’ assistant who comforted me in my parents’ office the night of the memorial when I fought the gorilla.)
“Rule of thumb,” I said. “Anytime you have to ask if something is a good idea, it probably isn’t. But what choice do we have?”
Mink grabbed my wrist, slowing us down until we were far enough behind Marvella and Joleen that they couldn’t hear us. “Look, Max, I love Marvella. Hands down, coolest grandmother in the world. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t think for ourselves. Question her decisions. Right?”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Questioning Marvella was not something I did, at least not seriously. She was like history itself: a vast depository of knowledge. Who was I to question history?
As if reading my mind, Mink said, “I mean, you love history, right, Max? But history celebrates those that took charge of their own destinies. Those that weren’t afraid to reject what everyone else wanted them to do. They made their own choices.”
I liked reading about history, but I certainly didn’t want to make history. Conjuring someone for an hour wasn’t the same thing as living their lives. I didn’t dream of being famous, I dreamed of being safe. In a room with a TV and an Xbox and maybe a mini-fridge stocked with Dr. Pepper and guacamole. My motto still was Stay out of it. I certainly didn’t want to tell Mink all that.
“I’m just saying, maybe you shouldn’t be seen in the open like this where Bishop and his goons could see you. Maybe we should get the cuff and bring it back to you.”
“She just wants to get the cuff on me as soon as possible so I stop puking every couple hours.”
“I’m not saying her intentions aren’t good. I’m just saying no one makes the right choices all the time. Especially when they’re emotionally involved.”
“Aren’t you emotionally involved?” I asked, looking at her.
“Okay,” she sighed, “you got me there.”