You Cant Go Home Again

By Karen

Category: UNC

Rating: R

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Prologue

"Nothing will ever be
Quite like your memories"
- The Badlees


There’s a thin line between love and hate.

I never understood the meaning of that expression. Surely you could never hate someone you love and vice versa. But I think now I know what it means. It is easier to hate someone you have loved than anyone else in the world.

It’s a simple concept, really. You let people you love under your skin, into your life, into your heart. And from that strategic position, they can hurt you worse than anyone. With the hurt comes pain, then anger then hate.

But on the flipside of hate, there is always forgiveness. Children do awful things to their parents – they betray to get their way, they lie, they disappoint – but parents are always willing to open their arms and welcome those children back into their lives. Why is it so different with lovers?

I glance over at Michael as he drives, his wrist resting on the wheel of the Explorer. It’s been years since we’ve been away and I can see our experiences etched into his face. Youthfulness has abandoned Michael. Not that he looks old. He just looks wizened, calmer perhaps, more mature. But with the things we’ve seen, how could he not be?

It might be mistaken that we’ve left earth. We haven’t, of course. Space travel is a fallacy on this planet. We’re earthlings, bound here on this wonderful green and blue marble. But we’ve been to hell and back. More than once.

I turn back to the road and watch the barren landscape whiz past our window at a high velocity – Michael always has and always will drive like a maniac. He missed his calling – NASCAR is minus one incredible driver. Not only can he drive fast, he does it well. Meaning we’ve never crashed or had a close call and he has always managed to get us out of a sticky situation. I know I owe my life to Michael in more ways than one.

A cactus flies past and I can’t help but smile. I haven’t seen a cactus in so long its appearance is somewhat comical. I can’t even remember the last time we were this far west. Months? Years? And for all of its barrenness, I never thought I’d miss the desert, but I did.

The desert. In a memory flash, not a human remembrance but an alien barrage of intense feelings and images, I see days of my youth, remarkable times spent among sand and rock. I can hear the steady beep of a communication orb, feel small hands on my skin, hear angry words, happy words, see the bright flames of a funeral pyre. Until now, I don’t think I realized how many pivotal moments of my life took place in the desert.

Aliens and deserts just seem to go hand in hand. Maybe it’s because of the whole 1947 crash legend. Maybe it’s because deserts are hostile and hard to navigate, only intensifying their mystery. Maybe it’s because that’s where we were born – me, Michael, Isabel and eventually Tess. We’re all bound to the desert.

Michael releases one of those deep sighs of his. I know he’s thinking of Maria even though he won’t admit it. There isn’t much point in it – she gave him the boot two years ago. I don’t blame her. Even though she craved adventure, she still craved stability and he couldn’t give it to her.

Just like I couldn’t give it to Liz. It’s been longer than two years since Liz gave me the boot, but it hurts like it was yesterday. I can still hear her words, the hurt in her voice and that was the day I understood which side of love and hate I stood on.


I have to wonder if Michael is anticipating or dreading seeing Maria. Me, I can’t wait to see her. I’ve missed Maria and her generous friendship. She was my first ‘girlfriend’, meaning my first feminine friend. It was odd to have a female in my life who wasn’t a love interest or a relative and who had no interest in me sexually. I was a teenage guy, so of course I thought about Maria sexually more than once – I mean, what guy wouldn’t? She was gorgeous then and I’m sure she still is. But it wasn’t love or lust or anything like that. It was just teenage hormones…I think I thought of every woman (non-relative, of course) in my life in a sexual context at least once. That part of me is very human.

I digress. I glance at Michael and his lips are pursed. Yep – thinking about Maria.

And I automatically think of Liz. I know what I want. I want to be back with her. I want to make things right. I want to make her understand what we’ve been through. I want her to know that I haven’t given up on her. I don’t dread seeing her – I look forward to it because whether she knows it or not, I’m going to win her back.

Part One

“Maxwell, we have to get out of here!” Michael’s voice is strained, his breath coming in short gasps.

Behind us, there’s another loud explosion and I throw my hands over my ears to protect them from the concussion, then I duck my head as bits of rocks and mortar rain down on us.

“They’re gonna kill us!” Michael yells over the roar. “We have to fall back! Now!”

I nod in his direction. I don’t want to fall back. I don’t want to let them go. I have so much hatred for them that I want to stay here and put an end to them once and for all. But there is a reason Michael is my second in command – he grounds me when my emotions run away with my common sense.

“Let’s go,” I shout between gun blasts and gesture toward the back of the warehouse, where he left the Explorer. As I rise, there is a whistling sound past my ear and I know it’s too late. Within a millisecond there is a blast very near to our position. I hear a scream of pain and don’t really realize that it is coming from me. In fact, I don’t realize it until I am falling to the ground, my leg seemingly blown out from beneath me.

Then I hear footsteps, thousands of them, descending on us. Michael’s eyes are desperate as he pulls on my arm. I try to help him, but I can’t. My arm suddenly pops off and he falls to his rear in the rubble, a look of astonishment on his face. Then I’m screaming again as Michael looks at my detached arm in horror.

“Max, wake up.”

I’m suddenly squinting against the bright sunlight, wondering where the blood and guts and gunfire have gone. The room is oddly white, clean, homey. I smell something – food?

When my vision clears, I see Isabel perched on the end of the couch, a fuzzy white housecoat wrapped around her slim body. She smiles at me and I realize that while she was a pretty girl, she is a ridiculously beautiful woman.

“Must’ve been some dream,” she says, no worry in her tone.

I nod and push the comforter from my body – I’m slick with sweat. “Yeah, good one this time.”

“Coffee?” she asks.

I nod and she disappears into the kitchen. When she returns, she sits on the coffee table and hands me the cup. I take a couple of sips and glance quickly around the apartment as a form of surveillance – an old habit I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of.

“Where’s Michael?” I ask.

“Still asleep.”

That’s all the information she offers and it’s really all I want. I know he shared her bed last night and as her brother, I do not want to know what happened, if anything did at all. “You’re up early,” I comment.

She nods. “I go to work early.” She’s a nurse. Agent Topolsky was right – Isabel leans toward care-giving fields.

“Do you have to work today?” I ask.

She nods again. “But I’ll be home by six. Maybe we can do dinner?”

I placed the cup on the table and settle back into my makeshift bed. “Sure.”

“But not the Crashdown.”

I look at her quizzically.

She shifts her weight uncomfortably. “I don’t think you should go there, Max.”

I shrug. “Point taken. Now mind your own business.” My words aren’t harsh, but maybe she understands anyway. Then the oddity of her comment dawns on me. “Why do I have to stay away from the Crashdown? Are you telling me Liz is still a waitress?” It seems somewhat inconceivable given the amount of time that has passed and the fact that Liz was smart enough to be anything she wanted.

Isabel laughs lightly. “No. But her parents still own the restaurant. You never know when she’ll be there.”

I smile and my sister frowns.

In an overly protective gesture, she reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. “Max, maybe it’s time you moved on,” she says gently.

“I don’t want to,” I reply honestly. “I want Liz back.”

She looks uncomfortable. “But what if…”

I push myself up so that I am sitting rather than lying. “What if she’s moved on?” I finish her sentence for her and she nods. “I don’t believe that.”

“You think she waited.” It’s a statement, not a question.

I don’t know how to make Isabel understand the relationship that Liz and I had. Not many people do. But we were bound together so tightly I know if I haven’t given up, then she hasn’t either. No matter what she said.

“Just think about it for awhile,” my sister suggests.

“Iz, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I know what I want.”

She nods in resignation, then offers a small smile. “I have to get in the shower or I’m going to be late. So, dinner tonight?”

“Yes,” I agree and smile at her. “Some place other than the Crashdown.”

* * * * * * * *

“Are you really sure you want to do this?”

Michael and I are poised across the street from a gift shop on Main Street, the traffic whizzing past us. The early afternoon sun is hot, nearly blinding in its intensity. His dark eyes are somber and he nods slowly. Well, I guess my second is just as much a glutton for punishment as I am.

We wait until the traffic dissipates, then we jog across the street. We pause again at the shop’s entrance; Michael gives me a last look of reassurance and pulls the door open. A cool blast of air conditioning greets us as a bell above the door chimes. The smell of lavender and musk drifts to my nose and my ears are filled with something that sounds a lot like Celtic flute music.

“You’ll love this.” I hear the familiar voice as she talks to a customer. “I use it every night before bed.”

My eyes settle on her behind the counter, dropping some lotion into a small white bag. The customer thanks her and moves away, past us and out the door. Then her eyes settle on us and her full lips break into an easy smile.

I wasn’t wrong – Maria Deluca is still a gorgeous person. The first thing that strikes me is that she now dresses very much like her mother used to – kind of trendy, kind of hippy. Her blond hair is long, to the center of her back, and wavy without being curly.

“Well, it’s Frodo and Samwise returning from saving the world,” she says, a playful smirk on those highly-glossed lips. “So, did you get the ring destroyed?”

Michael snorts – I’m not sure if that was a laugh or not, so I laugh nervously. But Maria comes out from behind the counter and hugs him. It’s not the embrace of lovers, but rather one of familiarity, quick, tight, something you’d give your grandmother. Then she’s in my arms and maybe it’s my imagination, but she seems to longer a bit longer. I squeeze her tightly, breathe in the gentle scent of her perfume. It feels odd to hold a woman after so long without doing so.

Michael’s still in the room, I remind myself and release his ex-girlfriend from my grasp.

“You haven’t aged a day,” she says, brushing the hair from my forehead.

I think I blushed. I’ve fought many battles, I’ve seen things no one should ever have to see…and yet Maria can still make me blush.

“When did you get in?” she asks, pivoting to address Michael.

“Late last night,” he explains, shoving his hands into his pockets.

She circles the counter again and perches on a stool she’s placed back there. On the counter itself there is a magazine, opened, and I can only assume she has a lot of down time. “Am I your first visitation?” she laughs.

I let Michael talk. He seems to want to. “We, um, saw Iz first. She put us up for the night.”

Maria clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “Have you boys got another blond in your life? I thought I was the only one.”

She laughs happily and I have to wonder if all of the exotic scents in these small quarters have gotten to her. The Maria I knew was much more brooding than this. And there is no way I’m going to spill Michael’s sleeping arrangements from last night.

“What time is it?” she asks.

I glance at my watch. “One.”

Hopping down from the stool, she walks to the door and flips the “open” sign to “closed.” “Time for lunch,” she announces. “Let’s get something to eat.”

We walk the streets of Roswell for a long while, just catching up on what has been going on. At one point, she reaches down and takes my hand in hers, squeezing it as she talks. I feel self-conscious about it, but Michael seems not to notice. We end up picking up sub sandwiches and going to the park.

It feels odd to be in the park, a place Mom used to take me and Isabel when we were children, a place where we’d meet to talk about the latest threat to our existence, a place I went to sit in stunned silence when I thought Liz had slept with Kyle.

“How’s your Mom?” Michael asks quietly.

Maria sips from her lemonade, washing down a bite of her sandwich. My eyes are mesmerized by her fingers – long, nails perfectly manicured, beautifully feminine. “She moved to Texas. Met a guy. Got married.”

Michael’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Really?”

She nods. “Nice man. In law enforcement, believe it or not.”

We all laugh, remembering Amy Deluca’s run-ins with the law, and later her interludes with Sheriff Valenti. Which prompts my next question.

“What about the sheriff?”

“Still the sheriff,” she confirms. “He always will be.” Her smile is sweet, sincere. “You guys should stop and see him.”

I nod. She’s right – we should.

“What about Kyle?” Michael asks. He’s not usually so concerned about others and I know he’s just talking to talk, to avoid those uncomfortable silences.

“California.” She scrunches up her face as she rethinks her answer. “I think.” Then she sighs. “I can’t keep track of him. He’s a rolling stone.”

“What’s he doing that he travels so much?” I ask.

She shrugs her slim shoulders. “Whatever he wants to. Kyle’s a true Bohemian. But, man, has he been to some neat places. He went to Tibet for a year. Then to Europe for a while. He just never stops.” She looks wistful, like maybe she’d like to have that life.

Her sea-green eyes lock on mine and I’m somewhat startled at that.

“I know what you want to ask,” she says, almost as though Michael isn’t still sitting with us.”

“You do?”

She nods slowly. “Forget about it, Max.”

I give her the same smile I gave Isabel.

“I mean it,” she says, putting down her cup. “Just let Liz go.”

It’s so quiet the birds suddenly sound deafening. Michael looks down at his shoes, uncomfortable.

“I have to try,” I tell her quietly. I won’t be able to make her understand, either.

She doesn’t look surprised. “Well, it was worth a shot.” Tilting her head, she checks out my watch. “I have to get back. No one to run the shop but me.”

As we walk back, we pass the Crashdown. I can’t help but look in its windows and I catch a glimpse of her dark hair. It’s been years, but I’d recognize Liz Parker out of a crowd of a million. Excitement rushes through my veins and I turn to Maria and Michael; they both look nauseous.

“You want to catch up with us later?” Michael offers. He knows there is no point in trying to talk me out of this.

I nod eagerly. But my hope wanes when Maria steps forward, her eyes sad, and kisses me on the cheek. It’s like I’m going off to war and she may never see me again.

Of all of the battles I’ve fought, this one with be the hardest. And it’s outcome will mean the most.

Part Two

My fingers are trembling as I reach for the brass door handle of the café. Once upon a time, I pulled on those handles so often that my handprints were permanently embedded in them. She’s there – behind the cash register, counting bills, fastening them together with paperclips.

I can’t do this. I can’t walk in there and talk to her like I just saw her yesterday. Okay, I’m disgusting myself – get in there, mighty king. She’s just a girl.

Yep, a girl that could topple this mighty king.

Inside, the air is cool and the familiar smells of the grill greet me. My whole body comes to alert as I move to stand before her. She looks the same, but not really. Instead of the hideous turquoise alien uniform, she’s dressed in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a sleeveless black sweater.

“Table for one?” she asks without looking up.

“No, I don’t need a table.”

She drops some of the bills into a drawer and still hasn’t looked up. “A seat at the bar, then?”

Surely she recognizes my voice. Surely her body is as alive as mine is right now, wanting, needing. I want nothing more than to reach across that barrier between us and wrap her in my arms. But she seems oblivious. “Liz. It’s me.”

Finally, she looks up and I see nothing in her eyes. No happiness, no hate. Nothing.

“I know,” she says. “Where would you like to sit?”

I know that I can’t stop the startled look on my face. She’s floored me. I’m not here to eat; she must know that. “I’m not hungry,” I manage.

“Well, we’re really busy, so if you aren’t going to use the table…”

Part of the heightening of my battle skills is the ability to survey a situation in a very short span of time. Without even thinking about it, I counted the people in the café as I entered. Six. Two of whom are workers. Six does not equate a crowd, or a throng, or even “busy” as she put it.

“I wanted to see you,” I say, trying to implore her to spend a few moments with me.

“Why?” she asks, her voice void of confrontation.

I can’t find the right words so I just stare at her uncomfortably, in bewilderment.

After a few horrible moments, she pushes a lock of her chin-length hair behind her ear and I see a something reflect the sunlight coming through the window, a flash on her hand. My eyes follow it as she puts her hand back down on the counter.

It’s a ring.

She didn’t wait for me.

Did I expect her to? Maybe I did. Maybe I had deluded myself into believing she really was pining away for me back here, that she was just waiting for her man to come back from war.

“Are you married?” My voice suddenly sounds foreign to me. Someone else is asking Liz Parker these questions.

“Not yet,” she says softly, some of the hostility gone from her tone.

I don’t know what to say. I have a lump the size of Yankee Stadium in my throat and for some reason my chest feels like it’s caving in. “Not yet,” I repeat.

“Soon,” she confirms with a nod of her head. “A few months.”

So soon. Too soon. “I, uh…congratulations, Liz.” Did I really just say that? How could I have spouted out something so insincere?

“Thanks,” she responds and her expression says it all – I’m the last person she wants to receive best wishes from.

Another very long, uncomfortable silence ensues; it is finally relieved by the ringing of the café bell as a couple enters and gets in line behind me. She looks past my shoulder, obviously thankful for the reprieve.

“I have customers,” she says softly, almost apologetically and I almost believe she does feel bad about giving me the boot.

“Of course,” I say and start to back away. “Can I call you? Just to, you know…catch up?”

She cocks her head and looks uncertain. Then she gives a little shrug of noncommittal which I will take as a maybe. As I turn my back on her, I hear her greeting the customers as if she hadn’t just had her life wrecked.

Oh, wait, that was me.

* * * * *

Outside, Michael is leaning against the brick façade of the Crashdown, his back to the wall, his eyes never stopping their relentless search for possible threats.

“What are you still doing here?” I ask him, trying to squelch the nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Watching your back,” he says simply, then falls in step beside me as we start walking back to Maria’s shop.

I snort a small laugh. “It wasn’t really necessary, Michael.” I think perhaps he’s a little over-protective these days.

He shrugs, shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Did Maria go back to her store?”

He nods. He’s as much a conversationalist as he’s ever been.

We walk for a few blocks and I feel like I can start to breathe again the farther we move from the café. The shaking has gone from my knees and I feel a little more in control. And possibly denial.

“Was it hard to see Maria?” I ask Michael, squinting against the sun.

He purses his lips. He doesn’t like to talk about how he feels. “Yes. And no.”

I wait, wondering if I will have to bait him to continue.

“I love Maria,” he says simply, honestly. “I’ll always love her. But things are different now, you know?” He looks at his shoes, like they hold the words he wants to use to express himself. “That part of our lives is over.”

Maybe that’s how Liz feels. That she and I are just a chapter of the past. “What if you found out she was getting married?”

His gaze snaps to mine. He’s caught on immediately. But I get the feeling his shock is for me and my loss, not the thought of his losing Maria. “I’d let her go,” he replies. “I already have let her go. And I’d want her to be happy.”

I have immense envy for the man walking beside me. I’m envious because he’s figured out how to let go of something he wasn’t meant to have.

We stop before Maria’s shop and as I reach for the door knob, Michael shifts his weight in the opposite direction. I look at him questioningly.

“I told Iz I’d bring her lunch,” he says and then disappears.

I wonder if some day those two will be straight with me about what goes on between them. I wonder if I really want to know.

* * * * *

“You need some Valerian Root.”

I lift my head from my arms and look at Maria, who is pointing to a shelf of herbal remedies. “Some what?”

“Valerian Root,” she says, picking up the bottle from the shelf. “The ancient Romans used to use it. Relaxes you. Helps you sleep.”

I’m squatted on her stool behind the counter and I had been burying my head in my arms in agony until she conjured up her latest spell. I take the bottle from her and read the back of it. It has all of those non-specific herbal ramblings on it. I raise an eyebrow, open the bottle and recoil from the smell that escapes.

“Do you really take this crap?” I ask her.

Indignant, she snatches the bottle from the hand. “It is not crap, Max Evans. This stuff keeps a roof over my head.”

I didn’t really look the first time, but now I do. Just to see what kind of “crap” Maria sells. Lots of herbal stuff, ‘natural’ ingredient make up, aroma therapy. I’m suddenly touched that she hasn’t given in to the tourist trade and exploited her friends by carrying alien-themed merchandise.

“No little green men?” I ask, my eyes skimming over the shelves.

“Huh?” She’s stuffing the lid back on the Valerian bottle.

“You don’t carry any alien stuff,” I comment.

She raises one side of her lip, shakes her head. “Why be like everyone else in Roswell?” I deflate a little, thinking that her reluctance to carry the stuff is more market-based than morality-based. Then she throws in, “Besides, it’s kind of racist, you know?”

Maria will never stop amazing me.

Liz used to amaze me. Every day. Now she just bewilders me.

I feel soft fingers on top of my hand and I look up into Maria’s eyes.

“I tried,” she says sympathetically.

“To what?”

She draws in a deep breath, her slim body expanding with the movement in an oddly evocative way. “To warn you about Liz.”

I look back down to my hands, to her hand covering only a small portion of one of mine. Her skin is beautifully pale for this climate and contrasts starkly with mine. I don’t want to talk with Maria about Liz. But there are some things I just need to know. “How long has she been engaged?”

She lets go of my hand and shrugs. “Three months.” I look up when she hesitates and I know that’s what she was waiting for. “She didn’t run right to him, Max. It’s not like she dumped you and then picked the first one who came along.”

Didn’t pick the first one? So there were others? My stomach hurts. “Who is he?” I ask.

“No one you know. His name is Mike. He’s a dentist.”

A dentist. It sounds so ordinary. Especially when she could have me – I’m a king! And that sounds ridiculous. There’s a huge job market out there for kings, I hear. No wonder she went looking for someone with some stability.

I don’t even realize that I drifted off into never land until I feel Maria slip in between my legs and wrap her arms around my shoulders. I’m really slipping – I didn’t even notice her rounding the counter. It startles me and I almost react violently – another horrible after-effect to all of the things I have seen. But I quickly push that response away and try to focus on what she is doing.

“It’s okay,” she says against my ear, her words soft and reassuring. “I know this is hard for you, but I’m here for you, Max.”

I don’t want Maria to be here for me. But I also don’t want to hurt her feelings, so I put my arms around her in a loose hug. I know she means well. I know she just wants to help. But I don’t want help. I want Liz. And even though she has a rock the size of Mount Everest on her finger, she’s not married yet and I’m not giving up.

~~~~~~~~~

Part Three

Stalking is a crime, a crime of which I’m guilty.

But it would take someone of my own kind to catch me. I’m an expert at this, at not being seen. I don’t mean that I have Tess’s ability to make myself seem to disappear. I mean that I have honed my skills of stealth; I can avoid being seen if I want to.

So I spend a considerable about of time avoiding being seen and stalking Liz Parker. I follow her to work, to her house on Roswell’s west side, to the Crashdown where she gives her parents a break on Wednesdays, to a restaurant where she meets people I’ve never seen before.

Sometimes Michael comes with me. I know he doesn’t think what I’m doing is right, that I should have given Liz up long ago and that I should definitely not be stalking her. But he never puts voice to those thoughts. He just watches and waits with me, a true brother in arms. Sometimes I think he’s just bored and has nothing better to do; other times I think he misses the thrill of the hunt. Once the challenge of capturing your prey is met, what do you do with your time?

I watch all of Liz’s new acquaintances carefully – I learned long ago to spot the enemy from pretty far distances. Beings that once seemed very human to me are now revealed to be more than that with only a second glance. Sometimes it’s a slight hitch in their walk that gives them away, or an odd phrase that shows they aren’t comfortable with the language of this planet. I’ve learned all of the telltale signs, no intruder can make it past me. And even if they did, they wouldn’t get past Michael.

But, none of Liz’s friends seem to be alien. That makes me both happy and sad. Happy because she is safe, sad because I can’t go riding in on a white horse and save her.

“Mike” the dentist also lives on the west side, in a bigger, nicer home than Liz’s. I have to wonder why she didn’t sell her house and move in with him throughout the engagement. An evil little piece of me wants to believe that she is resisting her new life and her new husband, that she was staying in her home as an invitation to me to come back.

After a week of following her, I can tell that my arrogant assumption is false. She’s happy. She seems to enjoy her friends and the things they do together. With a pang, I realize that she seems happier with them than she ever did with me and my friends.

One night she goes out with Maria. No big deal – just dinner and drinks at The Eiffel Tower restaurant. Of course, I park across the street, sans Michael, and watch them through the window.

I remember seeing Liz for the first time in third grade, playing with Maria in the school yard as I stepped off the bus. They were always so close, like sisters, giggling and playing the games little girls play. Throughout all of the alien madness, they had one another to turn to, to cling to when things got rough. I always envied their relationship. Not that I was alone in the world because I had Michael and Iz, but I felt like we were pushed together out of necessity; Liz and Maria chose one another.

But things are different now. I can see it in their actions. Sure, they laugh and hug each other in greeting. But something is gone. I’m not really sure what it is. The time they spend together is shorter – something that should be expected considering Liz’s life is full of wedding plans – but it’s something else. As I watch the two women who’ve known each other for so long talk over cocktails, it strikes me that they’ve drifted apart. And that’s something I never expected to happen.

Then again, I never expected Liz to marry someone other than me, either.

Dinner concludes and I watch them walk out to the street, the ground wet from a passing storm. They chat for a few moments, then Liz walks to her car and gets behind the wheel. Maria watches as she pulls away, then turns to look directly at me.

Must be a coincidence. There’s no way she’s spotted me.

But now she starts to walk towards me. Another coincidence? Maybe her car is parked over here in this dark alley?

She walks across the street, her slim legs taking long strides in her unbelievably high heels. She paints quite the picture – the heels, the incredibly shapely legs revealed beneath a scandalously short skirt, the gentle waving of her long hair in the night breeze. And she hasn’t quite lost eye contact with me. Which leads me to believe she knows exactly where I am. Dammit.

She stops beside the Explorer and raps her knuckles on the window. I press the button and the glass slides down obediently.

“What are you doing?” she asks. She smells sweet – a combination of her perfume and the wine she drank with dinner.

I shrug. “Nothing.” Lame, Maxwell, really lame.

“Stalking?” she offers.

I laugh nervously. “No. What would give you that idea?”

Maria glances at our surroundings. “I don’t know, really. Something to do with the dark SUV, a dark alley, no parking lights and the really obvious black baseball cap you’re wearing?” She says it with a smirk, her tongue practically implanted in her cheek.

I glance in the rearview mirror. “My hat is obvious?” I ask, checking out my reflection, making a joke of the fact she has nabbed me without admitting she’s nabbed me.

When I look back to the window, she is gone. Surprised, I look out the windshield to find her rounding the Explorer. She pops open the passenger side door and climbs into the SUV.

“Can I have a ride?” she asks after having already claimed her seat.

But I can’t help smiling at her. She’s the most honest, take-me-as-I-am person I know. I start the Explorer, flip on the headlights and pull onto the street.

“Where do you live?” I ask, realizing I don’t know.

“Above my shop,” she says, crossing those legs. I can’t help a sideways glance at her and I have to wonder how that skirt is covering her ass, especially with her legs crossed.

“How was dinner?” I ask, reluctantly turning my gaze back to the road.

“You should know,” she retorts. “You watched the whole thing.”

My ears suddenly burn with embarrassment. “How did you know I was there?”

She shrugs, her gaze drifting out the side window. “I just knew.”

Odd statement, to say the least. I glance at her – she’s still watching the scenery go by. “Did Liz know?”

She looks back to me, her eyes a little red from her cocktails, although I don’t believe she’s drunk. “She didn’t mention it.”

I continue driving, wondering if Liz would mention to Maria that I was stalking her if she knew.

Almost on cue, Maria lets out a sigh. “I mean, she hasn’t told me about all of the other times.”

The ears are now on fire. And my neck. Nabbed. “How did you know about ‘all of the other times’?”

Another shrug. “Michael told me.”

Interesting.

I pull to a stop before her shop but don’t put the car in park or turn it off.

“Do you want to come up?” she asks, her hand on the door handle.

I shake my head. “No. It’s been a long day.” That’s a lie and I can’t look at her when I say it, which is odd because I’ve gotten pretty good at lying to most peoples’ faces. But for some reason not Maria’s.

“Okay. Thanks for the ride.”

She climbs out and I hold vigil until she opens the shop door with her key and is safely inside.

Then I drive around Roswell for what seems like an eternity, just visiting our old haunts, places that were special to me and Liz. The old soap factory, where we had our first official date, where I almost kissed her for the first time. Senor Chow’s, now closed and abandoned, where we had our first dance and she kicked my ass playing pool. The Crashdown. The UFO Center. West Roswell High. And it sinks in to me how important Liz has been in my life.

I’m tired of haunting her, always hanging inconspicuously one step behind her. I need to confront her, if only to put myself out of my misery.

I’m at her doorstep before I can stop myself. The only encouragement my hand needs to knock is the one light that is on near the back of the house. As soon as I feel the wood beneath my knuckles, I regret it. But I can’t run from her. I need to know.

When she opens the door, she is wearing a bathrobe, her shorter hair pulled into a ponytail. And she doesn’t look happy.

Sighing, she asks tiredly, “What are you doing here, Max?”

I try to smile and can’t. I’m almost afraid to speak for fear opening my mouth will lead to vomiting. “I said I’d like to talk to you some time.”

“Now?” Her dark eyebrows rise in an expression of disbelief.

I simply nod.

She’s motionless for a moment, then she sets her jaw and shakes her head. But she moves out of the way and allows me to enter her home. I scan it instantly, first looking for threats to my existence, then just to absorb everything that is home to Liz. I hear the door click quietly closed behind me and I turn to address her. I’d forgotten how short she is without shoes on. She’s tiny, like a doll.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asks warily.

I shrug. “Nothing in particular. Um, how are you?”

“How am I?” She lets out a snort and shakes her head. “You’re unbelievable, Max.”

Her tone is harsh, not something I’d expected. I’m getting all kinds of surprises this night. “What do you mean?”

“You just waltz back in here after being gone – how many years?”

I just watch her as she waves her arm demonstratively, trying to come up with the number.

“How many?” she demands.

“Seven,” I confirm quietly.

“Seven years. You come back after seven years and act like it’s only been a few days? I asked you to leave me to my life four years ago, Max. Why are you back now?”

I don’t know how to make her understand why I had to go, why I had to be away for so long, especially when she’s upset and wants the Cliff Notes version. “I didn’t have a choice –“ I begin.

“No choice, Max? No choice?” She angrily pushes a lose strand of hair behind her ear.

I shake my head. I’m not backing down on this one. “No, I didn’t. There were people – things out there who wanted –”

“Yeah, I know. There were evil aliens out there who wanted the king dead. I’ve heard it all before, Max.”

I think perhaps in the entire time Liz and I were together she raised her voice to me maybe twice. Now her voice is loud, her tone mocking. I don’t know this person standing angrily before me and it stuns me into silence.

“It was always something. An evil ex-wife here, a kidnapping shape-shifter there, some skin-shedding extra-terrestrial infiltrating the ranks.” She grabs her head in her hands and when she speaks again, her voice is weary. “God, Max, I got so tired of that.”

“That’s all over,” I reassure her, reaching for one of her arms.

She jerks away. “I don’t care. I want a normal life and life with you would never be normal.”

Ouch.

I think I see tears in her beautiful eyes as she slowly shakes her head. “Why did you have to come back now?” she asks quietly. “I’m happy. I love Mike.”

Forget ouch. I’m numb now.

She looks away for a moment and when she meets my eyes again, the tears are gone. “Why did you have to come back at all?”

Someone just planted their foot right in the center of my chest because I can’t breathe. She’s not kidding – she really wishes I’d never returned. For all I know, ‘never returned’ might entail the death of this king. I believe she truly hates me.

“Please leave me to my life,” she pleads. “I have everything I want. And that doesn’t include you.” Her words aren’t bitter, just painfully truthful.

I can feel my knees start to shake, the tremor working its way up my body. I look down into her eyes and I know she’s serious. It’s taken awhile for me to get the message, but now I see it loud and clear.

Without another word, I brush past her and leave her quaint little house on Roswell’s west side. I know I’ll never be there again.

Part Four

“You can’t go home again
There’s nothing there, my friend
There’s not a single sign
Of what you left behind
Waitin’ round the bend”
- The Badlees

Liz moves over me, her long, silky hair brushing across my chest. Her cheeks are flushed, her skin glistening with a light sheen of perspiration. She moves slowly at first, her eyes locked on mine, then her motions increase as she throws her head back and releases a moan of pleasure.

I could lie like this forever, just watching her take what she wants, bold, unabashed at our intimacy. I get lost in the movement of her body, her perfect skin, the sounds of ecstasy that escape her lips as she climaxes. She collapses on top of me and I feel the happiest I’ve ever been. This is perfect – I’ve always known this was how we were meant to be.

But then she lifts her head and her expression is anything but perfect. “Get out,” she says venomously, pulling the blankets around her body and sliding off to one side.

I shake my head – I couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly.

“I want normal,” she says as she rolls onto her side, her back to me. “You’re a freak, Max. Get out.”

The sky above me is black, dotted with thousands of stars. I have no idea what time it is. All I know is that I was awakened by that dream and I have an uncomfortable feeling that it won’t be the last time I have it.

To my right, the old radio tower lays toppled, a sad analogy for a relationship that also didn’t stand the test of time. Liz and I slept here once before, curled together after she’d almost given herself to me to help me find out something about my past. She hadn’t been interested in ‘normal’ then. All she’d cared about was us, our relationship, our love.

I dreamed for so many years of taking her into my arms, tasting her lips once again, that suddenly knowing that will never happen is somewhat paralyzing. I’m not sure what to do. It’s like I’ve lost my focus in life. The bad guys have been defeated; I was to come home and reclaim my bride. I already had our future planned for us, even if Liz didn’t know about it yet. But now the future is uncertain.

And I’m lying alone in the desert. I suppose I should be afraid. I suppose Michael and Isabel are wondering where I am. Isabel is more casual about my coming and going, but Michael still worries, silently, that someone is trying to kill me. I feel a little guilty that I didn’t tell him I was running away from home to go out to the desert and lick my wounds. I hope he’ll understand and I hope he gets some sleep tonight.

We drove out to the desert just to lie down beneath this bowl of stars.

Counting Crows. 1999, I believe. The sky does look like a bowl of stars, doesn’t it? I remember Liz looking up that night we found the orb and marveling at how many stars there were in the sky. We were so young, so naïve. I knew nothing of Antar or plots on my life or former wives who would come back to haunt me. I knew I was different and that being different to Liz was a good thing. She helped me unravel the mystery of who I am.

Which is why I’m having a hard time digesting her rejection. I’m pretty sure it was genuine. There’s no hope for us any more. I just don’t understand the bitterness with which her words were spoken. It’s a rare thing to have someone tell you they were hoping to never see you again and really mean it.

I drove away from her house stunned. Then I came to this place and the numbness took over. I’ve fought a thousand battles, killed more beings than I care to admit, but it only took one petite brunette to destroy me.

What am I doing back here in Roswell? Mom and Dad passed away three years ago (which is why Isabel came back to New Mexico before me and Michael, but that’s a different story). I have two siblings – Michael and Isabel. And one friend – Maria. What am I doing here?

Did I really think I could just come home and everything would be like it was when I left? Everything has changed. Everyone has changed.

My eyes drift back up to the sky. The stars are the same. They’re a constant. I’m sure that they come and go, but there are so many of them, how can we tell? So, is this what my life boils down to – the only stable thing I have to hold onto is the stars? They’re not much comfort.

I wish I had accepted some of that root stuff Maria tried to give me the other day. Because I definitely need to relax and God knows I’m afraid to go back to sleep.

* * * * *

What are you doing out here?”

Isabel strides toward me, her long legs encased in black leather. She squats before me, her smile gentle.

“Nothing,” I say truthfully.

She smiles a little wider. “Hiding?”

“Not really. Licking the wounds.”

“What happened?”

I sigh. “Rejection.”

Her smile fades away. “Liz gave you the boot?”

I nod. “Yeah, again.” She looks uncomfortable, like she doesn’t quite know what to say, so I let her off the hook. “I know you warned me. And Maria warned me. And Michael told me to let go. But none of you could help me, Iz. I needed to do this myself.”

Isabel reaches out and touches my arm and I’m not sure if I feel it or if I only think I feel it. “I’m sorry, Max.” Her eyes are soft, her expression sympathetic. As she withdraws her hand, she glances at the radio tower. “Why here?”

I sit up on my elbows. “This is where Liz and I found the orb.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I point slightly behind her, to the exact spot where we dug together to unearth the communicator.

“Right there?” Isabel confirms, pointing at the same spot.

I nod and suddenly a patch of flowers covers the area, totally out of place for the desert but perfectly accepted in a dream. My sister’s smile is wide.

“Doesn’t that look better?” she asks.

I smile back at her because she is only trying to make me feel better.

“Don’t stay out here forever,” she says as she stands. “Come home soon. Moping alone will do you no good. You and Michael can sit on the couch and brood together.” She says the last with a laugh and it sparks my interest.

“Iz, what is going on with you and Michael?”

But she cocks her head and gives me a wink, then disappears.

* * * * *

I’ve gone from not wanting to sleep to only wanting to sleep. I get up when I need to relieve myself or when I need to move from the couch to the bed because my body is getting sore. Asleep, in my dreams, I can live any life I want. The longer I avoid the outside world, the longer I can avoid the pain.

Occasionally, the bad Liz dreams come where she belittles me or yells at me, but they are almost worth the times when the good Liz dreams come. Sometimes we just walk and talk together. Sometimes we just hold one another. Sometimes we make love.

Every now and then, Isabel reappears in my dreams, I think just to make sure I haven’t lost my sanity. It’s an odd form of communication that my sibling and I have. No point in leaving notes on the refrigerator door, not when you can just step into someone’s head and deliver the message yourself.

I haven’t seen Michael in days. Mostly because I’ve been sleeping so much, partly because he’s off doing something, although I’m not sure what. Maybe looking for a job – he never was able to sit still. It’s all fine, though, because I really don’t feel like talking to anyone.

Lying on my side, I watch the afternoon sunlight fade to a pinkish tone through Isabel’s curtains. As soon as she left for work, I claimed her bed, snuggled into her fluffy white blankets. When we were children, we always slept together, more as a comfort than anything else. We didn’t like being alone, not even for the night. Crawling into her bed feels natural, like coming home – I do my best sleeping here.

I hear the front door of the apartment close and I can only assume she’s home, weary from a long day on her feet. Or it’s Michael back from whatever it is he’s doing. When I feel someone’s presence near the door, I assume it’s Iz – Michael never enters her room when I’m around as a witness.

I hear a light sigh, then feel the bed move as someone sits down. Light perfume greets my senses – I was right, it’s Isabel. Then I feel a hand on my shoulder and I draw in a weary breath.

“I’m okay, Isabel,” I say tiredly. “I don’t need to talk or anything.” We go through this nearly every day – she comes home, finds me, tells me it’s okay if I need to talk.

“It’s not Isabel.”

My eyes pop open wide and I look over my shoulder at Maria, who is looking at me with so much concern in her eyes that I feel my whole world start to shake. I never wanted this moment to come. I never wanted to let down my guard. I wanted to be in a coma for the next however many years it took until I died. And she has ruined that.

My eyes burn and I’m too tired to keep the tears from coming. Ashamed, I turn my back on her, burying my face in Isabel’s overly-puffy pillow. I also didn’t want Maria to see me like this, broken into bits. I want her to leave me to my misery, now that she has shattered me with her mere presence.

Then I feel the bed move as she stretches out behind me. Her arm circles my body, around my chest, and pulls me into her. She lays her head against mine and all control is gone. The mighty king, wailing like a child, unable to stop the flood of emotions that have been bottled for too long. Surely I’ve scared her into bolting for the door.

But she doesn’t, she only kisses the side of my head and whispers against my ear, telling me it will be okay and that I don’t need to hold it in anymore. Her hand caresses my chest; I reach up and clasp it in my own, holding onto her for fear she’ll let go of me. Squeezing my eyes closed as tightly as I can, I just sob, and all the while she talks to me and holds my hand and touches my hair.

Finally, I can grieve. I can let go.

Part Five

It’s amazing how draining your emotions can be. As I drive through the small streets of Roswell, I feel like my stomach has retracted into my backbone. Of course, I don’t remember the last time I could stomach a good meal, which is probably why I feel so tired and spent.

But oddly I’m not unhappy. I feel unhealthy physically, but some of the cloud that was following me has blown away. Mentally, I feel a little better, like recovery isn’t such an unachievable task. I know I have one person to thank for that.

I pass the Crashdown and don’t even turn my head to look at it. There’s nothing of interest in there for me anymore. Instead, I look at the UFO Center and slow down when I spot Milton unloading more boxes of information for his “files” from the trunk of his car. I tap the horn and it gives a weak ‘meep’, causing the aging man to look up. His smile is genuine and I know he’d wave if he had a free hand. I wave for him, then continue down Roswell’s main drag. I make a mental note to stop in and see him. Quirky as he was, I always liked Milton.

I pull the Explorer to a stop in front of Maria’s shop and cut the engine. The midmorning sun is hitting the windows and I can’t see inside; but the “open” sign is on the door, so I assume she is there. She has no other employees.

I find her perched on her stool behind the counter, a letter in her slim fingers. There’s an amused smile on her face as she flips the paper over and continues to read. I lean my elbows on the glass of the counter.

“What are you reading?” I ask softly so as not to startle her.

She glances up and smiles a little wider. “I got a letter from Kyle.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Yeah, he’s in Venezuela now.”

I laugh. A few weeks ago she thought he was in California, and somehow in the time that has passed he has ventured way south of the border. “What’s he doing in Venezuela?”

“Getting tan, apparently.” She passes me a picture of Kyle and one of the locals and he is indeed quite bronze. I haven’t seen him since I left Roswell and I’m struck at once how much he looks like a younger, tanner replica of his father.

“You’re not kidding,” I say to Maria, my eyes drifting to the pretty Venezuelan girl with Kyle.

She folds the letter along its preformed creases and starts to put it back into the envelope. She stops mid-motion and gestures toward me with it. “Did you want to read this?”

I shake my head and give her the picture.

“He wouldn’t mind,” she offers a second time.

“No,” I say, smiling at her. “It’s yours.”

She nods and pushes the letter all the way into the envelope, follows it with the picture.

I look down at my nails, pick at one of my cuticles. “Look, Maria, I just wanted…” Why is it so hard to speak words of thanks when that is really what you feel inside? Or is the thanks part not what is hard, but the admission of your true emotions? I meet her gaze and she looks very patient, her green eyes searching mine. “I wanted to thank you,” I finally say. “For the other night.”

She waves a hand. “It was nothing, dude.”

I don’t want her to make light of it, to brush it away to ease my discomfort. “Yes, it was. I meant everything to me.”

She’s serious again. “You’d do the same for me.”

I bit my lip and give a little shake of my head. “Just let me thank you, okay?”

Her lips spread into a smile. “Okay.”

“I was feeling pretty alone,” I continue, looking back to my fingernails. No one likes to admit they’re lonely. “And then you were there. And you didn’t judge my feelings or tell me you told me so. You just let me hurt and you were there for me.” I have to look at her when I say this. “So, thank you, Maria.”

Her smile is genuine. “You’re welcome, Max.”

I grin back, then stand up straight. “Cool. So, let me take you to lunch.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I know, but I want to.”

“It’s too early for lunch,” she points out.

I glance at the clock, then my shoulders sag. She’s right. “I don’t have anything else to do,” I admit.

She studies me for a moment, then leans across the counter in a conspiratorial way. “What are you going to do, Max?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like a job? Or go back to school? Or were you planning on crashing on Isabel’s couch for the rest of your life?”

She’s got a point there. Iz got Michael a job cooking at the hospital – those patients will think all of the rumors about hospital food being inedible are an urban legend of some kind because he’s a terrific chef. So, I guess he’s staying for awhile. Me, I’m not so sure.

“I don’t know,” I confess to Maria. “I don’t even know if I’m going to stay here.”

She looks taken aback, but her mask of non-reaction quickly covers her emotions and I’m not sure if I saw that initial reaction or not. “Where would you go?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure. There are plenty of places I’ve never been that I’d like to see.” I glance at the letter on the counter. “Maybe even Venezuela.”

She laughs lightly. “Are you planning on leaving immediately?”

I shake my head.

“Then why not work here?”

I glance at my surroundings. What would all of those aliens I sent to their graves think if they knew that after I killed them I ended up selling perfume?

My expression must reveal all of my thoughts because Maria suddenly howls with laughter. I look at her, startled.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she laughs. “It’s not as foofy as it seems, Max. There’s a real art to aromatherapies and herbal supplements. It’s not at all girlie.”

I laugh in embarrassment.

“Come on,” she says, half whining. “Have you had any better offers?”

I haven’t. So I become Maria’s stock boy and counter-watcher when she needs to do things, business-related and otherwise.

Life falls into a routine. I sleep on Isabel’s couch, I work at the store, I enjoy my boss’s company. Occasionally, I eat dinner with Isabel or Michael or both. My thoughts turn to Liz less and less, my dreams hardly ever. And I am thankful for that.

One morning the closing of the bathroom door awakens me and I crack my eyes open long enough to see Michael emerge, a towel tied around his waist. I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep, but the door opens again and this time I see Isabel, wet from the shower and wearing her white robe. I don’t know if I drifted off or not and I didn’t think to look at the clock when Michael came out, so I get the impression that they were in the shower together, although I can’t confirm that.

I don’t want to think about it. I love Isabel. I love Michael. I just don’t want to think of them loving one another.

Another day at the store. You would think I would be bored with this job, but I’m not. I actually look forward to delivery day – it’s like Christmas. There are a dozen boxes from UPS in the storeroom, all begging me to open them and reveal their contents. I go about cutting open the boxes with a razor as Maria rearranges things on the shelves in the storefront.

I’m squatting on the floor looking into a small, oddly-shaped box when she comes into the stockroom. She stands for a few moments with her hands on her hips, her eyes surveying the surplus supplies on the shelves. Then she steps back and looks all of the way up toward the ceiling. It never fails that the thing you want is just out of your reach.

I watch her struggle for a few moments, standing on her tiptoes, her calf muscles straining in an oddly provocative way. When she her fingers graze the jar of cotton balls used for sampling cosmetics that she is trying to get and pushes it even farther out of her reach, she swears softly to herself. I snicker quietly and get up to help her.

Standing behind her, I reach up, my arm just outside of hers. “Let me help you,” I offer.

I struggle to reach the jar and as I do so, I lean forward into her back, accidentally pushing her into the shelves. Our fingers meet briefly as I pass hers, reaching for the bottle. And that’s when I feel something strange in my body, some sort of awakening. The whole world stops.

Though she is not breathing loudly or heavily, I can hear every wisp of air as it escapes her lungs. I look down at her hair, golden, as the sweet aroma of her shampoo drifts to my nose. I swallow hard, realizing all I want to do is bury my face against her neck, kiss her there on that sweet spot.

Her head turns slightly toward me and I can see something uncertain in her eyes. It’s no wonder why – I’m pressed against the whole length of her, my weight trapping her against the shelves. But she hasn’t tried to get away. And neither have I.

My stomach does a little flip and I feel my heart start to beat a little quicker. It almost scares me. Maria has never solicited such a response from me. Maybe it’s because I’ve been alone for so long…

Suddenly she wriggles against me, twisting around so that she is facing me. Her green eyes are wide and intense, her chest starting to rise and fall a little faster because of our proximity. I can’t help but look at it, at the curve of her breasts just visible along the neckline of her light, soft shirt. Then I look to her lips, full, parted slightly and I almost cringe with the ache of wanting to taste them.

“Max…” her voice is soft, barely there, as it comes out in a gasp.

I don’t know what to do. I know what I want to do, but that isn’t necessarily the right thing. I’m rebounding still. This isn’t fair to her. I can’t hurt her – she’s been too good of a friend to me.

So I wrap my fingers around the jar and hand it to her as I back away. “Here are your cotton balls.”

The hurt and rejection is so apparent in her eyes that I immediately feel like the world’s largest asshole. Amazing how easily you can achieve exactly what you set out not to do.

Part Six

“You really are an ass, Max.” Liz words are spoken matter-of-factly.

“I am?”

“Yes. You never did have any skills with women. What did you think you were doing with Maria?”

“Nothing. I mean…”

“You were thinking about making a move on her and you don’t even really care about her, do you? That’s what I thought – you’re an ass.”

“But-but I do care about Maria.”

“How can you? How can you when you still care about me?”

I laugh. “But I don’t care about you anymore.”

Her smile is annoying. “Yes, you do. You always will. You’ll never be free of me.”

I look past her and see Iz nodding her head. “It’s true, Max.”

I start to feel a little frantic. “What’s true, Isabel?”

“You’re an ass. And you’re never going to get over Liz.”

“Aren’t you listening to me? I AM over Liz!”

Michael appears behind me. “Yes, but you’re still an ass. What were you thinking?”

I expect the Big Chill, but it never comes. I have a whole arsenal of excuses, explanations and placations, but I never have to use them. I expect uneasiness, but that is missing as well.

It’s somewhat baffling that there is no fallout from my rejection of Maria. Maybe she’s a little less rambunctious around me, but other than that it’s almost as though the incident never happened. I’m happy and unhappy about that all at the same time. I can’t say it hasn’t bruised my ego.

Maybe she wasn’t really attracted to me at that moment. Maybe it was just because I was grinding into her back. I don’t know.

So life goes on. I find Kyle’s letter stuck between the wall and the cash register and write down the return address. I feel restless, like I need to be on the move again. Maybe Kyle would like a sidekick for a change. Then again, he’s probably moved on already and my letter would never find him.

Maria returns from running an errand with a dry cleaner bag in her hand. Through the plastic, I can see a rather pretty, champagne-colored dress and I immediately wonder what she looks like in it.

“What’s that?” I ask, dropping the box of shaving gel I was holding and pointing to the bag.

She looks at it like she’s never seen it before. “This?”

“Yeah.”

“Um, a dress.” She looks oddly uncomfortable. Oh God – maybe she has a date! Wait…why am I upset if she has a date?

“I can see that,” I laugh. “It’s pretty, um, formal.”

“Yeah.” She pulls the bag closer to her, almost like she’s trying to hide it. Then she blows out a sigh and tosses one of her hands in the air. “It’s a bridesmaid dress, Max.”

A what? I’m about to ask who’s getting married when it strikes me all at once and I can practically feel the blood drain out of my face. Yes, I know there is no hope for me and Liz, but it still hurts to hear and see the details.

“Oh,” I reply stupidly. I clear my throat, then squat to open the box of gel. Forgetting I’m in a public place, I forego the razor and slide my hand across the seal, the box popping open obediently.

I feel her presence near me and when I look up, she’s standing over me, having shed the dry cleaner bag.

“You okay with this?” she asks.

“Does it matter?” I reply. She recoils a bit and I realize my response came out a little harsh. “I mean, who am I to stand between you and Liz’s wedding? You two have been friends for almost all of your lives. I couldn’t deny you that.” Besides, what right do I have to saying a word about anything Maria does?

“I’ll try not to talk about it,” she offers uneasily.

I want out of this conversation, so I pull one of the cans of shaving gel from the box and change the subject rather obviously. “What’s this? Something new?”

Her green eyes shift to the can. “Yeah. I decided to carry some more stuff for men. Maybe broaden my clientele a bit.”

I turn the can over so I can see the label – it’s blue and decorated with something scenic. I’m a guy – it looks foofy and there’s no way I’d buy this. “Mountain Mist?” I read the label aloud.

“It’s supposed to be good stuff.” She eyes the can, then me, then those unbelievable lips break into a smile. “You should try it.”

I can’t help it – I laugh.

“Seriously,” she says, laughing with me. Reaching out, her long fingers trail down my cheek. I practically quiver at her touch. “You could use a shave.”

“Maria, I don’t think –“

“I do.” She grabs a razor from the display, yanks the can from my hand and walks toward the small bathroom behind the stockroom without so much as a backward glance.

I sigh. I know how she is – there’s no way out of this and I might as well just go do it and get it over with.

In the bathroom, she’s run a sink of water and has laid a towel on the back of the commode. Without turning around, she hands me the razor. I sigh again and warn myself to stop it or she’ll catch on to my lack of enthusiasm…as if she hasn’t already.

Then the obvious dawns on me. “Maria, there is no mirror in here.”

The bathroom was built for employee use and most employees don’t shave on the job.

She looks up to where the mirror should be. “I’ve never noticed that,” she says, her voice somewhat awed.

Yes! I’m off the hook!

The she whirls on me, slams the toilet lid. “Have a seat.”

I blink. “Huh?”

“Sit down. I’ll do it.”

I can’t think of many people I’d let take a razor to my throat but I find myself obeying, sitting down on the flimsy lid. She dips her hands in the sink, wetting them, then squirts some of the gel into her palm. Immediately the air is filled with the scent of something I can’t really put my finger on. I guess that is what the manufacturers think mountain mist smells like. To me, it smells like car deodorizer.

But the way it feels is another story. Or maybe it’s the person applying it, I’m not sure. It tingles in an invigorating kind of way. Maria’s soft fingers move over my cheeks, across my chin, halfway down my throat. My eyes never leave her – I can’t stop staring at her.

She washes the residual gel from her hands, dries them on the towel, then picks up the razor. My eyes go to it and I swallow hard, thinking about how many of my enemies would love to have been in her shoes at this moment. She must see the fear in my eyes because she meets my gaze and her voice projects only confidence. “Trust me.”

So I do. Placing her fingers on my chin, she tilts my head back slightly then makes a long stroke with the blade. The air is silent save for the scraping of my beard being whisked away. I just stare at her the whole time, moving my head when she wants me to. She looks very serious as she goes about her work, shaving, cleaning the razor in the sink, repeating.

When she is done, she drops the razor into the sink of water and wipes remnants of gel from my face with the towel. Then we just stare at one another and I feel the same energy I felt that day in the store room. It wasn’t my imagination or my ego speaking – there’s really something going on here.

Tentative, she reaches out and touches my cheek, her eyes locked on mine. At her touch, I feel the familiar excitement growing in my body, my heart starting to race, my knees feeling weak. I want to hold her so much I ache.

So I do. I reach out and put my arms around her waist, spread my legs so that she can step between them. Then I pull her close and lay my head against her flat stomach. Her arms come around my shoulders and I feel like we are melting into one. Closing my eyes, I just savor all of the sensations – how she smells, how she feels, how she sounds as her breath starts to come a little quicker.

I feel strangely at home, like I thought I never would again. For the first time since Michael and I took up the good fight, I feel peace spreading through me. I want to stay here forever. But I also want to kiss her and that means I’ll need to let go.

I look up into her eyes and I see that she’s thinking the same thing. As I reach for her neck, to pull her lips to mine, the bell on the shop door rings as a customer enters. The fire in her eyes is extinguished in a disappointing split second of time. She untangles herself and without a word heads out to the shop.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Peterson,” I hear her say, her voice not betraying what was about to happened in this tiny bathroom. I admire her that she can bounce back and cover so easily.

Me, I’m going to have to sit in this small space until I can be seen without embarrassing myself.

Part Seven

I find my thoughts turning more and more to the fair-haired waif who calls herself my boss but rarely orders me to do anything. It’s a strange feeling, to have someone else besides Liz Parker on my mind. It feels very fresh, very new and kind of exciting. I didn’t think I’d ever consider certain things with another woman, but now I don’t understand how I ever thought that could be true.

I awake most mornings with a smile on my face because my first thought is of Maria, of her laugh, her beautiful eyes. She’s enchanted me somehow, this gorgeous human woman. Our dance continues at the shop, with neither of us admitting what we might be feeling and never following through on our attraction. She’s a tease, but then again I guess so am I.

I don’t want to hurt her. I want to make sure that what I’m feeling is real and not just some post-Liz band-aid I’ve given myself. Maria has been such a wonderful, supportive friend that I couldn’t live with myself if I did something to use or hurt her. So I try to avoid those awkward situations that throw us together in an intimate context. The time will come – when I’m sure how I feel.

Maria doesn’t mention anything about Liz’s impending marriage. Often she disappears on ‘errands’ or ‘meetings with shampoo vendors’ but I know that’s not really where she’s going. I play along because I know she’s trying to spare my feelings and I appreciate her attempts.

Michael and I sit at Isabel’s small kitchen table eating breakfast. The air is silent except for the sound of spoons hitting the sides of bowls and the crunching of cereal. I still haven’t caught the two of them together and all I’ve ever seen in the way of contact was a chaste kiss he gave her on the cheek one day when he dropped her off at work.

So, I decide maybe asking out-right is the correct approach. “Are you boffing my sister?”

“Are you boffing Maria?”

I glance at him while he continues his assault on his Coco Crispies. I guess my attraction to Maria is a little more obvious to the outside world than I had realized. I feel guilty suddenly, wondering if this is something that has been eating at him. “Would you be upset if I was boffing Maria?”

“Would you be upset if I was boffing your sister?”

When did Michael became so good at answering a question with a question, let alone the very question that was just asked? And I can’t even answer his question, so I remain silent. I don’t think it would upset me to know he and Isabel are intimate, I’m just not sure I really want to know about it.

Why did things seem so much simpler when we were on the road, hunting down the bad guys? We had an agenda – find them and eliminate them. The only thoughts we had of romantic involvement were to get back and reclaim those we missed. It’s easy to not deal with the every day pressures and challenges that arise in relationships when you are so far away and there is no ‘every day’ involvement with the person. But that’s not really a relationship. It’s living in a fantasy world where everything seems perfect because you never have to deal with what isn’t perfect.

I think about asking Michael if he misses the road, but I know what his response would be – “Do you?” I don’t have much desire to continue this merry-go-round of questions, so I remain silent through breakfast.

I’m off work today because it’s Sunday. My generous boss lets us have this one day off to do whatever it is we need to. Painfully so, I have few responsibilities these days, so I take the opportunity to just walk and get some fresh air. It’s an unseasonably cool late-summer day, so physical activity is easy, not even resulting in a sweat.

I walk down past where I grew up, where my parents lived. Someone else lives there now, on that strange curve of the road. From the various toys strewn across the lawn, they have children and that makes me smile. That house on Murray Lane was filled with happy memories for me and Isabel and it’s nice to know some other child is there filling it with just as much joy.

I walk for a long time, past the Crashdown. I consider getting a cup of coffee, but decide not to pour salt into the wound and get a cup at the coffee shop down the street instead. Maybe someday I can go back into the Crashdown, but I’m not really sure I’ll ever want to again. That place also held happy memories – as well as some not so happy ones – but I’m content just to leave them memories. I don’t need to visit them very often.

My day off work and I end up at the shop anyway. I stand on the sidewalk for awhile, looking at the closed store front. The gutter is hanging and I make a mental note to fix that for Maria tomorrow when I go to work. Thinking of Maria, my gaze shifts skyward, to the windows of her apartment above the store. Before I’ve even thought about it, I’m walking around the building and climbing the stairs to her door.

She answers the door dressed in a huge sweatshirt and a pair of running shorts. She runs these days? Maria has always been abhorrent to any kind of exercise so it’s somewhat surprising that she could be jogging. Her golden hair is pulled up high on her head and she’s make-upless. In short, she’s beautiful.

“Hey, Max!” she greets me, breaking into a wide smile.

“Hi,” I reply, suddenly feeling uneasy.

Her brow furrows. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Did you want to come in?”

I nod and step past her into her small apartment. My guess is that the building is over one hundred years old, so her apartment has all of the charm and character of its age. I always liked the smell of old buildings, although I’m not sure why. They have kind of a homey, welcoming smell to them, like they’ve been properly lived in.

And Maria’s apartment is definitely being lived in. I don’t mean that she’s a slob because she’s not – you could practically eat off the floors. But she hasn’t stopped herself from being comfortable – her tennis shoes are by the living room entranceway, where she probably kicked them off; there’s a stack of magazines on the coffee table and her mail is tossed onto the kitchen table. The place is clean, but not suffocatingly so.

She passes me and goes back into the living room, tossing her body onto the couch. I stand in the doorway and shove my hands in my pockets. On the TV, QVC babbles without really being noticed.

“Do you run?” I ask, looking down at her Nikes.

She follows my gaze. “Yeah.”

I laugh. “Since when?”

She raises an eyebrow, but her expression is amused. “For awhile now, thank you very much. And yourself?”

I blush. I’ve somewhat let the aerobic activities fall by the wayside. You don’t really need them when you’re in combat every day.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, the fake haughtiness evident in her voice. She draws in a breath and cuts to the chase. “What’s going on?”

“I was out walking,” I say lamely.

“Well, you could have been running instead.”

I laugh at her joke.

“Are you going to sit down or just hover in the doorway?”

I feel funny being in her personal space, unusually nervous. I claim an easy chair, trying to sit as far away from her as possible. I know we’re alone. I know there is a bed about fifteen feet away. I know that we’re not ready to make that move.

“Okay, spill it, Evans.”

I meet her eyes, mine wide. “Spill what?”

“Whatever it is you came here for.”

Does she think I came here for something? I resist the temptation to look toward the bedroom. I don’t want her to think that’s why I’m here and if I look that direction, she will definitely think it.

But what is the reason I came here? I rack my brain, then give her a wan smile. “I wanted to talk.”

“Yeah? About what?”

The TV buzzes about some genuine imitation jewelry to the point of distraction. Raising my hand, I silence it and Maria looks surprised. “Us.”

She looks like a deer in headlights. I’ve ventured into unspoken, unadmitted territory. “Us?” she echoes.

I nod. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us.”

“You have?”

“Yes. And, well, I don’t want to think about things if they aren’t true.”

She’s still looking a little freaked. “Go on.”

I look down at my hands. “And I guess I need to know if you might be feeling the same things I am.”

I can practically hear her swallow. She doesn’t really want to ask, but she has to. Her voice comes out small, uncertain, cautious. “How do you feel?”

I meet her gaze again, her green eyes wide and debate if I should be truthful or pull back while I still have the chance. But honesty is always the best policy, so I’m truthful with her. “I think about you all the time, Maria. When I get up, when I go to bed, when I’m working with you. You’re in all of my thoughts. I have some serious feelings for you.”

“Serious feelings?”

I can’t tell her I love her because I don’t know if I do yet…or rather, if I can . “Yes. I have very intimate feelings for you. I’m attracted to you, I think you’re beautiful, but it’s more than that. I want to know you better as a person, to know everything there is to know about you.”

“You already know everything about me,” she counters.

I shake my head. “No I don’t. I think I’ve only scratched the surface.” I smile at her and the silence that ensues is so deafening I feel like my eardrums might burst. My hope wanes and I’m starting to feel somewhat embarrassed and wrong in my assumption that she feels the same way about me. “How do you feel?” I ask her cautiously.

Another long, uncomfortable silence, then she slowly rises from the couch and approaches me. My body goes into overdrive as she stops before me, my palms sweating, my heart thumping so hard I can feel it in my throat. She looks down at me and I can’t read her emotions.

Then she climbs into my lap.

I try to hide my surprise, but I do a poor job I fear. Her long, soft fingers brush the hair from my forehead, then trail a path down my cheek. I wonder if she’s curious why I didn’t shave this morning. Her thumb traces my bottom lip and all of my bodily reactions to her increase tenfold. She takes my face between her hands, and before my panic attack can take full control of me, her lips touch mine.

Finally, after weeks of teasing, I know what it is to kiss Maria Deluca. My head swims in a dizzying way and I have to hold on to her for fear of passing out. Her breath comes in a short gasp as she intensifies our kiss, her tongue venturing past my lips. Oh, God. I pull her tighter to me, deepening our embrace, wanting to taste her, feel her. I want her so bad I ache.

Which is why I pull away. I don’t do it in a hurry, or in a way that she’ll feel rejected. I simply break the kiss and lean back a bit. She looks confused for a split second, but then she smiles at me.

“Go out with me,” I manage, trying to return my breathing to normal. “On a date. Let me take you out.”

Her smile widens and she nods. I know without having to tell her that she understands I’m not ready for the ultimate act. Not just yet.

I return home on a cloud and I remain that way for the rest of the night. Falling asleep is difficult because all I keep thinking about is that kiss. I hadn’t planned on even going over there, and yet look what happened. Some of the best things in life are unexpected.

When sleep finally comes, in the wee hours of the morning, I am awakened by a knock on the door. It is so tentative and uncertain that I ignore it – it must be on someone else’s door. But it happens again and I realize it is indeed someone at Iz’s door. Groaning, exhausted, I walk over to the door and open it...

To find Liz Parker standing in the hallway.

Part Eight

“You always were a trusting man
Always there to lend a hand
Always believing all the good you do
Comes back to you
Time and time again”
~ The Badlees


There’s a strange phenomenon that exists in Canada, a legend that has lived for hundreds of years. The Native Americans used to speak of the Maid of the Mist, who would lure people with no prior suicidal tendencies to jump into Niagara Falls and end their lives. Truth is that the falls have a mesmerizing, hypnotic quality to them. Michael and I were there once and it did seem that the longer I stared at that unbelievable mass of rushing water the more I felt like flinging myself over the guard rail.

Once upon a time Liz Parker was my Maid of the Mist. Once upon a time, finding Liz Parker at my doorstep or outside of my window would have been enough to let me die a happy man. The world revolved around her then, when all it took was one of her coy, sideways glances to turn me into a little alien puddle at her feet. Momentarily, I think about what has changed since then.

My first instinct is to shut the door in her face, but curiosity wins that battle and I just have to know why I have gone from wished non-existence to suddenly very important at a rather unusual time of the day. I rub the sleep from my eyes, thinking when I reopen them she’ll be gone, vanished like an apparition from one of my dreams. But she’s still there.

She looks uncertain, her arms wrapped so tightly around her torso I’m wondering if she can still breathe comfortably. She appears to be shaking, like she’s cold or something.

“Can I come in?” she finally asks, her eyes full of uncertainty.

I stare for a few moments longer, then nod my head and step out of her way. Manners be damned – she’s the one who woke me in the middle of the night – I walk past her and sit down in the corner of the couch. She shifts her weight, like she’s waiting for an invitation, then sits far too close to me when she doesn’t get one. I purposely get up and move to the chair, but not before I catch a brief look of rejection on her face. I don’t care.

“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here…” she begins, working her hands together between her knees. The sleeves of her jacket are too long, hanging to her knuckles and I have to think that was cute…when she was 16. But she’s an adult now and should know how to buy clothes that fit her.

I haven’t responded to her and she clears her throat uncomfortably. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have treated her this way. A few months ago I wouldn’t have imagined she’d treat me the way she did.

“I just wanted to talk.”

I glance at the clock. At three in the morning?

She gives a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I know. It’s late.”

Or early, depending if you’re an optimist or a pessimist.

Liz plays with her fingers, works her mouth. “I’m getting married in a few weeks.”

Uh, yeah, I know.

“And I’m not really sure I should be.” Her cheeks redden slightly.

And I’m not sure what kind of reaction she wants from me. Did she expect I’d jump up and beg her to come back to me? No, that’s not going to happen. I do have about two ounces of pride left, thankyouverymuch.

“It just seems like such a big thing, you know, committing yourself to someone for the rest of your life. And it’s not that I don’t love him, because I do.”

Once again – why is she here?

She looks up and meets my gaze. She looks uneasy. Good. I’m pretty sure I look like I want to go back to sleep.

“I can’t stop thinking that with you, I always knew what I was feeling, what I wanted to do.”

Yep – just like you knew you wanted to give me the boot.

“It just felt more right.” She smiles at me, obviously reliving some memory I’ve blocked.

Has she realized I haven’t said a word yet? It certainly hasn’t stopped her from babbling. It’s late and I want to go back to bed, where I can dream of Maria and that kiss from this afternoon. I rise and she looks hopeful. Then I reach out my hand and she smiles as she takes it.

I pull her to her feet and I’m sure she’s anticipating some big embrace or maybe a kiss or something to reassure her that Mr. Dental Hygiene is truly the one for her. But instead, I lead her to the door and open it. Now she looks confused.

“You’ll get married,” I tell her, my voice coming out hoarse from my slumber. “You’ll marry Mike the Dentist and have a perfectly normal family, with normal children with abnormally perfect teeth. You asked me to leave you to your life and I have. Now leave me to mine.”

Then I gently push her into the hallway and close the door behind her.

Back on the couch, I know I’ll never get back to sleep. I’m hurt and furious all at the same time. I don’t believe that Liz came over here to try to get me back. I think she came over here to convince herself she’d made the right choice in picking her husband. Cold feet must have set in and she needed a confidence booster. Sure – why not spend a few hours with the freak and then she’d see that there’s nothing freakish about someone who picks in other peoples’ mouths all day.

Michael appears in the hallway, his hand half-raised in defense, his hair standing on end, his eyes small slits.

“It’s okay, Michael,” I tell him. “Go back to bed.”

I watch him walk away, impressed that his senses are still so sharp. Too bad he didn’t come out while Liz was here and blast her a good one.

I think the most infuriating thing is that she basically told me she’d wished I’d died in the war and had never returned, then she showed up here thinking that we were going to have some mutual friendship. Maybe Maria has told her that she and Michael are good friends and there is no animosity between them and Liz thought I’d want to be that way, too. Well, I’m pretty sure Maria never begged Michael for normalcy and then wished he’d never returned.

My thoughts drift to the wispy blond and I can practically she her before me, smiling like she’s overflowing with love for life. I imagine her climbing onto the couch with me and curling up with me like a cat. I can nearly smell her perfume, feel the curve of her body with mine. And I’m drowsy again and slowly drift off into a sleep I thought would never come.

I spend my free time after work washing and waxing the Explorer. Yes, I could have waved a hand over it and done the job in a few minutes, but I need the manual labor, just to keep my mind off the events yet to come.

Tonight is my date with Maria. My official date, that is. I’m really excited about seeing her outside of the shop, just the two of us, together. When she was busy earlier in the morning, I snuck out and bought her some wild flowers at the florist because I know she likes them.

I arrive a little before six to pick her up and I nearly gasp when I see her. Free of her normal hippyish clothes, she’s wearing a pair of black jeans, a red sweater, a black leather jacket and large hoop earrings. She’s pulled her hair back into a knot at the base of her neck. I always thought Maria looked good, but dressed up to go out she looks amazing.

She takes the flowers from me as she kisses me on the cheek and I wonder why aliens weren’t given the ability to not blush. Chattering like she usually does, she moves about her little kitchen, retrieving a vase, filling it with water for the flowers. She doesn’t act nervous, but I sure am.

In the car, she tells me she got a postcard from Kyle – he’s in Peru. I get a mental image of what that guy’s passport must look like by now and I feel a pang of envy. My travels all centered on the destruction of my enemies, on death. Kyle’s have been all about seeing all of life that is possible. In the end, which of us is the richer man?

Maria and I eat dinner together at a restaurant my parents used to love. It has a unique atmosphere, part restaurant, part night club. It has excellent food and live music. Maria abandons her normal, ‘healthy’ diet and orders a large plate of pasta. That makes me happy – I didn’t want her to do the old ‘I’ll only get a salad’ routine to convince me she eats like that all the time. Then again, I would know that wasn’t true, so what would be the point? I love that she’s comfortable to be herself with me.

The conversation is light and we laugh a lot. I almost let Liz’s visit slip from my memory. When the music starts, I extend my hand and Maria takes it.

On the dance floor, I pull her close and move with the music. I bury my face in her neck and close my eyes to revel in all of the sensations that are Maria – the way she moves against me, the sweet scent of her hair, her thin waist beneath my hand. I’m seriously thinking about kissing her when she speaks and totally breaks my mood.

“Max, I have to ask you something.”

My eyes pop open at the tone of her voice. She sounds hesitant and I wonder if Liz ran straight to her apartment after I tossed her out on her ass. Or maybe they talked about it. Or maybe I’m paranoid. I pull back and look into her green eyes.

“Anything,” I tell her.

She bites her bottom lip and looks straight ahead, at my chest, for a long moment. But when she speaks, she meets my gaze again. I immediately think of Liz avoiding my eyes last night when she needed to say something difficult and I realize how different these two women are.

“I need a date for Liz’s wedding.”

I stop moving. Is she fucking kidding me?

She laughs lightly. “Not you. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She touches my hair, reassuring me. “But I want to ask someone else.”

I’m still not moving. “Who?”

She draws in a deep breath. “I want to take Michael.”

“Oh.” That’s the only response I can come up with. I don’t know what to say because I don’t know if Maria taking Michael to a wedding is a problem or not. I don’t even know if I have the right to be upset that she wants to take Michael.

Her eyes are soft. “It doesn’t mean anything,” she explains softly. “I need a date for the wedding, Michael’s a friend.” She reaches up and pushes my bangs away from my forehead. As often as she does that, I think I may need a haircut. “If I had my choice, I’d take you. But since I can’t, I need a friend, not a date. I don’t want to take someone who would be a date and not just a friend.” Her lips curve into a smile. “Okay?”

I nod mutely, then start to slowly dance again. But I don’t feel like burying my nose in her neck again and basking in all that is Maria Deluca. Suddenly, life sucks.

Part Nine

“It doesn’t matter that you tried
It doesn’t matter that they lied
It doesn’t matter that you’re sick inside
And your dreams have died
And you wanna start anew”
~ The Badlees

She’s out without me. At my ex-girlfriend’s wedding. With my best friend.

I can’t remember ever being so depressed. When Liz gave me the boot, I was devastated, my whole world ceased to exist. But I wasn’t depressed. On top of it, I have the jealousy to deal with. Is there any less useful emotion than jealousy?

I’m playing the role of the good friend – I volunteered to watch the store this afternoon so she could get ready for the wedding. I tried not to look out the window when I heard her door close as she was leaving, but I had to. She was simply beautiful in that pretty champagne-colored dress, her hair piled on her head with loose curls hanging around her face. I wish I hadn’t looked – it only made me ache all the more.

I pull the cash drawer from the register and secure it in the small safe in the store room. I really don’t want the work day to be over. What am I going to do tonight? Sit around and think about what everyone else is doing at Liz’s wedding? I’m miserable. I think about going to a movie, but I hate doing that alone. I hate doing anything you’d do on a date all by myself. So, I see many hours of sulking ahead of me.

I grab the keys and head for the doors. As I’m about to turn the dead bolt, I spy Isabel on the other side, smiling at me. I push open the door and let her in, then lock it behind her.

“Hi,” she says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. Her perfume drifts to my nose.

“Hi,” I repeat, eyeing her curiously. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs. “Not much. Just came to take my little brother to dinner.”

I frown. I don’t want Isabel’s company. Well, that’s not really true. I don’t want anyone’s company.

“Oh, come on,” she laughs, rubbing my arm. “What else were you going to do tonight? Sulk?”

Well, yes, actually. “Okay,” I sigh. “But I’m driving.”

“Of course you are.”

She picks a nice little restaurant, one that isn’t haunted by droves of romantic couples. I appreciate that. As she picks at her salad, she elicits stares from nearly every man in the establishment. Something we’ve never talked about – obviously she can have just about any man she wants, but does she? Isabel never talks about her romantic life.

I concentrate on my dinner, savoring the flavor of the steak I’ve ordered. I usually skip red meat, but tonight I feel like abusing myself. As I eat, I try not to think about what is going on on the other side of town, but my thoughts drift there anyway. In my mind, I see Liz in a white dress, happy, laughing, kissing her new husband. It doesn’t hurt to think of these things, it just depresses me. Once I thought I’d be that new husband, sharing this moment with her. How did we get to be where we are now?

Then I think of Maria holding onto Michael while she dances with him, her face aglow as she looks up into his eyes. I image him holding her close and the two of them laughing together, dressed up for the occasion. And that hurts worse than I ever imagined it would. I want to be the one dressed up, holding her during a special occasion. My mind quickly flashes to the two of them kissing and I feel like someone just kicked me in the chest.

“You’re not the only one, you know.”

I look up at the sound of Isabel’s soft voice. She’s leaning her elbows on the table, her water glass held in both hands toward her face. I glance at my plate and realize that I had quit eating. Then I meet her gaze again. “I’m not the only one?” I question.

She nods and places her glass on the table. “I know you’re miserable. You’re thinking about Liz getting married tonight.”

How do I tell her that it’s not Liz who’s upsetting me?

I don’t have to tell her – she figures it out for herself. My sister is a smart woman. “And you’re thinking about Maria being out with someone else.”

I feel my eyebrows rise involuntarily.

“Maybe you’re not the only one who’s not happy about that situation.”

The eyebrows are so high now that they practically touch my hairline. Is she trying to tell me she’s jealous that Michael is out with Maria? Is she finally admitting there’s something going on with the two of them? It seems the only likely explanation, unless Isabel has decided to bat for the other team and is upset Maria is on a date. I almost laugh at the thought…until it nauseates me.

I clear my throat. “Iz, are you and Mich-”

“Yes.” She picks up her fork and continues stabbing at her salad.

I watch her silently for a long time. There’s no explanation, just a ‘yes’. And from the way she’s assaulting that poor plate of lettuce, she doesn’t want to talk about it.

But eventually she sighs and puts the fork down. When she looks at me, her eyes are fraught with guilt. Why? Why should she feel guilty for loving someone?

“I don’t know what it is,” she says, her eyes darting away briefly. “I don’t know if it’s love or even if it will last beyond tonight. But it’s something, Max, something I can’t ignore.”

I understand what she means because I’m in the same situation. I know something is going on between me and Maria, but I don’t know what. And I also can’t ignore it.

“Do you know how Michael feels about Maria?” I ask quietly. I feel some guilt at asking these questions behind his back, but I know he’ll never be forthright with me.

Isabel shrugs her slim shoulders, doesn’t notice the waiter that passes our table and nearly trips over himself as he gawks at her. “He says he still cares about her.” Dammit. “But I don’t think he means in a romantic sense.” She gives a crooked smile. “At least, I hope not.”

I look down into my lap, play with my napkin. “Do you know…” I can’t ask this question.

She laughs lightly. “Full sentences, Max.”

I laugh with her, squirm as I try to find the right words. “Has Maria ever mentioned she might still feel something for him?”

Isabel shakes her head. “I don’t know the answer to that,” she answers sympathetically. “I rarely see Maria.” Then her lips stretch into a smile once again. “But when I do see her, she usually can’t take her eyes off you.”

I can’t help the little grin that comes to my face.

“I’m not blind, Max. She’s had it bad for you since you’ve been back.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, okay, I think maybe she had it bad for you before then.” In a gesture that deflates the hopes of every man in the restaurant, she reaches across the table and takes my hand. If only those would-be Romeos knew she was my sister… “Did you ever stop to think how hard this night has to be for her?”

No, I hadn’t thought of that, actually.

“She’s seeing Liz get married to someone she doesn’t really like.” Hmm – I didn’t know that piece of information. “She’s out with an ex-boyfriend – that has to be awkward. And she knows that the whole thing is hurting you.”

I think about Maria’s actions of late and realize that all of this had to have been a struggle for her. I hadn’t even considered it as all I was worrying about were my own hurt feelings. She never once let on that she was unhappy or uncomfortable in the situation she was in. I’m amazed that she’s such a strong person and that I never realized it.

“Thank you, Isabel,” I manage.

She withdraws her hand. “For what?”

“For doing this with me tonight, for taking my mind off things. For opening my eyes.”

The glamour-girl smile returns. “Any time, little brother.” She pulls back the cuff of her shirt and looks at her watch. “Now hurry up with that steak – we don’t want to be late for the show.”

“Show?” Oh, Christ. She’s taking me to a movie and I just know she’s picked out some sappy romantic comedy because that is the only kind of movie she likes.

She nods eagerly. “I got tickets for the comedy club. I figured we could both use a good laugh.”

I watch her in amazement. Just when I thought I had all women figured out, they learn to throw curve balls.

After the comedy club, we return home and the apartment is empty. The wedding is running late – or Michael and Maria have decided to go out afterward. I push that thought away. It’s all about trust and I haven’t been trusting her. Instead, I make myself happy that they’re having a good time.

Isabel takes a shower and goes to bed, leaving me alone in her quiet living room. I really need to think about getting a place of my own. This couch is becoming uncomfortable and even though she hasn’t said as much, I know she’d probably like some privacy.

In the darkness, I think about what Isabel told me at dinner. Was it possible that Maria was attracted to me even before Michael and I came back from the crusades? If so, how long ago? Did it happen when she was still with Michael and I was with Liz? Had it been there as long as she’s known me?

I try to pinpoint when I first realized I was attracted to her and I can’t. I know when we were coming home, Maria was the first person I wanted to see, not Liz. Granted, Liz was going to be a different kind of reunion, more like a confrontation, but I still would think that hers would be the first face I’d want to see. But it wasn’t.

I recall dreams, horrible dreams while we were fighting, dreams that still sometimes haunt me today. But every now and then, there’d be a break in the nightmares and Maria was always a part of those sweet dreams. It was never anything sexual or even slightly romantic. It was always something silly – having lunch with her, talking about music, baking a cake. But in those moments, those nights of reprieve, there was always the image of Maria, not Liz.

Maybe this thing has been brewing longer than either of us ever realized. I always thought Liz was the one I was meant to be with. But maybe not. Maybe Liz was only a means by which to get to the person I was really destined to be with.

“Maxwell, we have to get out of here!” Michael’s voice is strained, his breath coming in short gasps.

Behind us, there’s another loud explosion and I throw my hands over my ears to protect them from the concussion, then I duck my head as bits of rocks and mortar rain down on us.

“They’re gonna kill us!” Michael yells over the roar. “We have to fall back! Now!”

I nod in his direction. I don’t want to fall back. I don’t want to let them go. I have so much hatred for them that I want to stay here and put an end to them once and for all. But there is a reason Michael is my second in command – he grounds me when my emotions run away with my common sense.

“Let’s go,” I shout between gun blasts and gesture toward the back of the warehouse, where he left the Explorer. As I rise, there is a whistling sound past my ear and I know it’s too late. Within a millisecond there is a blast very near to our position. I hear a scream of pain and don’t really realize that it is coming from me. In fact, I don’t realize it until I am falling to the ground, my leg seemingly blown out from beneath me.

Then I hear footsteps, thousands of them, descending on us. Michael’s eyes are desperate as he pulls on my arm. I try to help him, but I can’t. I wait for the moment when my arm pops off, but it never comes. I look down at his hand and it startles me that he has grown long, perfectly polished fingernails. Horrified, I look up not into his face, but a much sweeter one.

The noise around us stops and the skies clear, the sun suddenly shining brightly above us. Maria touches my face, her voice comforting. “It’s not real, Max. It’s only a dream. Wake up.”

Instead of waking with a start, I wake slowly, calmly. My eyes instinctively travel to the clock – it’s already two in the morning. Then I notice that I am not alone.

Beside the couch, Maria is on her knees, kneeling by my side. She’s still wearing her dress from the wedding, but her long hair is now tumbling around her shoulders. Her presence both frightens and worries me. I draw in a quick breath and start to sit up.

“Shh,” she says quietly, laying a finger against her lips. “I don’t want to wake anyone.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to clear the post-slumber confusion from my mind. “Is everything okay?”

She nods. “Yeah, fine. I just wanted to see you.”

At this hour? I’m still not convinced there is nothing wrong. But then she reaches out and pulls my blanket back. I have an irrational reaction to cover myself, even though I’m wearing a T-shirt and boxers. She rises and slips onto the couch beside me, drawing the blanket back over both of us.

“Maria,” I whisper, fighting the urge to recoil. This is so not something I wanted to take place on Isabel’s couch.

But she shakes her head as she curves her arm around my body. “Not that. I just want to sleep here. Is that okay?”

I look down into her eyes and I can see only sincerity there. So I nod and put my arm around her waist. Her leg slides in between mine and she squirms against me, making herself comfortable.

I don’t know how long I just lie there and stare into the darkness. I don’t know how long she stays awake with me, but eventually her breathing levels out and I know she’s asleep, curled up against me in a dress she is going to ruin by sleeping in it. I’m not sure what caused this suddenly flash of vulnerability on her part, but I will be here for her. The steady rhythm of her breathing hypnotizes me and I lay my cheek against the top of her head and pull her into my chest, protecting her against me. For all of the dreams she’s given me to help me through a rough night, I will be here to help her through this one.

Part Ten

Morning sunlight through Isabel’s living room curtains momentarily blinds me, until a figure steps between me and the glow. I blink once, then look up into Michael’s face. For a moment, I’ve forgotten why he’d be staring down at me while I sleep, then I feel soft fabric beneath my hand. Glancing down, I see the top of Maria’s head – she’s still curled up against my chest, asleep. I look back to Michael and I can’t read his expression. He’s got a coffee cup in one hand and his eyes move slowly from me, to Maria, then back to me.

I refuse to look away in embarrassment. I refuse to be ashamed that I love Maria…Oh, God. I just admitted that I love her. I swallow at the self-revelation, but don’t break my gaze with Michael. I don’t know what he’s going to say or do. I don’t know if he’s upset or happy for us. I suddenly don’t know anything.

Isabel slips in beside him, silently, and loops her arm through his. He doesn’t turn to look at her, but takes one last glance at the small blond in my arms. Before he allows my sister to move him away, I think he smiles. I’m not sure of that because Michael smiling is never an obvious act.

When they are gone from the apartment, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. It’s better this way, that he knows about us. I don’t want to keep secrets from him – that would be both patronizing and condescending. I can’t treat someone who has saved my life countless times like that. There will never be secrets between Michael and me.

With the slightest of sighs, Maria starts to stir. I look down at her in anticipation, just waiting to see those gorgeous green eyes first thing in the morning. I’ve never shared this experience with her, the emergence from sleep and I can’t wait to find out what it’s like. She draws in a deep breath as the rhythm of slumber abates and her body adjusts to being awake.

She stretches, arching her back, her body pushing into mine, and lets out the breath. I smile, wanting that to be the first thing she sees. Finally, she opens her eyes no wider than small slits, blinks twice, then smiles in return. I can’t help it – my smile grows wider as I brush her mussed hair from her face.

“Good morning,” I say, keeping my hands on either side of her face.

“Morning,” she mumbles, still smiling, and closes her eyes again. She snuggles against me, burrowing into my embrace, but I know she’s not going back to sleep. She’s just a slow riser, apparently.

So I wait, patiently, while she shakes the cobwebs from her head. The room is silent except for the ticking of a clock on Isabel’s mantle. After a few minutes, Maria lays her hand against my chest and I feel that familiar jolt in my stomach at her touch. I could lie here forever, I think. Her fingers make a short back-and-forth pattern over my shirt, then she wraps her arm around me and pulls me tight to her.

Okay, so it’s first thing in the morning, I’m a guy, and I’ve got a hot babe grinding against me. The reaction is natural. Maria pulls back slightly, her smile a little more devious this time. My ears burn as I blush.

“Well, it is a good morning, isn’t it?” she laughs, her voice still hoarse.

I laugh more out of embarrassment than anything.

But then she falls serious as she reaches up and touches my face. Of all of the girlfriends I’ve had (all two of them) I don’t recall any of them touching my face as much as Maria does. It’s her unique form of displaying her affection, I think. Silent, her face showing deep concentration, she traces my eyebrows, then my eyelashes; her index finger trails a path down the bridge of my nose, falling off to follow my lip. I watch her mutely while she conducts her exploration.
“What happened?” I ask her softly.

Her green eyes meet mine and her eyebrows rise silently in question.

“Last night,” I clarify. “What sent you over here in the middle of the night?” I give her a crooked smile. “Not that I minded.”

One corner of her mouth lifts in a half smile and her hand drops back to my chest; I miss her touch immediately.

“Did something happen at the wedding?”

She shakes her head. “No, nothing like that.” She glances away for a moment, like she’s searching for the right words. “I’ve always had a hard time with weddings,” she finally confesses. “I watch the bride and the groom and they look so happy together.” Her eyes widen and I know she’s wondering if she’s hurt me by mentioning that Liz is happy with someone else. She hasn’t. Relieved, she continues, “And then I think about people I know who’ve gotten married.”

I caress her cheek with my thumb. “What about them?”

She draws in a breath. “Well, my parents were pretty much a bust. My dad bailed when I was just a kid. Kyle’s mom did the same. Countless others, Max. And then I wonder if it ever works for anyone. Will it work out for Liz? Am I just witnessing something that is temporary?”

I think I know where she is coming from, but I prod her to continue anyway. “What does that have to do with you?”

Maria looks away, debating if she should reveal her feelings to me. I’m glad she decides she can. “I have to believe it works out for somebody, Max. Because then there’s hope it will work for me.”

I hadn’t expected that. It explains the feelings of vulnerability I got from her last night – she wants someone stable, who won’t leave her like every other man in her past has. To an extent, that includes Michael – granted, he left her for a good reason, but he still left her. She’s afraid of being abandoned.

I see fear in her eyes, the kind of fear that comes from thinking you’ve revealed too much and the person you revealed it to might just run for the nearest exit. I shake my head slowly, in determination.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her.

Then I see relief in those beautiful eyes and the slightest trace of a tear. Before I can even smile at her, her lips are on mine and there is nothing vulnerable about her kiss. I give a little gasp of surprise, which causes her to laugh while she kisses me. Pulling away, she takes my face between her hands and touches my forehead with hers.

“I think I’m in love with you, Max Evans.”

My heart is suddenly racing in my chest, a huge adrenaline rush caused by the kiss, our closeness and her admission. “Me, too,” I admit stupidly.

Her brow furrows. “You’re in love with yourself?” she jokes.

“Yes, I mean, no,” I stammer. I give her a hopeless grin. “No, Maria. I’m in love with you.”

A tear slides silently down her cheek. I give her a gentle smile and wipe it away.

“Who’s here?” she asks quietly.

“Just you and me.”

“How long will they be gone?”

I shrug. “All day, I think. I think they went to work.”

She pushes herself away from me and I immediately feel cold without her body to warm me. I watch, amazed, as she gets up from the couch, her once-pretty dress now wrinkled and creased. She looks down at it as well, like she’s looking at a broken heirloom, the slightest of frowns on her face. In a move I totally didn’t anticipate, she reaches behind herself and the room is filled with the scratch of the zipper being pulled down. Then she takes the dress around the waist and in a rustle of satin, pulls it over her head.

My mouth drops open involuntarily. She’s wearing a thin, lacy bra and a pair of matching panties. Her body is tight, more defined than I’d expected it would be – her clothes are deceiving. She looks at me, her gaze unabashed, then reaches a hand in my direction. Fingers shaking, I take it. She pulls me to my feet, then leads me down the hallway.

In the bathroom, she turns on the shower, then turns to face me. For the first time, she looks shy. “I need a shower,” she admits. “Before we…um…”

I smile at her. I get it. “Okay,” I agree.

“Do you want to…” She looks over her shoulder at the shower door. “Do you want to come in with me?”

I nod. “I could use a shower, too.”

She grins in relief. I show her which toothbrush is mine and we share it. Then the serious expression returns as she goes about the task of disrobing both of us. She pulls my T-shirt over my head, her eyes going immediately to my chest. Those curious fingers explore all areas slowly, sensuously, as they work their way down to my boxers. Stooping, she pulls them down to my feet. I kick them off as she rises, her head bent as she surveys the new territory. Standing there, totally exposed to her, I don’t feel in the slightest bit uncomfortable. I just feel loved.

She smiles up at me, then reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra. The dainty lace garment flutters to the floor and is soon followed by the panties. In the shower, we explore every inch of each other, kissing, tasting, touching. But we save consummation until the shower is over and we’ve moved on to Isabel’s bed.

Time stands still as we tumble in Isabel’s fluffy white blankets, which smell faintly of her perfume. I feel like the world has stopped and there aren’t billions of people in the outside world going about their daily activities. There’s only the two of us, here, now, together.

I like that the first time we make love is in the daylight. For the briefest moment, I think of the fact that Liz and I only had sex at night, in the dark, and that I never really got to experience her body in the full, harsh light of day. Maybe it was a modesty thing. Maybe it was just bad timing and never really planned that way. But that is the last time I think of Liz in an intimate way.

Because Maria is not afraid of the harsh light of day. She doesn’t care that bright sunlight not only reveals all of her perfections but also her flaws. There’s a scar on one of her hips and I’m curious how she got it. Sometime when I can retain the thought and am not distracted by the wonderful things she’s doing with her hands and mouth, I’ll have to ask her about it. Scars or no scars, she’s beautiful to me. And she always will be.

I watch her face as she sits astride me, her long legs bent at the knee and doubled beneath her. I place my hands on her knees, just wanting to feel the silkiness of her skin. Placing her hands over mine, her eyes lock on mine and stay that way while she moves, her breath coming in little short gasps. I smile at her, but she’s too far gone to smile back. Eventually, her movements quicken and her head falls back as her eyes close, savoring the sensation. She’s close and I want to witness every second of it.

Then she arches her back, draws in a sharp gasp as her head falls even farther back. Her nails dig into the tops of my hands and I shortly thereafter follow her over the edge.

She collapses on top of me then slides down so that she is lying half beside me, half on top of me. Electricity is running through my veins, that heightened awareness that comes with sexual release. I don’t let her get too far away as I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly, kiss her hair. We’re both sweaty again – we need another shower.

But for now I just hold her against me, feeling her heart beating against my ribs as it slows back to a normal rate. I feel spent, exhausted, but I want to spend every moment possible with her. Without looking up, she touches my face, pulling her fingers over my eyelids so that they close. She wants to sleep. I go willingly. Because from here on, wherever she goes, I will go.

Part Eleven

The morning after. Michael and I are at Isabel’s kitchen table, eating cereal again. I can’t help the goofy grin that keeps coming to my face. The only reason it hasn’t stayed there is because every now and then I think that at some point we need to talk about what happened and it sobers me. But then I remember little tidbits of one of the happiest days in my life and the smile returns.

But I need to talk to Michael, because I will never keep anything from him. Heart to heart discussions are never easy with him, so I decide to maneuver him into it. I clear my throat. “Michael, are you sleeping with Isabel?” I ask, knowing what his response will be.

“Are you sleeping with Maria?”

“Yes.”

He hesitates, his spoon halfway between bowl and mouth, but doesn’t look at me. I try not to grin – he’s taking the bait, walking right down the path I want him on.

“Does it bother you I’m sleeping with Maria?” I ask next.

“Does it bother you I’m sleeping with Isabel?”

“No.”

This time he does look up, his face expressionless, then he grins. And that is the end of the conversation. With years of fighting the enemy behind us, we know one another’s moves and thoughts as if they were our own. We both know where we stand and we’re okay with it.

I go to my mundane job with new interest. I can’t wait to see Maria, to spend the day with her. I start staying at her apartment, giving Michael and Isabel some relief from my constant presence. I like sleeping in the same bed, waking up with her, exploring each other’s lives and bodies like new territories to be conquered.

So life goes on for awhile. We’re happy together. Maria gets a postcard from wherever Liz went on her honeymoon and I see a little bit of envy in her eyes. But the envy doesn’t come as she looks at the words scribbled in Liz’s meticulous handwriting – it comes as she looks at the photo of palm trees and unbelievably bluish-green waters. I get the feeling Maria doesn’t wish a honeymoon for herself, but rather a vacation.

The capper comes a week later when she gets a letter from Kyle. I pretend like I’m stocking pumice stones, but really I’m watching her as she reads it. The whole time her full lips are turned down into a frown and I think it must be bad news. When she’s finished, she lets out a sigh and looks up at me. Immediately, the depressed look in her eyes goes away as she realizes I’ve been watching her.

“Is everything okay?” I ask her.

She nods. “Yeah, fine. Just a letter from Kyle.” She looks down at it, turns the envelope over in her hand to find the post mark. “Nova Scotia.”

I laugh. When she doesn’t laugh with me, I frown with her instead. Placing the box of stones on the floor, I walk behind the counter and put my hands on her shoulders. “What is it?”

She sighs and looks into her lap. I follow her gaze, then take the letter from her. She watches as I put it on the counter, the looks up at me when I lift her chin with my fingers.

“What is it?” I repeat.

“Nova Scotia,” she says. “Do you realize I’ve never even seen snow, Max?”

I’ve seen snow. Tons of it. In New York and Washington State and Canada. But I’ve been all over fighting the good fight. I forget sometimes that Maria has been locked in Roswell forever.

I shake my head in response to her question. “No,” I answer gently. “I didn’t realize that.”

“Or the ocean. I’ve never seen it, either.” There is frustration in her eyes.

I put my arms around her waist. “Why not?”

She stops short, looking up into my eyes. I think I’ve stumped her with a good question. Why hasn’t she seen all of those things? What has stopped her?

And then it occurs to me that I’m not sure why I’m here in Roswell, either. The only reason I’m staying here is because of her and if she left, I would go, too. Maybe it’s true that you can’t go home again, but then why can’t you make yourself a new home?

“Let’s go,” I blurt out suddenly. “Let’s send Kyle a letter or call him if he’s left a number or something. Let’s go meet up with him, see the world.”

She pulls back a bit. “What? We can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

She searches for words, her brow furrowed. “What about this?” she asks, gesturing to the shop.

“Sell it,” I encourage. “Or not. If you still wanted to do this again some day, you could open another store or come back here and reopen this one. You did it once, Maria, you could do it again.”

I’m getting excited - I can almost feel the road beneath our feet. This time will be so different – no bad guys, no running for my life, no fighting. Just me and Maria, discovering the world.

But she looks hesitant. “What would we do for money?”

“What does Kyle do for money? What did Michael and I do for money? You do what you have to and don’t worry about it.” I see a spark in those green eyes – she’s thinking about it. I give her a quick kiss. “Think about it for awhile and then let me know. What have we got to lose? Why can’t we do this?”

She agrees to sleep on it, but I don’t hear anything more about it for almost a week and a half. I don’t want to bring it up again because I don’t want her to think I’m pushing her. If I have to stay here in this tourist trappy down that is getting rich off me without knowing it, then I will. But if she says she wants to leave tomorrow, I can be packed in an hour.

I stand before her kitchen counter, brewing coffee and shaking the sleep from my head. I haven’t even bothered to get dressed because it’s Sunday morning and this is our day of leisure – there will be football and pizza this afternoon. Because of my stripped-down state, I shiver when she pounds through the door, letting in a cool fall draft as she returns from her run. My smile is immediate, as is hers. She crosses the room, puts her arms around me in a good-morning hug, and I feel her chest expanding and contracting rapidly as her lungs struggle to recover from her work out.

Releasing me, she pulls out a chair and sits to remove her shoes. I pour two cups of coffee and place one before her, then slip into a chair opposite of her. Within a few minutes, her breathing has returned to normal and she reaches down to pull off her sweatshirt. What a pair we are – me in my boxers and her in shorts and a sports bra. I smile over my cup.

She rummages through the ever-present stack of mail on the table until she finds a letter of particular interest. I watch her curiously as she holds it up. “I got this yesterday,” she announces.

I remain silent, waiting patiently.

I can tell she’s trying to hold back a grin, but she fails. “Kyle said he’ll wait in Halifax until we get there.”

I can’t possibly have heard her right. My body jumps with a sudden rush of excitement and I hurry to the other side of the table to pull her to her feet. I crush her against me, laughing. “Thank you!” I say into her hair.

She giggles. “I’m not doing this for you, Alien Boy. I want to see the world, too.”

I pull back and kiss her – hard. “Of course you do,” I say. I no longer care about pizza and football – I want to start packing immediately.

Saying goodbye to Isabel is hard. But I’ve done that before. Saying goodbye to Michael is devastating. He and I have never been apart since the third grade when we found one another. Life without him will be awkward and uncomfortable – a king was not made to be without his second. But I know he will always be only a phone call away if I need him. He wishes us well, Isabel cries. I tell her not to worry – we’ll come home again some day.

At the airport, Maria is nervous and I can’t tell if it’s excited nervousness or scared nervousness. I pretend to read my paper, but the whole time I’m watching her fidget next to me as we wait for the call to board.

“Are you okay?” I finally ask.

Her head jerks in my direction. “I’ve never flown.”

I raise an eyebrow. “No?”

She shakes her head.

“Are you afraid of it?”

She looks away, then shrugs slightly.

I fold the paper and place it into one of my bags. I turn my body toward hers and pick up her hand in mine. “I was born to fly,” I tell her quietly and she giggles lightly. “I’ve even crashed once. And look – I survived!”

She laughs, but her hand in mine is slick with sweat.

We board the plane and she seems a bit more nervous. As the last passengers file in, I reach over and fasten her seatbelt and pickup her hand again. I know I need to distract her.

“Ever heard of the Mile High Club?” I ask her.

Her pretty brow furrows. “No. What’s that?”

I glance around to see who may be within earshot, then I lean close to her ear. “You become a member once you’ve had sex more than a mile above the earth.”

Her eyes widen, then she surveys the tight confines of the plane. “Where?”

I point toward the tiny airplane bathroom and her expression is one of disbelief. “We can try it sometime,” I tell her. But we’re going to be going to a lot of places, so it doesn’t have to be this time.”

She looks amused. “A lot of places, huh?”

I nod. “Sure. Look at all of the places Kyle’s been. And we’ll have an expert vagabond with us – I’m sure he’ll show us the ropes.” I smile to myself. While I’ve distracted her, we’ve pushed back from the jetway and are now taxi-ing toward the runway. “Think of it, Maria – sandy beaches, snowy mountains.” I lift her hand and kiss the back of it. “And I will be there with you, every step of the way.”

She smiles at me, then her expression shows utter surprise as the jet’s engines kick in for take-off. I love the thrust of ascending in an airplane and from the look on her face, so does she. Nervousness abated, she looks out the window, watching the trees get smaller and smaller beneath us.

I watch her with absolute admiration and think back on my return journey to Roswell. I was hell bent on winning Liz Parker back. But now, here I am, with what I believe is the true love of my life at my side.

There is a fine line between love and hate. But there is also a fine line between love and friendship. And I finally know which side of the line I’m standing on.

The End