My Beloved Max (MATURE) Ma/Ma {COMPLETE}

[Midwest Max]

Thanks for all of your comments! There are some answers in there

Part Ten

The fall seems to take an eternity. I clench my eyes closed and wait for the impact, tensing every muscle in my body though I know that’s the real way to get injured. Injured? Why am I worried about that? I’ll probably die from this fall.

But when the landing comes, it hurts no worse than flopping backwards onto a mattress. I think I even bounce a bit. I lay motionlessly for a few moments, wondering when the pain is going to hit. When it never does, I crack open first one eye, then the other.

I’m not hurt. How can that be?

And now it’s daylight.

And my head is clear, I feel sober.

I sit up quickly and glance around my surroundings. The cliff face does indeed tower over me so I know I got down here somehow. How I escaped injury and why it’s now daytime, I haven’t a clue.

Shaking my head, I push myself to my feet and brush the sand off my clothes. Nothing makes sense these days. I put my hands on my hips and stare up at the cliff, wondering how I’m going to get back up there. I think I have to in order to get a ride home. Off to my left, I see a slope and figure maybe I can make my way up that way. I turn to walk in that direction, but Bethany is suddenly in front of me.

“Oh, my God!” she spouts. “Are you okay, Maria?”

My eyes narrow as I remember the few seconds before I fell. Bethany was running toward me…and then I went over the cliff. “Did you push me?” I demand, my voice coming out so harsh I surprise myself.

She withdraws a bit. “No. Why would I push you?”

“Then how did I get down here?” I demand.

Her voice is timid. “You fell.”

“Horse shit,” I spit, brushing past her.

“It’s the truth!” she calls from behind me.

I wave her off, heading for the slope. Maybe that guy who was at the party will take me home. Shit…I can’t remember his name. But I remember Bethany because she’s right beside me.

“Where are you going?” she demands.

“Up there,” I say, pointing to the plateau above.

“How are you going to get up there?”

“Climb,” I reply simply.

“But Maria, you…can’t climb.”

Patience gone, I stop in my tracks and look at her menacingly. “What are you talking about? And why are you following me?”

“Look,” she says her voice full of sadness, her hand gesturing toward the spot where I fell.

I roll my eyes and follow her direction. People who weren’t there three seconds ago are now rappelling down the cliff face, one of those orange rescue gurneys following them. That’s odd. My eyes travel down the rock and I see a blob of something lying way too close to the crashing waves. It’s kind of blue, orange and yellowish colored. Whatever the yellowish thing is blows and shifts in the breeze. My brow furrows, wondering what it is those people are working so hard to get to.

“See?” Bethany says quietly. “You can’t climb anywhere, Maria.”

I give her a sidelong, irritated glance. “What are you babbling about?”

She works her mouth, bites her lip in an oddly familiar manner. “That’s you.”

“What’s me?”

She points to the cliff again.

I follow her direction once again and see things I didn’t see before – the blue and orange is Max’s Bears jersey. The yellowish thing is my hair.

But that’s ridiculous. I’m standing right here. I’m wearing Max’s jersey. And this isn’t the first time this stranger has made me see things. I believe none of it.

“Fuck you,” I mumble, turning away from her and continuing toward the slope.

“Maria, please,” she calls, her voice tired and desperate.

“I said fuck you!” I respond without turning around.

“You can’t go anywhere!” she says, her voice already becoming farther away as I advance on the slope.

“Apparently I can,” I snark to myself. I glance up to seek out the best place to start climbing…and find that the slope is gone. I stop short, let out and an annoyed sigh and pivot slowly. Bethany has caught up – she’s only a few yards behind me. “That’s enough,” I tell her. “You can stop whatever little game it is you’re playing.”

“I’m not playing a game,” she says innocently.

“You’re not,” I deadpan. “So, what are you? A hypnotist? Another breed of alien? You can tell me – I’ve seen it all.”

One corner of her mouth lifts slightly. “I’m not an alien.”

“Okay, so a hypnotist then. Ha ha, you got me. Now knock it off.”

“I’m not doing this,” she replies.

I step close to her, so close I expect her to withdraw but she doesn’t. “Listen to me, you little witch,” I hiss. “I know what you did earlier. You made me see Liz Parker and I don’t find it in any way funny. Now you’re making me see rescue workers and escape routes that aren’t there.” Out of curiosity, I glance over her shoulder and find the so called “victim” and rescue people gone. I give her a smirk. “Oh, look. And now those people are gone too.”

Her ice blue eyes are unwavering. “Much time has passed.”

“Bullshit,” I snort. “We’ve been here all of five minutes.”

“A minute may be an hour,” she says vaguely.

I watch her for a moment, then give a humorless laugh. “There’s something wrong with you,” I tell her. I shake my head and turn to leave. “Screw you, Bethany. I’m going back to the Inn, then I’m going home to Max and Allie.”

“Before you’ve resolved anything?”

“I have nothing to resolve,” I say, searching for another way out of here. If it comes to it, I may end up swimming out of this mess.

Behind me, Bethany’s voice changes to one that is so familiar it drives a dagger straight into my heart. “I know your pain,” she says softly. “Look at me, Maria.”

I’m frozen in place, unable to move. I want it to be true. I don’t want it to be true. If it’s true, then I’m crazy. If it isn’t true, then this Bethany is one cold bitch.

“Please, Maria.”

I pivot slowly and standing before me is Liz Parker, exactly the way I last saw her. I manage to keep myself from crying out; in fact, I think I manage to only react on the inside.

“This isn’t funny,” I say, my voice strained.

She shakes her head. “It’s not meant to be.”

“Who are you? A shapeshifter?”

She looks down at her body and gives another shake of her head. “I’m not from your plane of existence, Maria. Not any more. But you knew me once, in this form.”

I cock my head and let out an exasperated breath. “Oh, please! What are you trying to tell me? That you’re Liz come back from the dead?”

“No. I’m still dead. But I have come back.”

“For what?” I demand incredulously. “To push me off a cliff?!”

Her voice remains calm. “I didn’t push you. I broke your fall. You’ll live.”

Anger immediately flares inside of me. “There is no way that you’re Liz Parker! Because if you were Liz and had the ability to intervene, you would not have let Max Evans try to kill himself!”

She smiles slightly. “Free will still reigns. I couldn’t stop Max from making that choice.”

“That’s what I mean! The Liz I know wouldn’t have let Max die!”

“I didn’t.”

I’m loading up the gun to give her another round but her words stop me short. I tilt my head, looking at her in confusion.

“There are no accidents, Maria,” she explains gently. “Max didn’t die because you found him before that could happen. Your going over to his house at that time was not a coincidence or an accident.”

My mouth slowly drops open. “You…sent me?”

She nods silently.

I feel weak, like all of the energy has been sapped out of me. Not wanting to believe what I’m hearing, I fall to the sand, feel its grittiness between my fingers. I’m so confused. This person before me claims to be my lost, dead friend. The things she says seem to be so real and yet not real at all. My head is spinning uncontrollably.

I feel a warm hand on my arm and I lift my eyes enough to see that she has crouched beside me.

“I’m sorry for taking this form,” she apologizes quietly. “I think it upsets you, but I didn’t think I could convince you to stop and talk to me otherwise. Would you like me to change back to Bethany’s form?”

I shake my head mutely.

She sits down in the sand, removing her hand from my arm. I watch her warily and think of Bethany’s unusually blue eyes. A line from a Live song immediately filters into my brain – The angel opens her eyes, pale blue colored iris, presents the circle and puts the glory out to hide.

“What are you?” I ask, my voice low.

She smiles slightly. “One of the heavenly host, I guess.” She gives a giggle at the term, a Liz Parker giggle.

I close my eyes momentarily against the pain of the memory. “Are you an angel, then?”

“If that’s what you want to call me.”

“Who is Bethany?”

She gives a shrug. “Just a form I chose for myself.”

I find it somewhat humorous that only in death does reserved Liz Parker feel free enough to go goth. “Then she’s not real?”

She shakes her head.

I think I now know why Grace had so much trouble remembering Bethany – it would be like trying to recall a dream three days after it happened.

“Why are you here? Am I dead?” I choke on the last word.

“No. I already told you you’ll live.”

“So are you just keeping me company until I wake up?”

She shakes her head. “No. I need to talk to you. I was hoping to do it while you were conscious, but you fell, so…”

“I fell,” I repeat, looking toward the cliff. It is already shadowed in dusk.

“You did,” she confirms.

My mind drifts to Max, to him getting a phone call a thousand miles away, the panic he must feel. Inside, I feel a stab of guilt.

“He’s on his way,” she smiles at me.

“Who?” I jump, slightly startled.

“Max, your husband.”

I withdraw slightly. Shit – I hadn’t thought of that. I’m married to her husband!

She giggles again. “It’s okay, really. It’s all good. But I do want to talk with you, if you’ll let me.”

I hold up a hand. “Yeah, okay, in a minute. But you need to answer one question for me first.”

“Anything.”

“Were you on the train? Were you the goober in the Cubs hat?”

She gives a full laugh and it echoes off the surrounding cliffs like music. “No. That was Alex.”

tbc

******

~~ Lyrics from "Lightening Crashes" by Live

[Midwest Max]

Part Eleven

“So is this what you do now? Follow me around?”

She smiles and gives a little laugh. “No, not all the time. Just now.”

I kick at the sand before us; we’ve found a fallen tree to sit on and the sky has grown dark again. In the real world, I guess it’s very late and I wonder if Max is here somewhere, weary but worried after a long flight. “Why now?” I ask my visitor.

“Because I think you need me.” She pulls her knees up to her chin and wraps her arms around her legs. She has a serene, peaceful quality about her. I don’t think anything could faze her.

I give a little snort. “I always needed you, Lizzie.”

She turns her head my way, resting her cheek against the top of her knee. “Maybe, but you seem to be doing okay since I’ve been gone.”

I look down at my feet again, ashamed that I’ve moved in on her man. “You mean I’ve done okay by snagging Max.”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s not what I meant, but having Max isn’t a bad thing, is it?”

I share a sidelong smile with her and shake my head. “No, not really.”

“He’s a good man,” she says, her words sincere. “He has an honest heart. If he promises something, he means it. He won’t break his word.”

I watch her silently. There’s hidden meaning in her words. She meets my gaze for a long moment, then must decide I haven’t gotten the point.

“If he says he won’t leave you, then he won’t,” she explains.

Oh, that. I kick some more sand.

“Max loves you,” she continues. “You might not understand just how much you mean to him. He was dying inside, counting his days. Until he met you.”

That sentiment creates a warm ball inside of my belly. Max is such a strong person it’s hard to imagine that I could be the one to save him from himself. It’s hard to imagine I could save anybody. Then I wonder how she knows so much about how he feels.

“Have you visited Max?” I ask.

She nods, turning her head and resting her chin on her knees.

“Did you speak to him like we’re speaking now?”

She grins and shakes her head. “No, he didn’t need me to.”

I wait patiently for an explanation for that.

She turns to look at me again and I see centuries of wisdom in her eyes. “Max only needs to feel things to believe them. You – you need more convincing.”

Is she saying I’m a cynic?

She laughs. “Yes, you are. But that’s okay. Everyone is different.”

I wrinkle my brow. “So what are you trying to convince me of?”

“That it’s time to move on. That it’s time to stop running.”

I give a defensive, self-conscious laugh. “I’m not running.”

She nods slightly. “Yes you are. You’re running from the past and living in it at the same time.”

“I’m not living in the past.”

A silent nod this time. I wait for more reaction from her, but I get none. That leads me to believe that she knows I will come to my own agreement on the matter. And she’s right.

Thoughts of abandonment, of a poor upbringing have haunted me since I was a child. Not one day has passed that I haven’t thought about one parent giving up on me and one neglecting me. Not one hour has passed that I haven’t blamed myself. Not one minute has passed that I haven’t felt angry for that.

“It’s natural to be angry,” she finally says. “You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t. But that anger isn’t going to get you anywhere, Maria. It’s only going to make you angrier.”

I listen to her mutely. She is so much wiser than I am.

“I could have been angry about many things. I could have been angry that I lived in a world where someone I didn’t know and hadn’t even met before could nearly take my life with a bullet. I could have been angry that my one true love wasn’t human and that our life together was never easy. I could have been angry that my grandmother was taken from me when I felt like I needed her most.”

“But you weren’t,” I say quietly. “You weren’t angry.”

“I was,” she corrects. “But I didn’t keep that anger. I realized it for what it was and moved on. You, Maria, have held on to your anger for two decades now. And if you don’t let it go, it will consume you.”

I stare down at my feet, unable to face her while she speaks the truth.

“Some shitty things happened to you,” she continues. “I won’t deny that. But if you were to change any of them, you would change who you are. Things that happen in your life influence who you will become. Maybe things would have been better if your father had stayed with you. But maybe they would have been worse. How do you know? Maybe he would have been physically abusive or worse. Then what kind of person would you have turned out to be?”

I had never thought of that. I guess when you’re five years old all you know is that your parents are supposed to be perfect, loving and protective. You don’t reason that they’re actually bad people.

Her hand slides onto my leg and I look down at her tiny fingers, Liz Parker’s fingers.

“You have a good life,” she stresses. “You have a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter. They both love you very much. Let go of that past life and live in this one with them.”

My throat tightens up and I try to force away the lump that has formed there. Honest words, spoken by a long-dead friend.

“I’m a bad mother,” I choke.

She laughs lightly. “No, you’re not. You’re a new mother.”

I sniff and push away the tears. “Max is a better mother than I am.”

She laughs again, a little louder this time. “Max is no better a parent than you are.”

I shake my head, disagreeing with her. “That’s not true. He’s a natural. He just breezes through taking care of the baby like he was born to do it.”

Her grin is wide, amused. “No, he doesn’t. He struggles, too. He’s never been a parent either.”

“Then why doesn’t he have the problems I do?” I can’t wait to hear the answer to this one – it’s probably alien-related.

“Because he’s patient and understands that he’s not supposed to be perfect.”

Oh. Ouch.

“You don’t need to be perfect either.”

“I cut off her fingertip,” I confess sheepishly.

“Happens all the time.”

Huh? I look at her incredulously. You mean I’m not the first to do that?!

She grins and pats my leg. “All the time,” she repeats. Then she falls serious, her eyes tender. “If you think Max has it all figured out, then learn from him. Don’t block him out. Let him be a part of your healing process. He’s a good listener. Let him help.”

I nod silently.

She smiles vaguely, then does a slow survey of our surroundings. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

I straighten quickly, panic flaring in my gut. “No,” I beg. “Please stay with me.”

“I can’t stay with you,” she explains gently. “You and I don’t exist in the same world.”

“But you’re here now,” I argue.

“But I can’t stay forever. My time here was short – I’m not meant to be on this earth.”

Tears are starting to well behind my eyes. “Will I ever see you again?”

She tips her head slightly, a warm smile on her face. “Not as Liz Parker. But you might see me without knowing it – an unfamiliar face on the bus, a stranger in the deli. Be kind and respectful of strangers, Maria, because you never know who they might be.”

I can feel her slipping away already and I fight against it. I want to plead with her to stay, but I realize that she’s not the one who’s changing – I am. I must be regaining consciousness.

“Wait,” I say, desperate. “Not yet.”

She remains placid, her presence calming.

“I never got to say…” I choke on my words, then force them out anyway. “I never got to say goodbye.”

She holds out her arms for me and I fall into them, the tears finally springing free. Her scent drifts to my nose and it is so painfully familiar that I ache all of the way down to my toes. This truly is my friend, my one stronghold in life for so many years, the one who would transcend death to try to save me from myself. I promise her silently that I will try, that I will make every attempt to right myself, to be a good wife and mother. And to let myself off the hook for all of the blame I’ve placed on myself.

I’ve been given an opportunity that most people never get – to erase a regret, to make peace with someone I’ve lost, to close a chapter of my life. I clench my eyes and hug her tightly, though I feel her presence already slipping away. And then I whisper the words I’ve wanted to say for six years.

“Goodbye, Liz.”

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Twelve

Pain.

Pain in my back. Pain in my arm. Pain in my chest when I try to breathe. Mind-numbing, agonizing pain.

When the bitch told me I’d live, she didn’t mention the pain would be so bad that I’d want to die! Every time my heart thuds, my head thuds a nanosecond later in response. I’m in so much pain that I want to cry, but I know that crying will only make the pain worse, so I resort to clenching my eyes closed and calling out her name, begging her to help me.

I hear voices all around me. The first one is familiar if a little frantic, but I can’t center on it, can’t associate it to a name or face. Then there’s a throng inside my head, lots of movement, voices that are too loud, lights that are too bright, pain that is too severe. Something bites my arm and I cry in frustration and discomfort.

My toes start to tingle to the point where I can’t feel them anymore. The buzzing bees travel upward, making my knees turn to jelly. I can’t hold my muscles tense anymore and I quickly collapse into the mattress, all control lost. I fight against it, struggle against the darkness that is seeping from the corners of my mind. But the drugs are stronger than I am and I feel myself starting to float away…

Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

The words come to me from nowhere and I know she’s here somewhere. I can’t see her and I don’t hear her, but I feel her words, her comfort. This is what she meant about Max not needing to see or hear to believe. Her spirit washes over me like a calming, warm bath and I allow myself to relax into it.

You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there

She’s singing to me, comforting me. I’m going to be okay…

The next time I awake, there is no pain, only dull ache in a few choice spots. The room is quiet except for that constant buzzing. I blink a couple of times, trying to find its source, then I realize that the buzzing is only inside of my head. Morphine? Demerol? Something narcotic for sure.

I draw in a tentative breath and while my chest feels tight, it doesn’t hurt so much this time. An effect of the drugs or has something changed? Have I been in a coma for a month or something? I’m finding it hard to maintain a lucid thought, like I can almost pinpoint it but then it flutters away.

An errant hair tickles the side of my face and I reach to move it…only I can’t move it because I can’t move either of my arms. Raising my head slightly, I see that my left arm is in a cast and my right is strapped to the bed. For some bizarre reason, they’ve restrained me. That makes no sense.

My gaze travels toward the window and lands directly on Max. Immediately, I feel a huge jolt of affection for him, so much that I want to pull him in close and never let go. He’s staring toward the window though I doubt that he’s seeing whatever is outside. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a very long time. Odd that devastation can make him look so utterly beautiful. My half-drugged mind immediately skips back almost four months when Allie was born and Max looked almost the same way. Poor Max. I’ve put him through too much.

I try to call him, but my voice just comes out as a tired croak.

He hears me, though, as his head whips in my direction. He releases a relieved whimper and I think I see tears welling up in his eyes. Quickly, he drags his chair over by the bed so that he can grasp my hand. His fingers are warm and I remember with a drunken smile how his whole body is usually nice and toasty…I want him to lay down with me and hold me against him, I need his warmth and love. My eyes go to the restraint and I look at him questioningly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice sounding congested – he’s been crying. “Do you need me to get the doctor?” His free hand goes to my hair, pushes it back from my face where it was itching me.

I shake my head slowly, the buzzing warbling as I do so. “I love you, Max,” I manage.

He gives a choked sigh and draws in a ragged breath. “I love you, too, sweetie.” His fingers are starting to tremble in mine as he lifts my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss there. Well, he sort of lifts my hand – more like he meets me halfway, as far as the restraint will allow.

“Why?” I ask groggily, indicating the leather strap.

His eyes travel to it, and when he looks back to me I see a plethora of emotions in his eyes – fear, sorrow, confusion, maybe some disappointment. “They think that you…” His voice trails off and he swallows, adjusting his choice of words. “They aren’t sure it was an accident.”

I raise my eyebrows as fast as the drugs will allow. “I fell,” I tell him.

He bites his lips, looking like he really wants to believe that but is afraid to at the same time.

I try to remember that night, the chain of events, but everything is so foggy, so sketchy. “I went to a party,” I recall tiredly. “I had too much to drink…I thought I was going to be sick…”

My words cut off as I realize the whole time I’ve been speaking, Max has been shaking his head, his expression somewhat frightened. Why is he telling me no? How would he know what happened?

Because the police would have investigated how a woman ended up at the bottom of a 50 foot drop. There would have been no Bethany to interview and God knows if they talked to Grace, she couldn’t even really remember Bethany once she was out of her presence. They probably also ran blood tests when I came in here and for some reason the toxicology came back clean. Horror sets in as I start adding up the numbers.

Max thinks I threw myself off that cliff, that I tried to commit suicide. That’s why I’ve been restrained – I might be a hazard to myself. The thought that he would believe that out of me, after all of my anger over his attempted exit, brings tears to my eyes and all I can do is sob.

“Max,” I croak, feeling his pain.

He tightens his grip on my hand, encloses it entirely between both of his. “You can be honest with me, Maria,” he assures, his voice very near tears. “You can tell me. And we can work through it together. I understand where you were coming from. We’ll get you the help you need.”

I shake my head in determination, squeezing my eyes against the thought that I have so unintentionally hurt him. What must he have been thinking while I’ve been out? Did he ride a plane all the way from Chicago with only one thought in his head – that he was coming to claim the body of his dead wife, who had committed suicide? Did he blame himself for being the first to try it – does he think I got the idea from him?

“Maria,” he says softly. “Look at me.”

I open my eyes and sniffle. My nose is starting to run and I can’t even reach for a tissue. This situation sucks.

“Did you…” he begins, his eyes imploring for the truth. “Did you jump?” His voice cracks on the last word and it barely escapes his lips with an ounce of coherence.

I shake my head again. My throat is tight and dry and I just want him to believe me. “No, Max. I fell.”

His eyes never leave mine but I can’t read what he’s thinking. I feel the need for more explanation.

“I can’t make you understand,” I begin. “Anything I tell you will make it seem like I’m crazy. I didn’t mean to fall. It was an accident.”

“Who were you with?” he questions.

I was with Liz and some friends whom I’m sure don’t really exist. I can’t tell him that or he’s going to lock me up for sure. But I can’t lie to him either because he’s my husband and we have no secrets. I’m in a no-win situation. I finally land on honesty being the best policy.

Setting my jaw in determination, I give him the truth. “I was with Liz.”

He recoils slightly, blinking a couple of times. I can almost hear his thought process – he’s blaming the drugs. And yet, he’s been visited by Liz more than once and is weighing the possibility of it all being true.

“Max,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “Have a little faith in me.”

He looks a little startled. After all, isn’t this what he’s been asking of me – that I believe what he tells me and trust it as the truth? I’ve given him that benefit of the doubt. I’ve tried to have faith that he won’t try to kill himself again, that he’s healthy. I have no way of knowing that is truth – I can only take a leap of faith and trust him. Now it’s his turn.

Max releases my hand and my heart plummets. I expect him to get up and move for the door, but he doesn’t. Instead, he waves his hand over the restraint and it falls away, freeing my hand. I give a relieved sigh, turning my hand this way and that, soothing the ache caused by the binding.

Max pushes his chair back slightly and I watch him curiously. Raking his hands through his hair, he plants his elbows on his knees and holds his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. We remain in silence for a seeming eternity. I don’t know what to say and I can’t predict what he’s thinking while he stares at the floor tile. Then I notice a heave of his shoulders, a silent tremor of his body and I realize that he’s sobbing. My throat constricts and my eyes start to burn. Poor Max. He’s finally come unglued.

I reach over and run my hand through his thick hair, my fingers grazing his.

“Oh, God!” he suddenly cries, his sobs gaining voice.

He lifts his tear-sodden face and my tears immediately spring to my eyes. His eyes, those beautiful eyes that window his soul, are nothing but small swollen slits, his lashes heavy with his tears. His cheeks are flushed and wet, his brow contorted in agony. Gasping my hand in his, he brings it to his cheek and I feel his tears against the back of my fingers. Then he drops my hand to his chest and holds it there, wringing it between both of his hands.

“Don’t leave me yet,” he pleads, his words and demeanor more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen before.

I shake my head quickly from side to side. “I won’t,” I choke. “I promise you, Max. Believe me.”

He nods in emotional agreement, trying to stifle his cries.

“I mean it,” I reiterate. “I fell. I want to live. I want to grow old with you and become a grandparent with you. I can’t explain to you what happened to me, Max. I don’t have the words for it. Just please trust me.”

He sniffs, nodding again, swallowing away some of his grief. I can’t imagine this, I can’t imagine how he must have felt, thinking he’d lost another wife, the mother of his child.

“Where’s Allie?” I prompt, releasing my hand from his and brushing dampness from his cheeks. “Where’s my baby?”

He straightens, wiping his hands on the legs of his jeans, then he rubs his cheeks on the sleeves of his shirt. “In Chicago,” he says, drawing in a deep breath and regaining some control.

“With Mae?” I ask. Mae-Ling is good for babysitting for a night out at the movies, but I think long-term Allie would get the best of her.

Max shakes his head as he reaches for a Kleenex. “No, with my mom.”

Wow. How much time has passed that has allowed Diane to fly to Chicago from New Mexico and Max to fly from Chicago to New England and be here when I woke up? In my mind, I imagine him standing in stunned silence for a very brief period of time after receiving the call that I was injured. Then I see him quickly dialing his mom’s number and getting her to drop whatever it is she does to come stay with Allie. My mother wouldn’t have done that and my prior assumption is correct – Max got better parents than I did.

But I’m not dwelling on that anymore. I’m moving on – I promised Liz I would. I hold out my arm for Max and he gives me a wary look. I motion again, letting him know it’s okay. He carefully climbs onto the bed with me, avoiding casts and wires and gingerly wraps his arm around me. I burrow into him, soaking in his warmth, lay my cheek against his chest. His body is tense, tired, stressed. I’m so sorry, Max, for all that I’ve put you through. He’s lying on my good arm and the other is in a cast, so all I can do is caress his chest with my cheek, nuzzling him with my nose.

“I love you, Max,” I whisper to him and feel him relax just a bit. “I want to see our baby. I want to go home.”

tbc

~~~~~~~
Lyrics are from "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan

[Midwest Max]

Part Thirteen

I haven’t been in a coma for a month as I earlier suspected – I’ve been there just long enough to squander my week’s vacation. When they release me from the hospital, Max books train passage for the two of us back to Chicago – I know he’d rather fly, but he always seems to respect my wishes not to. As luck would have it, I still have one more night reserved in Grace and Gus’s bed and breakfast.

The cab pulls up outside of the old Colonial and the inn mistress descends upon us like a mother hen.

“Oh, child!” she says, practically ripping me from the back seat of the vehicle. Max grins boyishly. “We were so worried about you after you wandered away that night.”

After I wandered away that night…so I guess Bethany has slipped from her memory completely. Either that or I never really got into a car with her and rode away. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully comprehend the series of events that left me lying at the foot of that cliff.

I slide out of the car and try to hide as much of my left arm as possible. Upon regaining my coherence, I found that my cast only reached my elbow and that I could bend my arm. I know Max will work the voodoo later and fix the bone, so I need to hide the cast from Grace to prevent her questions later when it has disappeared. I’m wearing one of Max’s sweatshirts and since the sleeves are too long, I’ve let the left one fall over my hand, hoping no one notices the bulge below my elbow.

“I’m okay,” I assure Grace, turning slightly to watch Max round the car with the cabbie to get his bag from the trunk. When he pulls it out, my stomach lurches a bit – it’s just a backpack, not a suitcase and I have a mental image of him throwing a clean pair of sock and underwear into the pack and racing for the airport. He was too panicked to prepare for this trip. My hand wanders to my belly and I touch his shirt – I wonder if I’m wearing his only change of clothes. “That’s my husband, Max,” I tell Grace. “Is it okay if he stays here?”

Grace’s eyes fall on Max and I see immediate approval there. Maybe she can tell he’s a good man, too. “Of course he can, sweetie. Not a problem at all.” She takes me by the shoulders and rotates me toward the steps of the B&B. “Can you take the steps okay? We have a delivery entrance in the back if you’d rather take the ramp.”

I shake my head. “No, I’ll be okay.” I don’t want to tell her that I hurt in many places because I don’t want her doting over me.

Max appears beside me, his backpack slung over his shoulder, and puts his arm around me supportively. Behind us, the cab pulls away, leaving us with one night in this quiet retreat.

“I’m Max Evans,” he says to our hostess, no free hand with which to greet her.

“Grace,” she replies, smiling at his obvious concern that he’s being rude by not offering a hand in greeting. “Welcome.”

He grins, then helps me up the front steps and into the house.

“Where’s your room?” he asks me.

I eye the winding wooden staircase, feel dread inside of my bones. “Up there.”

He follows my gaze, raises an eyebrow at the challenge, then starts for the bottom of the steps undaunted.

“Can I bring you up some tea?” Grace calls, trying so hard to mother someone who doesn’t need mothering.

“I think I’d just like to lie down for awhile,” I tell her over my shoulder, giving her a grateful glance.

“Okay,” she relents. “But if you need anything, please call for me.”

We watch her move back toward the kitchen, then I turn and find Max grinning after her. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing. She’s nice, is all. But now that she’s gone –“ He bends at the knee and sweeps me into his arms. I give a small squeak of surprise.

“What are you doing?” I laugh, looping my arms around his neck to maintain our balance.

“Giving you a free ride,” he says, stepping onto the first step.

“Max, no,” I protest. “I can’t ask you to take all of these stairs with my extra weight.”

But he only smiles. “Think nothing of it. I’m stronger than I look.”

That brings a full belly laugh from me – no one who looked at Max would ever think he wasn’t strong. He takes the stairs slowly and about halfway up I lay my head against his shoulder. I’m tired and aching, but being embraced by his strength is the most comforting thing in the world. Beneath my hand, I feel his heart pounding with the exertion.

“You okay?” I murmur close to his ear.

“Never been better,” he replies, his voice not even strained or breathless. God, he’s so strong, so masculine.

And I’m feeling incredibly attracted to him. For the first time in what seems like a decade, I’m feeling that old familiar stirring inside, that primal need to be with him. My own heart starts to beat a little faster and I wonder if he can feel that…

“Okay, which room?” he asks as he reaches the landing.

“The last on the left,” I indicate, closing my eyes and dragging in his scent.

“Good afternoon,” he says, chipper, and I pop my eyes open to see whom he’s addressing.

The Slades pass us, Mrs. Slade sniffing indignantly in our direction. Mr. Slade dips his head and smiles in return, mumbling a reply to Max. I turn to look over Max’s shoulder, watching them descend the stairs. She hated Bethany without apparent reason. I couldn’t understand that. But she also just dissed my husband, so I have to wonder if there is no reason for whom she chooses to like and dislike – maybe the woman is just a bitch.

“Who was that?” Max asks as he approaches my door.

“Just some old hag and her poor beleaguered husband,” I reply, laying my head on his shoulder. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah – working up a raging case of horniness.

Max laughs at my reply as he pushes open my door. “Wow, I like this!” he says, wonder in his tone as he takes in the room. It is chuck-full of antique furniture, possibly the original from when the house was built.

“It’s a pretty room,” I agree. “Now can you put me down before you get a hernia?”

He grins at me and walks over to the bed; he places me in the center of the mattress like I’m some fragile antique myself. I squirm so that I’m almost sitting upright, my back against the stack of pillows at the headboard. Not even breathing hard, he sits down at my hip, his smile warm and gentle.

“I’ve missed you,” I tell him honestly. “I’ve missed us.”

“Me, too,” he agrees.

I look down at my fingers, pick at the edge of the cast. “I’m sorry, Max. I’m sorry for being crazy the last few months.”

He’s respectful enough not to interrupt my apology. Instead, he places a forgiving hand on my thigh.

“I have so many bad thoughts in my head sometimes,” I confess, giving him a quick glance. “It gets so bad at times that I can’t control it.”

He makes a soothing motion on my thigh and I have to struggle to keep my thoughts from going to something bad in an entirely different way.

I meet his gaze, needing him to know I’m being deathly serious. “I know I have to work on getting better, Max. But I can’t promise you it’s going to happen overnight.”

His eyes are tender as he moves his hand from my leg to my cheek. “I don’t want you to promise me that. I just want you to promise me you’ll try.”

I nod mutely. I mean it – I promised him and Liz that I would try and I will.

Max leans in, closing the gap between us and lays a gentle, chaste kiss against my lips. I feel a familiar twinge in my midsection and have to concentrate on not making my toes curl. I want more, but he moves away, his gaze falling to my casted arm. He stares at it for a few moments, then returns his gaze to mine. His hand circles around to the back of my neck, his fingers splayed across the back of my head.

“I won’t let you hurt,” he says, his voice a mere whisper. “I’ll take your pain.” He blinks slowly, once, and the dull ache that had been in my head since I awoke is gone. “You had a concussion,” he explains, his voice still so low I can barely hear it.

He removes his hand from my neck and places it against my ribs. I can’t help it – his touch and the closeness of his body has quickened my breath. It doesn’t help matters that I know at some point he will connect with me and I know he will see that I’ve been telling him the truth. I anticipate that moment, I want him to know that I didn’t try to harm myself.

“Three cracked ribs,” he continues and I feel a warm glow wash across my side. Breath flows easier into my lungs and I give a sigh of relief.

Max’s eyes fall on my arm again. “And a broken wrist.”

Drawing in a breath, he waves his palm over it and the cast falls free. The bone immediately jars and I draw in a gasp of pain. Closing his eyes, he quickly wraps his fingers around my wrist and the pain is numbed. I know he thinks that I should have died in that fall and that he has no explanation for the relative minor injuries I incurred. I watch his face as he concentrates on fusing the broken bone and I can tell the exact moment he sees what happened to me. His eyebrows rise into an inverted V, his lips part slightly. Then he’s out of the connection, hauling in deep breaths. His eyes land on mind and I can’t help but feel tears coming to the surface. I simply nod in affirmation – what he has seen is true.

Then his arms are around me, holding me so tightly that I can hardly breathe. He grasps desperately, trying to pull me closer and closer. My face mashes into his shoulder, my arms encircling his back.

“I was telling the truth,” I mumble into his shirt.

He pulls back and takes my face between his hands. “I know, I know. I’m sorry if I doubted you, it’s just…”

I shake my head, brushing his bangs away from his forehead. “You don’t have to explain. If I had been in your shoes, I would have come to the same conclusion. It’s okay.” I caress his cheek, my eyes falling to his lips. God, I want him so much, my Max, my husband. “Max…”

“Yeah?” His eyes are round and his voice is a strained whisper. He follows my eyes as they travel from his eyes to his lips again.

It’s hard to admit that after months of shoving him away I can’t wait for him to be with me. “I…” I stammer. “I want…”

He lets me off the hook, his lips colliding with mine, our kiss more passionate than it’s been in months. “You want me,” he finishes, his voice breathy against my ear.

I nod mutely, totally lost in the fact that he’s already working the button on my jeans.

“And I want you,” he sighs, sliding his hand inside of my pants.

I give a little cry as he makes contact, my back arching, pushing myself tighter against his hand. I had wanted this union to be romantic, to be long in the making, but I can see now that that’s not going to happen – and I’m not in the least bit disappointed. Max’s hands are everywhere, roaming over my breasts, in my hair, hastily trying to remove my jeans. I work the button on his khakis, shoving them down past his hips. The room is full of our gasps, our desperation.

Then we’re together. I let out a prolonged sigh and we remain motionless for just a second, reveling in the way our bodies were made to fit together so perfectly. I close my eyes slowly, only to pop them open when I feel him start to move. I want to see his eyes as we make love in this beautiful room, this beautiful place. He feels the same way as I see he is already gazing at me intently. He climbed a flight of stairs with an extra hundred and twenty five pounds in his arms and it didn’t even wind him – but this, this act of passion has sent him panting.

I run my hands under his shirt and over his hard chest, curling my fingers enough to rake my nails across his nipples. He gives a gasp and closes his eyes momentarily, so I do it again. His reaction is a little more pronounced this time and he begins to speed up his motions. We’re both so close, so close to remembering what it was like to be perfect with one other, so close to the edge…

I see stars. My body pulses with wave after wave of rippling ecstasy and I barely register Max’s small cry of release. He collapses on top of me, his chest heaving. I stare at the ceiling and weave my hand through his hair – he’s breathing so hard he’s practically wheezing. I smile that I can do that to him. That’s Staircase 0, Maria Deluca 1.

As the passion in our bodies abates, I plant a kiss into his hair and wrap my arms around him, his T-shirt damp with sweat. I love him more than I ever did and I want things to be better. I know this doesn’t fix everything, that there’s still a lot of ground to cover.

But it’s definitely a step in the right direction.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Fourteen

I’m exhausted, but in a good way. I lay across Max’s bare chest, listening to the light rain that has begun to fall outside and the steady sound of his breathing. Now that we’ve spent the last twelve hours holed up in this room, making love repeatedly, I can’t believe I ever turned him away. I can’t believe I turned him away for three months. He is and will remain the most stable thing in my life and yet I was rejecting him. Sometimes I just don’t understand myself.

“We didn’t use anything,” Max sighs groggily.

I shift my weight so that I can see his face. “What do you mean?”

The poor guy looks more exhausted than I feel. But in a good way. He draws in a breath and smoothes my hair. “Contraception,” he clarifies. There’s guilt in his eyes.

“Oh.” He’s right. I have yet to go on the pill and in our prior encounters since Allie was born – all three of them – it had been condoms.

He works his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

I snort a little laugh. “What are you sorry for?”

His eyes dart away and back again. “I know that you didn’t want…um, you didn’t want another baby…”

I flip onto my stomach and prop myself up on my elbows, watching him silently.

“And that last time we, um, did this without anything…we got Allie.” He gives a fleeting grin at recalling his daughter. “I thought you wanted me to go, you know – take care of that ever happening again.”

I never said I wanted him to have a vasectomy. I never said I didn’t want another baby. What I meant to say was that I was afraid to get pregnant again, that I wasn’t sure I could go through everything I did with Allie again.

“Max,” I start. “I don’t want you to go get a vasectomy.”

He looks a little surprised at that remark.

“When we talked about that, I wasn’t feeling too good. Having Allie was a strain on me – on us – both mentally and physically. I didn’t know then if I could handle it a second time. I still don’t know.”

Now he looks confused. “Then why don’t you want me to prevent it from happening?”

I study his chest, follow the curve of his muscles, trying to find the words to explain to him how I feel. “I don’t mean to be fickle but my thoughts are a mess right now. I need to figure things out. I don’t know if a year from now I might not want another baby, Max. Besides, wouldn’t you like to have a son? Doesn’t every man want a son?”

He shakes his head slightly. “I have more than I ever thought I could have. I want nothing that I haven’t already got.”

I see no bullshit in his eyes – he’s completely sincere about that. The thought that Allie and I are enough for him starts a warm glow in the pit of my belly. Then he grins and gives a little shrug.

“Of course, if it happened, I wouldn’t be disappointed,” he amends.

I return his grin as he wraps his arms around me and crushes me to his chest. His hands caress my back, making small circular motions. My head rises as he inhales deeply.

“Still doesn’t change the fact we didn’t use anything,” he sighs.

“Then I guess we’ll deal with whatever happens,” I say into his chest, my words muffled against his skin.

I feel him nod as he tightens his grip on me. “God, I love you.”

I smooth my cheek against his body. “I love you, too, Max.”

*****

I will never understand why trains leave in the middle of the night. It puts an undo burden on people who like to sleep at night and be awake in the day. Worse – you have to get dressed, get on the train, then get undressed so you can go back to sleep on the train. It sucks.

Then again, Max could have shoved my ass on an airplane, so I think I’ll just shut up.

Max has gone to retrieve some tea. I know he won’t be able to go back to sleep because that’s the way he is – once his sleep is interrupted, he’s up for the rest of the night. But you would think as much sex as we’ve had in the last twenty four hours he’d be too tired to stay awake.

I stand before the bunk, getting ready for bed, pulling my shirt off. There’s a light rap on the door.

“Maria, it’s me,” Max whispers, trying not to disturb the other passengers.

I hold my shirt against my chest, shielding the view from anyone else who might be passing by in the hallway, and unlock the door for him. He slips in, two cups of tea in his hands and gives me a grin. When he sees my shirt covering my chest, he grins a little wider.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he suggests, shutting the door and going to sit in the tiny chair by the tiny bathroom.

I look at him curiously. He looks like he’s waiting for something…waiting to see me undress? Is that it? I give a little laugh.

“Are you waiting for a show?” I ask him teasingly.

He shrugs. “Only if you’re giving one.” Then he giggles in what could only be described as Beavis-esque.

Unbelievable. But it feels good to be this comfortable again, to have some semblance of what we used to be. I turn to face him and toss the shirt over my head. Without taking my eyes from his, I reach down and unsnap my jeans, then I wriggle out of them slowly, making sure I lean over so that he gets a good view of cleavage as I pull the pants from my body. His eyes are wide and he’s remaining silent, like he can’t believe his good luck. I come to a snap decision – why should he just see me undress? Wouldn’t he like it better if he saw me…

…touch myself?

I don’t think twice about it. Without letting on to my intentions, I graze my breasts with both hands before circling around to work my bra clasp. Max swallows visibly and straightens in his chair.

“Is this what you want to see?” I tease.

He nods eagerly.

I unclasp the bra and it falls down my arms, to the floor. I look down at my breasts. Thanks to Max’s abilities, the struggle with post-breastfeeding unpleasantness is over and my breasts are back to their pre-pregnancy size. Mae will be so disappointed. I reach for them again, teasing my nipples, making circular motions with the palms of my hands. Max clears his throat and crosses his legs. It’s all I can do to keep from laughing. I snap my eyes to his as I trail one hand down my abdomen, moving ever closer to the elastic of my panties. Just as my fingertips dip inside, Max lets out a grunt and I stop.

“What?” I ask.

“Can you, um, can you take them off too?” He looks desperate, then he gives me a sheepish grin. “I want to see.”

I lift one corner of my mouth and ignore his plea. Instead, I plunge my hand inside of my panties and seek out that sensitive spot I know will give me the most pleasure. I’m already excited, so it doesn’t take long to find it. With my free hand, I continue to cup my breast, my other hand working beneath the thin fabric of my underwear.

Now, I’ve never been one to indulge in self love. Not that I think there’s anything wrong with it or that it’s disgusting or something – I just always preferred to have someone else do these things for me. But standing here, knowing Max is watching and knowing that I’m denying him seeing everything he wants to, it’s extremely erotic and feels absolutely incredible. I close my eyes and lean back against the bunk, enjoying the motions of my own fingers, reveling in the mounting intensity deep inside of me. I start to pant, nearing the edge.

I suddenly feel hands on my hips and I jerk my eyes open to see Max pushing at my panties.

“I want to see,” he gasps. “Please.”

I nod in acquiescence, letting him pull the silk undergarment to the floor.

“Don’t stop,” he commands, enthralled.

So I continue. I continue until I feel warmth spreading across my chest, until I can’t do anything to hold back the tide. I close my eyes and clench my teeth, throwing my head back as my body shudders. Within a few seconds, I’m propelled backward onto the bed and Max and I are joined once again, sans protection.

But I’m not sure at this point Max can get me pregnant – he can’t possibly have any sperm left.

*****

It’s very late when we arrive in Chicago, nearing midnight. As I step off the train I draw in a deep breath and let it out again. It smells like home.

“Oh, God!” I hear a familiar voice squeal. Then Mae is in my arms, smelling like perfume and new leather.

I give a little laugh and pull away from her. She takes inventory, checking out the bruise on my forehead, the scrape on my cheek.

“What happened to you? I get this frantic call from Max that you’ve been injured and he has to fly to New Hampshire and then no one calls me back!” She casts angry eyes in Max’s direction and he shifts uncomfortably.

“Mae, I’m fine,” I say, taking her hand. She’s got new leather gloves, too. I envy her wardrobe. “It was just a little fender bender.” That’s the story Max and I have agreed upon – it’s easier than trying to explain how I could have fallen fifty feet off a cliff and still lived.

“It didn’t sound fender benderish to me when Max called me all in a tizzy,” she counters, obviously pissed with my husband.

“I’m sorry, Mae,” he apologizes. “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have scared you that way.”

She plants a hand on her hip and cocks her head. “You could have called to let me know she was okay.”

“I did call,” he says weakly.

“You left a message on my answering machine asking for a ride!”

Max cringes and I put up a hand, trying to quell the argument. “Hey, you guys, that’s enough,” I say calmingly. “We’re sorry, Mae, if we scared you. Max should have called to let you know I was all right.” I lift an eyebrow in his direction. Maybe Liz was right – Max isn’t perfect. “And if I had known he didn’t call, I would have. But what’s the point now? I’m obviously okay, we’re home. Is it worth being upset about?”

She looks down at her boots – are those new, too? – and pouts slightly. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “It’s just that I’ve been scared and no one has told me anything for a whole week, Maria. A whole week!”

Max steps forward and puts his arms around Mae, silently asking for forgiveness. She remains rigid, then shoves him away without malice.

“Don’t touch me,” she half-laughs and I can tell that her anger is abating. “You smell good and I want to be mad at you.”

“You have every right to be,” he agrees, tongue in cheek.

She swings at his arm, misses. “And don’t make fun of me when I want to be mad!”

No longer able to take it, Max starts to laugh, which causes Mae to finally laugh. She wraps her arms around me and gives me a squeeze.

“Don’t do that to me again,” she whispers against my ear. “Don’t scare me that way.”

I push back and shake my head. “I won’t. I promise.” I’m making a lot of promises these days.

Mae tosses Max a pseudo-condescending look as she turns me toward the parking lot. “Get the bags, monkey boy. Maybe then I’ll forgive you.”

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Fifteen

I’m having a bad day.

I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. It’s been a week since Max and I returned from the east coast and the afterglow is definitely gone. I feel my period impending, so maybe my hormones are just out of whack. I guess I should be happy alien boy didn’t knock me up again. I do that wonderful old arguing with myself – I want to blame him for everything and yet I was there, too. I know I will play this game with myself until the ugly feelings go away. Blame him, blame myself. Blame the world, blame myself. Chastise myself for not being positive like I promised Liz I’d be. I’m ugly inside.

Michael Guerin is in Chicago, I just know it. Mae’s party is tonight and I do not want to go. I don’t want to go because I’m in a pissy mood and I don’t feel like seeing him. Then I question why I’m in a pissy mood – is it Michael, my period or am I just a bad person? Yep, here we go – back on the self-destructive merry-go-round.

A month ago, I would have withdrawn into myself and been sullen. Not now. Now I’m acting out on everything, on every word out of Max’s mouth. He’s the victim here, I suppose. But then again, he doesn’t get mood swings because he’s a fucking guy and they don’t understand what it’s like to be at the mercy of your hormones. I just keep pushing, snarking and answering him without patience. Sometimes his gentle nature and understanding attitude just piss me off. Why can’t he be normal?

Some time around noon I find out that Max is very normal. He’s apparently had enough of me, though his unbelievable patience is still intact as he stands a far distance away, hovering in the living room doorway. I’m on the couch, my eyes fixed on Allie on her blanket on the floor.

“Babe, I’m gonna go run,” he says, already turning to go change his clothes.

Him and his fucking running. Even that drives me nuts today. “Fine,” I mumble without looking at him. “Go run off somewhere and leave me here to take care of everything.”

“What did you just say?” he asks, his tone clipped. Ut oh - Saint Max has his breaking point and I think he just hit it in the wake of my latest barb.

I dismiss him with a backward wave. Go, run. Be Mr. Perfect.

When he doesn’t respond, I look up to find him glowering at me, jaw set. I can see the little fire in his eyes that indicates he’s a little pissed with me. I’m not even sure I care – actually, if he explodes at me, then I have a perfect excuse for being a bitch to him. Then maybe we’ll have a fight and I won’t have to go to Mae’s party later. Of course, I’ll feel like crap eventually, but at least the tantrum will be out of the way.

“Put on your shoes,” he commands, his voice no-nonsense.

I shrug. “Where am I going?”

“Your tennis shoes,” he clarifies as he starts down the hallway, pulling his shirt over his head.

I glance down at Allie, who is giggling and swinging a rattle. Screw my tennis shoes. I’m not going anywhere.

“I don’t hear you moving,” Max calls from the bedroom.

Rebellious, I raise my middle finger in his direction.

In a few moments, he emerges wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. “I mean it,” he says as he pulls on one of his running shoes. “Get off your ass and put on your shoes.”

I turn toward him indignantly. “Excuse me? Don’t you talk to me that way!” My conscience tells me he has every right to talk to me any way he wants to, especially after the way I’ve treated him all day.

He leans toward me, bracing his fists against the back of the couch. “You are going to get up and put on your shoes,” he says levelly. “I’m tired of your bitchiness today, Maria.”

I snort. “And what do my shoes have to do with this, Max?”

“You’re going to run with me.”

I look at him incredulously. His eyes are unwavering and I know he’s serious. I snort again. “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. You sit here and bitch and moan that you want to lose fifteen pounds and yet I see you doing nothing to accomplish that. You sit here all bitchy and cranky when maybe if you moved every now and then you’d feel a little better about yourself. Now get off your goddamn ass and meet me outside.”

With that, he turns on his heel and heads toward the door. I feel a stab of dread in my belly and know there is no way out of this – he may have a gentle nature, but that man is stubborn. I look down at Allie.

“W-what about Allie?” I call.

“Bring her with you,” he calls over his shoulder. “She’s a baby, not an anchor, Maria.”

The door slams in his wake and I sit motionlessly for a very silent moment. Then the guilt demon rushes in and now I feel crappy that I’ve treated him so crappy. Shit. God dammit. I hate days like this. I’ve been a bitch and now Mr. Athletic is going to make me run as punishment.

Forcing myself to get up, I slip into some comfortable clothes and dress Allie warmly – it’s late October in the Midwest, after all. I dread going outside as all of my piss and vinegar has been washed away by the guilt. I don’t want to face Max because the jumble of my emotions just might make me cry in front of him. Ugh! Why wasn’t I born a guy??

Outside, Max has his heel propped on the porch rail and he’s bending this way and that. He’s strangely limber for a guy. I shift my weight uneasily from foot to foot and wait until he’s done. When he’s finished, he wordlessly reaches for the baby and starts down the steps. When I follow, he waves me off with a hand. Rejection already.

But I assume wrong. “Stretch,” he says as he descends the stairs. “You need to warm up your muscles and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” All animosity is gone from his tone. And after the way I’ve been, he still cares if I get hurt? Of course he does, he’s my husband. Then why do I doubt him all the time?

The conflicting voices are starting to annoy me.

I imitate Max’s motions and stretch my muscles while he plops Allie into the sling and loops it over his neck. He’s going to run with a baby bouncing on his chest? Doesn’t sound like fun for either of them. But he takes a couple of practice steps and appears happy with the results. Allie gazes up at him like he’s some kind of God. Max grins at his admirer, then turns to me with the smile still on his face.

“Come on, babe,” he says, holding out a hand for me.

I frown slightly. Why is that Max can be pissed one moment and then happy and kind the next? Why can’t I be like that? When I get pissed, I stay there for about a month.

I take the steps and give him a wary glance. “I’m not going to be able to keep up with you,” I admit. It’s all truth – Max runs nearly every day and has done so at least as long as he’s been living with me.

“I’m not asking you to,” he answers. “I’m just asking that you try.”

We jog the length of a block in silence. I hate it already. I try to do all of my breathing through my nose and that eventually doesn’t quite work. I have to open my mouth and I feel like a fish gasping for air. Max, of course, is trotting along like it’s a slow stroll.

“You see,” he starts, not even out of breath. “The state of your mind affects your body. Vice versa, the state of your body affects your mind. If one is well, then the other will be well.”

Shit. He’s been talking philosophy with Mae-Ling again…

“When I wasn’t feeling so good about things-“ In other words, when he tried to off himself – “I stopped this, I stopped taking care of my body. Once I started running again, I realized how much aggression and stress you can get rid of by just being active.” He gives the glamorous smile again, happily padding along. I think this is his idea of “helping” me out of my funk.

My feet hurt. My legs are starting to burn. My heart is wondering just what the hell I’m trying to do to it. Oh, God, I hate this!

“See the mailbox up there?” Max asks, gesturing with his chin.

I nod, unable to speak.

“That’s a half mile. We’re turning around when we get to it.”

I imagine that my face lights up. If we turn around there, maybe he’ll let me walk home. Maybe I’ll never have to do this again.

He dashes that hope with his next statement. “You need better shoes. You’re going to hurt your feet and ankles if you run in those. So we’ll make today a short run until we can shop for some running shoes for you.”

Huh. Sounds like he’s planning for a different future than the one I had in mind. I throw a mental hissy fit, but round the mail drop and start home.

About halfway there, I break a sweat and suddenly feel a little more comfortable. I don’t feel self-conscious about breathing heavy any more; I mean, I’m out of shape and I’d be kidding no one to claim I wasn’t. I kind of feel like I’m hitting my stride. When we reach home, I immediately screech to a halt at the bottom step and double over, wheezing for air.

“Come on,” Max says, putting a hand on my back. “Let’s walk.”

Walk?! I’m not walking anywhere.

“You have to let your muscles cool down,” he explains, urging me to join him. “Just walk a bit – to the corner and back.”

I pant and follow him, my hands on my hips. I feel warm and alive and oddly refreshed. Maybe he was right about this. Before we reach the corner, I take his hand in mine and he gives me a smile. Against his chest, Allie has been jogged to sleep.

“Not so bad, huh?” he asks.

I shake my head, wishing I had a bottle of water.

“It gets easier. And it’s a great stress reliever, like I said. Don’t you feel good?”

I raise my hand wiggle it from side to side – so-so.

“I feel great,” he says, dragging in a deep breath. “Say you’ll come with me again.” He looks so eager, so hopeful that I give a relenting nod. “Great! Now let’s go home, put Junior in bed and take a shower.”

I raise my eyebrows. Like I have breath left for what he has in mind…

But oddly enough, I do. Together, we put Allie into her crib and turn on the baby monitor. Then we take the receiver into the bathroom with us and turn it all of the way up. Undeterred by sweat, Max slowly begins removing my sweatshirt, his eyes following the path of his fingers.

“You’re not going to drive me away by being mean to me,” he says softly to address my earlier behavior and I look to the floor in shame. “Every time you’re mean or cruel or bitter, I’m only going to meet you with kindness.”

I don’t know why – maybe it is PMS – but his words twist in my heart and make me sob immediately. I cover my face with my hand, racked with guilt over being such a bitch to him today. I can’t believe I was pissed because he’s a nice guy! That nice guy takes my wrist and gently pulls my hand away from my face, lifts my chin so I’ll meet his gaze.

“I said we’d get through days like these together and I meant it,” he vows. He touches the side of my face with the back of his fingers. “Just give yourself a break once in a while, okay?”

I sniff and nod, somewhat amazed that through all of my hostility he realized what was really going on – that I was just finding reasons to beat myself up. I think bad thoughts about Max so I can make myself feel guilty later. I say bad things so I can make myself feel guilty later. I pick fights so I can make myself feel guilty later.

Max reads me like a book.

I feel his hand slide around to cradle the back of my neck and then his lips are on mine, gentle, caring and unadulterated.

And at times like these, I’m glad he’s not just a normal guy.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Sixteen

Max has raping and pillaging on his mind.

Or at least he appears that way. As we head towards Mae’s north side apartment, he sits in the passenger seat examining a large hoop earring he found in my jewelry box. I glance at him out of curiosity, then watch as he holds the post between his thumb and forefinger until it gets hot…then pushes it through his earlobe.

“Ugh,” I groan, wrinkling my nose.

“What?” he asks innocently as he fiddles with the earring, snapping it in place.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

He shrugs. “No, not really.” He drops his hands to his lap and nonchalantly watches out of his window and I believe him. Then again, a little blast of the powers would numb the pain, wouldn’t it? And I’m sure tomorrow morning there will be no evidence he ever had a hole in that ear.

Keeping with Max’s “lead a healthy lifestyle” campaign, we abandoned ideas of chefs and gingerbread costumes and left Allie with a sitter instead. We need time to ourselves, he said, and she’s too small to go to this party. I know he’s right, but it’s not easy to just give her care over to someone else so that we can go out. I tell myself that all new parents experience this doubt, that it’s normal. I suppose if it had been Max’s mom or Mae that we left her with, I might feel a little better. As it were, our sitter is the daughter of someone Max works with. She seems responsible, but how can you tell by looking at her? Max looks human on the outside and we know that’s not the truth.

While Max is a pirate, I’m his wench. I have to admit that wearing the corset isn’t so bad – besides, it cinches my waist in nicely and I look like I haven’t gained a pound! It’s kind of a sexy feeling…

Speaking of sex, mine and Max’s shower this afternoon had nothing to do with it. I expected that it would, as being naked with one another tends to lead to that, but once we were in the shower, he only kissed me a few times, then went about bathing me, washing my air, holding me against him tenderly. He is so caring and gentle that he brings tears to my eyes. After the shower, we climbed into bed nude and pulled the sheets up around us…and took a nap. And that’s what I needed. I needed compassion and understanding more than I needed affirmation that I was still attractive to him. He knew that somehow. Somewhere along the way, Max Evans learned to see straight into my soul.

Although right now I can’t help but take in his swashbuckling attire, what with the boots and the unbuttoned shirt and all, and think entirely inappropriate thoughts. I wonder if I might get pillaged and plundered later…

Or maybe I should rape and pillage now, before we ever get to Mae’s house. Keeping my eyes on the road, I reach over and place my hand in his lap. His eyes snap to that location, then he looks at me with the most adorably bewildered look on his face. I give him a malicious grin.

“What are you doing?” he croaks.

I continue to drive, but now I rub my hand in slow circles over his pants and feel him react immediately to my touch. Max jerks and clears his throat.

“Uh, shouldn’t you be watching where you’re going?” he asks.

I give a little chuckle, but laugh fully as he practically yelps when I boldly plunge my hand beneath his waistband. Glancing over my shoulder, I switch lanes and pull off the freeway, locating a McDonald’s near the exit. I continue to explore beneath the fabric until I’ve secured a parking spot behind the restaurant, away from security lights.

“What are you doing?” he repeats, his tone a little apprehensive.

Removing my hand from his pants, I put the car into park and turn it off, then lock the doors. His eyes are round and I feel a sense of satisfaction that I’ve taken him so off guard. I shift in my seat so that I’m facing him, then drop my eyes briefly to his lap before I meet his gaze.

“Trick or treat, Max?” I ask teasingly. He gulps. My eyes fall to his crotch again but this time I don’t look for his reaction. “I think I want a treat.”

I drop his fly and release him from his boxers as he draws in a quick breath. Then I descend on him…

I try not to think of the ludicrousness of going down on someone behind McDonald’s, what with the goofy clown with the red hair and all, but it is kind of funny. I think of all kinds of puns having to do with “Super-size Me” and “Happy Meals”, but I’m pretty sure that coherent thought of any kind has left Max’s mind. He breathes heavily, his fingers embedded in my hair and though I can’t see his face, I imagine that he has his head thrown back and his eyes clenched tightly shut. Max likes head – I mean, what guy doesn’t? Eventually, he starts breathing in quick little pants and I know it won’t be long. He gives a grunt and I get my treat indeed.

I sit up, satisfied as he regains his breath in the seat beside me. Once his breathing has leveled out, he gives me a grin of gratitude.

“Yo ho, a pirate’s life for me,” he laughs.

I laugh with him, then give him a wink. “You can return the trick later.”

His eyes pop open wide and he sits up abruptly. “Later? Fuck later.”

And with that, his lips are over mine and his hand plunges beneath my skirt. There’s nothing gentle or tender about this and I give a delighted gasp as his fingers reach my panties. Without preamble, he slides his hand inside and I immediately react to him, moving with his motions, drowning in his kiss. I come quickly…hard. He leaves me gasping for air more than I left him. I keep my eyes closed until I can no longer feel my heart thudding in my temples and then I slowly open them.

Max is watching me in victorious amusement. I give him a grin, then he lets forth with a hearty “Arggggh!” and I burst out laughing.

“Let’s go to Mae’s,” he laughs.

I nod and reach to start the car and realize our dilemma. We’re not going anywhere for awhile – we’ve completely fogged the windows.

*****

Our hostess meets us at the door not as Mae-Ling Xen – but as Mae-Ling Xena, Warrior Princess, leather bustier and all. My mouth drops open because not only does she look unbelievable, she’s even chopped the hair that took her a year to grow out into Xena’s trademark bangs. Now that’s what I call dedication.

“My friends!” she spouts and I know someone’s been hitting the cocktails. She grabs Max, plants a kiss on him and squeezes him so tightly his eyes bulge. With the Xena boots, she’s as tall she he is. As I laugh at her, I realize that Mae has always been very affectionate and outgoing with Max and for some reason I’ve never found the need to be jealous. That’s not really normal and I ponder the reason for it.

I think that I’ve always assumed Max would leave because of me and not because of someone else.

I don’t have time to ponder the sadness of that because Mae is all over me, planting a kiss on me and squeezing me so that my eyes want to pop. Max laughs and I know he’s still wondering if Mae and I ever did the freaky together. At least she didn’t ask me to dress as Gabrielle…

“Look at you two!” Mae exclaims as she holds us both at arm’s-length. “Great costumes!”

“Thanks,” Max mumbles, never one to soak in attention. “I like yours, too.” I’m sure he does – head and Xena fantasies, I’m not sure I’ve ever met a man who didn’t like both.

Behind Mae, there is a throng of people milling around her studio flat, all in costumes. Seriously, not one person has shown up without a costume, which to me is amazing – usually there is at least one person who refuses to play along with this child’s game. I guess that’s a testament to the types of people Mae surrounds herself with – outgoing, open-minded, artsy kinds of people.

Which doesn’t in any way explain Michael Guerin.

Speaking of which, I search the room for him as Mae ushers us inside. I can’t imagine Michael willingly dressing up as a Smurf or something and I wonder if he is the lone conscientious objector to this gathering. In fact, I kind of hope in my gut in a mean sort of way that he is being the party pooper – maybe next year Mae won’t invite him. Then I kick myself for wishing that unhappiness on my best friend. But Michael in masquerade is just implausible.

But apparently not impossible. I spot him across the room and nearly groan when I see how he’s dressed. Why didn’t I see it coming? In answer to Mae’s Xena, Michael is dressed as –

Hercules.

“There’s Michael!” Max happily points out, then waves a hand in his direction to get his attention.

Here comes the moment I’ve been dreading without really understanding why. As Michael makes his way over, I note that he looks better in that Hercules outfit than I would have given him credit for. Some of his late-teens pudginess is gone and he looks like he’s been to the gym. Not that he’s ripped like Max, but he just has more muscle definition than he did before. I hate to admit it – but he looks…good.

Max is grinning from ear to ear as Michael stops before us and gives him a man-hug.

“How are ya, brother?” Max asks over his shoulder.

“Never been better,” Michael answers, pulling away. His dark eyes turn to me and he gives me a tentative smile, a gestured filled with history and knowledge.

“Hey, Maria,” he says.

“Hey,” I answer, just wanting to leave. Michael and I were so horrible together that all I can feel is that he’ll push me back down the slippery slope I’ve been trying to climb this last month. I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with him.

Mae slides in beside him and puts her arm around him; the other slips inside of his low-cut shirt. “Doesn’t he look fabulous?” she gushes. “And he’s all mine for a whole week!”

Max points to Michael’s pants – Herc’s trademark leather weave. “Those had to have cost a fortune.”

Michael shrugs. “Rented.”

I tune out their chatter as they do some catching up. I think Max senses this as he reaches down and takes my hand in his while they talk, letting me know he hasn’t forgotten me. I turn to survey the room, amazed at the creativity of some of the costumes. I recall once, way back when I still lived in Roswell, when Max and Liz had a costume party at their house. Max had been John Smith, Liz Pocahontas. I feel a pang of remorse for my lost friend, knowing she would have loved to be here.

Then again, who says she isn’t? Didn’t she tell me that she’d be around, that I should be kind to strangers? Maybe my Lizzie is here after all, hidden behind a Richard Nixon mask or disguised as a belly dancer. The hope lifts my mood a bit as I glance over the many faces in the room.

Until I find a familiar one walking straight toward me. I don’t have a sense of joy or regret this time, but rather a sense of “what the fuck”? I cock my head, not able to believe my eyes.

Michael’s words confirm my disbelief just as said familiar face stops before us. “I brought Kyle with me.”

Kyle Valenti is grinning widely. After all, why should he be? He’s dressed as Iolaus, Hercules’s sidekick. My eyes shift to my drunken buddy Mae and I have to wonder if she’s been on many adventures with Hercules…and Iolaus. After all, he seems pretty damned happy. And while I’m not sure Michael is freaky enough for that kind of adventure, I think Kyle might be.

And I know for sure Mae is.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

alienmom, thanks for the baby tip - hope you don't mind my using it


Part Seventeen

There is nowhere to hide in Mae’s apartment. Being a studio, the only door behind which to hide belongs to the bathroom – and that’s not a real good idea considering there are about fifty people here who have been indulging in Mae’s special punch recipe. I try to make stupid, meaningless conversation, but I’m not as glib as Max is these days, and that’s a true irony. Back in the day, he hid from everyone and I feared no one; seems like the roles have been flipped here.

So I escape outside after telling him I need some air. He gives me a concerned look, but lets me go anyway. I respect that – he’s not sure what’s up with me and yet he’s willing to trust me make my own decisions. I think I’ve found a treasure I’m never going to find again, a treasure in the costume of a treasure-hunter.

It’s cold out tonight, a nip in the air that suggests winter is coming. For some reason, I dredge up a lesson I learned in God-knows-what year of school, that Halloween is the night for evil spirits and November first is All Saints Day, a day for good to reclaim the world. I can almost feel that on the breeze that whisks past my cheeks. Squatting on the stoop in front of Mae’s apartment building, I tip my face to the sky and look at the moon. Appropriately for Halloween, it looks spookier than hell.

Behind me, the door opens and closes and I glance over my shoulder at a sight far spookier – Michael Guerin is looking back at me equally as surprised to find me sitting here. Great. Wonderful. I wonder how long it will be before the insults fly. I turn back around and try not to look pissed off. Then I hear the click of a lighter behind me and turn to see him igniting the end of a cigarette. I lift an eyebrow in his direction and he shrugs as he drags the cigarette to live.

“Mae doesn’t like me to smoke inside,” he says, a plume of smoke escaping his lips.

Since when does he smoke at all?

He drops the hand holding the cigarette to his side and gives a shrug. “My latest self-destructive endeavor.”

I want him to finish his smoke and just go back inside. But instead he takes roost on the stoop on the opposite side of the stairs.

“Chilly tonight,” he comments.

I nod in agreement. I hope he brought some flannel for his stay this week.

He drags on the cigarette and watches me silently for a few moments. Jeez, Guerin, just insult me or something and just get it over with.

“Max showed me pictures of your daughter.”

I look at him, a bit surprised that it isn’t a barb that has escaped his lips.

“She’s a beauty, Maria.”

I feel a tug of pride inside that Michael would think that much of my child, a child that isn’t his. “Thank you, Michael.”

He draws on the cigarette and looks absently across the street. “You and me…” His voice trails off while he ponders. “That could have never been you and me,” he finishes. I detect just a hint of sadness in his voice, but not huge volumes of regret.

I snort lightly. “There’s a difference between ‘could never’ and ‘should never’, Michael.”

He gives me a steady look, then breathes a small laugh as well. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. We were pretty bad together, weren’t we?”

I nod in agreement, my eyes falling on some irrelevant spot in the distance. While he and I were so destructive together, it seems like Max and I have the opposite effect on one another. I hope that maybe he will find the same thing some day. “Have you found someone to be good with? Is it Mae?”

He takes the last draw on the cigarette, then crushes the butt beneath his boot. “Nah. Not Mae.”

That surprises me, since he came all of the way here from New Mexico for her party. I had assumed something was going on there…

“Mae’s great fun,” he explains quietly. “But you know that dating is different for me and Max and Isabel. She can never know the truth, Maria. I will never be able to tell anyone the truth. Because of that, Mae will remain casual fun and that’s all.”

I look down at my wench boots and feel an overwhelming sense of sadness, both for Mae and for Michael. I don’t know if she is head over heels for him or not – it’s difficult to tell because she is so liberated when it comes to sex I never know if she’s doing it out of love or out of nothing better to do. As for Michael, it hurts that he’s doomed himself to be alone. No one should be alone – and no one should resolve themselves to being alone at such a young age. Then again, maybe I understand that because until Max came into my life, I’d pretty much done the same.

“So,” Michael is continuing when I tune back in, “the supply of people in the know is dwindling and my chances are becoming slim.”

I narrow my eyes and give him a suspicious glance. Kyle Valenti is “in the know.” “Is that why you’re with Kyle?” I ask.

He chokes. Literally chokes. “What?”

“Kyle knows about you. Are you with him now?”

For the first time in my life, I actually hear Michael roar with laughter. I stare in disbelief while he turns a dozen different shades of red, his laugh echoing down the dark Chicago street. He laughs so loud and for so long I begin to think maybe I need to call the looney bin and have him locked up.

“No,” he finally answers, wiping his eyes. “I’m an alien, Maria – not gay.”

A million questions run through my head – then why was Kyle so effin happy to be here? Why are they all dressed like syndicated New Zealand adventure characters?

“But, he’s dressed like Iolaus…” I point out weakly.

“Iolaus isn’t gay either!” He coughs in reaction to the smoking and laughing. “Look, Mae likes Kyle, so I brought him along.”

“Not that it’s any of my business, but do the three of you…”

Michael snickers. “If I answer that, would you think I’m gay?”

Well, if he’s having sex with Kyle, does that make him gay? I tip my head to the side.

“Mae likes Kyle, too. Let’s leave it at that,” he finally says.

I push images of the Michael-Mae-Kyle sandwich to the back of my mind. At this point, I simply don’t want to know.

“I should go back upstairs,” Michael says, standing and stretching. “You look great, Maria. It’s good to see you.”

With that, he leaves, no insults thrown, no confrontations to avoid. The end of my nose is starting to burn with the chill night air and I know I should go inside as well. But I stay on the stoop awhile longer and think about that rather uneventful encounter with Mr. Guerin. Is it possible he’s matured? Is it possible one day I can be friends with Max’s best friend and not feel uncomfortable around him?

I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know the answer to this – I’m a lucky woman and Max is a lucky man. I think about Michael’s self-imposed permanent bachelorhood and it rakes me to the bone to think of someone resigning himself to that fate. But, if things weren’t meant to be between Max and me, would the same fate have awaited Max? The world is dwindling of people in the know – as far as females, only Isabel and I remain. What force out in that world decided Max and I would fit together? What are the odds that someone who had a secret and the only eligible person who knew the secret would fall in love with one another? It seems to me that there are greater forces in the universe than we are aware of and the sudden understanding of that sends a shiver up my spine.

“Thar she blows!”

I hear Max’s voice from the doorway and I turn around to give him a grin. “No”, I correct. “I’m not blowing here – I blew in the car.”

He snorts one of those Beavis and Butthead laughs and scratches behind his ear, a healthy flush covering his cheeks. He descends the stairs and scoots in beside me on the stoop, looping his arm around my shoulders. In his hands is a cup of Mae’s punch and I eye it curiously. Is he drinking? Am I to expect unplanned pyrotechnics on the way home?

“Here,” he says, handing me the cup.

I look at the cup and lift one corner of my lip. “I can’t drink that, Max. I have to drive us home.” Because God knows if Max drove we might end up at the bottom of Lake Michigan.

He looks crestfallen. “Are we leaving soon?”

When I first got here, I’d planned on bolting after an hour. But now maybe things aren’t so bad. Maybe I should go back upstairs and catch up with Kyle and check in on Mae. I shake my head.

Max grins. “Then live a little,” he urges. “You don’t have to have a lot, but why don’t you try it?”

I give him a smile and take the cup. I know it’s not about getting buzzy, I know he just wants me to be happy. I down the drink in one gulp, to his amazement, then reach down and grab his hand.

“Come on,” I say. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

*****

“You see, if you wait until she’s asleep she doesn’t wiggle.”

A few days after Mae’s party, I lean over Max’s shoulder as he prepares to cut Allie’s fingernails. She’s sleeping in her bouncy seat and as soon as Max touches her fingers with his forefinger, she grabs on just like a little monkey. He gives me a grin, then turns his finger so that her nails are easily accessible. Then in a matter of seconds, one hand is done.

“Why didn’t you ever show me that?” I pout lightly.

“I didn’t know you were having trouble,” he points out, his eyes serious. “You can’t help someone if you don’t know they need it.”

I give him an apologetic look and caress his back with my hand. Turning his head over his shoulder, he gives me a light kiss. We’re starting to gel, he and I. I feel hopeful about the future, like nothing is going to rock our boat.

“You do the next one,” he urges.

I don’t shy away from it. As he moves out of the way, I touch Allie’s other hand and she grabs my finger. A few seconds later her other hand is done. No bleeding, no crying, no deformed pinkies. I turn a grin to Max, who puts his arms around me and gives me a big hug.

“That’s my girl!” he encourages over my shoulder.

“And here’s my guy,” I laugh, giving him a kiss…then another…then another. I meet his dark eyes and give him a playful grin. “You know, Junior is probably going to be out for a couple of hours.”

He breaks into a smile as he’s already backing us toward the bedroom. “Is that so?”

I nod. “Yep. And I think that might be enough time to, you know.”

“Really? You think two hours is enough time? Won’t we need more?”

I giggle and kiss him as we clear the bedroom door. I jerk his shirt over his head and as he’s reaching for the bottom of my shirt, the doorbell rings. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon on a Sunday and I can only guess Mae and her houseguests have stopped by. Max lets out a groan at the interruption.

“Get rid of them,” he says, smacking me on the ass as I move for the door. “Tell them I have diarrhea or something.”

I chuckle all of the way to the door as I think of how to present that one. Max can’t come out to play because he has diarrhea and you don’t want to be here with him, so I guess you better leave.

I’m still chuckling when I open the door. But it’s not Mae and her entourage at the door. It’s an older man, gray at the temples, slightly stoop-shouldered. He looks familiar, but then again not.

“Can I help you?” I ask, wondering if I’ve opened the door for a serial killer.

“Are you Maria?” the man asks, his smile seeming rather forced. His voice is dry with years of cigarette smoke.

Now I do feel like I’ve opened the door for a serial killer. I withdraw slightly, sliding one shoulder behind the door. “Yes?”

“Maria Deluca?”

My heart is starting to thud in my chest because this person is starting to freak me out. “I used to be.” Maybe I shouldn’t be telling him anything.

“Maria, who’s at the door?” I hear Max call from somewhere behind me.

“Who are you?” I ask the man, relieved that Max has realized something is wrong.

The man’s grin widens. “Don’t you recognize me?”

As soon as the words leave his lips, I realize that I do recognize him and nothing about that is good. From the jingle of change in his pocket to the nicotine stains on his fingers, I now recall all of it. And I don’t want to. My head starts to swim and I feel more nauseous than I ever have in my life.

It only gets worse when he puts words to it. “I’m your daddy!”

tbc

[Midwest Max]

And we're back! Hello, everyone


Part Eighteen

I’m twenty-six years old.

I’ve often wondered how I would react if this day should ever come. I’ve envisioned myself kicking the old man out on his ass, telling him to go to hell, reading him the riot act. I’ve imagined myself being overjoyed that he’s returned; we talk, I forgive, we live happily ever after.

But now that the day has come, I don’t know how to react. I can’t react at all. I simply stand in the doorway of my house and stare at this person who shouldn’t be a stranger but who definitely is. I know nothing more about him than I do the man who works at the corner carryout.

He’s shorter than I remember. I had always pictured him as being this huge, looming figure and I guess when you’re five and some man is towering over you and bellowing you tend to think they’re larger than life. In truth, I can practically look him in the eye and he doesn’t seem larger than anything. I search for some familiarity in his eyes and see nothing. I don’t know this person.

I feel Max’s warmth behind me, pressing against my back as he extends his hand in greeting.

“I’m Max Evans, Maria’s husband,” he says, his voice cautious but cordial.

My head whips in his direction. What the fuck does he think he’s doing? Why is he being nice to this person?

The man on the doorstep takes Max’s hand and I’m experiencing the most surreal moment of my life.

“Carl Deluca,” he says. “I’m Maria’s father.”

I feel hot – everywhere. My knees are shaking and my heart has started an erratic jerking in my chest. I think I’m going to pass out.

“Would you like to come inside?” Max asks.

What?! Jesus Christ! Why don’t you just roll out the red carpet for him? Max pins me with a sympathetic look and I know what he’s thinking – it’s that whole “be kind to strangers” business coming back again. Well, if there ever was a stranger, Carl Deluca is it.

He nods shortly and Max gently pulls me out of the way to let him into our house. As soon as he clears the door, I feel the panic inside of me increase tenfold. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to react.

“Can I take your jacket?” Max offers as Carl kicks off his shoes.

Sure, take his jacket. And while you’re at it, make some coffee and bring some pastries for our “guest”.

Max hangs his coat in the closet, then motions stiffly for the living room. As soon as the man has passed us, Max reaches down and grabs my hand, his touch firm and gentle all at the same time. We settle into the living room, Carl taking a chair while Max and I claim the couch – I sit as far away from that stranger as I can, but my eyes never leave him. His eyes land on one of Allie’s toys on the floor and he grins.

“Do I have a grandchild?” he asks with glee.

I can’t take it any more. “We have a daughter,” I spit. “You have nothing.”

Carl looks appropriately stricken and Max clears his throat out of discomfort. An uncomfortable moment passes as he folds his hands between his knees.

“Maria and I have a baby girl named Alexandra. She’s four months old,” he explains.

“Oh,” Carl says, looking like he’s afraid of saying anything more.

But I’m not. Now that the flood gate is opened, I don’t want to stop. “What are you doing here?” I demand.

“I wanted to see you,” Carl answers levelly.

Max looks like he’s watching a tennis match as his head whips from one of us to the other.

“I can’t imagine why,” I jab. “How did you find me?”

Carl clears his throat and sits forward a bit in his chair. If he’s been bothering my mother after all he put her through, I’m going to kill him. “I happened to be in Roswell last Christmas and saw your engagement in the newspaper.”

Just happened to be in Roswell? How many other times did he just happen to be in Roswell and never bothered to check in on us? I have a sickening thought that he somehow managed to sneak into my wedding unseen. He had no right to be there, to share that special day with me.

“I read in the paper that you were living in Chicago,” he continues. His eyes shift briefly to Max, then back again. “I knew what your husband’s name was, so I just looked in the book.”

As simple as that. See, with a little effort he could have been in touch with me every day for the last twenty-one years. But, nothing. Not even a card on my birthday. Floods of memories come back to me that I just don’t want to entertain, things I had buried deep beneath the surface, never wanting to see them again. But thanks to him and his unannounced arrival, everything is rushing into my brain. I can’t take it. My heart does that crazy jerking again and I know I need to get out of here.

Without another word, I get up and retreat to the bathroom. I lock the door behind me, drop the toilet lid, then sit down and put my head between my knees. God, I can’t breathe. There’s a fist cramming into my chest, restricting my lungs, making me see stars. I’m going to pass out…

“Maria? Sweetheart?”

I lift my head and see Max kneeling before me, reaching for me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, brushing my hair away from the sides of my face.

“He beat me,” I say, swallowing hard.

“What?” Max blinks.

“He beat me for peeing my pants,” I confess guiltily, the tears rushing to my eyes. I see a hint of tears in Max’s caring eyes. I love and need him so much, my beloved Max. “We went to the grocery store for my mom. I told him I had to go but he told me I’d have to hold it. I couldn’t hold it and I wet myself.”

Max chews his bottom lip and reaches upward to rub my arm.

“I knew I was going to get it,” I confess. “But I knew he wouldn’t do it there at the store where people could see him and that made it all the worse – I had to ride all of the way home knowing people had seen what I’d done and knowing he was going to lash me for it.” I can’t stop the flood of tears that flow down my cheeks as I remember the humiliation of the whole event. “When we got home he started yelling at me and then he hit me so hard, Max. It was only an accident and I had warned him that I needed to go but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I made him look bad in public. I remember sitting down in the bathtub to clean up and my butt hurt so bad from where he’d hit me. It was so unfair. I was just a little girl…”

Max pulls himself up on his knees and wraps his strong, warm arms around me, holding me tightly. I hold on for dear life, afraid to let go of him.

“Make him leave,” I whisper close to his ear.

“He’s already gone, sweetie,” he returns, his voice choked. “I asked him to leave as soon as you came in here.”

I squeeze him tighter and bury my face in his shoulder. “Thank you.”

I don’t know how long we stay like that, wrapped around one another in the refuge of our small bathroom. I want to go back half an hour to when Max and I were enjoying our baby and about to enjoy each other’s bodies, before that horrible man knocked on our door. But there is no going back and now I have to deal with all of this.

Max pulls away first, his dark eyes full of sympathy pain as he wipes my tears away with a tissue he retrieves from the back of the toilet. His touch is gentle and loving, a type of touch I never received from any other man in my life; it makes me want to cry all over again. He leans forward and lays a kiss on my forehead.

“Remember something,” he says softly. “You’re no longer that little girl, Maria. He can no longer hurt you or make you do things you don’t want to do. You’re an adult and no one can make you do something against your will.”

I sniffle and look down into my lap.

“You’re strong,” Max stresses. “You’re stronger than this, you’re bigger than this. He’s just a sorry old man crawling back for forgiveness.”

I lift my head sharply and give him a quizzical look. He’s speaking like he knows something I don’t. “What are you talking about, Max?”

He looks a little sheepish, like he let something out he shouldn’t have. “Maria, when I shook his hand…”

My heart is just going to give out. For the third time in a very short time span, it starts jerking again. “What, Max?”

“He’s…not well.”

I grab a tissue and wipe at my nose. “What do you mean?”

He gives a little sigh and takes my hands in his. “I don’t know if he was going to tell you or not, but I have no loyalties to him – only to you. When I shook his hand, I detected that he’s dying, Maria.”

Max watches me intently, waiting for some kind of reaction but I have none to give him. Being told that Carl Deluca is dying is like finding out the person who delivers the newspapers each day is dying – I don’t know that person and while I feel empathy, I don’t feel sympathy.

“Of what?” I ask.

He shrugs slightly. “Cancer, maybe. I’m not sure.”

Of course he’s dying of cancer – the jackass smoked two packs of unfiltered Lucky’s every day. But what does his illness change? I’m not sure how to feel about it, or what to do about it. Did he come here to find me and be a “family” until he goes? Is he here just to clear his conscience? Do I even want to help him?

“He left a number where he’s staying,” Max says gently.

I pin him with a stare. “You think I should go see him.”

He shakes his head. “No. I think you should do what you feel is right.” He gives me a small smile and pushes my hair away from my forehead. “I know you’ll make the right decision, the decision that is best for you. And I can’t tell you what that is.”

He’s right – he can’t.

We spend the rest of the day with our daughter. We bundle her up, put her in the stroller and take a nice long autumn walk together. I try not to concentrate on the fact that my father could be anywhere, watching us, spying on us. I want to enjoy what I have – an unbelievably patient and caring husband and a beautiful baby girl – and not dwell on what I don’t.

We put aside the hustle and bustle of every day life and just relish the small things. We order take out so we don’t have to be burdened with cooking. Together, we give Allie her bath before putting her to bed. Then we slip between the covers and talk about inconsequential things, things that don’t matter one iota in the grander scheme of things.

Eventually Max falls asleep beside me and I watch him for a long time. I was right about him – he doesn’t understand abandonment. He can’t possibly fathom what it’s like to have his father suddenly reappear on his doorstep after a lifetime has passed. It isn’t Max’s fault that he was blessed with a good family, so I can’t fault him. But I know and he knows that he can’t help me.

And I need help. I don’t know what to do and my feelings are all jumbled up inside. If I talk to Max, he’s going to be patient and understanding, but he won’t be able to guide me toward any decision. I need someone else, someone who has battle scars, who could some day be in my shoes.

Careful not to rouse my sleeping husband, I slip from the bed and pad out to the darkened living room. I flick on the light by the couch and pick up the phone, hesitate only seconds before I dial the familiar number. I jump slightly when there’s a groggy answer on the other end.

“Mae? It’s Maria. I need to speak to Michael.”

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Nineteen

“Wow. You’re prettier in person than you are in your pictures!”

I can’t help the smile that comes to my face as I watch Michael Guerin hovering over Allie’s bouncy seat. In return for his compliment, she giggles and kicks happily. He laughs, then does something I never expected – he reaches to pick her up. He stops mid-grab, however, and gives me a sideways glance.

“Is this, um…okay?” he asks.

I nod, hiding my surprise that he’d hold any interest in picking up my baby…well, any baby really. But he does. With one swoop, he scoops her into his arms and she laughs. Then she does what she always does to initiate strangers – she grabs his hair and gives a good yank.

“Ow,” he whines, gently pulling her fist away from his head. “That wasn’t very nice. I see you got your mommy’s mean streak.”

I cock my head to the side as he gives me a grin and heads for the couch. Once there, he plops Allie on his lap, facing him, and holds her upright by grasping her tiny hands in his large ones. She sways and bobbles back and forth, but seems awed by her new friend. I can see her wheedling her way into Uncle Michael’s heart already. One glance and he didn’t stand a chance.

“Thank God you didn’t get daddy’s ears,” he baby-talks her and she laughs again. I snort a laugh and Michael looks up at me. “Seriously. Have you checked out the ears on that guy?”

The image that immediately floods my mind is the one of me holding onto those ears while Max um…takes care of business. So, yes, I’ve noticed those ears. Not that I want to bring that to Michael’s attention. So I just smile at him and sink into the easy chair.

“And you got mommy’s eyes, too,” Michael continues as he woos Allie. His brow furrows and he gives her the once-over. “Then again, I don’t see much of Max in you at all, Alexandra.” He gives me a wink. “Are you sure this is Max’s kid?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m just hoping that what she got from Max isn’t something extra-terrestrial, if you know what I mean.”

Michael lifts an eyebrow and gives the baby another scrutinizing look. “You mean, like superpowers?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” He seems to ponder something for a moment, then shrugs off whatever thought he had. “Okay, Maria. What am I doing here?”

Same old Michael – dispense with the pleasantries and head straight to the chase. I look down at the floor, not sure where to begin.

“Must have been something important,” he says, giving Allie’s arms a playful jiggle. “I mean for you to call in the middle of the night and all.”

“My dad came looking for me,” I blurt.

For the first time in my life, I’ve managed to stun Michael Guerin. His eyebrows are high on his forehead and his mouth has dropped open. I just hope he doesn’t forget he’s holding my offspring by the wrists about right now.

“Holy shit!” he finally says, then looks guilty. “Oops – sorry.” He tips his head toward Allie, apologetic for the curse.

I give a laugh. “It’s okay – she doesn’t understand yet, Michael.”

“Oh. Okay. But – holy shit, Maria! Just like that? Out of the blue? What does he want?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I didn’t let him talk too much. Max thinks he’s dying and he’s come to clear his conscience before he goes.”

Michael shifts Allie so that he’s holding her against his body, her head peeking over his shoulder. This time she grabs one of his ears but he appears not to notice. “Start at the beginning,” he says. “When did all of this happen?”

“Yesterday. Max and I had just put Allie down to bed and there was a knock on the door. And there he was.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

He looks away for a moment, fixed on some point in space. I imagine he’s wondering what that experience was like. It was hell, if he really wants to know. “Then what?”

“Max invited him in.”

Another astounded look. “Bullshit. No way!”

I nod.

“Jesus Christ – why?!”

“Because he’s Max. Because he doesn’t have any grudge against Carl – Carl’s my father’s name.” Michael nods in understanding. “Because it’s Be Kind to Strangers Week.”

Michael snorts. “I’m not sure I would have let him in.”

I eye him warily. “What would you have done?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it when he obviously has no answer. I understand that – until it happened to me, I couldn’t predict how I’d react either. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’m not sure I’d be comfortable having him in my house.”

“I wasn’t,” I agree. “I talked to him for maybe two minutes before I bolted to the bathroom.”

Michael’s eyes hold more compassion than I ever remember them having. Then again, he and I did date off and on for six years – he’s got to know how hard this was for me.

“Max made him leave,” I conclude quietly.

“Well, at least he got that right,” Michael mutters. So many years have passed and there’s still this battle of who’s right and who’s wrong between Max and Michael. I don’t think it will ever change.

“He left a number where he can be reached,” I say, glancing toward the cork board in the kitchen where the number is skewered to the wall.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, like he’s anxious to see how a movie ends.

“That’s why I called you.”

“Oh.” He blinks a couple of times. “Why? Do you want me to go rough him up or something? Because I will if you want me to.”

It must be the utter absurdity of the suggestion – I burst out laughing uncontrollably. Such a typical Michael Guerin answer.

“What?” he asks, wounded.

“No,” I correct. “I don’t want you to beat him up. I wanted to ask your opinion.”

His eyebrows rise again. “Me?”

I nod.

“Why me? Why haven’t you talked to Max about this?”

I shrug. “I have talked to Max. He doesn’t…get it. He’s had an idyllic family life, Michael. He’s understanding and tries to listen, but he doesn’t really know what it’s like to be in my shoes.”

A look of understanding crosses Michael’s face. “And I do.”

I nod again. “Yeah. What would you do, Michael? Would you go to see him? Would you let him be a part of your life until he died?”

He thinks for a long moment, so long that I begin to wonder if he’s going to avoid my question entirely. He shifts Allie again, this time cradling her like a baby – which she immediately protests so he hoists her back over his shoulder. She swings her fist and knocks him in the side of the head.

Finally, he drags in a long breath and lets it out slowly. “Remember when we first met? Remember how obsessed I was with finding the third alien on the chance it could be my father?”

I nod. Oh, how I remember those days. The bastard missed The Whits singing at the Blind Date Contest concert because he was off sending smoke signals to the stars – also my public singing debut, I might add. “Obsessed” was a good word to put to it.

“I wanted nothing more than to find that alien and ask him a ton of questions,” Michael continues. “I even had these stupid Ozzie and Harriet fantasies of having a real family when I found him.” He pauses and shakes his head. “And then when I found him, I found Nasedo. He had no problem taking another life if it benefited his cause. He was a cold, calculating person and I realized that I really didn’t like him that much. I remember telling him he wasn’t who I’d thought he’d be.” He smirks slightly. “He basically said I was a disappointment, too.”

I give him a sympathetic look, knowing that having a dream like that dashed has got to hurt.

He shrugs. “So at that point I realized that he wasn’t my father and he wasn’t even going to be an adequate father figure. The only reason he was in my life was due to necessity. And even then, he only wanted to deal with Max – he wanted nothing to do with me. And I was more than okay with that.”

After all that searching, to be that disappointed – and he was okay with it? “Why was that?” I ask.

“Because I realized that I wasn’t like him, that I’m better than that. The way I look at it, Maria, people who have shitty parents or bad home lives can do one of two things – they can either perpetuate the situation and become like that themselves, or they can spend their lives trying to be better than what they came from.”

I look to the carpet as I let his words sink in. Where am I at in that scheme of things? Am I falling into the trappings of poor parenting, or am I struggling to be better than it?

“I got what I wanted,” Michael says, moving Allie to his knee and bouncing her.

“What was that?” I ask curiously.

“Answers. I had so many questions and when I realized that Nasedo was a jackass, I decided to get what I wanted and write him off.”

I swallow. “Are you saying that’s what I should do?”

“I’m saying that’s the least you should do. Whether or not you decide to let Carl Deluca back into your life, that’s your decision. But it would be foolish for you to let him go away – knowing he’s probably not long for this world – without putting some of your questions to rest.”

He’s right. He’s absolutely right. If nothing else, after two decades my father owes it to me to come clean. I feel a little glimmer of hope inside, like maybe this isn’t a tragedy but a blessing. I need to speak to him, if only to get those answers. And maybe I won’t know until I meet with him whether I want him to stick around or not.

“Oh, and in case you were wondering,” Michael says, holding Allie to his chest. “You fall into category number two – you’re working to be better than what your parents were.”

That simple comment makes my eyes sting. “Thank you, Michael.”

He waves me off with a hand. “Don’t get all mushy on me – you know I can’t deal with that.”

I laugh, then get up from my chair and give him a kiss on the cheek. “No, really – thank you for coming over to talk to me.” I take a squirming Allie from his arms so that I can feed her. “Say you’ll stay for dinner.”

He looks a little surprised.

“Max would love it,” I bait. “It’s Monday and there’s got to be a football game on tonight. Just like old times, Michael?”

He gives a little smile. “Sure. Why not?” As I move to the kitchen to grab a bottle for Allie, he follows. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I think I’ll just make some spaghetti or something. But right now I have to feed Junior.”

He rubs her nearly-bald head. “She’s so cute. Not that it’s any of my business, but are you guys going to have more?”

It isn’t until he says it that I realize something has been missing. That day that Max made me go running, I had sworn my crabbiness was due to PMS…only my period has never come.

Oh. Shit.

Keeping my poker face in place, I pop Allie’s bottle into the microwave and give a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe.”

Yeah – maybe sooner than I think.

tbc