I place my hand on his thigh. "What's your dad doing here?"
Max stares at them, his eyes scrutinising the pair. Sliding out from the table, he begins to stride towards them. I quickly fall into step beside him, not wanting to be left behind. He entwines our fingers and I smile, thankful he didn’t tell me to go back to the table, thankful he didn't tell me this is none of my business.
"What's this I see?" Max laughs, eyeing Butch and his pretty guest.
Butch twists in his seat, doing a double take when he sees us. "Well, well." He stands and pats his son on the shoulder. "How is smiling at people working out for you?"
Max smirks, seemingly amused by the comment. "Fuck, Clay has a big mouth."
Butch just grins, and for a moment I see Max - older and more weathered, but the similarities are blatant. "He was impressed with your proposal, as was I." I blink at them, not sure exactly what's going on or why I somehow feel strange about it. Turning his attention to me, Butch's smile softens into a genuine curve that makes his chiselled masculine features somehow less so. "Cassidy, you look beautiful. How are you feeling?"
"Full. The duck was fricking amazeballs," I say and then catch the eyes of the brunette lady sitting beside Butch. She is circling the top of her whiskey glass with her finger and chewing on the inside of her lip. Smile lines beside her eyes and mouth denote both her age and her nature.
"Amazeballs?" Butch chuckles. "Did you hear that, Louise?" He turns to acknowledge her - Louise.
"I agree," she says, gazing brown eyes up at us. Her mien is gentle and humble. "Amazeballs."
I grin hard at her.
"This is Louise," Butch says. "Louise, this is my son, Max, and his far better half, Cassidy."
She nods, an almost demure and coy slant to her lips. "It's lovely to meet you both."
I wave awkwardly. "Hi."
"Where's Victoria?" Max teases. I shuffle uncomfortably and glance at the ground. I half expect crickets to sound but instead, Butch answers with little duress.
"She doesn’t come to this event."
Before anyone can reply, the clapping of other guests draws our attention to the front. As the presenter takes the stage, the crowd quells their conversations.
The presenter taps on the microphone.
Butch sits back down. "We will talk after. Sit with us. My other guests left early." He motions to a few empty chairs. I glance over at Konnor as we sit, still worried about what this all means or doesn’t mean to him. Maybe it's just too much to absorb. It feels that way to me. They literally created this charity in memory of him. He is silently and helplessly a part of it, and no one even knows. When the presenter begins to speak, I stare at the stage.
After introducing and thanking the main organisers, he then begins to thank the donors. "I'd like to pay a special tribute to Luca Butcher," he says.
My eyes widen and I turn to stare at Butch, who is casual and unaffected by the attention. Maybe even a little displeased by it?
"He has been attending this charity since its inception and to date-" he looks at a piece of paper- "has donated over five hundred thousand dollars."
The room erupts in applause. Once it quiets again, other donors are thanked. After a few minutes, the screen behind the presenter lights up with the image of a beautiful young women - Konnor's biological mother. An acute ache moves through my chest and I find Konnor again. He is blinking at the screen, mouth parted, breathing heavily with emotion. Blesk has her hand on his shoulder.
The man on stage continues to talk, sharing Madeline's story - Konnor's story. He details the night Konnor was taken from his bed. The nightmare Madeline endured trying to find him. He tells us about her single mindedness, giving up everything else in her life to become solely a mother searching for her little boy. He tells us about her sudden illness.
Her death.
My lower lip quivers.
I can feel Max studying me. I can always feel him; our connection is that profound. He hangs his arm over my seat again, sliding the entire chair closer to him until I am pressed snugly against his body.
The presenter continues to talk. He tells us about the light at the end of this dastardly tale. They found the boy. Alive and, for the most part, well. He was given a new life and a new beginning. I know this better than most because it was with us. With me. The presenter clears his throat, pauses, and then looks straight at Konnor.
I smother my outward gasp.
"We have a very special guest with us today," he says, his voice hesitant. "I only just realised this myself, and I have been wrestling with what to do about it. I wanted to leave him his anonymity. But I also wanted more than anything to shake his hand. To pat him on the back. To share my deepest respects and admiration. Madeline's boy is here today."
A high-pitched crack breaks the quiet beside me. Glancing over, I see Butch holding a shattered glass in his fist, blood leaking out from between his fingers. No one outside of our table has noticed. He quickly grabs a white cloth napkin, wraps it around his hand, and excuses himself. I'm sure he forgets his own strength, just like Max does on occasion.
My gaze is pulled back to Konnor, who is struggling to keep his composure while everyone looks at him in awe. He breathes in deeply and then slowly stands. When everyone applauds him, I can no longer hold back my tears of joy. For the first time in his life, he's close to having a relationship with her. He's right there, standing opposite her image, being referred to as her son. As the clapping continues, the genuine nature of the applause becomes apparent and Konnor's face transforms from
