I mean no disrespect to the people of Erie in this next part. I needed a place for Isabel to feel trapped and I was in Erie yesterday, so it got used. The comment about flannel came from my brother
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Part One
Mrs. Michael Guerin.
Isabel blew out a disgusted breath and tossed her wedding ring across her vanity; it skidded to a halt against a framed picture of her and her beloved, on their less than memorable wedding day. She was sick of this, sick of the whole situation. Friggin’ joke, that’s what this was.
But as she looked at the picture, she felt some of the discord in her heart dissolve, however. Michael was a good man, even when he tried not to be. And he hadn’t asked for this any more than she had. She sighed lightly and ran her hand through her hair, which was now auburn and cropped to her shoulders. Her unhappiness wasn’t Michael’s fault. It was just the ugly situation they’d found themselves in.
Pushing herself from the stool before the mirror, she padded out to the living room of their small apartment. Michael was slouched on the couch, the remote gripped in one hand. He’d lost weight in the last couple of years, which only pronounced his already-beautiful cheekbones all the more. Gone were the experimental hairdos of old – his hair had been cropped close to his head for the last five years.
“What are you watching?” she asked softly, trying to reach out to him in some way.
“Hockey,” he replied, monotone.
Isabel’s dark eyes shifted to the television. She guessed that was one good thing about moving north – Michael could find hockey just about any night he wanted to watch a game. It was the one happiness he’d seemed to find here.
When she didn’t say anything further, he swiveled his head around so he could look at her. “Did you want to cop a squat?” he asked, gesturing toward the TV with the remote.
She forced a small smile and shook her head. “No, thanks.”
He turned around again and resumed watching the game. Isabel frowned, then decided to sit anyway. She took the chair adjacent to the couch, Michael’s eyes following her; a frown pursed his lips.
“Michael,” she began tentatively. “I want to go home.”
He sighed and closed his eyes. “We’ve been through this.”
“Not for a while,” she said quickly. “We haven’t discussed it in a couple of years. I miss Mom and Dad. I miss our friends.”
“We don’t have any friends,” he reminded her. “To the world, we blasted off ten years ago.”
“Exactly – ten years ago! Who could possibly be looking for us now? Michael, I can’t be stuck in Erie PA for the rest of my life. I can’t live somewhere where rush hour is full of flannel!”
One corner of Michael’s lip lifted in a smirk. “Flannel?”
“You know what I mean,” she said in exasperation. “I don’t like it here. I want to go home.”
Michael’s smirk faded as he gave an apologetic shrug. “You know this isn’t a question for me. We decide everything as a group, remember? Even if I said yes, Max could still veto it.”
Isabel deflated, sinking into the chair until she seemed to disappear. They didn’t have a bad life here, but they didn’t have a good one either. They had jobs that got them by, but nothing they could ever make a career from. In truth, they had jobs that kept them anonymous. At one point, she’d had a job working for Presque Isle Scenic Boat Tours – she’d loved that job, loved all of the interesting people she got to interact with. And those people were the problem. There was no telling who might get on the boat and recognize her. So, much to her dismay, she’d ended up issuing boat and car titles for the title bureau.
The long and short of it was that there was nothing in Pennsylvania that would ever inspire or excite her. She wanted out of here, even if it was to go back to the blistering heat of the New Mexico desert. But Michael was right, they needed Max’s consent.
Brow furrowing, she glanced over her shoulder and down the hallway, where Max’s bedroom appeared to be dark.
“Where is Max?” she asked.
Michael shrugged. “Who knows?”
Isabel’s frown deepened. It seemed that over the years, Max would inexplicably disappear for a day or two, with no explanation ever given. She’d always attributed it to him just needing his space. But lately, she wasn’t so sure.
*~*~*~*~*
Maria paused a moment before pushing open the door to her mother’s store. She hadn’t planned on really asking her if she wanted to go to dinner, but Maria had oddly found herself without anything else to do, and she couldn’t take another night at home waiting for Jesse to get back from the office. Yes, Amy was annoying, but at least she was company.
The door needed a little extra shove since time and abuse had bent its frame; it squealed unhappily as Maria entered the store. Immediately, the smell of plastic and incense filled her nose. Not a pleasant combination. The plastic was a result of all of the alien-themed items her mother sold; the incense was from the small corner of aroma therapies that Maria had convinced her to start carrying.
“Mom?” Maria called when she realized the store was empty. She removed her Ray-Bans and glanced around the small space. “Hello? Mom?”
“Oh, Jim, you naughty boy!” came a giggle from the back room.
Maria’s lip lifted in disgust. Her mother was in the storeroom playing hanky panky with the ex-sheriff!
“Ugh!” Maria snorted, then marched back toward the door, her Jimmy Choos sounding angry against the worn tile. She jerked the door open, fanned it violently a couple of times to make the bell ring, then let it slam. “MOM!”
There was a small rush of murmured voices, then Amy and the sheriff emerged from the store room. Amy was carrying a pasted-on smile and the sheriff was looking sheepish. Maria glanced at each of them in disbelief.
“The door was wide open!” she screeched. “Anyone could have come in and robbed the place!”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Amy said, waving a hand. “Jim still carries a gun, don’t you, sweetie?”
Jim flushed and nodded like a giddy school boy and Maria had the sense that “gun” was a metaphor for something else. She shuddered visibly.
“If you’re done with me, Mrs. Deluca, I’ll be heading out,” he said.
“Oh, I’m not done with you by any means,” she retorted, giving him the once-over. “But I don’t need you for anything else here at the store, if that’s what you meant.”
Jim laughed, then made a hasty exit. Maria watched him go, her mouth hanging open, then turned on her mother.
“I don’t need to know that these things go on,” she complained.
“What?” Amy asked as she picked up a bouquet of alien-green carnations and started arranging them in a vase. “I’m human, too, Maria. And it’s not like I’m ninety years old and over the hill or anything.”
“Yeah, but come on, Mom, can’t you leave it for home?”
She shrugged. “This is my store, if I want to entertain my friend I will.” She paused, then her eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”
“I came to see you,” Maria said, thrown a bit by suddenly being put onto the defensive.
“Uh huh, sure. Let me guess – Jesse’s working late again and Liz is on another expedition?”
Maria couldn’t stop the guilt from showing on her face.
“Ah, it’s okay, sweetie. I was young and in love once, too.” When Maria didn’t respond, she lifted an eyebrow. “You are in love, aren’t you?”
Maria’s eyes fell to her engagement ring. “I don’t know, Mom.”
Amy quickly rounded the counter and took her by the arms. “What is there not to know? He’s a handsome, successful man. And he picked you!”
“Yeah, but why did he pick me?”
“Why? Because you’re smart and beautiful.”
“Yeah.”
“What? You don’t believe that?”
Maria sighed, then leaned against the counter. “I think sometimes he picked me because I’m not competition.”
Amy cocked her head to the side. “Go on.”
“I mean, I was a waitress when he met me, Mom. I haven’t done much since then. He went to Cornell and Harvard. He’s way more successful than I’ll ever be. How could I ever compete with him?”
“Who said you have to compete with him? I think he loves you for who you are, regardless where he met you. And besides, one day you will be as successful as he is.”
Maria looked at her warily. “Yeah, when would that be?”
Amy made a sweeping motion around the store. “When you inherit all of this!”
“Okay, I think I’m going to be sick.”
*~*~*~*~*
Seventeen hundred miles away from Roswell, and one hundred miles from Erie, Max Evans sat alone in a motel room. He couldn’t stop the nervous energy that was coursing through his body, making every one of his sense stand at attention. It wouldn’t be long now.
She was near.
tbc
