CHAPTER 40
October 29, 2000, 6:30 p.m.
Evans residence
"Could you pass the bread, please?" Max said.
"Sure, honey," his mother answered. "Izzie?"
Across the table, Isabel busied herself with her dinner plate and ignored them. "Isabel?" Diane persisted.
"What?" Isabel said.
"Your brother would like the bread," Diane said.
"So?" Isabel said.
Max watched his parents exchange glances. "So it's closest to you," Philip said. "Would you please pass it?"
Isabel grabbed the bread basket and passed it to Philip. "I didn't want it, sweetheart," Philip said. "Max did."
"So pass it to him," Isabel shrugged.
There was a brief pause before Philip handed the bread basket to Max, who took it without comment. Isabel had been angry with him since they'd returned from the pod chamber, which was okay with him because he was angry with her too. She'd obviously found that huge, glowing whatever-it-was a while ago, maybe even as long ago as the birthday party, and said nothing to anyone. That she would make such a momentous discovery and keep it to herself for even ten minutes was infuriating. That she would do so while they were in the midst of murderers and kidnappers was downright dangerous. They'd almost lost Isabel and Tess over that thing, and probably had lost Nasedo over it. To stay silent on a subject of such importance was completely unacceptable.
"So how was the game?" Philip asked.
"Fine," Isabel said.
"Not very descriptive," Diane noted.
"What's to describe?" Isabel said. "It's a football game. Someone yells 'Hut!', they all run and pile on top of each other, and then a whistle blows. Then they do it again. And again, and again."
"Pretty much describes football," Philip chuckled as Diane frowned. "Who won?"
No one said anything. His parents watched them both expectantly as Max debated fibbing his way through this, ultimately deciding that wasn't a good idea right now. "I don't know," he admitted. "I didn't see all of it. I left early."
"Oh?" Philip said. "Why?"
"There were some...things going on with our friends," Max said. "Taking care of that was more important than watching the game."
"Did you leave early too, sweetheart?" Diane asked Isabel.
"No," Isabel answered.
"Yes," Max said.
They had spoken simultaneously. Across the table, Isabel's eyes flashed as their parents stopped eating, their heads swinging slowly from one child to the other. "Well, which?" Philip asked. "Did Isabel leave early too, or not?"
There was a strained silence as Max and Isabel eyed each other across the table. "Yes," Max answered, "she did. We left together."
"Then...why did you say you hadn't?" Diane ventured.
"Because I don't want to give chapter and verse on every single thing I do," Isabel said peevishly.
"I can't speak for your mother, but I wasn't going to ask for chapter and verse," Philip said evenly. "Your friends are your business, and I'm glad they're more important to you than a football game."
Everyone resumed eating. No more lies, Iz, Max thought as a heavy silence settled over the table. Lies were precisely why his parents were exchanging meaningful glances from opposite ends of the table while Isabel fumed over her plate. Lies were why he was nursing a grudge against his own sister. The lies had to stop.
"Did...you two have a fight?" his father asked.
"No," Isabel said.
"Yes," Max said.
They had spoken simultaneously again. Diane sighed heavily as Philip looked questioningly at Isabel. "Sweetie?"
"Dad, don't call me 'sweetie'," Isabel said irritably. "My name is 'Isabel'."
"As one of the two people who named you, I know that," Philip said. "So you and Max had a fight."
"Why do you just assume he's right?" Isabel demanded.
"Because he was right the last time," Philip answered. "Your track record is less than stellar."
Isabel pushed her beans around her plate for a moment. "I just didn't want to get into it."
"You could have answered truthfully and still declined to 'get into it'," Philip said.
"I didn't lie," Isabel insisted.
"Yeah, honey, you kind of did," Philip said.
"More than 'kind of'," Diane observed.
"You asked if we'd had a fight," Isabel said. "It wasn't exactly a 'fight', so I didn't lie."
"I also asked where you were all those nights when you were supposedly at friends' houses," Diane said. "Are you going to tell me you weren't 'exactly' not there, so those weren't lies?"
"See, this is why I don't go into detail, because I always get the third degree," Isabel grumbled.
"Where you are isn't a 'detail'," Philip said. "It's something we have to know for your own safety."
" 'Safety'?" Isabel said scornfully. "That's a laugh. There's no such thing as 'safety'."
Max stayed on the sidelines even as his parents exchanged more worried glances. Isabel was right, of course, and he knew exactly what she meant, but there was no way to communicate that to their parents. On the contrary, doing so would only make things worse.
"Isabel, your father and I have decided it would be a good idea for you to see a therapist," Diane announced.
Finally, Max thought as a startled hush fell over the table. The cat was out of the bag, and Isabel certainly couldn't say he hadn't warned her. "What?" Isabel exclaimed, sounding genuinely surprised. "Why?"
"Because of all the lying," Diane said. "And the mood you've been in."
"And here we go again," Isabel said angrily. "You always overreact, and now you're doing it again! A therapist? Really?"
Not helping, Max thought wearily as his mother's eyes hardened. "Yes, really," Diane answered. "Now you're fighting with your brother, which you never do."
"Right, so Max and I have a fight, and I go to a therapist?" Isabel protested. "Why me and not him?"
"I just think something needs to be done," Diane said stubbornly.
"And your idea of 'doing something' is sending me to that therapist Max saw?" Isabel demanded.
"Definitely not that quack," Philip muttered.
"Philip!" Diane admonished. "He wasn't a quack. He helped Max; your own mother said so."
"Max, help me out here," Isabel begged. "So we had a disagreement...so what? Brothers and sisters always do that. That doesn't mean I need a therapist."
"Yes, Max, what do you think?" Diane said. "You've had some therapy, so do you think it's a good idea? Do you think that would help her?"
No, Max thought, keeping his eyes on his plate. Therapy wouldn't help Isabel, but something had to be done. He'd tried to warn her. He'd told her they were considering this, but here she was provoking them in spite of that warning. If she wanted to be mad at him, fine, but this show of hostility mere hours after he'd warned her this was coming was just plain stupid. Maybe she should go to therapy just to learn a lesson about keeping her mouth shut…
"Great," Isabel said stiffly, rising from her chair. "Thanks for nothing, Max."
"Isabel, wait!" Philip called as she stormed off.
"Izzie, honey, come back," Diane begged.
"I'll talk to her," Max said, pushing his chair back.
"Let him go," Philip said when Diane began to object. "If they had a fight, maybe they need to talk."
"Like they did here?" Diane said skeptically. "Because that was so helpful. This wasn't just a fight, Philip, this is part of a pattern. Why do you just shrug everything off?"
"Why do you blow it out of proportion?" Philip said. "Because she has a point…"
Max left his parents bickering and went down the hall to Isabel's room, where he encountered a locked door. "By all means, come right in," she said irritably when he made short work of that. "Because locking the door always means 'come right in'."
"So you're mad at me," Max said. "Join the club, because I'm pissed too. Why didn't you tell us what Whitaker said? Why didn't you tell us what you'd found in the pod chamber? Why did you wait so long?"
"And here we go again," Isabel sighed. "God, you're just like Mom! What difference does it make? Even Michael didn't care!"
"Michael's just covering his own ass because Michael did the same thing," Max said. "River Dog came to him, and he didn't tell us...and almost got himself killed."
"So now you're going to take that out on me?" Isabel demanded. "Because telling Mom to send me to a shrink will solve everything. It certainly did for you."
"I never said that—"
"No, you didn't say anything!" Isabel exclaimed. "You sweated therapy all summer, and we sweated with you, but you just sold me down the river!"
"Isabel, you did that to yourself," Max said sternly. "I warned you Mom was trying to get Dad to agree to a therapist, so what do you do? You throw a tantrum at the dinner table! Why would you do that when I'd already told you she'd all but talked him into it?"
"If he was already talked into it, then it didn't matter what I did," Isabel retorted.
Both of them eyed one another, seething in silence as Max reflected that this was only getting worse the angrier they became. "Okay," he said after a moment, trying to stifle his feelings, to find a middle ground. "I'm sorry I got angry with you. I almost lost you, so to find out that you hadn't told me something so important...it hurt. And it worried me. What if I can't protect you because of something I don't know?"
Isabel stared into space for what seemed like a long time before her expression softened. "I...I didn't know what to do. I...killed somebody, Max. I killed somebody. God," she said quietly, shaking her head. "It sounds so weird to say that out loud. Those are words I never thought I'd hear myself say." She paused. "The pod chamber was the one place I could go and be truly alone. No one would expect to find me there, not even you. And I didn't want to deal with what it meant because I wanted so badly for all of it to just go away. I knew the minute I told you what I'd found, you'd all be in there gawping at it, and I'd lose the one place I could be alone."
Max smiled faintly. " 'Gawping'. Is that what we were doing?"
"It's what I was doing," Isabel admitted.
Max sat down beside her, slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Okay, we were gawping. But you've gotta admit, it's gawp-worthy."
"It is," Isabel agreed. "Whatever it is, it's actually kind of…"
"Cool," Max finished.
"Yeah," Isabel said wonderingly. "That. And we made it. Our…'people', I mean. Wherever we come from, they can make things like that."
"Does...that make you want to know more about them?" Max asked.
Isabel was quiet for a moment. "Maybe," she whispered.
There was a brief knock at the door. "Oh, honey, look," Philip said, poking his head into the room as Max and Isabel spun around. "They've made up."
"For the moment," Diane allowed.
"But—"
"Philip," Diane said warningly, "we agreed. Tell them."
"Tell us what?" Isabel asked fearfully.
Their parents filled the doorway, one resolute, the other resigned. "Your mother and I have reached a compromise," Philip said. "I've agreed to a few sessions with a therapist as long as it's not the same therapist Max saw."
Max squeezed the hand his sister slipped into his, hoping she wouldn't overreact and validate their decision. "Maybe a different therapist is a good idea," he said as Isabel looked away, stunned.
"I'm glad you think so, sweetheart, because your sister had a point," Diane said. "If the two of you are fighting, maybe you could both use someone to talk to. So we'd like you to have some sessions too."
"And then you can both evaluate the new person," Philip went on, "and tell us if they're being helpful or not."
Max stared at him, the prospect of more months of lying looming ahead. "So it's a plan," Philip went on cheerfully, as though silence meant agreement. "I don't know who you'll be seeing, but your mother and I will look into other therapists."
"Grandma," Isabel said suddenly. "Ask Grandma Dee. Maybe she knows someone."
"My mother?" Philip said doubtfully. "Why would she know anything about—"
"What a good idea!" Diane broke in brightly. "I'll go call her right away."
"You will?" Philip said.
"Hush," Diane whispered as she led him away. "She loves your mother, and if it makes her feel better, I'll do just about anything…"
Max and Isabel sat in silence, watching the doorway as though hoping their parents would reappear and take everything back. "What is it they say about misery?" Isabel said finally.
"That it loves company?" Max said.
"Yeah," Isabel said dully. "That."
*********************************************************
Valenti residence
Tess Harding passed a hand over the doorknob, sealing it shut. A moment later she reached under the bed, opening her secret hiding space. The alien box was cool and curved in her hand as she removed it and set it on the bed. Six whole weeks had gone by since Nasedo's death—would it open? Holding her breath, she held a hand over it and closed her eyes.
Nothing. The box remained closed, impervious to the power she sent through it. Crap, Tess thought disconsolately, flopping on the bed. Shouldn't it be open by now? How long had Nasedo expected her to wait? Wasn't six weeks long enough? She'd been so hopeful that the box would open, that something inside would tell them what that glowing thing in the pod chamber was for, what a "Granolith" was for. It was maddening that Nasedo had never told her about it, leaving her gawking like the rest of them, just like it was maddening that Isabel had been the one to find it. If she'd found it, she would have…what? Kept it to herself? Pretended she'd known all along? Probably impossible to do the first once that hole in the pods had revealed the light, and inadvisable to do the second; nothing good would come of the Others thinking she was keeping things from them. So why did she wish she had been the one to find it? Because I deserve to, she thought fiercely. The Others had lived an idyllic life in sunny Roswell while she'd spent her life on the run. Okay, maybe Michael's life hadn't been exactly "idyllic", but at least he'd had some semblance of a family with Max and Isabel and their human parents. Their world, their birthright, was all she had, so she should have been the one to find this huge, obviously Important Something and report it to the Others, and since she hadn't been, she should at least be the one to tell them what it was and how it worked. She was certain the answers to those questions must be in this box because how could something like that have been left in their pod chamber without an instruction manual of some sort? But the box remained stubbornly closed, taunting her. She had something none of the rest of them had, but what good did it do her if she couldn't use it?
A knock came at the door. "Tess?" Kyle's voice called. "Dinner's ready." The doorknob rattled. "Hey...is this locked?"
"Yeah," Tess answered, scrambling off the bed. "Just a sec."
"Why is the door locked?" Kyle said, rattling the knob some more.
"I'm changing my clothes," Tess said, shoving the box back into its hiding space. "People usually like to do that in private." She sealed the floorboard over the box and unlocked the bedroom door.
"You're...wearing the same clothes," Kyle noted.
"Yeah, I didn't like the new outfit, so I put this back on," Tess shrugged.
"Talk about a waste of time," Kyle said. "Is this a girl thing? Changing your clothes, then changing your mind, then changing them back, all behind a locked door?"
"What's the matter, Kyle?" Tess said coyly. "Haven't you ever done anything in your bedroom behind a locked door?"
Kyle promptly pinked, as she knew he would; the magazines under the bed had no doubt been well and truly thumbed with one hand down his pants, all behind that locked door. "No," he said quickly, his eyes widening as her eyebrows rose. "I mean...uh...well...dinner's ready! Come and get it!"
"Worst subject change ever," Tess noted as she followed him to the kitchen, where Sheriff Valenti was stirring something in the oven.
"Hey!" the sheriff called. "Have a seat—dinner's almost ready."
"Tater tots?" Tess asked.
"And chicken rondolets," Valenti said, adding proudly, "and I made salads."
Progress, Tess thought approvingly as she took a seat. Cooking at the Valenti household had more to do with microwaving than actual cooking. Most meals consisted of some sort of frozen, breaded product, often more than one, and only rarely anything consisting of fruit or vegetable matter. An actual salad, which required more than simply slapping grapes, bananas, or apples on the table, was unheard of. "So how'd you like that game, eh?" Valenti said. "Wasn't that fumble pretty spectacular? Won the game for our guys, that's for sure."
Tess blinked; she'd completely forgotten about the football game, and had no idea who'd won. "Yeah, spectacular," she agreed. "Totally."
"Hang on just a sec," Valenti said, scurrying back to the oven. "I think the tater tots are burning."
Kyle eyed her across the table. "Liar," he whispered.
"Hmm?" Tess murmured, privately wondering if it was possible to burn tater tots, and if doing so would make them taste better.
"You left the game early," Kyle said. "I saw you and the rest of them creeping away before the end of the first half."
" 'A', we weren't 'creeping', and 'B', weren't you supposed to be playing? How did you find time to scan the stands for just a few people several rows up? Why, Kyle Valenti," Tess went on with amusement as Kyle looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Were you looking for me? In the middle of a game? How sweet."
"Don't get all sappy," Kyle said crossly. "I just happened to see you all walking out between plays. Where'd you go?"
"None of your business," Tess answered calmly.
"Maybe not, but what was so important that you had to leave in the middle of a game?" Kyle said.
"Exactly what part of 'none of your business' are you having trouble with?" Tess asked.
Kyle leaned in closer. "You know, I could tell my dad that you just lied to him."
Tess leaned in closer. "You know, I could tell your dad that you were nasty to Max before the game."
"I was joking!" Kyle protested. "And besides, he was a real ass the night of Isabel's party, demanding to know where I'd taken her like she was his slave, or something."
"Oh, you mean like you're demanding to know where we went, and threatening me if I don't tell you?" Tess said. "So the way to protest Max being an ass is to be one yourself. Way to go, Kyle."
"I wasn't looking for you up in the stands," Kyle insisted.
"I know you weren't," Tess said. "You were looking for Isabel."
Kyle blushed furiously as Valenti set two large cookie sheets of previously frozen, breaded goodness on the table. "Here we go!" he announced gaily. "Let's celebrate your win!"
"With real food for a change," Kyle muttered, stabbing a rondolet.
"So did you know Tess was there cheering you on?" Valenti asked.
"Heck, no, Dad!" Kyle said brightly. "When I'm playing, I'm so busy I wouldn't even notice Martians in the stands."
*********************************************************
Proctor residence
Yvonne White unzipped her suitcase, her stiff hands clutching at the zipper which ran clear around the case. The new fashion for soft luggage with loads of zippers was not kind to the arthritic, and she had to stop and start again several times, each time repositioning her hands to get a better grip. At last the lid gave way and she pulled it back, digging into the contents to remove what she'd buried in the middle, the better to protect it. The silver frame shone, it's glass undamaged, and the two faces in the photo it contained smiled back at her, young, healthy, full of promise. More digging produced a battered watch, a set of captain's bars, and a cardigan sweater which had seen better days. Yvonne unfolded it, smoothing the wrinkles and buttoning the buttons before holding it to her cheek and inhaling deeply. It still smelled like him.
"Yvonne?"
It was Dee, standing hesitantly in the doorway of the little bedroom which had been hers as a child. "If this is a bad time, I can come back later."
"No, no," Yvonne said. "It's not a bad time. No worse than any other."
Dee came into the room and laid a set of towels on the end of the bed. "I wish I could offer you your own bathroom, but I'm afraid we'll have to share the tub, at least. We put a powder room downstairs, but the only tub is up here…"
She stopped as Yvonne waved a dismissive hand. "No worries. Just let me know when the two of you usually take baths, and I'll be sure to pick a different time."
"But we don't want to disrupt your schedule," Dee protested.
Yvonne smiled faintly. "I do. When I'm doing new things...I miss him less."
Dee sat down on the end of the bed. "I'm so sorry," she said gently. "I can't imagine what it must be like to lose your husband."
"I should have been able to," Yvonne said. "Stephen had Alzheimer's for years, so I certainly had plenty of time to get used to what was coming. He'd reached the point where he didn't recognize me, where every time he saw me, it was like he was meeting me for the first time. So you'd think I'd be ready for it...but I wasn't. I wasn't," she said softly. "Not even close."
"How did it happen?" Dee asked.
Yvonne shrugged. "He didn't just wake up. He hadn't been ill, no more so than usual, that is. They found him in the morning. He was already cold, so he'd been gone for a while."
"So no warning," Dee said sadly.
"You don't feel it at first," Yvonne went on. "There's too much to do. Belongings to collect, death certificates to file, phone calls to make. It's afterwards that it hits you. I wasn't sure it would. I've lived without Stephen for so long now, I wasn't sure how much it would matter when he was truly gone...but it does. Sort of like couples who've lived together think getting married won't matter, but it does."
Dee looked at the little pile on the bed. "Were these his things?"
Yvonne nodded, fingering the buttons on the worn sweater. "Everyone always says that material possessions don't matter, that people are more important than things, and that's exactly right…until those people are gone. Then those things become terribly important because it's all you have left of them."
"And now Jaddo's dead too," Dee murmured. "Although I doubt Brivari has any 'things' of his to sort through."
"It's been a bad year across the board," Yvonne agreed. "How is he?"
"Angry," Dee answered. "And grieving, even if he won't admit it."
"Have you told him about Stephen?"
Dee shook her head. "No. God, no. The last thing he needed was more bad news. He's in quite the mood."
"Understandably," Yvonne said. "And how are the kids?"
"I wish I knew," Dee sighed. "We used to have at least some inkling of what they were up to because Tess would talk to Jaddo, and Jaddo would let us know. But since he died…"
"That line of communication no longer exists," Yvonne nodded. "And at the worst possible time, when Isabel has to deal with having killed someone."
"Brivari saw all that, so we knew what happened there," Dee said, "but there must be so much more. Courtney's trying hard to eavesdrop more, but she hasn't been able to come up with much. I swear I'm going to bug their bedrooms."
"A rather drastic measure," Yvonne said, "especially if they find the bug. They'll be terrified the Special Unit is back in town."
"Can't I just plant the bug, and 'fess up if they find it?" Dee said glumly.
"Frankly, I think it's time to 'fess up anyway," Yvonne said. "I understand why Brivari wants to stay in the background, but there's no reason you have to. Max can't compel you."
Dee looked troubled. "You should have seen him that night, after it was over and Isabel came back to the party. He was...well, he was downright insufferable. Ordering her to tell him where she'd been, snapping at me...he was rude, he was patronizing, he was everything he shouldn't be if he's going to handle that power responsibly. Brivari's right—he has to stay out of sight, at least for now."
Anthony appeared in the bedroom doorway. "It's Diane," he announced, brandishing a phone, "and she sounds...well, she sounds like Diane."
"Oh, good Lord, what's she hyperventilating about now?" Dee muttered, taking the phone. "Diane!" she said brightly as Yvonne raised an amused eyebrow. "Hello, dear! How is everyone this fine Sunday?"
There was a long pause while Dee listened. "I see," she murmured. "Yes, of course you're concerned, but...what? You want to do what?" she demanded, her voice rising abruptly. "Are you serious? After what happened last time…. Yes, but..." Dee rolled her eyes as an agitated voice floated from the phone. "Yes, I did say that, but do you really think that would help? That last doctor was just…" Dee stopped abruptly, her eyes fastening on Yvonne. "Actually, Diane, I do have a suggestion for you, one I think you'll like. Can I get back to you? In, say, an hour or so?"
"Goodness, what was that all about?" Anthony asked when Dee rang off.
"Our dear darling daughter-in-law wants to put Isabel in therapy because of the way she's been acting lately," Dee said.
"You can't blame her," Yvonne said gently. "Diane doesn't know what's wrong, but she knows something's wrong."
"It gets worse," Dee said. "She wants Max back in therapy too. My whitewashing his first doctor with all those "coping skills" makes her think they could both use more coping skills."
"The price of success," Anthony said ruefully.
"But she asked me to help her find a new doctor," Dee continued, "and I happen to know one with time on her hands. One Diane would welcome with open arms, and who would never blow them in no matter what they let slip."
"Oh, I don't know," Yvonne said doubtfully. "Do you think Philip would accept an old lady as his children's therapist?"
"I think Philip would accept anyone who wasn't that other doctor," Dee said. "What do you say? It would be much safer for the kids, and it would give you something to do. And maybe you could convince Diane that they're fine, and don't need therapists."
"I'm not sure any of us are 'fine'," Yvonne said. "But I'll help in any way I can. If you can get their parents to agree, I'll do it."
"Excellent!" Dee said. "At least if they have to put up with therapists again, this time it will be the right one. Okay...first crisis of the day averted. Will you join us downstairs for dinner?"
"I'd love to," Yvonne said. "I've spent years eating alone. It will be good to have someone to talk to." She reached for her bag, meaning to pack up the things she'd been going through, when Dee picked up the framed photograph.
"I remember when you both looked like this. Was this taken on the base?"
"In 1950," Yvonne nodded, "right before we had to run. We were on our way to look for Captain Carver to see what he knew about that reporter who died right after the crash."
"Whatever happened to Captain Carver after the compound was shut down?" Dee asked. "Cavitt was hounding him, wasn't he? Did Carver ever find out he was free?"
"No idea," Yvonne said. "We never saw him again."
*********************************************************
Holiday Inn, Roswell
"Welcome to the 509th Reunion!" the cheerful, far-too-young lady trilled to the next attendee, perched on her folding chair behind a long table full of carefully Sharpied name tags. "May I get you your name tag?"
"I'm guessing I can find it myself," the man said, sounded vaguely irritated. "I know my own name."
"But that's my job!" the young lady admonished. "You wouldn't want to deprive a lady of her job, would you?"
For a moment, the man looked like he was going to argue that point. But then his expression softened, and he shook his head. "No, ma'am, I would not. It's Carver. Captain Harold Carver."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post chapter 41 on Sunday, November 22.
My son is home from New Zealand over the holidays and beyond, so I'll be back with Chapter 43 on Sunday, January 17, 2016. Here's wishing everyone wonderful holidays, and I'll see you again in the New Year!
) One of the things we did was tour the "other" side of Ellis Island, the hospital wings not currently open to the public. They're offering "Hard Hat Tours" to raise money for the renovations which will hopefully let them open that part of the island to the public in the future. It was fascinating to hear about those who stayed at Ellis Island, sometimes briefly, sometimes for years, and tour the old buildings. If you're interested, get your tickets early--they go fast!
