My Beloved Mae (UC,Mi/?,MATURE) {Complete} 06/16

[Midwest Max]

Part Ten

I’m numb. And numb is good. I’m alone, but also not really alone at all. Someone else is here, someone I can’t see. I can hear them, though. They’re humming? I hear a giggle, a familiar laugh I can’t quite put my finger on.

I like here, this nowhere land. I can’t see anything – everything is black and unrelenting. For some reason, that doesn’t trouble me. I think I’ve lost the ability to fear, to feel. And I’m not the slightest bit worried about it. I’m floating in a big black pool of weightlessness. I could stay here for an eternity if I have to.

There’s a sudden jab of pain, like when you prick yourself with a needle – it’s there and then gone. With it comes a muted flash of light. Then all is black again.

You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there

I hear the words in my head, feel a comforting presence wrap around me. It’s familiar and I don’t care whom it belongs to – I just like being bound in it, protected against everything else in the world. I’m content.

“Michael.” The voice is masculine, the word sing-songed.

The content feeling I was experiencing only seconds ago is gone. My protective safety net has also vanished. Conflict rushes in like someone opened a dam – I know I’m hurt, but I can’t pinpoint where.

“Hey, Miiiiiichael.”

God that’s annoying. I shake my head, trying to clear the buzzy feeling and free myself of my tormentor. Ouch. Something hurts. Somewhere. I still can’t tell where. Am I drugged?

“Come on, Michael. The Red Wings game is on tonight.”

Hockey? I force my eyes open and immediately close them again – it’s way too bright out there. I smell something that both makes my mouth water and gags me. It smells like breakfast at the Crashdown. Something grazes my head and the nausea abates. I crack open my eyes again to see something fuzzily moving away from my head.

“Hey! There he is!”

I try to focus on the object before me. It’s dark on top and lighter on the bottom. I blink a couple of times and force my eyes to adjust. In a few moments, I find Max sitting beside me – he’s wearing a gray sweatshirt, which I assume was the ‘lighter on the bottom’ that I saw. I can’t be about to die because he’s smiling at me…and drinking a cup of coffee, the source of the smell.

“We have to quit meeting in places like this,” he smirks, sipping from his cup.

Places like this? I roll my eyes around the room, which is entirely white and for one moment I recall Max’s captivity at the hands of Agent Pierce. I’ve awakened in some nightmare where I’m about to suffer his fate. I try to flee, but pain shoots through my hip and my head and a gentle hand pushes me back down to the mattress.

“You were talking about monkeys.”

“What?” I ask thickly, raising my hand to rub my head. There’s a tube in the back of my hand – whatthefuck?

“Monkeys,” Max says. “You were mumbling about monkeys. Must’ve been some dream, huh?”

I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Monkeys? It must be that in this parallel universe Max is a babbling moron.

“You don’t remember what happened, do you?”

I drop my hand and try to remember. Right now, all I can feel is that throbbing ache in my hip, the hammer pounding between my ears.

“Michael?” Max is leaning over me, his dark eyes concerned. “You okay?”

I shake my head. Something’s wrong. I’m just not sure what.

He puts a strong hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy,” he says, reaching past my head with his other hand. I try to follow his movements, but I can’t crane my neck that far. What’s he doing? “In a few moments, it will all be better.”

I hear a soft clicking noise and before I can even wonder what he did, I start to feel loopy.

“Just sleep, Michael. I’ll be here when you wake up…”

His words drift away, like petals on a stream…

The next time I wake up, the room is cast in shadows and I feel a little more coherent. There is still a horrid pain in my hip and my head is thumping nicely, but I don’t feel like there’s anything here that I can’t deal with. I barely remember being awake last time – I seem to remember something about coffee. And monkeys.

I decide to chalk the monkeys up to hallucination. Lifting my head slightly, I see Max sitting in a chair in the corner, a magazine opened in his lap. He’s awake, but he looks bored as hell. Fuck – I’m in a hospital. How did that happen?

Max looks up, blinks, then smiles. He rises as gracefully and soundlessly as a cat, puts his magazine on his chair, then comes to sit on the edge of my bed. Immediately, Dr. Max touches the side of my head.

“How are you?” he asks, his tone hushed. I get the feeling it’s late at night.

“I think I’ve been better,” I admit, my words sounding like they’re being dragged over sandpaper.

Apparently pleased with whatever he felt in my noggin, he drops his hand to his lap and gestures behind me with his chin. “There’s a morphine drip back there. Do you need it?”

I shake my head. I don’t want to go back out so soon. I need some answers first. “Max, I can’t be here,” I warn him. There are alien blood samples floating around this hospital somewhere – I’m sure of it.

“It’s okay,” he assures me. “It’s been taken care of.”

It has? That has always been my job in the past – seek and destroy. I know that Max was in Chicago so he couldn’t have been the one to get rid of the evidence. Who does that leave, then?

Isabel.

I don’t want to remember what comes to me next – kissing Iz in my apartment. I feel cheap, stupid, moronic. I hurt her so badly – I’ve never done anything to make her run from me the way she did. I can still see the pain on her face, the confusion. I hate myself so much at the moment.

Did she tell Max? That’s a stupid question. Of course she didn’t. What happened is between her and me and for her to tell Max would be to stir up trouble. And Iz just doesn’t do that.

I scan the room, looking for anyone else I didn’t initially notice. She’s not here. I don’t know how I got here or what series of events led me to be here and I really need to know that Isabel wasn’t involved in whatever happened.

“What’s Iz?” I ask, trying to keep my voice as level as possible.

“She went home to get some rest,” Max says. “It’s very late, Michael. She’d been here all day.”

So, after what happened in my apartment, she was still here. I have a sickening thought – did she cause me to be here?

“What happened?” I ask, swallowing past the dry lump in my throat. I adjust my blanket out of groggy nervousness.

“You don’t remember?”

I shake my head.

“Dirt bike,” Max says. “Out on the old highway.”

“Was I alone?”

He looks a little surprised at the question, then nods his head.

That’s a relief. I couldn’t bear hurting her physically as well as emotionally.

“You have a broken leg,” Max says, glancing down that way. “A couple of cracked ribs. A concussion. You’re lucky, Michael.”

Ut oh – I detect a Father Max lecture on the horizon.

“Did Maria come with you?” I ask in a none-too-subtle switching of subjects.

Max, however, is master of the double switch as he puts the subject right back to where it was – my asinine-ness. “No, she stayed behind with the kids. But she did want me to make sure that the doctors extracted your head from your ass.”

His words are spoken with humor instead of reprimand, which is a surprise.

He shrugs. “Her words, not mine. Can I get you anything?”

“Water,” I say. I feel like my mouth and throat are filled with cotton balls. While Max pours me a glass, I ask, “How long have I been out?”

“Better part of two days,” he answers, taking me by the forearm to help me sit up. “I’ve been here for about a day and a half, I guess.”

I try to drink the water too quickly and it threatens to come back up. I force myself to slow down and sip the water at a gentler pace. Two days. Lost. I don’t even remember the accident that put me here.

Then it dawns on me. “Max, what day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“No, the date.”

“August twelfth.”

Oh no. Guilt rips through me at an alarming pace. My head pounds in reaction. I will never stop fucking up my friends’ lives. “Max, you’re supposed to be in Chicago – taking the bar.”

I know he’s studied for an eternity for that test. I know that a work promotion - and therefore the stability of his financial situation – depends on him taking that test. He’s got a family to take care of and he’s worked very hard for this day.

And I’ve fucked it up. By being a dumbass.

“It’s okay,” he says, no malice in his tone.

“Max, no.” God, I hate this. I hate that he’s self-sacrificing and I’m not.

But his smile is kind as he refills my water glass. “There’s next year, Michael. I needed to be here right now.” He meets my gaze, gives a self-conscious shrug. “You’d do the same for me.”

Yes, I would. But I’ve never had to sacrifice for him what he’s given up for me. We will never be equal in that area.

“It’s okay,” he repeats. He glances over his shoulder, as if to see if there’s an audience of nurses waiting at the door or something, then drops his voice down to a barely-audible whisper. “Look, I can’t do much for you right now.” He glances at my leg. “I’m sorry about that. But once we get out of here, I’ll take care of it.”

I nod my head. And yet another debt.

He looks over his shoulder again and I have to think that maybe Max has become a bit paranoid. “There’s something else.”

“What?” God, I don’t like the sound of that.

“She insisted on coming, Michael. I’m sorry if it upsets you.”

She? He’s already told me that Maria’s back in Chicago. Who is ‘she’?

Max looks over his shoulder again, then leans out of the way. I sit up a bit and my mouth drops open. When I scanned the room for Isabel, I hadn’t noticed the person wadded up asleep on a loveseat-sized couch beside the chair Max had occupied. She looks uncomfortable, her long legs practically pulled up to her chin.

It’s Mae.

tbc

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

[Midwest Max]

Part Eleven

“You should eat something.” Mae says this as she picks through my lunch tray, wrinkling her nose every now and then.

It’s daytime again and Max and Mae have swapped shifts. I haven’t seen Isabel yet. I feel drained even though I know I slept for about twelve hours straight last night. After I found out Mae was here, I hit the morphine and went back to sleep.

But having her here hasn’t been as tense as I thought it would be. Probably because I’m the only one who senses something is wrong. To Mae, it’s just another day, I was just another lay. So why is she here?

“Seriously,” she says, picking up a plastic container of pudding and sniffing it. She wrinkles her nose again, then sticks her tongue in the container – like I want to eat that now. From the look on her face, I’m not going to miss much. “Ugh! That’s horrible!”

I can’t help but smile at her.

“Jesus.” She looks around like she’s expecting something better to pop up out of the floor.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“My purse. I’m going to get you something decent to eat.”

I’m not hungry, really. But she’s determined and no one says no to Mae when she’s in this frame of mind. “Where are my pants?” I question. “My wallet is in the pocket – let me give you some money.”

She stops her searching and eyes me with a little smirk. “Your pants, Michael, were a casualty of the accident I’m afraid.”

Huh?

“They cut them off you,” she says bluntly. “You’re pantsless.” She gives a little giggle, then pulls open the top drawer of my nightstand. “But in here, there’s a wallet and some keys. I assume they’re yours.”

I roll over as much as I can to peer into the drawer – yep, those are mine. “Take some money out of my wallet,” I tell her.

Mae waves me off with a hand. “It’s not necessary, really.”

“I insist.”

“As do I.” She grins.

I settle back into my spot. There is no fight left in me. “Okay. Thanks, Mae.”

“So, what do you want me to get?”

“Pizza.”

“Pizza?” She seems amused by that. “Anything else?”

“Some Snapple.”

“Pizza and Snapple, got it.” Reaching toward the night stand again, she pulls out the phone book and starts looking for a pizza parlor. Her smooth brow furrows in concentration as she scans the names.

“The Pizza Pan is good,” I tell her. “And they’re usually on time.”

“Okay,” she says, scribbling the number on the heel of her hand.

“Will you get enough for both of us?”

She looks a little surprised by that.

“You must be hungry, too,” I explain.

She nods. “Sure.” Her smile is easy and has just a touch of something to it I can’t quite place – relief? Was she worried about being here? Another question that makes me wonder why she’s here.

“What did you tell Kim?” I ask, trying to keep the defensiveness out of my tone.

Mae closes the phone book and folds her arms over her lap. “The truth. I had a friend in need.”

I work my mouth. I hurt physically and I’m not sure I can take the emotional pain as well. But I’m a sucker for shit like that, I’m an open door to open wounds. “I thought I was just sex to you.”

Mae cocks her head curiously to the side. She looks like a dog that’s just heard something out of place. “No, Michael. What we did was just sex. I never said you were just sex.” He takes my hand in hers; she’s warm and soft and it nearly breaks my heart. “How could you think that?”

I sigh tiredly. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Mae.”

She caresses the back of my hand with her thumb, her expression one of compassion. “He’s out there somewhere, you know.”

My brow furrows. “Who?” She hadn’t better be about to tell me Mr. Right.

“The Michael you’re looking for.” She smiles, a perfectly serene, all-knowing smile. She’s so unusual…

“He is?” I find it hard to believe. The only Michael I know is lying in a bed with a cast all of the way up to his hip.

“Of course he is. You just don’t know it yet.” Then she lifts my hand to her lips and kisses the back of it.

That hurts. Her open-minded comfort is absolutely paralyzing.

“What else do you need?” she asks, rubbing her lipstick from my hand.

“Some clothes would be good.”

She brightens immediately. “You want me to shop?”

I snort a little laugh. “No, I think you could probably go to my apartment, if you wanted. If you have the time.”

“Of course!” Mae is happy and chipper and a ray of sunshine that seems entirely out of place in this sterile environment.

“Hand me my keys,” I request.

I flip through them and show her which one opens the side door. She’s been there before, long time ago when Max and Maria got married so I ask her if she remembers how to get there. She does. Knowing she’s going to my apartment brings back another unwelcome memory – a plate of brownies colliding with the wall.

I hope Isabel hasn’t been there and seen that. She came over offering those as a Band-Aid to my melancholy, and I reacted by ruining them. Talk about pouring salt into the wound.

“When you get there,” I warn Mae. “I, um, had a little accident.”

She’s found her purse and turns to look at me as she slings it over her shoulder. “What? Did you piddle on the floor?”

I laugh lightly. “No, nothing like that. I broke a plate.” Which wasn’t an accident at all, was it?

“Oh, no problem.”

“I didn’t want you to cut yourself,” I explain.

“I’ll take care of it,” she says, rising to head for the door.

“Mae, no.” I can’t have her cleaning up after me. It’s demeaning and wrong.

“What – are you going to be able to bend over and get it yourself when you get home?”

She’s got a point there. Of course, once Max works the voodoo, I will be able to do hand springs.

“Thank you, Mae,” I say sleepily. “For everything.”

She leans over and kisses me on the forehead and I close my eyes to savor the sensation. I love the way she smells, the feel of her lips. I hate that I can’t control the way I feel about her.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” she promises, then eyes the tray with contempt. “Don’t eat any of that shit.”

I smile to myself as she moves for the door. She passes Max on his way in. As expected, she gives him a big kiss on the lips and keeps moving.

I eye Max curiously as he plops down in the spot Mae just vacated. “Does she do that in front of Maria?”

Max just grins and shrugs. “Yeah. Means nothing, Michael. She’s just affectionate.”

Inside, I feel another pang. That means that kissing me means nothing either.

“How are you today?” His eyes skim down to the cast. “You look a better than yesterday.” He snorts a laugh. “At least you’re conscious.”

“Funny,” I say, shifting my weight as much as I can. I can’t wait to get this effin cast off. “I’m tired. And uncomfortable.”

Max’s eyes fill with apology. “I have some bad news.”

My stomach lurches. Oh, Christ – what now?

“Mom knows I’m home,” he says sheepishly.

Yeah? So? He’s her son – what’s the big deal?

“She knows about the accident,” he says, filling in the blanks.

Oh, fuck. I let out a breath and sink as far as I can into the pillows. That means no miracle recovery for Michael, not without blowing cover. I’m going to have to wait until this bone heals on its own.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” Max says, his eyes filled with regret.

“Don’t be,” I say, waving him off. I’m the one who should be sorry. There was absolutely no reason for Max to be here – Isabel took care of the blood samples and now he can’t heal me, which I’m sure is the real reason he blew off that exam. By all rights, he should be in Chicago now, finishing up the bar, about to be crowned an attorney. All of this upset – because of me. My mood plummets to the basement.

“I was trying to get in and out of here without her knowing I was home,” Max explains quietly, guiltily. “I stopped to get these” – he holds up a bakery bag – “and she saw me.”

“What did you tell her?” I ask.

“The truth.” He opens the bag and pulls out a donut. “I told her that you’d been hurt and that I didn’t want to worry them.” He bites into the donut. “So expect her to be here doting on you soon – you know how she is.”

My brow furrows. “Max, what were you going to tell her about not taking the bar?”

He shrugs. “I wasn’t going to tell them I didn’t take it.”

My eyebrows lift slightly. “You were going to lie to them and tell them you passed?”

He pauses, his cheeks full of donut, and shakes his head. After swallowing, he says, “No, I was going to tell them I failed.”

Oh, Christ. Not only did he give up on advancing his career, he was also going to lie to his parents and tell them he was a failure. I’m sure that would have resulted in a year’s worth of unwanted help from his father in order to get him to pass the test. The ripple effect of my actions is going to span years. I’m an ass.

“I got some jelly ones – I know you like those,” he’s saying, unconcerned as he digs in the bag. “And some glazed. What kind do you want?”

I look at him like he’s insane. He just totally screwed up his life for me and he’s worried about what kind of donut I’d like?

“Or…” He looks away, probably wondering why I’m looking at him like he’s nuts. “Is there some other kind you wanted? I could go back…”

I shake my head, still confused at the utter nonchalance with which he’s accepted this turn of events.

Max clears his throat and rolls down the top to the bag, sets it on my tray table. “For whenever you want one.”

What an uncomfortable, ugly moment. But it’s about to get more uncomfortable and even uglier.

Isabel is standing in my doorway.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

I''m going out of town for a few days, so this will be the last update until probably mid-week or so. Thanks for all of your feedback!


Part Twelve

I should have known Isabel was around here somewhere. Since Max proved he’s inept behind the wheel, he stopped driving so he had to get here somehow. My guess is that Isabel dropped him off at the door before parking the car or something.

I try not to look too guilty or too startled or too anything when I see her. She and I know what happened, but Max does not. At least not as far as I know.

“Max,” she says, her eyes shifting from me to her brother. “Your cell phone rang while I was parking the car. It was Maria.”

“Oh,” Max says, rising. “Did she want me to call her back?”

Isabel nods.

Max glances back to me. “I have to leave the building to do that,” he explains apologetically. “No cell phones in the building.”

“Sure,” I say, somewhat relieved that he won’t be here to witness the ensuing awkwardness between me and his sister.

As he leaves, Isabel steps out of his way, then kind of hovers in his wake, her arms crossed over her midsection.

“Hey, Isabel,” I say cautiously.

She works her mouth a little. “How are you feeling?”

Like an ass, actually. “Better,” I say aloud. “Hopefully they’ll spring me this afternoon, if I’m lucky.”

“That’s good.” She isn’t smiling or frowning or showing any emotion at all. I can’t read her and that troubles me to no end.

We stare at each other in uncomfortable silence for a few agonizingly long seconds, then she clears her throat and steps fully into the room. She goes about housewifely things – folding the blanket Mae used last night, throwing away trash from my tray table. It breaks my heart.

“Isabel,” I finally interrupt. “You don’t need to do that.”

She stops, her eyes like a stunned rabbit’s. “I have to do something, Michael. I can’t stand the silence in here.”

“Then talk to me.”

“About what?”

“About what happened.”

She’s going to bolt for the door. I can practically see her body leaning that direction. “I don’t want to.”

I draw in a deep breath of patience. “We have to.”

“Not now.”

“Why not?”

Her hand goes to her throat, toys with her necklace. She doesn’t have an answer for me other than she “doesn’t want to” and she knows that excuse isn’t good enough. I hold out my hand for her.

“Come here,” I ask quietly. “Sit down.”

She doesn’t take my hand, but she does warily sit on the edge of my bed. Her dark eyes go to the floor tiles as she sits in profile. I look at her chest, notice that it is rising and falling visibly – she’s about to climb out of her skin. I feel like such a bastard.

“Isabel,” I begin. “I’m sorry.”

She swallows and continues to stare at the floor.

“I really am. I have no excuse for myself or my actions. If I had to do it all over again, I definitely wouldn’t.”

Isabel gives a little snort and even with my limited view of her face, I can tell that she looks hurt.

“What?”

She turns to me, her eyes full of humiliation. “Can’t you see how degrading what you just said is?”

I raise my eyebrows in question.

“It’s insulting to be told that kissing you was such a bad experience that the person who did it wouldn’t ever want to do it again. Am I that repulsive to you?”

I will never get women. It’s as simple as that. “No, Iz,” I say, trying to channel some of Max’s saint-like patience. “You’re not repulsive. You know you’re not.”

“Then why are you sorry you kissed me?” Her face is wrought with frustration.

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to think –”

“That I’m just like every other girl you’ve kissed?” There is bitterness in her tone that I hadn’t expected. “Just tell me something, Michael. Did I ever do anything to lead you on?”

I shake my head mutely. My kissing her was not her fault.

“Then why did you do it?”

I bite my lip. I already told her I don’t know why, which is the most horrible answer of all. I can imagine the reasons running through her head – she was convenient, I’ve been harboring something for her all of these years, I was lonely, I figured she was desperate, I thought she was easy, after all she’s told me she loves me a million times. I feel a twisting in my gut at the doubts I’ve put in her head.

Isabel sags visibly, her eyes returning to the floor. “You really don’t know.” She sits silently for a moment and when she finally looks up, there is determination in her expression. “You can’t do this kind of shit to me, Michael.”

“I know.”

“You can’t jerk me around like one of your chippies.”

“I know.”

“You can’t put thoughts into my head that I don’t want to be there.” Her voice quivers just a tad and she stops suddenly, her words hanging incomplete.

I reach for her arm but she moves away. I’m pretty much stuck where I lie, so I can’t even pursue her. “What ideas did I put in your head?”

At that, she gets up from the bed and wipes beneath her eyes, clearing silent tears that I hadn’t even noticed she’d been crying. “It doesn’t matter,” she denies. “It’s over now.”

“Isabel, tell me.”

“No, it’s okay, Michael. I don’t know why I expected anything better from you.” She stares at me for a long moment, then turns to leave the room. She doesn’t give me a hug, she doesn’t tell me she loves me, and she certainly doesn’t kiss me.

In fact, she doesn’t even say goodbye.

She nearly flattens Max, who comes through the door with a grin on his face. He looks after her in mild confusion, then back to me.

“I’ve got good news,” he says.

I sigh. “Yeah?”

“I just ran into your doctor – they’re letting you loose this afternoon.”

*****

“I could try to carry you.”

I look at Max with a frown. There is no way I’m going to ask him to carry my ass up these stairs. But, as I stand at the bottom of the flight, it seems that there are now about nine billion steps between me and my apartment. And I have a cast up to my hip – did I mention that?

“I’m not going to ask you to carry me, Maxwell,” I mumble, reaching for the handrail. I’m wondering now why I didn’t get a first-floor apartment.

“When we get upstairs, I have a surprise for you,” Mae says from somewhere behind me, a smile in her voice.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask absently, trying to swing my leg onto the bottom step. This isn’t going to be easy.

“A nice surprise,” she chirps.

“Is it a chairlift?” I call over my shoulder. “Because I could sure use one of those about now.”

Beside me, Max silently loops my arm around his shoulders. I look at him with an expression that reads “Back off, I can do it” but he just smiles back. His patience is annoying.

“One step at a time, brother,” he says cheerfully.

Sure, he can be peppy – he’s not the one with the throbbing pain and the twenty pound cast on his leg. But together we get up to the first step. I am so off-center that I nearly tumble backward and it’s suddenly a very good thing that Max is there to prevent me from doing so.

“See?” he grins. “One down – ” he counts the steps - “only fifteen to go.”

It takes half an hour. By the time we reach the top, we’re both out of breath and sweaty. I’ve never been so happy to see my couch in my life. I also see Mae’s surprise – she’s tidied up my apartment. Her grin is Grand Canyon-wide, so I give her a breathless kiss on the cheek in thanks.

“I’m also going to make dinner,” she announces. “Max, will you stay?”

Max can’t stay, as it turns out, now that he’s been nabbed by his mother. Mae takes him home after I’ve gotten settled on the couch; I’m so exhausted from the day’s events that I fall asleep almost immediately. I need to sleep so that I can erase the pain I saw on Isabel’s face, so that I can forget the pain in my leg.

When I awake, Mae is pulling the drawstring on my sweatpants.

“What are you doing?” I ask hoarsely.

She grins and gives me a wink.

“Mae, no,” I protest. “I can’t do that.” I shake my head. Does she really think we can have sex in the condition I’m in?

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll do all the work.”

Before I can protest further, she takes my hand in hers and kisses my palm. I’m still half asleep and have to shake my head to clear my thoughts. It’s very hot outside now, what with it being August in the desert, and she’s wearing a skimpy tank top; nothing underneath, I’m assuming. She takes my hand and presses it to her breast.

Need flares inside of me despite the drugs and the pain. I love her perfect little breasts and having one of them in my hand sends my heart racing.

“Do you like my breasts?” she asks softly.

I nod, circling the small sphere with my palm. Her skin is warm, hotter than normal, and I have the vision of her jumping out of her hot rental car, racing up the stairs and immediately assaulting me.

“I like yours, too,” she says, her long fingers gliding over my T-shirt. She leans down to kiss me, her hand finding the bottom of my shirt and sliding over my skin. With her other hand, she removes mine from her breast and pushes it under her top.

I ache for her. I really do. But in my head I see Kim back in Chicago. I hear Isabel accusing me of never being anything better than an affront to women. I think about the fact that I might love Mae and she doesn’t love me.

And I can’t do it.

“Stop,” I say gently, breaking our kiss and pulling my hand from her shirt.

Still hovering over me, Mae studies me curiously.

“I can’t do this,” I say. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

She kisses the side of my face. “It’s just sex,” she whispers against my ear. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

I take her by the shoulders and push her back slightly. “That’s just the problem, Mae. I can’t have sex with you without it meaning something. Not anymore.”

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Yeah, Michael's about to be a jerk - just keep in mind that he's miserable


Part Thirteen

Being helpless sucks.

I can’t drive. I can’t cook because I can’t stand in front of the stove. I have to start working my way toward the bathroom fifteen minutes before I really need to go because it takes me that long to get there. Not to mention how fun it is to try to balance on one leg and pee.

It’s humiliating to not be able to get in and out of the bathtub by myself. I had the idea to just use the shower and stick the cast out of the curtain, but I was reminded that I’m not that good on one leg – add in the water and the slippery shower stall and I’m one wobble away from a few months longer in this freaking cast. So, I get to have someone else help me, buck naked, in and out of the tub. It’s embarrassing.

Mrs. Evans does indeed start doting on me and it takes everything in my power to tolerate her. She makes enough food to feed an army. Sometimes, it’s very good, other times she brings over something she was “experimenting” on, something she found in some cookbook somewhere. So, on top of being crabby, I not only have to tolerate her, but patronize her as well; I can’t even get up to discretely clear my plate into the garbage can.

An insurance adjuster stops by to settle the claim on my bike. I can tell he thinks I’m an asshole. But, regardless, I paid my premiums, so he needs to cover the bike and my medical expenses. Because if he doesn’t, I’m going to get thrown out onto the street when I can’t pay my rent – if I don’t work, I don’t get paid. No pressure there at all.

After two days, the annoyances are mounting. The most annoying of all? Saint Max and his never-ending patience. What happened to the Max that I used to be able to get a rise out of? Of course, I don’t want Suicidal Max back, but it would be nice to at least have Flies Off the Handle Every Once in a While Max over every now and then. I try everything just to piss him off and nothing works. What happened to my ability to make him want to knock me on my ass?

Because that’s what I want – I want a fight. I want to scream at someone and I want someone to scream back at me. I want to vent this frustration and no one is giving me an outlet, least of all Max.

He’s withstood a day’s worth of verbal abuse and he’s still smiling, still patiently ignoring my barbs. It’s infuriating.

“What’s wrong with you?” I finally ask, holding out my hands palm up.

Max stops his tidying of the day’s newspaper and lifts a curious eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Why aren’t you angry with me?” I say it like he’s a moron. I’ll light that fire yet.

He sets the stacked newspapers neatly on the coffee table. “Why would I be mad at you?” His voice is without defensiveness.

“I fucked up your career, man,” I say bluntly. “Why the fuck aren’t you angry about that?”

“You haven’t messed anything up,” he says calmly, retrieving a glass of water for my houseplants, which seem healthier now that Saint Max is tending them. “I told you already that I’ll take the test next year. I’ll have more time to prepare this way.”

Oh, please! What’s with the silver lining crap! “But I’ll bet Maria’s pissed, huh?” Let me push the button a little harder.

“No. She understands.”

I watch him watering the plants and my rage boils inside of me. He’s a freaking Stepford wife, going about his house chores with a smile, all the while being berated by me. I can’t take it. I’m cranky and tired and sore and housebound and I just want the opportunity to explode. I know I can’t do that until someone else does. And I know how I get when I’m like this – I’m a dick and I’ll pull out all the stops. There’s really no stopping myself.

“I kissed your sister.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, guilt rages through me. I just betrayed Isabel – whom I have not seen since two days ago in the hospital – and gave up some personal information Max did not need to know. I’m an ass.

Max looks at me in surprise, then I see a look of complete understanding come to his eyes. “Well, that explains a lot.”

I might be an ass, but I’m still not ready to give up the fight. “Doesn’t that piss you off?”

Calmly as always, he empties the glass of water into the last plant, then sinks down into the armchair. “No, Michael, it doesn’t piss me off.” His gaze is steady. “That’s your business and Isabel’s business. You’re both adults, I trust that you knew what you were doing.”

My urge to rage is suddenly squashed by his understated reprimand. I feel shame replacing the guilt I felt earlier.

“Look,” he says, setting the glass on the table and folding his hands between his knees. “I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not going to fight with you. You’re going to have to find some other means to vent your frustration.”

I am so nabbed. He knows it. I know it. I feel like an immature brat.

Max gets up and goes to the kitchen, puts the glass in the sink. When he returns, he starts putting on his shoes – time for shift change. He’ll leave and Mae will take over.

“Why aren’t you mad?” I ask quietly. “About the bar?”

He shrugs as he tugs on his boot laces. “Because of exactly what I said – I’ll get another chance.”

“But you’ll have to wait a whole year. Doesn’t that bother you?” He shakes his head. “Why not?” I really don’t get it.

“I have faith that I’m supposed to wait until next year,” Max says, switching feet and tying his other boot. “Because I believe everything happens for a reason.”

“What reason?”

He smiles at me. “I might never know.” He looks at the floor for a moment, his demeanor switching to something a little more serious. “After what I’ve done and what I’ve seen, Michael, I’ve learned to accept things as they come. There isn’t much point in being angry over things I can’t change. At some point, you’ve got to make peace with yourself. If you don’t, you’ll become bitter and hateful, Michael. And I don’t want to see that.”

It’s my turn to look surprised. But Max winks at me and cuffs me on the arm. The doorbell rings and I watch him go to answer it. The frustration has abated and I feel stupid for my actions.

“Good luck,” Max says to Mae as she steps around him and into the apartment. She looks after him, then shrugs as the door swings shut.

She’s wearing a pair of baggy bib overall shorts, a white T-shirt and a newsboy hat – she’s adorable. In her arms, she has a large case of some kind and a couple of artist’s sketch pads.

“What was that about?” she asks, coming to sit in the chair Max just vacated.

I wave toward the door nonchalantly. “Who knows? What’s that?”

She places the case on the floor and smoothes the pads across her lap. “Well, a little birdie told me that you have a bit of an artistic streak in you. Is it true?”

God, I haven’t painted in years…

“What’s your preference?” Mae asks, flipping open the case. It’s full of paints and charcoal and pencils.

I sit up a bit, take inventory.

“I like charcoal myself,” she says, picking up a piece from the case. She looks up at me, her dark eyes full of anticipation. “Can I draw you?”

I shrug.

“Okay, so while I’m drawing you, what are you going to do?”

Just lie here and wither away…

Mae cocks her head and purses her lips. “Don’t you dare say nothing.” She hands me one of the pads, then raises an eyebrow toward the case. “What’s it going to be?”

I sigh. I haven’t done this in so long, I’m sure I’m going to suck. “I like paint,” I reply reluctantly.

Like she’s been sitting on a spring, Mae hops up and gets me all of the necessities – water to rinse my brushes, a paper plate to mix my colors (since I’m lacking a palette), and she even helps me prop the monster cast on the coffee table so I can sit up. Then she forces me to paint.

And soon I’m feeling relaxed, calm, involved in what I’m doing. I do wonder why Mae took my rejection so easily. It was like no big deal that I don’t want to just fuck her. She hasn’t commented on my feelings for her, but she also hasn’t shunned me. I can’t figure her out.

“You want to paint me?” she asks from the chair.

I look up at her, raise an eyebrow.

“You could,” she volunteers. “We could even do it nude if you wanted.”

I sigh and lower my brush. “Mae, I don’t want to –”

She giggles, not quite the reaction I’d expected. “Yeah, I know – no sex. I wasn’t offering sex – I was offering to model.”

“Oh.” I blink. I really can’t figure her out. “Okay.”

Eventually she does lose part of her clothing, but not enough to cause a scandal. I have her remove her shirt and pull the overalls back up over her shoulders. Then I have her sit with her back to me and let one strap fall off one shoulder, her face turned toward me. She’s gorgeous and pretty soon I’m painting furiously.

Before I know it, it’s dark outside. Time flew, my spirit was free. I feel relieved.

Mae fixes dinner, we watch a little TV, then she helps me to my bed. Tonight, instead of leaving me here, she curls up beside me, lays her head against my chest. Outside it begins to rain, the drops pattering against the windows. I like being here with her, without the added pressure of having to perform sexually. I think for the first time, I’m looking at her as a friend instead of a sexual partner.

“Thank you for tonight,” I say against the top of her head. “I liked doing that.”

“Me too,” she replies, her voice muffled against my shirt. She sounds sleepy and I have to wonder if I woke her.

“I haven’t picked up a paintbrush in probably eight years,” I tell her.

“Really? You could have fooled me.”

I snort. “Yeah, right.”

She raises her head so that she can look at me. “Don’t belittle yourself so much, Michael. You have talent.” She puts her head back down, smoothes my shirt with her open palm.

I rub her shoulder, watch lightening dance across my bedroom ceiling. I need to get something off my chest. “I was a dick to Max tonight.”

“He’ll understand.”

“No. I was really a dick to him.”

“And he’ll really understand. After all, you two are alike.”

My heart jerks in my chest and starts to thump a little harder. “What?” Oh God. What does she know?

She lifts her head, looks down at my chest in curiosity. “Are you okay?”

I nod, possibly too eagerly.

“Why is your heart thudding all of a sudden?”

I shrug. “What do you mean Max and I are alike?” Subtle, Guerin, real subtle.

Mae shrugs, brushes her hair away from her face. “I don’t know really. Just a feeling I get when I’m around you. I get the same feeling from him that I get from you.”

“What kind of feeling?” I think I’m going to explode.

She looks out the window for a second, then says, “That there’s something different about you.”

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Fourteen

“Michael, will you please calm down?”

Calm down? How can I calm down at a time like this? I’m pacing the floor of my apartment – as well as a person on crutches can pace, that is. Mae knows about us. I’m sure of it.

“Why are you so calm?” I accuse Max, stopping because my armpits are starting to ache. “She knows, Maxwell.”

He lifts a curious eyebrow, but other than that doesn’t really react.

“She said we’re different, Max,” I say, gesturing with one hand to make my point. “How does she know we’re different?”

“How does she know we’re aliens?” he counters. “Different does not equal alien, Michael.”

“Oh, please! What else could it mean?”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t you say that Mae’s a little different?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you think she’s an alien?”

I stop to consider that, then shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then why do you think she thinks we’re aliens just because she thinks we’re different?”

Okay, there were too many uses of the word “think” in that logic. I shake my head, trying to think for myself.

“You’re paranoid,” Max finally decides.

“And you should be,” I shoot back. “She didn’t just say I was weird, Max. She said we were weird.”

He sighs, rubs his forehead. “Michael, even if Mae did somehow know, she’s the last person who is going to freak out about it.”

I blink, purse my lips. “That’s the same thing Iz said.”

“Well, sometimes Isabel knows what she’s talking about.”

That’s a loaded statement that I want to go nowhere near. I hobble over to the couch and ease down into it, my back and arms grateful for the reprieve. “How is Isabel?” I ask quietly, picking at the couch cushion instead of looking at my friend. When he doesn’t answer immediately, I’m forced to meet his gaze.

“I can’t speak for her,” Max says slowly, his expression very much reading that he doesn’t want to get into the middle of it. “She’s busy, working at the center.”

Too busy to come visit me, at least. Or even to pick up the phone. I frown.

“Michael, you’re going to have to deal with her sooner or later,” Max says without reprimand. “All I can tell you is this – she’s not going to come to you.”

For some reason that surprises me, though I don’t know why it should. I’m the one who hurt her. She’s the one who walked out. It’s irrational to think that she’d seek me out to make amends.

I give Max a short nod of my head. “Understood.”

He sits forward in the chair, his eyes shifting to the cast. “You know I’m leaving this afternoon.”

I nod.

“I have to go back before my kids drive my wife crazy,” he explains with a grin and a small laugh.

“I know. Thanks for coming, Max.”

“No problem. My mom and Kyle are going to be stopping over to help you out until you can get around.” He looks at my leg again. “They told me at the hospital that once your leg healed enough, they’d put you in a boot cast.” Music to my ears! “Once you get that, you should be able to drive and get around better.”

“I should,” I agree. “Whenever that may be.”

Max gives me a grin, then gestures with his chin toward my leg. “Put that up here for a second.”

I furrow my brow, but I hoist my heavy leg onto the coffee table anyway. Concentrating, Max reaches out with both hands and places them on either side of the cast. Slowly, the cast morphs and shifts away in the shape of his hands and then he’s touching my bare skin. It’s such an odd sensation that it freaks me out for a moment.

“Hold still,” he murmurs. “Just a moment longer.”

I feel warmth, then cold on my skin. Max slowly retracts his hands and the cast reforms as if it had never been distorted. He sits back with a self-satisfied grin as I look down at my toes. The discoloration is gone, some of the swelling dissipated. I look to him for an explanation.

“You’re about a week and a half ahead of schedule,” he says. “Expect that boot cast by the end of the week.”

I nod my thanks. I know he couldn’t heal me completely, but Max always tries to do the best he can.

He’s the better of us, I think.

“Listen,” he continues, obsessive-compulsively straightening the magazines on the table. “About Mae. Don’t worry about her, Michael. I’ve known her for a while now and I don’t think she knows anything.”

“But what if she does? What do I tell her if she happens to ask me if I’m an alien?”

“Then tell her the truth.”

My mouth falls open in disbelief. He can’t be serious.

Max shrugs. “I highly doubt she’s going to ask you, but if she does, then just be honest. I know Mae. I trust her. Do what you think is right.”

Well, I can tell him right now that the “right” thing is not telling Mae-Ling Xen that I hatched like one of the Partridge Family.

“Mom’s coming to give me a lift to the airport,” Max continues. “Do you want to come? Mae’s leaving this afternoon too, you know.”

I nod and agree to go. After all they’ve done for me, how can I not?

Mrs. Evans insists that I get a wheelchair. I, of course, refuse. But after trying to get onto an escalator with one good leg, I give in. I don’t like being an invalid. I don’t like people looking at me with that “What the fuck happened to you?!” look on their faces. But an evil little piece of me does like having the King of Antar pushing my ass around the airport.

“I made some cookies,” Mrs. Evans says, handing Max a brown paper bag as we wait at the gate.

He manages not to roll his eyes as he gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Mom.”

“They’re chocolate chunk, your favorite.”

Hey! Those are my favorite too! I eye the bag with envy.

Mrs. Evans pats my shoulder. “Don’t you worry, dear. I made extra – we’ll have them for dessert!”

That sounds great and for one moment I beam at her – until I realize that with Max gone, she’ll be doting on me more than ever. And that’s not necessarily a good thing. Tonight’s dinner, for example, could make me want to skip straight to dessert.

“And I bought some gifts for the little ones,” Mrs. Evans continues, handing Max a shopping bag.

“Mom,” he protests gently. “You just bought them presents for their birthdays.”

“I know, but they’re my only grandchildren – have to spoil them while I can.”

I feel a pang inside. Her only grandchildren. She said it like it was a definite, something that couldn’t be changed. Has she given up hope that Isabel is ever going to find someone and have kids of her own?

Speaking of Isabel, where is she? She couldn’t come to the airport to see her only brother off?

“Iz couldn’t make it?” I ask Mrs. Evans, my expression neutral.

“No, honey, she’s still working on that polka dance for the seniors,” she apologizes. “I know she wanted to be here, but you know Isabel – she’s very dedicated to her work.”

Because she has nothing else. I look away grimly at the thought. She has always poured so much energy into that senior center. And while I believe that she truly cares about the people who go there, I’m also beginning to wonder if it’s an excuse to not deal in the outside world.

“I know she wanted to come,” Mrs. Evans is saying to Max, her eyes full of regret.

“It’s okay, Mom. I understand.” Of course he does. Because he’s Patient Man.

“Ah! There you are!” It’s Mae’s voice, out of breath.

We turn to look toward her and she’s kind of running/kind of shuffling in some unpractical shoes for traveling. She’s got a bag over each shoulder - each of them looks like they are stuffed to bursting. And those are just her carry-ons.

“I stopped by your place to say goodbye but you weren’t there,” she explains to me, skidding to a halt before our little group. She puts a hand to her chest as she tries to catch her breath. “Then I had to return the rental car and I was afraid I was going to be late.” She draws in a deep breath and grins. “I didn’t know you’d been abducted.”

Abducted?! I look quickly to Max, who is shaking his head barely perceptibly. I know, I know, don’t over-react.

“Well, this is Roswell, isn’t it?” I joke, hoping I sound jokey instead of terrified.

Mae giggles until she snorts.

“I’m the abductor,” Max confesses. “Sorry – I should have told you that I was going to bring him with us.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” Mae says, waving a hand and stooping to put her arms around me. She’s still catching her breath and for one moment I close my eyes to listen to her panting against my ear. “I found you guys and that’s all that matters.”

The plane starts to board, the last rows called first. Max and Mae check their tickets – they’re sitting halfway back so they still need to wait their turn. While we wait, we say our goodbyes. Mrs. Evans squeezes Max until his eyes bulge, then gives him a big kiss on the cheek; he reddens immediately. Nice to know that your mother can still embarrass you once you’re an adult. She gives Mae a hug and some wisdom about flying that I don’t fully hear.

I shake Max’s hand, thank him for all he’s done for me the last week. Of course he brushes it off, says I’d do it for him. Which I would, if I could.

Then Mae is before me. She’s absolutely stunning in a light cotton dress, her skin bronzed from the New Mexico sun. I push myself up from the wheelchair and balance my weight on one leg – I’m getting better at that. Then I reach for her, pull her in tightly to my body. I want to remember everything about her – the way she feels, the way she smells, the way she sounds. Because I don’t know when I’ll see her again.

And even though I said no to sex with her, I know as soon as she’s on that plane and out of my reach I’ll want her more than anything.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Fifteen

As Max predicted, my hip cast is gone at the end of the week, replaced with a nice comfy boot cast. The doctor is pleasantly surprised at my progress, but not freaked out at all by it. That Max – he’s good at knowing what will cause suspicion and what won’t.

As I predicted, the yearning for Mae starts within an hour of her departure. I almost regret having denied the opportunity to sleep with her, because right now that’s all I want to do. It’s such an odd thing, to want someone so badly when they’re a thousand miles away, but to be able to abstain when they’re in the same room.

I think I’m obsessed.

I hang the painting I did of her on my hallway wall, so that every time I hobble past, I can see her pretty face. She left behind the portrait she did of me – that hangs in my spare bedroom. I suppose if I were Max, that room would be an office stuffed full of books and papers and computers. To me, it’s just unnecessary space, a place in which to toss my weights and bowling equipment.

I have heard nothing from Isabel. As my longing for Mae increases, my longing for Isabel does so tenfold. I feel empty inside, like part of my own personality – the better part – has been removed. With everyone gone back to their homes and lives, there is nothing but a big void in my life, nothing to distract me from the awful truth; Max was right – Isabel isn’t going to come to me.

I don’t really know what to do. I don’t know how to break the ice. I already tried to apologize – that didn’t go so well. I fear approaching her and being rebuked. That first step is always the hardest.

I will forever thank the gods that I didn’t break my right leg and that I didn’t buy a stick shift when I got my truck. If either of those things had occurred, I’d be as stuck as I was in the hip cast. But, as it were, I have an automatic transmission and my left foot is the unusable one. I manage to hobble to a few customers, give them quotes on the work they want done. I need cash – being laid up has just about drained my resources. Some of them look at me skeptically, but I try to assure them that I will be as fit as a fiddle in no time.

Of course, my job requires lots of bending, lots of squatting, lots of kneeling, lots of carrying of heavy loads. Inside, I doubt that my leg will be able to handle that kind of stress for awhile. I’m afraid of re-injuring it because God knows I don’t want to go through this again. From my check ups with the doctor, I learn that I had three fractures – my thigh bone, one of my shin bones and a small hairline fracture behind my knee. It’s that last one that troubles me.

But, being a guy and not having a good memory of the accident to deter me from doing so, I shop for a new bike. I drag a reluctant Kyle along with me. As we’re heading for the dealer, I glance over at him – he didn’t bother to change out of his deputy uniform. I scowl a bit. We’re not going to win any friends with him looking like he’s trying to make a show of force.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks from the passenger seat.

I nod. Why wouldn’t I? I’ve always had a bike, since I had my license. I’ll just be more careful this time, that’s all.

When we get to the dealership, the only thing that stops me from test riding a dozen or two bikes is the clumsy cast on my left leg. Well, that and the crutches. They’re a bit of a deterrent. The salesman looks more than pleased at my enthusiasm, but Kyle seems to get paler by the moment. It was Kyle, you see, who found me sprawled beside the road. Or so I’m told.

We get toward the back of the show room and through a window I see what looks like a junk pile behind the building.

“What’s that back there?” I ask the salesman, pointing with one of my crutches.

He glances that way. “Oh, scrap mostly. We salvage what we can from the bikes to be used for insurance claims – the after-market parts you’ve heard talk of.” He starts to tell me about the Ducati in front of him that I will never in this lifetime be able to afford.

“Where do they come from?” I ask, still looking out the window.

He looks up, a little annoyed. “Wrecks, mostly.”

The salesman wants to keep talking about the out-of-my-budget bike, but I hobble past him, toward the back door. I can hear him sigh in resignation – he knows the probability of selling something just went down the tubes. I can’t say as that’s a given – I’m simply curious.

Outside, the air is stifling – late August in the desert. Kyle keeps pace beside me like a faithful retriever. We stop before the scrap pile and my eyes wander over it.

“What are you looking for?” Kyle asks.

“My bike,” I say absently, looking for any sign of the black beauty I have no recollection of wrecking.

“Over there,” he says quietly, taking a step back like he doesn’t want to be in swinging range or something.

I follow his line of sight…and feel my stomach drop to my toes. That can’t be it. There’s nothing recognizable but two deflated tires. The rest is just twisted, unidentifiable masses of metal splattered with mud and…blood?

Kyle’s looking at his shoes, kicking at the dirt.

“That’s not it,” I say in denial.

He nods silently.

I hobble over to the wreckage and stand over it. I’m willing to bet if I folded it the right way, I could stuff it into a mailbox. I was riding that. I was speeding on that. I hit a rock and went tumbling end over end.

My hand goes to my chest, clutches my shirt as the memory comes back in a horrifying flash. I hit a rock. I remember that now, seeing that rock coming and trying to avoid it but hitting it anyway. My breath rushes out of my body as I recall being tossed in the air, over the handlebars, seeing the pink and purple of the sunset, then the tan sandy mass that is the New Mexico desert. I feel a stab of pain in my shoulder, my ribs and my leg before the flash abruptly vanishes.

Kyle has taken me by the arms. “You okay?” I nod weakly. “I thought you were going to pass out. Do you need to sit?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m fine. Kyle, I need to get out of here.”

We drive away from the dealership in silence, Kyle driving. I lean against the passenger door, my head in my hand. How did I survive that wreck? I should have died. My body should have looked exactly like that twisted piece of scrap that used to be my bike. I’m a reckless asshole. All of these years I berated Max for trying to kill himself, but am I any better than that? What he did was deliberate, what I did was just stupid – so is it more honest to put your intentions out there for the world to see or to do it passively?

I didn’t want to die. I really didn’t. But I know to the outside world, my actions must look otherwise.

“You remembered,” Kyle finally says. It’s a statement, not a question.

I nod.

He doesn’t say anything more. After about fifteen minutes, he pulls the truck into the parking lot of a diner; I look at him quizzically.

“I didn’t get dinner,” he explains, climbing out of the cab.

I don’t have much choice to follow, so I do. I can’t say as I’m very hungry after that little episode, but we’re here now so I might as well order something. We order and after the waitress leaves, Kyle calmly doctors his coffee.

“So,” he eventually says, “what are you thinking?”

I sigh. “That I should be dead.”

He stops and regards me serious. “Dude, you were dead when I found you.”

I raise my eyebrows quickly. A fact I didn’t know.

He dumps some sugar into his cup. “At least, your heart wasn’t beating – I think that pretty much constitutes being dead.” He sets the sugar container down with a thunk. He seems annoyed.

“Then how –” I begin.

“I know CPR, Michael,” he says bluntly.

Okay, now I understand his hostility. He found me pretty much dead alongside the road, brought me back to life…only for me to want to get another bike. Humility and shame race through me.

Then, being a guy, I realize that Kyle had his lips on my lips – Mae would be so happy to know that. Internally, I shudder. Okay, there will be no more thinking of that detail.

“I didn’t know,” I say quietly. “Thank you, Kyle.”

He waves me off with a hand and sits back in the booth, his eyes fixed on something outside. “Don’t thank me, Michael. You didn’t learn a damn thing from this. You want to go out and immediately get another bike.” He looks back to me and I see ferocity in his blue eyes that I’ve rarely witnessed. “Well, I have news for you – if I’d been just a few minutes slower in getting there, you’d be dead now. No ifs ands or buts. End of story. And you know what? Next time I might not be there at all. Think about that, Michael.”

My mouth is hanging open in disbelief. There was a time when Kyle Valenti was terrified of me, when all I had to do was growl in his direction and he’d run for cover. Even before he knew I was an alien, my standoffish attitude had given him a little bit of the heebs. But those days are gone. Kyle Valenti just ripped me a new one.

And I have no idea how to react about that. So I stare into my lap like a chastised five-year-old.

“Who ordered the chicken platter?” the waitress asks happily from the end of the table.

It wasn’t me – I’m full of humble pie right now, thanks.

Kyle eats in silence, though some of his anger seems to have dissipated. He shakes ketchup on his fries, saws them down in a neat assembly line. My burger slowly goes cold on my plate.

Finally, he stops eating and wipes his mouth, then looks up. “Look, I don’t mean to be so hard on you.”

“You have every right,” I say quietly.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “It’s just that I see it all the time, Michael. Kids driving too fast and wrapping themselves around a telephone pole. Young lives gone, just like that. Just stupid. And I can’t tell you what it’s like to see something lying beside the road, pulling over and realizing it’s a body, then realizing it’s one of your friends.” He shakes his head as he picks up his chicken sandwich again. “Now I know how Dad felt when he came across Alex’s wreck.”

I frown as I watch him take a bite of his sandwich. “I don’t want another bike,” I confess.

“Good!” he blurts bluntly. “Common sense, after all.” He shakes his head and kind of rolls his eyes. “Eat your dinner, Michael.”

I pick at my fries, but everything turns to dust in my mouth. I can’t swallow anything, nothing will get past my throat. I feel sick in my heart, sick in my soul. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” I tell him without looking at him.

“Well, then don’t make me see it again. Where’s the waitress? I want a piece of that lemon pie.”

I glance up incredulously. Such a small man to eat so much. He finishes the pie before I’ve even taken three bites of my burger. I finally abandon it.

Kyle wipes his hands on his napkin and settles forward, his arms crossed on the table. “Michael, I’m not angry with you. I know it was an accident. I’m upset that you could be so reckless when there are so many people who care about you.”

I look at him warily, wondering if Mae was right that everyone has a homosexual side and he’s about to confess something to me.

“She asks about you every time I see her, man.”

I blink in surprise. “Who?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Isabel. I don’t know what happened between the two of you because she won’t tell me. All I know is that the first thing she always asks me is if you’re okay.”

I feel a tug inside of my heart. I imagine her wanting to come over to see me but just not being able to do so. The first step is the hardest…

“You and I are square,” he says, his gaze level. “Don’t you think it’s about time you squared up with her?”

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Hey everyone! Thanks for the feedback. I will answer it sometime soon - today I'm trying to cram a week's worth of chores into my last vacation day *sigh*


Part Sixteen

I mope for a week.

For a couple of days, all I do is sit on my couch and stare at the wall. I was dead. Really dead. Granted, it wasn’t for long, but I was still dead. I could be dead right now, if not for Kyle Valenti and the grace of God putting him in the right place at the right time. So, I do a lot of soul searching on that one.

What things would have been left unfinished if I had died? I would never have resolved my feelings for Mae, though I have an inkling that would have been more my tragedy than hers. The girl doesn’t love me, it’s plain to see. The bad part is that I’m not sure I love her either – somehow the line between infatuation and love has been blurred for me.

That leads to a lot of pondering of that subject. Do I really love Mae? Or am I just intrigued with her? Every time I convince myself it’s just obsession, something tugs at my heart and I think no, it has to be love. As soon as I convince myself it’s love, something else pops up to make me think otherwise. So the line remains blurry and my feelings unresolved.

If I had died, Max would have taken the bar. I frown at that, but then realize that he still wouldn’t have taken it. I have to assume that he’d have come back for my funeral. I shudder at the thought and quickly put it out of my mind. It does seem, however, that I was destined to prevent my friend from advancing himself.

If I had remained dead, I never would have been able to make things up to Isabel.

And that’s what hurts the most. If I had died in that accident, I have absolutely no doubt that she would have blamed herself for it. After all, the mishap occurred less than half an hour after she’d run crying from my apartment. Any moron could do the math on that one. Would she have lived a lifetime of guilt? What would that burden have done to her? I imagine an old woman, a shell of what she once was, withered away by grief and I feel a little sick inside.

Okay, so that’s probably overdramatic and a little arrogant on my part, but the thought comes nonetheless.

I then spend two days wondering how I can go talk to her. Several times I pick up the phone, then put it back down. I never even get to the point of dialing her number because I’m such a wuss. I don’t know what I’m afraid of. She’s not going to yell at me, I know that much, because she’s Isabel and she doesn’t yell when she’s hurt. But she’s not going to welcome me with open arms, either – because she’s Isabel and she’s probably angry.

I guess it’s the ice storm I fear the most.

I go to the doctor again and this time I get a walking cast. Seems like Max’s healing trick had a little time-release mechanism this time. I seem to be getting better by leaps and bounds instead of in just one bang. Now I can discard the crutches and use a cane instead. I like being able to walk on both feet, although the first time sends a shooting pain straight up into my hip. Using the cane makes me feel like an old man.

Mrs. Evans doesn’t stop with the pampering. Even though I’m entirely mobile now and I’ve even got a few contracts signed by customers not anxious to get their work done, she thinks she needs to take care of me. That woman’s got empty nest syndrome in a critical way.

I stop at the building supply and order pavers, masonry sand and other supplies for my next job. It feels good to be able to do something productive, to get back into the workforce again. The guys at the supply know me well – I buy from them exclusively and they in turn take care of me financially. They want to know all about what happened to me and I don’t have the enthusiasm to elaborate – three weeks ago, I may have built a big story for them about how fast I was going and the rock that nearly ended it all for me, but now that I know it did end it all for me I don’t have the urge to share it with them. So I just tell them I did something stupid and leave it at that.

On the way home, I pass the senior center and spy Isabel’s jazzy red convertible parked in the lot. Inside of my chest, my heart gives a heavy thump and I know that I have to stop. I can’t ignore this anymore. If she freezes me with an artic blast, so be it. So I pull into the lot and park beside her car. I sit looking down at the black leather seats and imagine that she’s going to scald her ass when she comes out – it’s a blistering day again. When I get out of the truck, I reach inside of the car and release the top, which glides obediently into place; I snap it down, then draw in a deep breath before entering the center.

The air inside is almost frigid. I shiver and wonder if the chill is coming from Isabel herself – maybe she heard me coming and has upped the ice factor. The hall is empty – at least the dining area is – but I can hear voices coming from somewhere. The kitchen, it seems, so I hobble that way.

“Let’s get an extra box of plates and napkins.” It’s her, talking with someone behind the swinging doors. I gulp, feel my heart try to panic me into leaving. “No, I think we have enough utensils. I’m going to go add up these receipts and I’ll let you know if we have any extra.”

Before I can run for cover, one of the doors swings open and she barrels through, a wad a papers in her hand. She’s scowling as she looks at them, then she’s scowling as she looks at me. There’s a brief moment of unfamiliarity there, then the scowl fades away and she takes a subconscious step backward.

“Hi,” I say stupidly, frozen like a Michaelcicle in my spot.

She remains motionless for a moment, then tucks a strand of her long hair behind her ear. “Hi,” she replies, clearing her throat.

An awkward silence ensues where neither of us says a word. Finally, I hold up a hand, palm-up in a pleading sort of gesture. “Got a minute?”

“I have to add these up,” she says lamely, waving the receipts.

Reaching out, I take them from her hand, fan through them. “One thousand six hundred twenty nine dollars and fifty eight cents,” I report, handing them back to her. “Got a minute?”

She flushes slightly. It could be anger, or embarrassment, or that she’s about to cry. Being the coward I am, I hope it’s not the first one. She finally nods and points to one of the tables. I hobble behind her, my insides twisting into a pile of regret. She’s walking rigidly, her back ramrod straight, her eyes directly ahead; she’s never been this uncomfortable with me before.

Respecting that she’s a little freaked I’m here, I circle the table and sit opposite of her. She looks down at the plastic banquet-hall table cloth and I can’t tell what she’s thinking.

“Getting ready for your polka dance?” I ask, trying to be chipper.

“That was two weeks ago,” she answers without really looking at me.

Strike one. “Oh.” I look around the empty hall. “Where’s your friend – Mrs. Robins?”

“Mrs. Roberts,” she corrects.

Strike two. “Right, Mrs. Roberts.”

“She joined her dog.”

I furrow my brow.

Isabel finally looks up, her expression like she’d barely tolerating my line of questioning. “She died, Michael.”

STRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIKE THREE! YOU’RE OUT! I look away, appropriately embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Iz.”

“It’s okay. She was old, she’d led a full life, she –”

“Not just about that,” I interrupt and she meets my eyes, hers full of turmoil. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for upsetting you, for hurting you, for being reckless and almost getting myself killed. I’m sorry for all of it.”

She stares at me for a long moment, her lips sort of parted in disbelief. Then she looks at her hands, starts to nervously shuffle the receipts.

“I’ve missed you, Iz,” I say softly.

She works her mouth, bites her lip. “I’m going away, Michael.”

What? I blink hard, give a shake of my head. I can’t possible have heard her right.

Isabel looks up, a self-conscious look on her face.

“Where are you going?” I finally ask.

“Nursing school.” She glances around the hall. “I finally decided I need to leave Roswell.”

“But you’ll be close, right? Santa Fe? Las Cruces?” Denial is running rampant through my body.

In affirmation of my worst fears, she shakes her head. “No, San Francisco.”

Not that far. Please don’t go that far. But I can’t tell her what to do. I have to respect that her decisions have nothing to do with me. Or at least, I have to hope that they don’t. “Isabel,” I say gently. “This isn’t because of me…is it?”

She snorts a harmless laugh. “No. It’s because of me, Michael. I’m not running away. I’m just trying to start something new.”

With horror, I realize that everyone will have now left Roswell except for me. I’m going to be here, alone. A bitter old man like Max predicated. “When do you leave?” I ask her.

“In a few weeks, at the start of the new semester.”

“You got into nursing school that quickly?” I’m impressed.

But she shakes her head. “No. I have a couple of years of prerequisites to take before I can take the nursing courses.”

I’m dumbfounded. I don’t know what to say, but I feel like I should say something. For some reason, I can’t find it in me to tell her congratulations or even good luck. “What about this place?” I ask.

She smiles. “They’ll be fine without me. Mom will still be here and some of the other volunteers are wonderful.” Her smile fades. “They’ll be fine.”

There’s a hidden message in there, I can practically feel it. Is she trying to tell me that I’ll be okay, too?

I stare at the floor, at the tip of my cast. For the first time in weeks, that leg throbs – I think my blood pressure has risen to the point of making my wounds ache.

“I want to talk,” I mumble.

“We are talking,” she counters.

I shake my head. “I want to talk about what happened.”

She looks startled. It’s a new thing for me – to want to talk about intimacy and topics that used to make me squirm. She also doesn’t look like she wants to talk about it.

“Please,” I say. “I just need a few answers. Okay?”

She nods mutely.

I draw in a deep breath of courage. “First off, I don’t see you as just another one of my chippies,” I tell her bluntly.

She looks down at her lap, possibly ashamed of accusing me of that, possibly not.

“Isabel, look at me.” She looks up, her expression wary. “You know that I’ve never thought of you as cheap or easy. Secondly, I’m sorry if you thought that I felt like kissing you was repulsive. It definitely was not.”

Isabel raises an eyebrow, interested or surprised, I’m not sure which.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I repeat, meeting her gaze with every ounce of sincerity I possess. “Will you accept my apology?”

She nods, glancing away for a moment. If she cries, I’m going to curl up into a ball and die.

“Okay,” I say. “I need to ask you about something you said.”

She nods again.

“When I was in the hospital and we tried to talk about this before, you said I made you feel things you didn’t want to. What did you mean?” I look at her intently.

Isabel squirms a bit in her seat.

“Please, Iz,” I say softly. “You can say anything to me. You know that.”

She picks at her fingernails, then crosses her long legs and regards me seriously from the other side of the table. “Do you remember the dreams, Michael?”

“The dreams?”

“From when Tess first came to town?”

Oh, those dreams. Me and Iz, having sex atop the pod chamber rock formation. Yes, I remember them, though I had locked them from my memory long ago. “Yeah,” I answer.

“Well, those dreams to me always seemed very real,” she continues. “I know that Max had some daydreams during that same time that we pretty much attributed to Tess and her games. But the dreams…they seemed real, Michael.”

I give her a silent nod. They did seem real, and they happened while we were asleep. Even though our understanding of Tess’s powers is limited, none of us ever thought she had the ability to affect people’s minds while they slept – that would be a dreamwalking power that she did not possess. So, I’m with Isabel on that one – I think the dreams were real.

“Things felt right in those dreams,” she’s saying when I tune back in. “Then we found out that we were supposed to be together, that once we were engaged. Or something like that.” She looks into her lap again for a long moment. “Do you know why I broke up with Stephan?”

I shake my head. I didn’t even know that she did the breaking up – I just knew it was over and that she didn’t really want to talk about it.

“I couldn’t tell him,” she says in defeat. “I couldn’t trust him enough to tell him what I am. And at some point I realized that I may never be able to trust anyone enough to tell them.” She stares into the distance for a moment. “Then you kissed me. It brought back the dreams, the fact that we were supposed to engaged, the fact that you already know what I am. And for one moment…”

My heart is thudding in my chest and I have to swallow past it. I’m scared to death of what she’s going to say next. “For one moment what?” I croak out.

She meets my eyes, dark pools of emotion. “I thought maybe this was the way things were supposed to be after all.”

My whole body is on fire with panic. Oh My God. What have I done?

Isabel is watching me without judgment. I’m sure I must look terrified. “Have you ever felt that way, Michael?”

I can’t answer her. I can’t answer because I won’t lie to her. And if I answer her, I’m going to say something that I haven’t even admitted to myself.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Seventeen

I don’t know.

There couldn’t be a more cop-out, lame answer than “I don’t know.” And yet, I still used it as a reply to very important question. Isabel asked me if I’d ever thought maybe we were supposed to be together and my reply was, “I don’t know.”

The problem, of course, is that I do know.

The dreams still come to me. I have them occasionally – usually they’re gone just long enough that I think they’re never coming back, only to have them recur the next night. They’re full of passion, full of something primal buried deep within me, something not quite human. In my sleep, I’ve banged Isabel Evans like a screen door in a hurricane. While I’m having those dreams, I feel like I’ve found home, like this is what I was meant to do, whom I was meant to be with.

And then the morning comes and everything just feels wrong. Shame is usually the strongest emotion, making me regret all of those nasty things I did in the dreams. The afterglow feels like it belongs to someone else, not me. Like maybe I’m holding a piece of my former self inside of my head, that maybe I’m just reliving what he felt and did. So I push the dreams into the farthest recesses of my mind, never think of them or mention them again.

The odd thing is that Isabel didn’t mention that she still gets them. She implied that she only got them all those years ago, but I don’t know that for sure.

I pace my apartment, my cast thumping on the floor as I take jerky steps. I don’t know what to do or what to think. The fact that she’s leaving has complicated the matter – if I do feel something for her, how can I let her get on a plane and leave before I’ve resolved those feelings? Then again, who am I to hold her back just because I’m confused? Also, even if I don’t have intimate feelings for her, how can I let her go period? I’m going to be lost without her, stuck here in this dusty, dead-end town. There will be no one left here to ground me.

I can’t believe she’s going.

There’s a knock on my door and my heart leaps – maybe she’s come over here to talk about our conversation earlier. Maybe she can help me get some answers. But when I open the door, I see the girl who lives in the apartment below mine, her eyes tired slits.

“Hi,” I say, knowing she hasn’t come up to borrow a cup of sugar.

“Hey,” she says, wiping a mussed hair away from her face. “Listen, are you bouncing a basketball or something?”

I raise my eyebrows. “No…”

“’Cuz I keep hearing this thumping noise and it’s keeping me awake.”

I don’t know what she’s talking about…oh, the cast. I look down at it and give her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I’ve been pacing.”

She blinks a couple of times, looks at me like I’m an idiot, then patiently says, “Do you think you could stop that?”

I feel my ears burn as I blush in embarrassment. “Sure, no problem. Sorry to wake you.”

She mumbles something, then turns to leave. I watch her go, then blow out a sigh and flop down on my couch. My eyes travel to the clock – it’s midnight. Sorry, lady, I was wrapped up in my own world. Then again, when am I not? I scowl.

Is that true – am I self-absorbed? Am I a selfish bastard? The fact that I’d like Isabel to abandon her goals and stay in dead-end Roswell with me, plus the fact that I’d like Mae to leave her lover to be with me would point to that fact, wouldn’t it?

My leg aching, I hoist the cast onto the coffee table and stare at the wall. I am a selfish bastard. I probably always have been. But where has that gotten me? Pacing the floor at midnight, that’s where.

Groaning, I hold my head in my hand. There are so many voices in there, so many doubts, that I can’t take it. I need some clarity. In the past, I might go out and find someone to bed, but those days seem long ago – I was another person then. Something has changed inside of me and I’m not sure what to do about it. I’m not sure I know who I am anymore.

I need someone to talk to.

Without another thought, I grab the phone and dial the number, wait anxiously while it rings a few times. The voice on the other end is hurried, sleepy and worried.

“Max! What’s wrong!”

“It’s not Max, Maria,” I say into the phone.

I hear a sigh, a groan, then another frantic question, “Oh my God, Michael! What’s wrong!”

I can’t help the smirk that comes to my face. I can imagine Maria blinking into the intrusion of the lamp on her nightstand, her eyes little slits, her hair a mess, her mood panicked. I can see it as if she were sitting right before me.

“There’s nothing wrong, Maria,” I say gently.

Another groan. “Michael…it’s…it’s after one in the morning.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I say, truly feeling badly about awakening her.

“If you’re looking for Max, he’s in Atlanta,” she says tiredly.

I knew Max was going there for business. But he’s not the one I wanted to speak to. “I know,” I say. “I wanted to talk to you.”

There a confused pause, then, “Why? What happened?”

I scratch my eyebrow, stare at my cast. “It’s kind of complicated.”

“Hold on a minute,” she says, her voice concerned. I hear rustling, possibly covers being thrown back, then she comes back to the phone. “Listen, I gotta pee and I want to make sure the phone didn’t wake Brandon.” I feel a stab of guilt that I may have awakened Monkey Boy. “Can I call you back?”

“Sure.”

While I wait for her return call, I’m hit with another flash of guilt. After Max’s suicide attempt, Maria and I were together for almost two years. During that time, if I called too late, she’d spaz for fear I was calling with news that Max had finally succeeded. It was annoying at the time, even though I understood her paranoia. Tonight, I scared the crap out of her again without even thinking about it – her voice held that same fear it had had back then. I feel bad for letting that happen.

Time seems to drag while I wait for her call. I know it’s only been a few minutes, but the apartment is silent and there is nothing to distract me. The longer I wait, the more I regret having called her. Maybe she’ll just go back to bed and forget about me.

When the phone rings, I nearly jump out of my skin. “Hello?” I say.

“It’s me,” Maria says on the other end, her voice clearer than it had been the last time we spoke.

“I’m sorry,” I begin. “Did I wake up Monk – Brandon?”

“No, he was still sleeping. No one up and about but me. So, what’s going on?”

“I just, um, wanted someone to talk to,” I mumble. It’s so hard to blurt out all of these things swirling inside of me.

“Okay, first things first – are you okay?”

I smile lightly. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Is everyone else okay?”

“Yes, Maria, everyone is fine.”

“Okay, then you can proceed with whatever it is you need to talk about.”

I laugh lightly. So like her to take stock before getting down to business. “It’s kind of…personal.”

“Jock itch?” she questions.

“No,” I snort. “Not physically personal. It’s, well, women.”

“Women?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “What – are you still trying to figure them out or something?”

“Well, no. Only two in particular.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “I assume one of them is Mae. And the other - ?”

“It’s kind of hard to say,” I realize aloud, picking at the top of my cast.

“Oh.” I can practically hear her gulp. “Um, Michael, I told you the last time I saw you that Max and I are – ”

“It’s not you,” I answer, putting to rest her discomfort.

“Oh.” I imagine gears clicking, Maria mentally scrolling through her Rolodex. “Is it someone I know?”

“Yes.” I scratch my eyebrow again and decide to just blurt it out. “It’s Isabel.”

“Isa- really?” There is absolute disbelief in her voice.

“Um, yeah. Did Max tell you?”

Maria laughs, her voice throaty from sleeping. “Max isn’t one to gossip, remember?”

That much is true. “We sort of had, um, an encounter.” My body burns with embarrassment. This is so hard to talk about with her.

“Of the sexual kind?” Her voice rises in pitch, like someone slowly stepping on a squeaky toy.

“I kissed her,” I confess.

“No kidding!”

“No kidding. It hasn’t been a good time,” I tell her. “Isabel didn’t really speak to me for about a month.”

“Oh, that’s bad.”

“Tell me about it. I went to talk to her today and she brought up the dreams and stuff, from back when we first learned about the four square.”

“Uh huh.” She sounds reserved now and I realized I’d totally forgotten that at the time we were together – she didn’t appreciate those dreams too much.

“She wanted to know if I ever thought about the two of us permanently together.”

“Have you?”

I close my eyes. “Yes. I mean, it makes sense – we’re the same, we both know the secret, she’s pretty. You know?”

“So, you’re saying she’s convenient?”

I stare at the blank television screen. Is that what I just said?

“You didn’t say anything about loving her, Michael,” Maria says without accusation into my ear. “You said she’s convenient and pretty. That’s what I heard. Do you love her?”

I snort. “Well, yeah. I’ve always loved Iz.”

“In what way?”

I ponder that, trying to be as truthful as possible. “Like…my sister.” But I still have those disturbing dreams…

“And how does she feel about you?” Maria asks.

“I don’t really know.” And that’s the truth. While Isabel talked about possibilities and dreams, she never did say that she wanted that for us.

“Well, you need to find out, Michael. I know what Isabel means to you, what she’s always meant to you. And if you kissed her and she’s in love with you and you can’t reciprocate it, you’re going to crush her.”

I furrow my brow. “So you’re saying if she loves me then I should be with her so I don’t hurt her?” That makes no sense.

“No, I’m saying you need to find out so that you can handle her with kid gloves. I know she’s all Ice Queen on the outside, but ice shatters, Michael. You could ruin her with one misplaced word.”

She’s right. I’m on dangerous ground here.

“I can’t tell you how to deal with Isabel,” Maria continues. “You’re going to have to figure that out on your own. What else is on your mind?”

I push Isabel issues to the back of my mind. “I want to talk about Mae.”

“Okay.”

“How serious is it with her and Kim?”

Maria sighs. She does so lightly, but I can still hear it over the phone. “As serious as Mae ever gets.”

I give a nervous laugh. “What does that mean?”

There’s a long pause. “I think you’re great, Michael,” she begins, her words churning up doubt inside of me. “You’re smart, you’re attractive and underneath it all I truly believe you care about the people you love.”

“Um…thank you?” Where’s she going with this?

“And in return, you deserve someone who is going to love you,” she says gently.

Again, what’s her point?

“Someone who is going to love only you,” Maria stresses.

I don’t want to comprehend what she just said. I don’t want to process her hidden meaning, because I’m afraid it might not be what I was looking for.

“That person can’t be Mae?” I ask, smiling weakly to myself.

There’s a short pause, then Maria says, “Talk to her. Find out where you stand. Then make your decision, Michael. But keep this in mind – you don’t ever deserve to be second best to anyone else. You deserve to have something that is yours and yours alone. And I hope you find that someday.”

I swallow hard, somehow knowing in my bones that Maria has just proclaimed my attempts to acquire Mae’s affections futile.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Part Eighteen

I’m tired. I couldn’t get to sleep last night and when I finally did manage to doze off, the girl downstairs decided to punish me for my late-night clomping by starting her vacuum cleaner at eight o’clock. I don’t even really know that bitch, but I think I might hate her.

So I’m staring blearily into my coffee cup, which is slowly going cold before me. I guess it might do some good if I actually drank it instead of glaring at it like it’s my worst enemy. Today my leg aches and I’m not sure if it was all of the pacing I did, my lack of sleep, or just a projection of the unrest in my soul.

One small piece of my being is relieved, however. I’m glad that Maria and I can be friends again. I wasn’t sure of the reception I’d get when I called and woke her up, but she was supportive and understanding. Why couldn’t I see those qualities in her when she was mine? Why couldn’t I see what a treasure she was instead of making both of our lives difficult on a daily basis?

Because even though some people make good friends, they make terrible lovers. That was me and Maria. Physically, the relationship was more than satisfying – we knew how to please each other and I’m not sure I’ll find anyone who will be able to match that. But a lot of times, our passion was driven out of anger. We both fed off it, neither of us were victims. I think eventually, subconsciously we came to realize that picking a fight would lead to some pretty awesome sex. And that’s not a very healthy relationship.

But maybe now we can have a healthy relationship, as friends. We don’t have many secrets from one another, though I do have my suspicions that she’s accumulated a few in the last couple of years, things that will rightfully remain between her and Max. And since she’s never mentioned my numerous affairs with women, I’m guessing she’s unaware of that as well. Those things aside, on a soul-searching kind of level, Maria knows me better than I know myself.

I stir my coffee, sending a little heat through the spoon to rejuvenate the liquid. I’m glad that Maria has Max. I’m glad that Max has Maria. I never thought I’d believe it, but they’re actually good for one another. They’re happy, and for that I’m happy.

I want Isabel to be happy, too. I’m just not sure how to do that. After talking with Maria last night, I realize that I’m not meant for her. She would be a convenience for me and that’s not fair to her. Isabel deserves someone who will love her heart and soul and while I already do love her, it’s just not in that way. To take advantage of the fact that we’re alike and being together would be uncomplicated would be to use her. And I could never forgive myself for that.

In my head, I remember those dreams, the first ones we had so long ago. I don’t recall the sex dreams, but rather the one where she and I are together with a baby boy, pushing him in a swing. She looked so happy and so beautiful and I felt so complete. I want that for both of us, even though I know that we won’t find that with one another. I want to look at her someday as she swings someone else’s baby and think how beautifully happy she looks. I want that more than I want the complete feeling for myself.

I give a bittersweet smile as I drop some sugar into the cup. I hope she finds what she needs in San Francisco. I hope she leaves here and never looks back.

Sighing, I sit back in my chair and look out the window at the muted sky – it’s going to rain today. Autumn is coming quickly, time for change. The vacuum cleaner downstairs kicks into action again and I wish that storm would roll in quickly and knock out the power so she’ll just stop it already.

While I know things with Isabel will never be, I have to wonder if things with Mae will ever be. I don’t want to think about what Maria was trying to tell me last night. I don’t want to dash my hopes so soon. I need to talk with Mae and find out where I stand.

But first I need to talk to Isabel. It’s not going to be an easy conversation, but one I have to have nonetheless. I left her hanging yesterday and that’s not fair. Of course, I’m sure she already knows I have the dreams – how does one lie about something like that to a dreamwalker?

I call her, ask her out to lunch. She sounds surprised but not resistant. I pick a quiet place, somewhere where we can talk. Someplace without an alien theme.

I sit in the small diner and watch the sky darken over the desert. There is nothing like a storm in the desert, the way the water floods and rushes because it can’t sink into the baked soil. I almost wish I was out there, watching Mother Nature take her toll.

Tropical Storm Isabel walks in, though, and I realize that I’m about to witness a meteorological event after all. I hope it’s not an ice storm. She’s wearing a turquoise sundress, her hair in a neat braid down her back. I swear every time I see her she’s wearing something new – she must spend all of her free time shopping.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she says, sliding gracefully into the seat opposite from me.

“No worries,” I say, trying to smile at her.

Her brow furrows slightly. “You okay? You look tired.”

I shrug. “I’m okay. Restless night.”

“Oh.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and sips her water. I know she’s wondering if she’s the cause of my insomnia, and in a way she is.

“And my leg hurts,” I add as a Band-aid.

She looks concerned. “Is something wrong with it? Do you need to go to the doctor? I could give you a lift –”

I give a little laugh and hold up my hand, cutting her off. “No, it’s fine. It’s just broken, that’s all.” I glance out the window. “I think that storm might be making it ache as well.”

She looks that way, gives me a self-conscious smile, then picks up her menu. When the waiter comes, she orders a salad and no drink. It’s still brunch time, so I order steak and eggs, hash browns, a side of toast and a Coke. Isabel looks at me in surprise.

“I’m hungry,” I say simply, handing the waiter my menu.

“Men,” she mumbles. “Not fair they got the better metabolism.” She straightens her napkin on her lap, then meets me eye to eye. “What’s going on?” she asks bluntly. “What did you want to talk about?”

I grin to myself that she’s jumped straight to the chase. No beating around the bush today, no siree. “I just wanted to continue our conversation from yesterday,” I say calmly, though my insides are anything but. You could ruin her with one misplaced word.

“Okay,” she agrees openly.

I sit forward, fold my hands on the table, look down at my thumbs. “I guess I’d like to know how you feel about me,” I say, my heart starting to thump in my throat. Everything hinges on this. If she says she’s in love with me, we’ve got a problem.

“I love you, Michael,” she says simply.

Shit. Dammit. Son of a bitch. It takes everything in my power to keep the reaction from my face.

But I think I fail because I see a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “I mean, we’re family, right?”

I nod. “But what about what you said yesterday? About the dreams?”

She looks out the window for a moment, her lips turned down slightly into a frown. “The dreams feel right,” she says slowly. “But they don’t feel right for me.”

I raise my eyebrows slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Dreams are the way you wish things could be. Everyone wants to be desired, to be happy, to be in love. I know I want that. But…”

I feel a flicker of hope within. “But…not with me?”

She meets my eyes, shakes her head slowly. “I think on some subconscious level, I know that you are supposed to be my match, that we’re supposed to belong to one another. But in reality, I don’t really feel that. I do love you, Michael, and I always will. Just not in that way.”

She waits for my reaction and I realize that I haven’t given her one. Actually, I hadn’t planned on things going this well and I don’t know what to say to her.

Sighing lightly, she sits back in her chair. “I may have over reacted when you kissed me,” she says, a tinge of embarrassment in her voice. “Like I said yesterday, it just dredged up a lot of things, feelings I didn’t want to deal with. But now I’ve resolved those feelings, I understand where I stand.” Her brow furrows a little. “What about you? How do you feel about me?”

I grin at her. “I love you, too, in that very non-sexual way.”

She laughs, a real laugh that sounds like music to my ears.

My smile fades away slowly. “You deserve someone better than me, Isabel.”

Her smile leaves as well. “Don’t say things like that. When you do, you put yourself below others. And you don’t belong below anyone, Michael. How can you not know that by now?”

I look down at my bread plate in shame. Stupid comments like that come out every now and then and expose that one leftover self-doubt from my days in the trailer park – I’m a lower-class citizen, unworthy of the better people of the world. I’ve fought that self-perception all of my life and I still haven’t beaten it.

I feel warmth on my hands and I look to see that Isabel has put her hand over mine. Her skin is tanned, an emerald ring on her finger. I look up at her and she slowly retracts her hand.

“You deserve everything I do,” she says steadily. “If I had even the slightest bit of attraction towards you, I’d be more than happy to be with you.” She says it with tongue-in-cheek and I laugh lightly.

“Someday,” I tell her. “Some guy is going to be crazy for you. He’s going to treat you like a queen.”

She looks a little queasy. “Will we ever be able to tell anyone about us, Michael?”

Isabel knows that’s one of my biggest fears – of telling the wrong person, of ending up in the White Room like Max, of betraying my friends and family.

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly.

She wipes some condensation from her water glass, lost in thought. When she looks up, she offers me a cautious smile. “We did once upon a time.”

“What do you mean?”

“We trusted Liz. And Maria. And Alex.” There’s a flash a pain in her eyes at the mention of his name.

I nod seriously. “We did.” In truth, we had no choice but to tell Liz because Max had to be a hero, Liz told Maria and Alex. We never voluntarily told anyone, but I don’t bring that up to burst her bubble.

“So maybe sometime in the future, we can tell someone new as well.” She looks hopeful, but not like she really believes her words herself.

“Maybe.” I give her a smile, trying to act reassuring. I know that she didn’t deem Stephan the pharmacist as trustworthy enough to tell and I wonder just why that was. I can’t ask her – too many ghosts at the table as it is. “Listen,” I say, changing the subject. “I wanted to clear something up.”

“Okay,” Isabel says patiently.

“You asked me why I kissed you,” I begin carefully. “And I told you I didn’t know. I do know, Isabel.”

She looks a little nervous, her gaze silently steady.

“I kissed you because I was lonely and things were falling apart and you, Isabel, have always been the one constant thing in my life. I was looking for a safe harbor, not another chippy, as you put it. I just wanted to feel loved.” I’m surprised at my words, like someone else said them on my behalf.

Apparently Isabel is taken off guard as her mouth is open slightly, her dark eyes round. She knows me – Michael Guerin never confesses his feelings. I feel naked, exposed, vulnerable. I’m remembering why I don’t do this very often.

“So there it is…” I say uneasily, sitting back in my chair.

“Uh…okay,” she says, snapping her composure back in place. “Thank you for being honest with me, Michael.”

I blush slightly. “While I’m coming clean, the dreams – I still have them.”

She looks surprised, then starts laughing. I mean, really laughing. Hiding behind her napkin laughing. Finally I’m laughing with her, relieved that this dreaded day is over. Maybe in time, we’ll be back to where we were before I was an ass. Maybe she’ll be comfortable with me again. Maybe once she’s gone to San Francisco and forgotten about me and my asinine ways…

After lunch, in the parking lot, she hugs me before climbing into her car. She’s warm and soft and smells sweet – my Izzy. I feel a flood of relief inside that the bridge is under repair, that we’re on the mend. I watch her pull out of the rain-soaked lot, then limp over to my truck.

I need to go home and call Chicago. I need to find out if Mae-Ling Xen is potentially the new person who will know our secret.

tbc

[Midwest Max]

Only a couple more parts, I think


Part Nineteen

For some reason, my fingers are trembling as they dial Mae’s number. I don’t know why, but I feel a little sick to my stomach, a little unsure of myself. With the way things went with Isabel at lunch, I would think that I’d be relaxed and pulled together, but I’m not. Maybe it’s all of the doubts that Maria put into my head.

Whatever the reason, my heart is thudding in my chest and my fingers feel sweaty. I feel like I’m sixteen and about to ask a girl out on a date for the first time. Get it together, Guerin.

“Hello,” a very female, very sexy voice says in my ear, the word soft and sort of sing-songy.

Something stirs down south and I have to shift my weight, cross my legs. Damn her. “Hi,” I croak, then clear my throat. “Hi, Mae. It’s Michael.”

“Michael!” she spouts, the sultriness gone from her tone. “How are ya, sexy?”

I chuckle self-consciously. “I’m good, really good.”

“And the leg?”

“I have a walking cast now,” I say, looking down at it. There’s a spot of mud on one side where I dragged it getting into my truck; I wave my hand and it gleams as good as new.

“Wow, a walking cast,” Mae says in genuine wonder on the other end of the line. “You’ve really healed fast.”

If she only knew the truth…Or, maybe she already knows the truth and is baiting me. I gulp, give another nervous laugh. “Well, yeah, I drink a lot of milk.” When she doesn’t respond, I explain stupidly, “A lot of calcium, you know, makes the bones strong…” I sound like a moron.

“Well, thank God for that,” she laughs. “So, what’s up? I’ve missed you.”

I cross my legs a little tighter. She’s doing nothing to quell my sex drive. “You have?”

“Sure. I was just telling Kim the other day about how much I missed being around you. For all of your subconscious hostility, you have a kind soul, Michael.”

I scratch my eyebrow, Mr. Happy quickly deflating in my pants. First, she mentioned Kim, so I have to assume that she’s still in the picture. Second, she still thinks I’m hostile. On the bright side, she also thinks I’m kind…which I really don’t get.

“You are,” she says in my ear, her voice wistful. “You don’t know it, but I’ve seen.”

“What have you seen?” I ask.

“I’ve seen how you run to the aid of people you love. Even though you give Max a hard time about nearly everything, you’re the first one at the hospital when he’s hurt.”

Yeah, well, that’s because someone needs to destroy the evidence. And they need to do it quickly.

A thousand miles away, Mae laughs lightly. “I see those things, Michael. There’s no refuting them.” She says it absolutely, like she knows she can’t be wrong.

“Do you want to know what I see in you?” I bait.

“Sure,” she says playfully.

Here it goes. Spilling my guts and baring my soul worked once today – let’s see if it can work again. “I see a beautiful woman.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet!”

“A loyal friend,” I continue. “An amazing artist. And someone who is unique like no one I have ever met before.”

“Michael.” She sounds touched. “That is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. That’s actually very sexy…” She sounds like she’s pondering something.

“It is?” Mr. Happy is awake once again.

“Mm hmm,” she says in my ear, her voice dropping to a lower register. “What are you wearing?”

I blink. “Huh?”

“Tell me what you’re wearing. I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

I pull the phone back and look into the receiver. I think she’s trying to molest me. “Uh…” I look down at my clothes, hardly anything sexy. “A pair of jeans and –”

“Are they tight?”

I stammer for a couple of moments.

“Tell me how they fit,” she whispers into my ear.

“How they fit?” Right now they’re a little too tight in the crotch area, if she wants to know the truth…

“Mm hmm, tell me how they feel.”

I clear my throat. “Um, Mae, what are you doing?”

She laughs evilly. “Haven’t you ever had phone sex, Michael?”

The woman is going to be the end of me. I shake my head, then realize she can’t see me. “No, Mae.”

“Don’t you want to?”

I look down at the evidence that my body definitely wants to, but I know in my heart that I can’t. “I can’t if it doesn’t mean anything.” I have a hard time dragging the words out of my throat because I know I’m passing up a mind-blowing opportunity. I can only imagine some of the nasty things that woman could come up with.

“Oh, okay.” There’s no disappointment in her tone. “You’ve changed, Michael.”

My brow furrows. “How so?”

“You didn’t used to care so much about things mattering.” She pauses and when she speaks again, there is a hint of understanding in her tone. “Or, did you care all along and are just now admit it?”

No, I didn’t used to care – she has that much right. But somewhere along the way, the nameless fucking got old and was no longer a diversion. I think it was around the same time that I started to care for her.

“I am different, Mae,” I agree. “And I think there’s a reason for it.”

“Yeah?”

I draw in a deep breath and will my heart to stop beating so hard. Here goes nothing. “I think you’re the reason.”

“I am?” She sounds genuinely surprised.

“I think…I think I’m in love with you.” There – I said it. I feel momentary relief and something bordering on joy, but it’s short-lived as silence ensues on the other end of the line. “Mae?”

“That’s very sweet, Michael,” she says, her voice a little tentative.

“Sweet? Is that all you’re going to say?” I have to fight with myself to keep the anger out of my tone.

“It is sweet. But I told you when you were here that I’m in love with Kim.”

I put my hand to my forehead. Back to that again. It’s time to fight fire with fire, especially now that my soul has been bared and I feel like an ass. “Do you really love Kim?”

“Of course.”

“Did you tell her we fucked in a public elevator?” There is no keeping the bitterness from my voice this time. I fear there’s also a tinge of a threat buried in there – I could ruin her relationship if I wanted. I feel immediately guilty about that. I would never hurt Mae, but it will always be in my nature to lash out and hurt those who have hurt me – regardless if they intended to or not.

But Mae’s response gives me no avenue of retaliation. “Yes, I told her.” Her words are patient, matter-of-fact.

And that stuns me out of my anger. “She wasn’t pissed?”

“Why would she be? She knew that I’d had sex with you before. She occasionally has sex with people she’s attracted to. What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big –!” My words choke off in my throat. I would kill any girlfriend of mine who just bonked anyone she was attracted to.

Mae chuckles lightly. “Monogamy is unnatural, Michael,” she explains. “There aren’t many species out there who mate for life.”

“Geese!” I blurt.

“Geese?”

“Canadian geese mate for life!” Ha! Got her on that one!

“Well, okay. I didn’t say there weren’t any, I said there weren’t many. We forget that we’re animals. We think as humans that we’re above what nature intended for us, but we’re not. Sex is a natural, beautiful thing you can share with people who share your attraction. It’s only animal instinct.”

I stare, baffled, at the mute television set. She’s floored me. Totally floored me. “What about love?” I ask. “If you’re screwing everybody, what does that leave for someone you love?” Certainly as humans, we have the ability to make the distinction between love and lust...don’t we?

“You share your life,” she says simply. “Others may get my body, but only Kim gets my heart, my soul.”

I feel emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I was just another one of those attractive people who got Mae’s body and I will never be the one who gets her love. She thinks it’s natural to lead the life she does and maybe to her it is. But to me, I could never let the woman I love randomly sleep with other people. The one and only time I was committed – to Maria – I was insanely jealous if some guy just held open a door for her. I would never be able to tolerate knowing she was boinking the mailman or the plumber.

Yes, it’s true that I’ve bedded my share of women, but never while I was committed to someone. Mae and I are worlds apart in that philosophy and that’s an irreconcilable difference. She’s not going to change her attitude on commitment and I’m not likely to either. We’re at an impasse.

And it’s in this moment that I realize that even though I think I love her, she is never going to be my beloved Mae.

tbc