Roswell Fanatics

Winner - Round 7



Winner - Round 6



Title: My Beloved Max
Author: Karen
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I profit nothing. No harm, no foul.
Summary: This is the sequel to My Beloved Wife. Maria's past comes back to haunt her. This one is told from Maria's POV.


Prologue

Max is in love with another woman.

She was early, over a month so. I ignored the pain in my belly for as long as I could, assuming it was just another false alarm or gas pains or…something. My pregnancy hadn’t been easy. I threw up all the time. My bones and muscles ached constantly. At one point, I started to wonder if my body was “rejecting” its newest inhabitant, if in some way our daughter wasn’t meant to be carried by a human being.

That, of course, led to fears of having a green, three-eyed baby. Max was so supportive – he’d just laugh at me and kiss my head and tell me I was worrying needlessly. Then my hair started to fall out and for the first time in my life I had a cavity in one of my molars. It felt like my body was slowly falling apart.

I read books and found out that the hair loss thing and the cavity thing were normal. I then hoped that Max was done spreading sperm around because I was going to end up bald and toothless if he kept impregnating me.

Those thoughts led to depression. I would become so moody that Max would come home from work and poke his head around the door to see what kind of mood I was in. Sometimes, he’d have a rather nervous expression on his face, there would be some babble about needing to run ‘an errand’ and then he’d disappear again. It was on those nights that I realized I looked like the Hydra…a thought that would immediately put me into tears as soon as he left. Not that I blamed him, not with my emotional instability.

Other times, though, he was more tender and caring with me than I ever thought I could deserve. His body is so warm and his caress so tender that being in his arms would immediately put my doubts to rest. I might spend all day thinking I was fat or unattractive or just the biggest bitch in the world. But at night he’d hold me like I was the most delicate, precious thing and all of those self-hates would flutter away. He has a healing soul, an uncanny ability to patch everything that is wrong.

We bought a small house in the suburbs with a yard for “Junior” to play in once she’s old enough. I didn’t really mind leaving the city behind – my little one-room apartment was full of bad memories, the only good ones being those of Max finding me there and rescuing me from my rapid downward spiral. The only bad thing is that Mae-Ling is farther away now. But she’s a plucky chick and the distance doesn’t seem to bother her.

In my last few months of pregnancy, I took a leave of absence from work. My feet ballooned and there was just no way I could take the daily trek from the train or bus to the office. Max offered somewhat tentatively to drive me, but after last Thanksgiving, we decided that Max’s time behind the wheel would be limited. He’s okay with that – he runs, he walks, he rides his bike when the journey is short. When it is not, he takes the bus or the train like everyone else. For a country boy, he’s adapted to city life rather well.

In my few months of ‘vacation’, I kept gaining weight and retaining water until I was so uncomfortable that I just wanted it over. Little did I know that when the time came for it to be over, I’d kick myself for mentally hurrying things along. But, I digress.

One day while I was waddling around our new house, only able to stand for short periods of time, Mae showed up with paint, wallpaper and a ladder. I laughed when I opened the door, more at her fashionable paint-covered overalls than anything else. Then she’d promptly let herself in, welcomed herself into the nursery and started to set up shop. She retrieved a camping chair from the garage and plopped me in it in a corner. After that, she’d quizzed me on how I wanted to decorate the baby’s room.

We spent a week like that, me squatting in a corner while Mae hand-painted story-book murals on the walls. She did all of it free-hand, biting the corner of her lip speculatively as she worked. In the afternoons, we’d plop on the couch to watch soap operas until Max came home. Often, Mae would lie with her head against my belly, laughing at the tiny kicks and punches coming from within. I’m sure in her head she was wondering what lost soul was in there, waiting to be reborn, to have another chance at life.

I missed Mae’s company once her vacation was over and she had to return to work. She left behind a masterpiece in the nursery, something I will have a hard time painting over some day when Junior no longer wants bunnies and fairies on her walls. I missed having Mae there to make me laugh and make me forget that my back felt like someone was squeezing it with a vice or that my boobs felt like over-inflated footballs.

I missed having Mae there more a few days later when the bleeding started.

I can’t imagine anything more horrifying than finding a puddle of blood between your feet and knowing it came from your own body. I had been washing dishes, grimacing through the pain and incorrectly assuming it was just my body protesting its expansion again. I hadn’t even gotten dressed yet that morning because I felt like I needed to just crawl back in bed. When something splattered on my foot, I looked down to see a crimson pool that scared me more than anything in my life ever had.

Panic flared inside of me and I knew the rapid pumping of my heart would only cause me to bleed faster, but there was nothing I could do to stop my bodily reaction to knowing something very bad was happening. Unsteady, I made it to the phone and dialed Max’s cell phone. I managed to wheeze his name before I passed out.

When I awoke again, I was in the hospital and something was definitely different. And not just different in a morphine-induced kind of way. Different in that my belly was gone. Not entirely, as my skin had yet to shrink back to its pre-pregnancy state, but enough that I knew something…was missing.

Max was by my bed, his eyes red, his face wrought with worry. He didn’t realize I was awake at first and I drunkenly watched him for a few long moments, thinking how utterly beautiful he was. One hand was half covering his face and he looked like a man who had had his world ripped from beneath him. I reached out to him, my fingers seeming tingly and very far away.

“Hey, baby,” he said, trying to cover the grim expression he’d held only moments before.

I was too tired to respond so I simply smiled weakly at him. Then I remembered the absence of the lump in my belly and gave him a questioning look. “My…” I tried to speak, but my voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

Max had my hand in between both of his, his body pitched forward in his chair. “What are you trying to say, honey?”

“My…” There was that echo again. “My baby…”

I think he choked. A sob, maybe? But it could have been the drugs.

Alexandra Elizabeth came into the world the same way her father had tried to go out of it – screaming and bloody. From what I pieced together, Max had received my call and had rushed home to find me lying on the kitchen floor. There are some really cruel fates in the universe that would turn the tables on us and make Max witness something I had seen the night he tried to take his life – someone he loved lying in a pool of blood. An ambulance ride to the hospital ensued and then the emergency C-section.

I didn’t get to witness my daughter’s birth. I didn’t get to hear her first cry, though Max has described it to me tearfully many times. Instead, I had emergency surgery and a blood transfusion coming my way.

I was in the hospital for a week. Allie – as we’ve decided to call her – was there for three weeks while her lungs finished developing. It was the worst three weeks of my life. I wanted to breast feed her, so even after I was released I needed to be there. It hurt to travel so much. To avoid suspicion from the doctors, Max had been unable to heal my incision quickly – I had regular check ups and the sudden disappearance of the wound would be hard to explain. So, taking stairs hurt, getting in and out of the car hurt. Getting to the nursery and sitting down to take her in my arms exhausted me. But as soon as I held her again, I knew it was all worth it.

Our daughter is perfect. She has very little hair, and what she does have is blond and wispy – I don’t think she got blessed with her father’s thick hair, but that’s okay. Her eyes are lighter as well and I think maybe they will end up green or hazel. She has ten fingers, ten toes and human blood cells. Some power out there let my human DNA mold with the half of Max’s that’s human and now we have this perfect little being.

Max is in love with another woman. It’s obvious now as I watch him sleeping with her on the couch. He’s on his back, one arm thrown over his head and draped across the back of the sofa. His other arm is curved around her bottom as she lies on her belly against his chest, her legs drawn up beneath her. She’s three months old now and has solidly taken her own place in her father’s heart. Her face is turned in my direction, her tiny lips parted slightly as she sleeps. I can’t help the smile that comes to my face – she snores. It might be a light snore, but she snores nonetheless. In that regard, there is no doubt that she’s Max’s daughter.

Unable to resist, I rise from my chair at the kitchen table and kneel on the floor beside them, the man I love and the child I bore. She gives a little baby-sigh and I smile as I reach to smooth her sparse hair. I know what it’s like to be curled up against that chest, sweetie – I don’t blame you for sighing.

Seeming to sense my presence, there is a hitch in Max’s breathing and his eyes crack open. I give him an apologetic smile, but he just blinks lazily and opens his arm to me. Shifting Allie to the other side of his chest, he makes room for me beside him and I slide into his embrace. I put my cheek against his chest and my arm around our daughter. I like that there’s room enough for both of us, that we can share the comfort of his touch.

In only moments, he’s asleep again, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Allie makes some more baby noises as she slumbers and I feel myself starting to be sedated by my husband and daughter. I want to stay here forever, on this couch, because everything just seems perfect.

Perhaps too perfect.

tbc

Hey everyone! Sorry so long between updates (story of my life of late). I would post comments, but it's late and I have that pesky job to go to. I will try to fb fb tomorrow.



Part One

I’m five years old.

It’s a rainy day, but I don’t mind because my Daddy is home and that doesn’t happen too often. He’s sitting in the recliner, reading the newspaper. Mom is in the kitchen, probably making lunch or maybe some cookies or something.

I’m sitting in the corner, on the floor, coloring a present I’m making for Daddy. I try really hard to stay in the lines I drew because I want it to be perfect for him. I’ve spent a lot of time cutting and pasting and coloring and I just know he’s going to be thrilled with the card I’m making!

I sit back and look at it and I think it looks great. Too excited for words, I jump up and thrust the gift in front of Daddy’s eyes.

“Look what I made you, Daddy!” I chirp.

“Don’t shove things in my face!” he barks, his voice booming off the walls. “I was reading the paper and that was very rude of you, Maria!”

I withdraw the card and hang my head. I’ve upset him, I can see that. All I wanted to do was make him smile, make him love me.

“Carl,” Mom calls from the kitchen, her voice like it is when I’m in trouble. I risk a glance at her and she’s standing with one fist on her hip. “She made you a present, Carl.”

With that, Daddy suddenly looks guilty. He folds his paper and holds his hand out. “I’m sorry, baby. What was it you wanted to show me?”

All excitement forgotten, I hold out the card. He takes it from me and makes several comments about what a great job I did and how pretty it is. But I’m not buying it. I know deep down how he really feels, how he will always feel.

Reading a newspaper is more important to him than anything I will ever do.

I blink a couple of times and squint at the clock – it’s seven in the morning. It’s October, so the sun has yet to truly penetrate the curtains. Instead, there is a kind of twilight glow about everything. But that’s not what has awakened me.

My slumber has been interrupted by the feel of Max’s lips against my neck. In my gut, I feel dread and immediate guilt. The sheets rustle as he shifts position, circling his arm around me to cup my breast. There’s a slight discomfort there – it’s been too long since I’ve fed Allie and my skin is starting to feel the strain. Max folds his leg over mine as his kisses become a little more insistent.

“Max,” I say, my voice a tired croak.

He stops momentarily, then pushes his nose through my hair. “Hmm?” he mumbles against my ear.

I can’t say the word. I can’t say “No” to my husband, so I simply shake my head.

He stops entirely, but he doesn’t sigh or act rejected in any way. His grasp on my breast releases a bit and some of the pressure there goes away. “Okay,” he breathes, then wraps his arms around me from behind. He’s still half asleep, I think, as his breathing levels out almost immediately.

But I’m still not comfortable. I know that I have once again dodged the intimacy bullet, but he’s still holding me and I just don’t want him to. Maybe it’s because I feel ugly and bloated right now. I don’t really have a reason for it. All I know is I want to get away. Max must be so confused – yesterday I was climbing onto the couch with him and today I’m batting him away. But I can’t explain to him what I can’t explain to myself.

Like my little savior, I hear Allie start to stir down the hallway. She grunts a bit, then her pleas become all-out wails. I try to hide my grin that I get away so easily. Max, on the other hand, groans.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ve got her.” I glance at the clock again. “Besides, you need to get ready for work.”

He mumbles something incoherently as I climb out of the bed. I pad down the hallway and as soon as I appear at Allie’s door, she breaks into a wide grin and giggles.

“There’s my little pumpkin,” I say, going to retrieve her from her crib. I know she’s hungry, but first things first – I know she’s got to be soaked by now.

So I change her and baby-talk to her. Down the hallway, I hear the shower start to run and I know Max has finally made it out of bed. I hoist Allie into my arms and sit in the rocker to nurse her. As I watch her feed, I get that uneasy feeling in my stomach again, that queasy feeling that I wasn’t meant for this job.

When I first found out I was pregnant, I wanted to run. I wanted to run as far as I could as fast as I could. But I would still be pregnant and running would solve nothing. I thought about abortion, a consideration that guilts me to the core now that I’m holding in my arms what I would have given up. But even back at that moment, lying in that hospital bed recovering from hypothermia, I had known that I could never live with my conscience if I went through with the abortion.

I had no one to turn to. All of Max’s family was in town, hovering over him like the nauseatingly functional group they are. My mother didn’t even bother to come to Chicago to help me back to recovery, not that I needed a lot of help. Still, it would have been nice to have her here while I waited the outcome of Max’s injuries. But that’s my mom – flaky and never Mother of the Year material. If she had come, maybe I could have told her my pregnancy dilemma and we could have talked over my options…

Yeah, right.

There would have been no talking. There would have been lecturing about birth control and sleeping with “that Evans boy.” Most of Roswell is aware of Max’s depression and suicide attempt, so my mother was well aware of his potentially unstable frame of mind. No, telling her I’d been impregnated by a suicidal half-alien wouldn’t have made for good conversation.

The sadness had set in as I realized that Liz Parker was probably the only person I could have had that conversation with. Or perhaps Alex Whitman, once he got past the gory details. But both of them are gone now, on to another plane of existence. I was left with the invading Evanses and Michael Guerin – none of whom I could confide in while Max lay in a coma.

That left Mae. Good, trustworthy, always spacey Mae. Of course, she’d launched into the whole reincarnation bit, that the baby I was growing was actually an “old soul” waiting to be reborn and given another chance at life. After that, how could I not go through with it? How could I deny an old soul’s second chance at life? There’d definitely be some guilt associated with aborting that one.

But it had been Max who had made me decide to have Allie. I expected him to run. Hell, I wanted him to run. But he didn’t – he was actually excited to be a parent and upset that I didn’t share his same feelings. Then again, Max came from the functional side of town, not the dysfunctional one.

Max will never understand abandonment. Sure, he was born all alone in the desert and left to fend for himself, but that’s different. He never knew what it was like to have a parent and then in the next minute know that you weren’t worthy of them sticking around to see you grow up. The way I look at it, Max has been pretty blessed, pretty loved in his life.

Not even a day after climbing out of his pod, the Evanses found him and dragged him home, regardless of the fact that he was buck naked and couldn’t speak. Most people would have thought “What a freaky kid” and dumped him and his sister back onto the highway. Nope, not the Evanses. They saddled those critters into their truck and made a home for them.

Then, even though it was after years of pitiful moping, he managed to snag Liz. They had their ups and downs, but no one in my life has ever loved me the way Liz loved Max. She gave him everything, she was his soul mate.

And after she was gone, I came into the picture. So, as far as I can tell, Max doesn’t know what it’s like to love someone unconditionally and have them leave you in the lurch. Loving parents, a soul mate, faithful wife number two.

I say none of this to criticize him. I know he’s had struggles in his life. I know his heart has been broken. I say this merely to make the point that he doesn’t understand what it’s like to have a bad parent, to be left behind.

He doesn’t understand why I’m nervous about being a mother.

Isabel will be a wonderful mother because she had a wonderful mother. Who did I have? I had someone who wouldn’t even travel a few thousand miles to be with their daughter after a near-fatal car crash.

My mom is fucked in the head. I’m fucked in the head. I can’t help but worry that I will pass it on and Allie will be fucked in the head as well.

Max emerges from the bathroom in a fog of steam, naked. I can’t stop myself from smiling – when he first came to Chicago a year ago, he acted very prim and bashful of that body and my comfort with my nudity seemed to appall him. Now look at him – prancing around like there’s no tomorrow. He disappears into the bedroom and I hear the sliding of dresser drawers and closet doors.

I start the motion of the rocker and reach down to brush Allie’s hair to the side. I feel sad – Max has taken a job in a legal firm, a position one of his dad’s acquaintances secured for him. I know he hates the law profession, even if he is just the office gopher. I can’t help but think about that pad of paper shoved to the back of his desk drawer, the one on which he wrote all of the places he wanted to visit. Instead of doing those things, he’s working as a grunt so he can support us. Not that he’s complained, but I have to wonder how long it will be before those far-away places seem more appealing than a wife and daughter.

“How’s my sweetie?” he asks as he stops in the nursery door. He smells clean and fresh and sexy, and he looks like a catalog model as he stands there fixing his tie. He’s unbelievably handsome in a suit.

“Just fine, Daddy,” I say, smiling at him.

Once the tie is fixed, he enters the room and bends down to lay a kiss atop Allie’s head. His wet hair tickles my bare chest and for a moment I have a pang of grief that there seems to be such a distance between us of late. He squats before the chair and gazes for what seems like an eternity at his tiny off spring.

There’s the old cliché out there that men are afraid to deal with babies because they are small and fragile and men are big and break everything. Max has never had that opinion, apparently, because he is better with Allie than I am. When we first brought her home from the hospital, after she was strong enough to be released, it was Max who bathed her and changed her and did everything I was afraid to do. Of course, he may have had the knowledge that if he broke her he could fix her to quell his fears. Whatever the reason, he’s a natural at childcare. Maybe I should go back to work and he should quit his job…

“She’s a beautiful baby,” he says in awe for about the millionth time. He’s smiling at me with those incredible eyes and I’m unable to do anything but smile back.

“She is,” I agree.

“And you’re a beautiful mommy.”

I don’t know about that. I look down at the floor, at Allie, everywhere but at Max. Because of my avoidance, he picks up my hand and forces me to look at him.

“You are,” he says, his voice soft. “You know I think that, right?”

I nod silently, playing his reassurance game.

He lets out a soft sigh and bites his lip. “I don’t know what I can do to help, Maria. Just tell me what I can do and I’ll do it.”

I give a small, clueless laugh even though I’m far from it. “About what?”

He cocks his head slightly. “You’re not yourself.” His voice is gentle, holding no reprimand. “You seem sad. I don’t want you to be sad.” He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “Please let me help?”

“There’s nothing to help with,” I assure him, pasting on a smile. “I’m fine. I just get a little tired from being with Allie all day.”

He doesn’t look convinced. I know he’s thinking about his attempts at romance and my refusal.

I broaden my smile, instilling it with confidence I don’t feel. “I’ll be fine,” I repeat. “You’re going to be late for work.”

He relents and drops my hand as he stands. Before he leaves, however, he dips his head and kisses me on the lips. He tastes like a combination of toothpaste and his own taste and I feel a little jump in my stomach. Well, obviously my libido isn’t entirely dead.

“Maybe we’ll get a sitter,” he offers. “And you and I can go out one night, just the two of us.”

I nod. “I’d like that.”

He lingers for a moment, then disappears out the front door to catch the bus.

I look down at Allie, who has drifted back to sleep. I want her to be a healthy, happy Evans baby, not a fucked-in-the-head Deluca. I’m not sure if that’s possible. Maybe it’s a given that fucked-in-the-head people will have fucked-in-the-head babies.

Maybe all of my fears about being a bad mother are true.

tbc

Part Two

I’m five years old.

Daddy likes to put together model cars and planes and stuff. When he’s home, he spends hours at the kitchen table carefully gluing wings on planes and bumpers on cars. I don’t like the way the glue smells, but I can’t keep myself away – I love to watch what he’s doing.

Not only does the glue smell, but so do the cigarettes Daddy likes. The smoke swirls above his head and dances around the ceiling fan. Before reaching for a tiny door for his latest race car, he takes the cigarette from his lips, turns it backward and places it at the edge of the table so that the hot end is dangling over the side. Ooo, mom is going to be mad if he drops ashes on the floor…

I forget about the boring, stinky cigarette as I watch Daddy pick up the door and reach for the glue. I lean a little closer, watching him squirt a tiny amount of the smelly stuff onto the door, then he reaches for the car body, which looks pretty ugly at this point. But I can’t wait to see it in a few hours, when he’s all done with it. I’m curious as to how the door is going to fit on the car so I lean even closer.

There’s a sudden pain in my arm and I jump back, screaming and grabbing for it. Daddy drops the car and the door as the cigarette tumbles to the floor. I’ve burned myself on his cigarette.

“Goddamn it, Maria!” he yells and I feel tears coming to my eyes. “Watch what you’re doing! Look what you made me do!”

I slink away from him, my arm hurting, afraid to show mom my booboo because then I’ll have to tell her what I’ve done. I should have been more careful. It’s my fault Daddy’s upset.

Allie’s fingernails need to be clipped.

I look at the scratch on her cheek and know that it is self-inflicted. Dread swells in my stomach. I hate cutting her freaking nails because her fingers are so tiny and I’m afraid of hurting her. But if I don’t do it she’s going to keep scratching herself. I bite my lip and look down the hallway at Max, who is stuffing his feet into his shoes as he buttons his cuffs. Maybe I could get him to do it…

“You about ready?” he calls as he bustles about, shoving his wallet in his back pocket, grabbing his house keys.

“Just about,” I reply, glad for the reprieve from the nail-clipper dilemma.

I reach down and hoist Allie out of her bouncy seat. Today she and I are riding the bus downtown with Max. I want to do some shopping and then stop in and visit with Mae and the coworkers. I need to get out – being penned in this bungalow is suffocating me. Taking a stroller or seat isn’t practical, so I plop Allie into one of those baby packs that you wear on the front of your body. She doesn’t mind hanging there like a rag doll and it’s easier to maneuver with my hands free. Besides, it’s easier on the back.

Max comes down the hallway looking a little harassed so I pick up the pace and grab Allie’s diaper bag. When he makes eye contact, though, the frazzled look disappears and he grins. Jesus. Why is he so patient?

“Ready?” he asks again, taking my arm.

I nod and follow him out the door. As we walk to the bus stop, he goes through the usual line of questioning – something that never existed pre-baby.

“You have my cell number, right? I’ll keep it in my pocket so you can get a hold of me any time. Will you call me when you get back home? Good. Do you have enough money? Here, let me give you more.”

I walk mutely beside him, nodding my head in answer to his questions, waiting while he walks and digs in his wallet at the same time.

“Here’s fifty more. Do you want the credit card? No? Are you sure? I mean, I don’t mind if you want to do some shopping, buy some new clothes or something. We can afford it.” There’s the grin again. But it disappears quickly. “Oh, shit – there’s the bus.” He reaches down and grabs my hand as he breaks into a run.

Having no control of her destiny, Allie bounces against my chest, which makes her giggle. She thinks running for the bus is a game. Apparently so does Max because he laughs with her.

We make it to the bus in time and breathlessly take our seats. I adjust the pack so that Allie is sitting more comfortably on my lap. Max grins at her and leans over to give her a kiss on the head. On his way back up, he very sneakily nudges my breast with his nose. I look at him drolly and he laughs, tossing a wink my way. The man is breast-obsessed.

And delighted that I’ve joined him this morning. He puts his arm over the back of the seat as we begin our bumpy ride downtown. Several people acknowledge him by name – must be the usual morning crowd – and he proudly introduces us. The strangers are polite without being friendly, typical bus behavior I suppose.

Max chats a lot, which is abnormal for him. He talks about things he needs to do at the office today, a case he’s helping out with, his conversation with Isabel last night. He’s never been one to small-talk, but he’s rattling constantly today. I smile at him, his gregariousness a result of his being happy we’re here.

“What?” he asks, laughing lightly.

“Motor mouth,” I say.

He laughs a little harder. “Yeah. Strong coffee this morning, I guess.” He pauses and puts his hand to his chest, concentrates. “Yeah, too much caffeine. My heart’s thumping ninety miles an hour. Here, feel.” He takes my hand in his and holds it to his chest. Sure enough, it’s out of control.

Feeling Max’s body does strange things to me. At the most inopportune of times, I flash back on a rather hot, steamy Chicago summer night when he and I went at it like wild animals. I remember thinking one of us was going to have a heart attack that night – I hoped it wasn’t me because I was pregnant and I hoped it wasn’t him because I lack the power to heal him. Why did things seem so normal then and so wrong now?

Max must have caught the look in my eyes because his grin has faded away. He’s still holding my hand against his chest; he slowly releases his grip and I pull away, sliding my arm around the bundle of my daughter.

“Well,” I say weakly, “tomorrow don’t make the pot so strong, okay?”

He nods silently and turns to look out of his window.

We ride the rest of the way in silence. I walk Max to his office building and we say goodbye on the sidewalk. He touches Allie’s head and makes her giggle, then gives me a lingering look. I see so much confusion in his eyes and I have no idea what to do about it. Then he reaches out and pulls me to him, as much as he can with the baby pack in the way. He holds me longer than I expect him to, giving me one last tight squeeze around the shoulders before parting.

“Call me when you get home,” he reminds as he disappears into the building.

I’m alone on the street with a three-month-old hanging around my neck, strangers in suits bustling past me. Now that Max is gone, I feel inexplicably vulnerable, like a cold breeze just brushed over my soul. I shiver and make myself start to walk. I am such a flake these days.

I shop for a few hours, not really buying much – I need to be able to juggle baby, diaper bag and shopping bags on the way home. I guess I could just get a cab for the return journey, but I hate those things.

Around eleven o’clock, I realize that I was wrong about not getting a back ache while using the pack – I have a shooting pain from the base of my spine to my shoulder blades. So I waddle and wince all of the way to my place of employment – these days my place of Family Medical Leave Act. Once in the elevator, I breathe a little sigh of relief as I lean against the back wall, looking for any release of pressure from my spine. Fourteen floors up and I have to waddle again.

The receptionist is overly friendly, too friendly in fact. Someone should tell her that her act comes across as being phony. But I pause and let her make goo-goo noises at Allie before I retreat towards my old office.

I can hear Mae-Ling when I’m still fifty feet away from her office door. She’s howling with laughter at something and I have to smile at that. She has one of the best laughs I’ve ever heard in my life. When I get to her door, I see that she’s lounged back in her chair, chatting on the phone. Upon seeing me, she snaps upright.

“Okay, I’ve gotta go,” she says abruptly into the phone. “Of course I’ll call you.” She doesn’t say goodbye – she tosses the phone back to the receiver and jumps from her seat. Circling her desk, she gives me a big hug and stoops to make faces at the baby. I’d forgotten how tall Mae is…

“Oh, look at my little cutie!” she gushes, holding out her hands. “You want to come to Auntie Mae, don’t you?”

Allie kicks and laughs. Mae reaches into the pack and frees her from her nylon prison and I give a groan of relief.

“Thank you,” I breathe. I put my hands on my lower back and stretch. “I think she’s gained some weight.”

Mae laughs and bounces her as I pull the pack over my head. Mae’s eyes land on my chest and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“My God, Maria – your boobs are huge!”

I glance down at them. To me, they look no bigger than usual, but I suppose to someone who doesn’t see them every day they must look humungous.

“The perks of breast-feeding,” I sigh.

Mae’s still staring. “What do they feel like?”

It’s my turn to raise the eyebrows. “Feel like? They feel swollen.”

She gives a quick shake of her head. “No, I mean to someone else? What do they feel like? Are they firm? Squishy?”

Oh, how I’ve missed Mae. I shake my head slowly. I may as well get it over with. I point to my boobs with my index fingers. “Do you want to -?”

She nods eagerly, then reaches out and cups one of my breasts. I cock my head and look at the wall, waiting patiently while she squeezes, bounces and makes little “huh” noises. Of all of the girlfriends I’ve had over the years, I can’t name any one of them besides Mae who would be bold enough to ask to feel my breasts on company property. Hell, I can’t think of any of them who would want to.

“Interesting,” she says, retracting her hand. Her body is swaying slightly as she placates my daughter. “Are your nipples bigger, too?”

I sigh. “Yeah. Hey listen, I didn’t come here to talk about my boobs.” I circle her desk and plop down in her chair.

“Of course not!” she chirps, shifting gears as quickly as she always does. “Let’s go out to lunch. My treat!”

I glance at Allie. “I don’t know about that,” I say tentatively. “Junior there doesn’t do so well with restaurants yet.”

Mae shrugs. “So, we’ll go eat in the cafeteria. I’m sure those heathens down there won’t mind a little baby screaming.”

Mae’s lunch consists of a Pepsi and a peach Hostess snack pie, which she tosses into the microwave for a few moments. I get a Caesar salad, so she finishes way before I do. So I can eat, she holds Allie and bounces her on her knee.

“So, have you thought about coming back?” she asks.

I shrug. I have thought about it, but I can’t fathom dealing with the stress of being a mother and working at the same time. I don’t know how millions of mothers out there do it every day. “I haven’t given it much thought,” I fib.

“What does Max say?” Mae asks.

“Nothing.” And he doesn’t. He hasn’t once asked me to get off my ass and help contribute to the bills. He just gets up, gets ready and does his whole provider act.

Mae grins. “That’s my Max.”

I look at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

She laughs lightly. “He’s such a noble guy, ya know? He acts like he’s all sensitive and a real man of the new century, but underneath he likes the macho role of breadwinner.”

I laugh at her analogy. She could be very right about that one. Shit, Mae’s always right about what she sees in someone else’s character.

“So,” she says as she leans back in her chair and holds Allie up so she can look over her shoulder. “Halloween’s coming up.”

I nod silently as I chew a bit of lettuce. I had been thinking that I need to get Allie a costume.

“I was thinking about having a party,” Mae baits.

“Okay,” I say, sipping my water.

Her grin is mischievous, like she knows something I don’t. “Would you come?”

Depends on my mood that day, sister. “Probably.”

“Would it make you smile again?”

I stop picking at the salad and look at her in stunned silence.

She meets my gaze for a long moment, then her eyes soften. “You’re bummed these days,” she says without accusation. “I get it. I want you to come. I want you to have a good time.”

I avoid her gaze. She sees everything, my friend Mae. “Okay.”

“Good!” she chimes. “There’s one last thing I need to tell you – but remember you’ve already agreed to come.”

Oh, Christ. This can’t be good. “What?” I ask, afraid of the next words that are going to come out of her mouth.

“I invited Michael.”

tbc

Part Three

I’m five years old.

It’s dark in my room and I can’t see anything. I clutch Wizzie my stuffed pig close to my chest and wait to hear the noise again. I don’t hear it because all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears, but I know that something is out there.

Hoping nothing grabs me from beneath the bed, I slip onto the floor, dragging Wizzie with me. I wish I had a brother or sister to share my room with. Maybe then the dark wouldn’t scare me so much.

I pad out to the hallway and glance toward the living room, but it’s dark down there, too. I know Daddy and Mom will protect me, so I turn the corner and sneak towards their bedroom, walking on my tiptoes so that the floor doesn’t creak. Their bedroom door is ajar and I peek inside. It’s dark in there, too, but I can see the little red tip of Daddy’s cigarette and hear soft voices. I can’t hear what they’re saying but I feel better knowing that they’re awake. Surely if there was any monster that was about to get me, they’d get up to protect me, right?

“Maria!” my dad suddenly bellows and I jump straight into the air. “Don’t you ever come into this room without one of us telling you that you can!”

He scares me more than any monster could, so I run back to my bed as fast my feet will allow.

Allie won’t hold still.

She’s squirming and wiggling and fighting me every inch of the way. Max will be home soon and I should have waited for him to do her nails. I have one hand done and I’m working on the second, but my daughter has lost her patience.

And so have I. I thought that my visit to Mae would be uplifting, but it wasn’t. It annoys me that she hasn’t changed, that she’s still the same party girl I’ve always known. It annoys me that Max pretends like everything is okay and it is not. It annoys me that it annoys me Michael is coming to visit.

Why should that annoy me? True, we’re not enemies. But we’re not exactly friends, either. We’re civil. That’s about the end of it. He is still Max’s best friend, but even that status wasn’t enough to win him a role in our wedding – Michael and I are not close enough to be that happy for one another. I can’t believe he’s coming here. I can’t believe I’m going to have to endure his attitude.

Because attitudes are contagious and Michael’s just must be fatal.

I have one finger left to go – her pinky. God, I hate clipping pinkies. They’re so small and she keeps wiggling and I hate to squeeze her hand so hard to make her hold still. I don’t want to hurt her. But I realize that hope is for not as Allie suddenly shrieks, a primal, wounded scream. Then her face contorts into one of those silent, breathless moments that I absolutely terrify me – her eyes are squeezed shut and her mouth is stretched wide as her skin turns bright red. Jesus, baby, breathe!

She does and the house fills with her wails. I look down at her hand and see red blood bubbling from the tip of her finger. Mouth dropping open in disbelief, I turn over the baby clippers and see a bit of skin hanging from the blades. Oh my God! I pinched off the tip of her finger!

Fighting back nausea, I grab a Kleenex from the end table and hold it to her wound.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I say shakily, tears filling my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

My mind runs rampant as she tries to squirm out of the prison of her bouncy seat and away from me. Does she need stitches? Is she damaged for life? Do I need to get her to a hospital? Will the doctors think I’m a bad mother?

I’m going to be sick. I jerk the Kleenex away from Allie’s finger so she can’t eat it while I’m gone, then I race to the bathroom and throw up. I can’t believe how stupid and careless I am! What if she’s never going to be able to use that finger again? What if she resents me for that some day?

What kind of mother pukes at the first sign of trouble?

I force myself to get up from the floor. Allie is still crying, but it no longer sounds like someone is skewering her. I rinse my mouth out and make my way back to the living room, filled with dread. Maybe I’ve scarred her for life and this is the one thing she’ll always remember about me. But she doesn’t react negatively when I pick her up. She cries softly for a bit, but after some rocking and hoarse singing on my part, she calms and starts to fall asleep.

While she’s slumping against my shoulder, I pick up her finger and look at the damage. She’s stopped bleeding, but there is too much dried blood to determine the extent of the wound. Tears bubble up in my eyes again at what I have done.

Since she’s nearly asleep, I lay Allie on her stomach on her blanket on the floor. Then I sit down beside her, my back against the couch…and totally lose it. I bury my head in my arms and simply sob. I wasn’t cut out for this. I shouldn’t have this beautiful baby, this wonderful husband. I deserve none of this.

“Baby?”

I sniffle and look up through bleary eyes. Max has come home and I never even heard him. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here.

“Hey,” he says gently, his eyes full of worry. “Are you okay?”

I tell myself to stop crying, but I can’t. I can’t even answer him as I have started sobbing once again.

His fingers are in my hair. “Tell me what happened.”

“I-“ I choke. “I –hurt-Allie.” I can’t look at him as I say it, my words coming out in a rough staccato. From the corner of my eye, I see him glance toward our daughter.

“How did you hurt her?” he asks, his tone still soothing.

“I-cut-off-her-finger.” I chance a glance at him and his eyebrows rise sharply.

“You cut off her finger?” he echoes, his voice full of disbelief but not accusation.

Then he’s gone, squatted beside the blanket. He picks up her arm as I wipe my tears away with the heels of my hands. A few seconds later, he’s back, smiling.

“She’s okay,” he reports. “Nothing but a scratch.”

Oh, please. I cock my head and sniffle, trying to quell the storm. “Max, there was so much blood. There’s no way that was just a scratch.”

He shrugs. “Finger wounds always bleed a lot. Just like head wounds. There’s not a lot there but bone and blood vessels.” He gives me a kiss on the forehead. “You didn’t hurt her.”

Yeah, he didn’t hear her scream.

“Maria,” he says, his voice a little more stern than normal. “Listen to me. Shit happens. You didn’t mean to cut her. You and I know it wasn’t intentional. Don’t blame yourself for this.”

I give him a wan smile, but I know deep down that I’m going to carry the guilt for this one forever.

*****

Allie rewards my ineptitude by spewing her dinner all over me, so much so that I need a shower.

It’s been a long day. Too long. I want to crawl into bed and stay there – for about a decade. As I stand before the bathroom mirror, nude and still wet from the shower, I look at my reflection and frown. I still have a squishy section around my belly. My breasts, as Mae has pointed out so eloquently, are bigger than normal. And there’s always that lovely C-section scar to look at.

This isn’t the same body I had a year ago, when I liked to get clothing samples from prospective vendors. I think back on that little black miniskirt and sheer shirt I wore to Casper’s when Max first came to Chicago. Damn, I’d looked hot in that. Now, I’m not even sure I could get my ass into that mini and God knows these boobs in that sheer shirt would sicken the masses.

Max is in the doorway. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there watching me and I suddenly feel self-conscious. I have to fight the urge to cover myself.

“You’re beautiful,” he says and I recognize that look in his eyes.

I don’t want to deal with that right now, so I give him a half-hearted acknowledgement and turn to the vanity as though I was about to do something really important. He isn’t dissuaded, however. He enters the bathroom and puts his arms around me from behind. I give a sigh. Okay, so Max and I have had sex a total of three times since Allie was born. That’s right – the math comes out to once a month. But the infrequency doesn’t mean I’m going to drop on the bathroom floor and do it at this minute because he’s decided he wants to. I mean, he went celibate for five years after Liz died – he can deal with a couple of months.

But that doesn’t seem to be his line of thinking. One of his hands roams north, curving around my breast as he plants kisses against my desk.

“Max, no,” I say firmly. My day has been bad enough that I have no trouble rejecting him tonight.

He meets my eyes in the mirror and I’m startled at what I see. “Yes, Maria,” is his reply, soft and yet stern.

I feel sudden panic and for the second time today, my mind rapidly spits out the questions. What does he mean by that? Is he going to force me into having sex with him? Max Evans is the last person in the world I thought would force himself upon me! Does he think a good fuck will cure me of all of my problems? Jackass!

He takes me by the shoulders and turns me around so that I’m pinned between him and the vanity. I feel terrified, something I never thought I’d experience in Max’s arms. But his eyes are gentle as he leans close to my lips.

“Yes,” he whispers.

I’m fucked in the head, but I’m not dead. My body reacts to his proximity, my limbs starting to tremble. He doesn’t kiss me, but he hovers dangerously close to it. Turning his head slightly, his eyes follow the path of his hand as it slides down my shoulder, past my arm, to my breast. He caresses me gently for a moment, then he dips his head and kisses me there instead of on the lips.

I draw in a quick breath. My God, I’d forgotten how good he is at this! I try to ignore the sudden urges I feel deep within. I don’t want to give in to him. I don’t want this charity, let’s-make-Maria-feel-better lay. But my body isn’t really caring what my mind wants. At some point, my mind tells me just to go with it, satisfy him and then maybe we’ll be off the hook for another month.

Max releases my breast and slowly drops to his knees, trailing kisses all of the way down. He pauses to look up at me, his eyes serious and full of emotion.

He nods his head. “Yes,” he whispers again and I think he knows I’m not going to fight him.

But he does something I don’t expect. Instead of pulling me down to the floor with him, he uses both hands to push open my thighs. Then he gives me the most intimate kiss of all and my knees practically collapse beneath me. I reach back with one hand and grab the vanity top to steady myself; my other hand goes to his dark hair. Oh, he’s good at this, too…

I close my eyes to everything. I want to see nothing. I just want to feel those old familiar longings again. My skin becomes warm and my breath becomes shallow rather quickly. It’s been too long between trips and this one is going to be over with quickly. Forgetting I have a sleeping baby, I throw my head back and cry out as waves of tremors rip through me.

After a long moment of recovery, I open my eyes and find that Max has regained his feet. He’s before me, toying with a strand of hair at the side of my face. I suppose it’s my turn to please him now…

But that’s not his intention. His eyes full of unspoken words and questions, he simply pulls my body to his and holds me tightly. I can feel that he’s excited as well, but he asks nothing of me. When we part, he gives me a silent smile and then steps into the shower.

I stand at the vanity for a long time, watching the room fill with steam. None of what just transpired was about him and his needs. It was all about me and what he thinks I need. He gave without condition.

And that’s not something I’m used to.

My eyes sting but the tears don’t come. How can it be that I’ve known Max Evans for most of my life, I’ve been married to him for almost a year, he and I have a child together, and yet I feel like I’m just now finding out how wonderful he is?

And, more importantly, am I wonderful enough to deserve him?

tbc


AN - My sister accidentally cut off my niece's fingertip with the clippers once. I remember her being devastated that she'd done it, but her finger healed perfectly fine without the aid of alien powers

Jeez, I'm a posing maniac But when the muse beckons, you must follow...


Part Four

I’m five years old.

Mom’s sad. Daddy hasn’t been home in a long time. I wanted him to be here this day, to see me start school. But Mom told me not to hold my breath waiting for that.

I don’t want to go into that building. I don’t know any of those kids. I’m afraid of the teacher – she looks mean. I give my mother an imploring look, but it does no good. She seems nervous and distracted as she squats before me to fix my dress.

“You be a good girl today, okay Maria?” she says, her eyebrows lifting hopefully.

I feel sorry for her. I wish I could make it all better. I’ll try to be good, but I always tried to be good for Daddy and now he’s gone. I don’t think I tried hard enough.

“I’ll be here when you get out of school, okay baby?” she says, fussing with my dress again. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.”

I nod and turn to go into the building. I glance over my shoulder but she doesn’t tell me to stop walking. I think she’s crying.

I don’t like this. The teacher is huge – she must be the tallest person in the world. The kid beside me smells like pee. The one behind me won’t shut up. I want to go home.

Instead, I get to go outside and play. The call it re…re…I can’t remember the word. Anyway, there are swings and a merry-go-round and stuff, but none of these kids acts like they want to play with me. So I go exploring in the playground until I find a baby bird on the sidewalk. It’s struggling to get up, but it can’t. It flaps and flutters, then falls over miserably. I look to the sky and wonder where he came from, where his mommy is. Tears come to my eyes when I realize he’s going to die.

I pick him up, sad that there’s no hope for him. I wish I could help him. I wish I could help Mom. But I don’t know what to do.

“What’s that?”

I jerk, startled, and look over at a girl who has joined me. She’s got really dark, really long hair. Her eyes are the same color as her hair and I can’t help but stare at them. But she’s wearing a weird dress. It’s got…cupcakes on it.

“A baby bird,” I tell her, frowning. “He’s going to die.”

She laughs and I look at her in surprise. Is she making fun of me? “He won’t die,” she says. “We’ll take him home to my daddy. He fixes everything.”

Really? Her daddy won’t mind us bringing home something more for him to take care of? That’s what my daddy said when we got my dog – it was just something more for him to take care of. But this girl doesn’t seem afraid to take this baby bird home with her.

“What’s your name?” she asks, squinting into the sun.

“I’m Maria,” I tell her, somewhat in awe of her bravery.

She itches her nose and grins. “I’m Liz.”

Even though the room is dark, I know that Max is watching me. The house is silent, Allie having fallen asleep hours ago. I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, wide awake. We’re both wide awake.

“I’m worried about you,” Max finally says, his voice a hushed whisper in the darkness.

I don’t have a reply for that, so I simply draw in a slow breath and continue to stare upward. I know he’s worried. He’s been worried for a long time.

“Maria,” he calls softly and I roll my head to the side to look at him. He’s lying on his side, one arm crooked beneath his head. His chest and shoulders are bare – Max sleeps in boxers and not much else now that he’s become acclimated to a Midwest environment. “We don’t talk enough.”

I bite my bottom lip and nod in agreement. He’s right.

“I want you to talk to me,” he continues gently. “I don’t care if it’s the smallest of things – if you want to say it, I want to hear it.” He reaches over and puts his arm around my waist. “I love you, honey. I care about how you’re feeling.”

Okay, he needs to stop it. I feel a ball forming in my throat and I know I’m going to cry again. It seems like all I do these days.

Max seems to realize that. “Tell me something small,” he prods, trying to smile.

“Something small?” I ask.

He nods against his pillow. “Just say something. What did you and Mae talk about at lunch today?”

Well, that’s not anything small. I don’t feel like bringing up Michael right now, so I say something else. “She thinks my boobs are big.”

Max gasps a startled laugh. “Did she say that?”

I nod, then toss in every man’s fantasy. “Then she asked if she could touch them.”

His eyes grow round and I know he’s contemplating the possibilities. “Oh, God. Did you let her?”

For the first time in a while, I feel a little lighter, a little freer. It feels good to talk about “small stuff.” “Well, Max, you know how Mae is.”

He blinks. Yes, he knows how Mae is. And I find it ironic that she has now felt up both of us.

“Oh,” he says, possibly drifting off in a fantasy for a moment. His eyes fall on my breasts.

“Max,” I say cautiously and he meets my gaze. “I think I want to stop breastfeeding.”

“Oh,” he says again, though there is no disappointment in his voice. He knows my body belongs to me and I will ultimately make all decisions involving it. One corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “That doesn’t include me, too, does it?”

I burst out laughing. Not a fake, act-like-you’re-happy laugh, but a genuine howl. Wow, it’s been a long time since I did that…

Max’s eyes crease at the corners as he smiles.

I touch his face. “Thank you,” I say. “For earlier.”

He captures my hand in his. “Thank you for letting me. For trusting me.”

He doesn’t think I trust him…That makes me sad. How can I explain that my melancholy of late has more to do with me than it does with him?

“Talk to me,” he pleads. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

I glance at the clock – it’s already well past midnight. “It would take all night,” I explain. “And you have to go to work tomorrow.”

He shrugs. “I’ll stay up all night if that’s what it takes. I’ll call off sick tomorrow.”

I watch him silently. He’s serious.

“Tell me something small,” he repeats.

“Mae’s having a Halloween party,” I answer mechanically.

Max lifts his eyebrows. “Okay. Sounds like fun.”

“Michael’s coming.”

His lips part slightly for a moment, then he looks curious. “Is that why you’ve been upset?”

I snort a little laugh. “No, Max. I just found out today that he’s coming. And it’s not quite enough to upset me.” Well, not now that I’ve let the news sink in…

“Oh, okay.” He shifts his position a bit, the covers rustling in his wake. “It’ll be good to see Michael.”

I nod silently. I could go without seeing Michael but once every ten years, but I know Max feels differently. We haven’t seen him since we were married last Christmas. Michael’s not a great communicator, so even the phone calls have been few and far between.

“Tell me something else small,” Max prompts.

“I think I’ve thought of our Halloween costumes.”

He smiles. “Yeah?”

I nod. “I think we should be chefs. And Allie should be a gingerbread cookie.”

He laughs.

“I mean, after all, we made her, right?”

He nods and I think he likes the idea.

Thinking of Allie, I think of the nail clipper incident and my mirth dissolves quickly. “Max,” I begin. “I’m not sure I was cut out for this.”

His eyes are serious as they skim over my face. “Cut out for what?”

I hold a hand up, my Italian demonstrativeness peeking through. “Motherhood.”

He sighs and pushes himself up so that his elbow is planted on the bed and his hand cradles his chin. “Is this about what happened today?”

I nod, then shake my head. “No, not really. It’s about everything, Max.”

He lays a tender kiss on my forehead. “I think you’re a wonderful mommy.”

“I can’t be,” I whisper, remembering that fucked-in-the-head people will eventually fuck their off-spring in the head.

“What?” Max questions. “What did you say?”

“I can’t be,” I repeat regretfully.

“Why do you think that?” He’s perfectly still, studying my eyes. I feel like melting under his scrutiny.

I remember that Max can’t understand abandonment. This is pointless. “You won’t understand.” I put a note of finality into my words.

He snorts. “I won’t if you don’t give me a chance,” he counters.

I’m surprised at that response. I think most people would have let that lie. Not Max – he boldly goes where no one else dares.

“Listen,” he says, already kicking the blankets from his body. “We’re going to get up. We’re going to get dressed and order a pizza. Then we’re going to stay up until you’ve told me every reason why you think you’re an unfit mother.”

I lie there staring in disbelief as he slides on a pair of sweat pants.

“But…you have…to work…” I stammer.

He tugs a T-shirt over his head. “Not tomorrow,” he says firmly. “This, Maria – you –are more important than any job I will ever hold. Now get up and get dressed.”

I’m still lying there as he disappears down the hallway. I blink a couple of times, then I hear him talking into the phone. Shit. That’s one determined man.

I have no choice, so I get up and start getting dressed.

tbc

*~*~*~*~

* I borrowed the bird story line from "The Outsider" by Melinda Metz. When Max is healing Liz, he sees a little blond girl holding a bird followed by the cupcake dress (the book also indicates that Liz is around 5 in that flash)

Hey everyone - thanks for your comments! I can't reply now - gotta get up early for work. But here's the next part.


Part Five

I’m twelve years old.

Alex’s parents are having marriage problems. In fact, his father moved to a hotel recently. Alex is torn up about it; I feel bad for him, but at least he’s got something new to obsess about other than the fact that every girl in school is taller than he is. We sit on swings in the playground. I twist mine around and let it go, smiling at the quick motion of it uncoiling. My smile goes away, though, when I see Alex’s sullen expression.

“Have you heard from him?” I ask, starting the motion of my swing.

He nods. “Yeah. He calls me every night. What am I going to do if they don’t get back together?”

Do? What is there to do? My dad skipped seven years ago and I don’t remember having to do anything differently. I’m old enough to be left alone now while Mom goes out with her dates. It seems like she has a lot of them. None of those men seem to stick around long. Last night she came home with a black eye – I wonder if that will last longer than the most recent boyfriend.

“Maria?”

I drifted there for a moment and didn’t realize I hadn’t answered him. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“I can’t live without him,” he says, looking ill.

I give a little laugh. “You’re not going to have to,” I say. “Your dad loves you. Mine didn’t even like me.”

I continue to swing, but my mirth has slipped away. Until now, I hadn’t thought about it, but I realize it’s true –

My own father didn’t even like me.

Max eats when he’s nervous. While I pick at my piece of pizza, littering pepperoni across my paper plate, he’s managed to wolf down four pieces. That man has a cast iron stomach.

The tension is so thick I could cut it with a knife. We sit on the living room floor, using the coffee table as our dinner table. The smell of pizza sauce and grease is making me nauseous. I don’t know what Max wants to talk about. I don’t know what there is to say. I’m fucked in the head and he’s not. That’s the way things will always be.

“Are you going to leave me?”

I look up sharply, startled at his quiet, calm question. His dark eyes are serious as he watches me from the other side of the table.

“No,” I answer, shaking my head quickly.

He blinks a couple of times, looks away, then meets my eyes again. “Have you fallen out of love with me?”

I give a nervous laugh. “No, Max. I haven’t. Why would you think that?”

He picks up his napkin and works it into a ball, his eyes concentrated on it. When he speaks, he doesn’t look at me. “Because you don’t want to…make love to me…anymore.” He glances up, then away. This is hard for him. Shit, it’s hard for me as well.

My heart is starting to bang into my ribs and my head feels like it’s swollen. I feel like this night is going to end so badly. In my mind, I imagine Max packing a bag and stealing away while I sleep, never saying goodbye. Just like my father did.

He’s looking at me expectantly, so much fear in his eyes. I don’t know what to say.

“It’s…it’s not you,” I tell him lamely and cringe. Isn’t that an excuse everyone uses when they’re being evasive?

“Then what is it?” he asks gently. He’s the calmest person I’ve ever met. If I was having this conversation with Michael, there would definitely be shouting by now.

I stare down at the carpet for a long moment. I know the answer to his question is complex – there isn’t just one reason why I’ve been shying away from him. There’s a whole pack of reasons.

“Look at me,” I finally say, gesturing to my body. “I’m fat. I’m squishy. None of my clothes fit correctly.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” he says without batting an eye.

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “Thank you for that, Max. But I need to think I’m beautiful in order to feel desirable. Do you understand that?”

He doesn’t respond other than to look a little sad. Of course not. How can he understand what it’s like to be a woman and feel unattractive?

“That’s not the only reason,” he says finally. “Why else?”

I squirm a little bit. “I don’t want…to get pregnant again.”

His eye brows shoot up but he remains silent, waiting for my explanation.

I give a little sigh. “Being pregnant with Allie wasn’t fun, Max. I was sick all the time. I hurt everywhere. I had to go on bed rest. Then the way she came into the world wasn’t exactly a picnic.” I poke my stomach. “I still have a nice big red scar to prove it.”

His eyes fall to my belly, then back to mine.

“So, the thought of getting knocked up again isn’t appealing right now.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Okay. I’ll go take care of it if you want. I’ll make an appointment tomorrow. Snip snip no more babies for Maria.”

My mouth drops open. I believe he’s serious about that. I think about the ramifications of Max being sterile – that means we would only ever have one child, just Allie. We’re not that old, not even out of our twenties yet, and that’s a permanent decision…one I can’t make right now.

“Do you love Allie?” Max asks me, his gaze still steady. His arms are crossed on the coffee table and he exudes a perfect air of calmness. He amazes me.

“Of course I love Allie,” I reply, my tone emitting the ridiculous.

“Then why are you afraid to be a mother to her?”

I work my mouth and can come up with only one answer – because I’m afraid I will be as bad a parent as mine were. For some reason, I feel horrible for thinking that and I can’t put voice to it.

“You said you were an unfit mother,” Max says. “Why do you think that?”

I snort a disbelieving laugh. “Did you see what I did to her finger?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“That you fixed.” I try to keep the bitterness out of my tone, but it creeps in anyway.

“Don’t you think accidents happen?” he asks, ignoring my attitude.

I look at the floor.

“Don’t you think she’s going to have more accidents in the future?”

I snap my eyes to his. “Are you going to be there to heal all of her booboos, Max?” I know I’m trying to egg him on, if only to turn the attention to him instead of me.

But he’s smarter than that and doesn’t bite. “We’re not talking about me, Maria,” he says quietly. “I’m not the one who thinks they’re an unfit parent. I’m not the one who has been shut off from the world. We’re talking about you.”

I look away, guilty. It’s what I’ve done all my life – hide behind sarcasm and a sharp tongue when things get bad. It’s been my only defense.

I feel warmth on the back of my hand and I look to it, see Max’s hand covering mine. He’s got such large, strong fingers; even without alien intervention I bet he’d be a powerful man.

“Just tell me,” he pleads. “I want to hear.”

I work my mouth and slowly pull my hand away. I can’t let him touch me when I’m feeling this vulnerable. There’s a nice wad of tension squirming in my stomach and all of my limbs feel tight, like someone is stretching them.

“I had a bad mother,” I say quietly, not meeting his eyes.

“Okay,” he answers equally as quietly. “Tell me why she was a bad mother.”

Shouldn’t all of that be obvious? I mean, Max knows that woman and what she’s capable of! But, he wants me to say it so I will. “I mean, I know she did the best she could –“ I begin.

“No,” Max says and I look at him in surprise. “Don’t defend her actions. If you have things to say about how she brought you up, then say them. But don’t dilute your feelings by rationalizing her actions.”

I raise one corner of my mouth in a half-smile. What’s up with Sigmund Freud over there? And when did he get so smart?

Max is my husband, my lover, the father of my child – he deserves truth and honesty, even if it hurts me to give it. I reach back in my memory and dredge up a little spot of pain.

“She couldn’t afford day care,” I say. “So, when I was nine, I was getting off the bus by myself and making myself dinner when I got home. By the time I was eleven, I was also getting myself up in the mornings.” I frown, remembering one time when I overslept and paid hell for it when she found out.

“What?” he asks softly.

I shake my head, willing the memory away. “It was just so much responsibility to put on a little kid, you know?” I feel a stinging in my eyes and immediately hate that events that happened half a lifetime ago can still hurt. “I didn’t understand that at the time – I thought I was supposed to be taking care of myself, to be grown up. Once I missed the bus and got punished for it.” My tears are more of anger than anything else. “Can you imagine it, Max? An eleven-year-old girl being punished because she was irresponsible enough to oversleep!”

Max reaches for me and I jerk away from him. I don’t want his pity. He sinks back into his seat, his eyes full of pain.

“I never got to be a kid!” I tell him. “My fucking father ran out in the middle of the night without ever looking back! Because of that, my mom had to work and then she began to date and Maria got to raise herself!” I’m practically yelling now, anger bubbling to the surface.

“Maria,” Max says calmly.

“You say you love Allie,” I accuse him.

“I do,” he responds.

“Well, can you imagine doing what he did? Can you, Max?”

He shakes his head slowly.

“Then what conclusion does that lead you to?” I demand. “Huh?”

He shakes his head again.

“There’s no way he could have loved me, Max! No fucking way!” Before I can even stop myself, I pick up the TV remote from the table and hurl it across the room. It bangs into the wall, then skids into the kitchen. Angrier than I’ve ever been in my life, I bury my face in my hands and start sobbing.

Max’s arms are around me and this time I don’t push him away. This time I fall into him, crying into his shoulder. He rocks me patiently while I grab handfuls of his T-shirt.

“He didn’t love me,” I say in defeat, closing my eyes to squeeze out the tears.

I give Max credit – he doesn’t try to blow sunshine up my ass by telling me I’m wrong. His response is much different.

“Maybe not,” he says against my ear. “But I love you, Maria. And I’m going to help you through this.”

tbc

Part Six

I’m fourteen years old.

Mom’s bustling about, getting ready for her next date. The smell of perfume drifts down the hallway and into my bedroom. I’m lying on my bed, looking at an old photo album. I found it in the top of the closet when I was digging for my gloves – it’s suddenly turned chilly in New Mexico and my hands were freezing when I walked home from school.

I stare at an old picture of me, Mom and Dad. It must have been the day they brought me home from the hospital because I’m tiny and they both look happy. I don’t remember both of them ever looking happy at the same time. Dad looks like he’s actually laughing. I work my mouth, trying to remember what his laugh sounded like and for the life of me I can’t. I stare at his face, taking in each detail, and realize that I know nothing about who he was. The things I remember are very sparse – he yelled a lot, he always carried a lot of change in his pocket, Mom had to cook him eggs every morning for breakfast while he sat at the table like a king waiting to be served.

I sit up and pull my eyes from the book. Down the hall, I can hear Mom singing to herself. I don’t know what she’s so happy about – this loser will probably rake her over the coals like the last dozen have. But I have to give her credit – she keeps jumping back into the saddle. Blindly, perhaps.

If there’s anyone in this house who knows what my dad was like and why he left, it’s her. Taking a chance, I slip off the bed and make my way down to her room. She’s in front of the mirror, squeezing herself into a skirt I haven’t seen in years. It’s too small and out of style, but I decide to keep my comments to myself…but only because I want information.

“Mom?” I say cautiously.

Her head lifts in my direction. “Oh, hey, Maria. I’m going out with Randy tonight.”

Yeah, I know. “Okay,” I say. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” She draws in her breath and the skirt zipper finally goes up.

“Why did Dad leave?”

She drops her hands and looks at me with absolute irritation. “Why are you asking me this?” she demands as she goes to dig in her jewelry box.

“Because I don’t know.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t need to know. That’s my business.”

Her business? Does she think Dad leaving only affected her? Um, hello! You have a daughter over here.

“Honestly, Maria,” she mutters. “Why are you dredging up old crap like that? It happened years ago – get over it.”

Get over it? My father ran out on me and I’m just supposed to get over it?

“Hey,” she says aloud, grinning up at me as she slides her shoes on. “Got twenty bucks I can borrow?” She gives a laugh. “I need some mad money in case Randy turns out to be a jerk.”

I nod silently and go to get the money. I should remind her that she’s the one with the job and that I’m not even old enough to work yet. I should remind her that it doesn’t matter if Randy is a jerk – she’ll spend the night with him anyway. I should remind her that Dad leaving wrecked me as well.

But I don’t. I shut up like a good girl and give her twenty bucks that I know I will never see again.

“Hi. I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Klinger.”

Max’s voice rouses me from my sleep. I blink a couple of times, trying to register his words and my whereabouts. I discern that I’m crashed on the couch and he’s said something about a doctor. Is someone sick?

I sit up on my elbow quickly, my back protesting its night on the couch. One glance at the clock tells me it’s past noon. I search with bleary eyes until I find Max standing in the kitchen, Allie balanced on one hip, the phone cradled between ear and shoulder. He’s got a writing pad before him and a pen in his free hand.

“I’d like to have a consultation on getting a vasectomy,” he says into the phone.

I draw in a quick breath. Jeez – I never answered him on that offer! “Max, no!” I cry from the couch, my voice hoarse.

He pivots to look at me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh, you know what? I left my Day Runner at work – I’ll have to call you back. Okay, bye.” He puts the phone back on the cradle. “I thought you didn’t want any more kids,” he says to me.

I shake my head to try to clear the confusion of sleep. I feel drained, like I was run over by a truck. I’m not sure I want more kids, but I’m also not sure I don’t want more kids. “We didn’t discuss that thoroughly, Max,” I sigh as I swing my legs over the side of the couch. I hold out my hands for Allie, who, oddly enough, isn’t acting like she hasn’t been fed since yesterday. “Give her here – she’s got to be hungry.”

At that Max grins in self-satisfaction. What – did he figure out how to breastfeed now?

“Since you said you wanted to stop nursing, I called the pediatrician this morning,” he announces and my mouth falls open. Does the man not sleep? “He told me to get this stuff.” He picks up a yellow and white can from the counter and wrinkles his nose. “It smells like shit, but she seems to like it.” At that, Allie sputters a giggle and Max rubs noses with her.

I look at them in amazement. Just like that, I’m no longer a necessity…

I know I wanted to get out of the breastfeeding game (and I’ve learned my lesson about telling Max my wants – I better be damned sure of what I’m asking for because he doesn’t ask twice before acting on it) but now I feel like there’s already a disconnect between me and my daughter.

Max crosses the living room and plops down beside me on the couch. Allie kicks and laughs and holds her arms out to me. Okay, so maybe that disconnect is pretty small. I reach over and take her into my arms, giving her a tight squeeze, my little bundle of powder-scented joy. Hmm, powder…that means Max also gave her a bath. I turn a wary eye to him – I know it was past four in the morning when I fell asleep…

“Max, did you sleep last night?” I ask, dodging Allie’s arm as it flails past my face.

He simply grins sheepishly and shakes his head.

“Why did you do that?” I groan. “You didn’t have to get up with Allie and call the doctor and go to the store. I could have helped.”

His dark eyes are soft. “I know,” he says. “But you looked so peaceful and I think you needed the sleep, so I just let you rest. Do you feel better?”

No, I feel like I slept on a sofa last night. But I assume he means mentally and not physically. I’m not sure if I feel any better. Maybe just a little different now that some of the anger is out in the open. I don’t know how to answer him, so I don’t.

Max shifts sideways so that he’s facing me, sliding his arm along the back of the couch. “Listen, Maria. I was thinking.”

That can’t be good…

“You’ve been pretty cooped up since Allie’s been born,” he says, his eyes steady on mine. “You haven’t really had any time to yourself, not with her needing so much attention and my being at work all the time. So I made a decision.”

There’s a twinkle in those incredible eyes that makes my stomach jump. This really can’t be good…

“I want you to go away,” he reveals.

“What?!” I spout, so suddenly that Allie jumps and looks like she’s going to cry. I cradle her against me and kiss her head in reassurance.

“Not forever,” he clarifies with a self-conscious laugh. “Just for a week.”

“Max, no,” I protest. “I’m not going away and leaving all of this on you. Besides, where would I go?”

“New England,” he says as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wad of pamphlets. “I stopped at the travel agent on my way back from the grocery store.”

Jesus Christ!

“Look,” he continues, holding out one of the brochures. “It’s fall in New England, Maria. I hear the changing of the leaves is supposed to be like none you’ll ever see anywhere else.”

His voice holds an undercurrent of excitement and I know that he wants to go there more than I ever will. My mind drifts back to that writing pad, full of Max’s fantasy vacations, and I try to remember if fall in New England was one of them…

“I thought I could get you a nice bed and breakfast, something comfortable and cozy, so that you’d have people around you instead of being isolated in a hotel,” he’s saying when I tune back in.

“Max, I don’t like to fly,” I remind him, hoping this is my out.

He shrugs. “I talked to the travel agent about that, too. I can get you a sleeper car on a passenger train. Then you can relax both coming and going.”

He’s got me there. My eyes fall to the brochures as I struggle to find some other lame excuse to get me out of this. I feel Max’s arm around my shoulders and his lips against my temple.

“I’m not sending you away,” he whispers against my ear, sending tingles up my spine. “And I’m not going away.”

I turn my head so that we’re eye-to-eye, mere inches apart. I want to see his eyes when he makes that kind of declaration.

“I mean it,” he says. “I’ll be here and Junior will be here when you get back.” Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against mine, his eyes falling shut as if he’s praying. “I just want to help you. I want you to be well. I want you to sort things out.” He pulls back so that he’s meeting my eyes again. “And if that means I suffer without you for a week, then so be it.”

I swallow hard, his heart-felt words moving me in places I don’t want to deal with right now. I feel a sting of tears in my eyes, but I push it away as quickly as I can.

“Say you’ll go,” he prompts. “Take the time to figure out what it is you need to do to be happy again, Maria. And then come home to me, to your family. Please let me help you.”

He turns his head sideways and rests it on my shoulder, his arm encircling both me and our daughter. I look straight ahead, drained and tired, and realize that my battle against my tears has been lost as they roll silently down my cheeks.

*****

Less than twenty-four hours later, we’re standing at the train station, a little puddle of suitcases at our feet. Max has Allie in the sling, hanging against his chest.

“Here’s your ticket,” he says, handing me the boarding pass. Then he digs in his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “I reserved your room on the credit card, but I got traveler’s checks for your other expenses. In case you should lose your purse or something.”

I take the booklets of checks from him and marvel at the sheer number of them. I cock my head and silently ask him for an explanation.

He looks a little self-conscious as he puts his wallet back in his pocket. “Spend it all if you want,” he urges.

“Max,” I snort. “There’s too much here. What am I going to spend it on?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you want. If you want to rent a car or take a bus somewhere else or something. If you just want to shop. It doesn’t matter. I just want you to have a good time.”

There’s enough money there to skip town entirely, if I wanted. Not that I would, but I have to wonder where he got it. Max doesn’t make bad money, but he also doesn’t make this kind of money. I rack my brain and come up with only one explanation – it’s part of Liz’s life insurance money.

I want to cry.

“Hey,” Max says as he steps forward and takes my hand. “Forget about me and Junior for awhile, okay? Spend the money, treat yourself.”

I nod mutely and stuff the traveler’s checks into my purse.

Max produces a shopping bag and I look at it curiously. “Some magazines and books for the trip,” he explains, holding out the bag.

I take it from him and peek inside – all fluff material. I have to smile – he’s trying everything in his earthly powers to remove serious, sad things from my week.

“Are those okay?” he asks tentatively.

I nod and give him a grin. In my head, I picture him perusing the magazine stacks, looking for something lightweight and silly, then moving on to the romance section of the book shelves. I get a humorous image of sexy, manly Max Evans elbowing old ladies out of the way to claim the last copy of the latest Harlequin Romance.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, his brow furrowed.

I hadn’t realized that I’d laughed out loud at that image. “Nothing,” I shake my head. I step in close and smooth Allie’s hair, planting a kiss against her wispy locks.

“I love you,” Max says softly.

I meet his eyes and nod in return. Me, too, babe.

“We’ll be here,” he reassures, reaching out to pull me to his body, Allie squirming between us. “Next week, we’ll be standing right here, waiting for you.”

I nod against his chest. I have no doubt they will be.

Then he pulls back and takes my face between his hands. Unashamed of his love for me, uninhibited by the mass of strangers swirling around us, he kisses me with all of his soul. It’s a silent promise, a vow to wait as long as it takes.

It makes me feel guiltier than hell.

“You better get going,” he says breathlessly when he pulls away, a boyish flush across his cheeks. “Don’t want to miss your train.”

I nod silently and give him one last peck on the lips. I kiss Allie, then pick up my bags and head for the train. I stop at the entrance, looking back to make he’s still there. He is, smiling and trying to be supportive.

I find my car, toss my bags onto the bunk. Then I push open the window and crane my head, trying to catch a glimpse of him. I wonder if he bolted as soon as I was out of sight…

But the train jerks and starts to move and he slides slowly past my line of sight, waiting like he promised in the exact spot where I left him.

tbc

Part Seven

I’m sixteen years old.

I spent last night in a hotel room with someone I thought I detested, some vile critter that’s not even of this world that decided to kidnap me and steal my car. He’s rude, sometimes he smells bad, and don’t even get me started on that hair.

But we have something in common.

He and I both want out. We know there’s something better for us out there, something better than Roswell, New Mexico. Of course, he thinks his something better is really out there while I think maybe mine might not be so far away. It was a surreal moment, to find out that he and I are suffering from the same sense of claustrophobia.

Something else occurred to me, though. While I was telling him of my childhood dreams of my father whisking in to get me and Mom and rescue us from a mundane, lower middle-class life, I realized that somewhere along the way that dream died. The alarming thing is that I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how many days or years passed before I finally told myself there was no limo and no better future. That he was never coming back.

I have no recollection of when I gave up.

I sleep all of the way across Illinois, Indiana and part of Ohio. It’s a dead, dreamless sleep and when I awake I feel more drained than when I laid down. God, why am I so tired…I don’t ever remember feeling so tired. The train rocks back and forth as it moves down the tracks and the ride is anything but quiet. But somehow I managed to sleep a good four hours.

I draw in a breath and glance around my small, cramped space. I feel incredibly alone, no Max, so sweet Allie to greet me awake. It’s been a year since I’ve been this alone and I’m not sure I like it. I roll over onto my stomach and immediately regret it – my boobs are so sore I could scream. No one told me stopping nursing was going to be this painful. I wince and roll onto my side. There’s nothing to do but think.

I’m tired of thinking. But maybe I need to put those thoughts into order, maybe I need to get a grip on what’s real and what’s been inflated by my head.

What do I know for sure? I’ll start there.

Max loves me.

Is that a truth? Yeah, I think it’s true. He’s practically tripping over himself trying to make me happy. I haven’t had the heart to tell him that he doesn’t need to try so hard. He could probably buy me a small island and name me queen and I’d still be glum. But Max is a healer and he can’t help but try so hard. No one who didn’t love could put that much effort into anything.

Max is unbelievably patient.

That’s also very true. But the question remains – how much longer until Max’s patience with me snaps? I’m depressed, I’m not an idiot – I see how much strain I’m putting on him lately. I see it in his eyes, I see it in his walk. He’s a tired, weary man.

Max will leave me eventually…

Is that true? …I don’t want that to be true. But if the patience wanes, then there’s a good possibility he won’t be able to tolerate me anymore. And who could blame him? Who wants to be with a mopey, chubby grouch? I certainly wouldn’t blame him for hitting the trail. Then why can’t I make myself be happy that I have him? Why can’t I make him happy?

I love Max.

Not a question there. I never thought I could be with someone who was married to my best friend, but I can. I want to be with him. I love him so much sometimes I want to cry. I love the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck. I love the way he smells. I love the way he sometimes laughs with abandon then acts embarrassed about it. I love the way he loves our daughter.

I love Allie.

No question there, either. I love that little puddle of humanity more than I ever thought I could. Which is why I don’t want to ruin her…

If I’m sure of all of those things, what am I unsure of?

I’m not sure that Max’s patience isn’t already gone. I know there was no malice in his actions to send me away, that he thinks that I need a break, but won’t this offer him a break as well? Maybe he’s already tired of me.

I’m not sure I should be a parent. My role models were pretty much horrid – an absent father and a flaky mother. I had no one to learn from. I watch Max interact so naturally with Allie while every day for me is an effort; the only conclusion I can come to is that Max had nurturing, loving parents and I did not, thus he’s been “trained” for parenthood and I haven’t a clue what I’m supposed to be doing.

I’m not sure Max won’t turn into a jackass. I know that’s a pretty bold statement considering how sweet he’s been to me, especially of late. But there is truth in the belief that women look for men who are like their fathers. In my case, I would subconsciously seek out those who would neglect and abandon me. It’s no secret that I’ve had plenty of those kinds of men – starting with Michael Guerin and ending with Ramon Ortega. Their flaws were obvious, the outcomes of those relationships predictable. Outsiders would look at Max, however, and think he’s in for the long haul. But if I am unknowingly seeking out men who have the same traits as my father, is it possible some part of my subconscious has found that hidden trait in Max? The thought haunts me.

I frown. I don’t like thinking of things that make me uncomfortable. So instead of thinking of things I’m not sure of, my mind lands on something I know for sure – Mae-Ling is going to work herself into a conniption if she can’t find me for a whole week.

Straining to reach my purse, I haul it onto the bunk and retrieve my cell phone. I dial her office number and wait patiently.

“Mae-Ling Xen,” she says when she answers, her voice like smooth velvet.

I smile immediately. “Hey, Mae, it’s me.”

“Hey, chickie!” she spouts and I can mentally picture her eyes creasing as she grins. “Where the hell are you?”

“On a train.”

“A train? Are you and Allie coming to visit?”

“Not that kind of train, Mae. An Amtrak train.”

A pause, then trepidation. “Where are you going?”

“New England.”

Mae’s voice raises about three octaves and her words come out in one big rush. “OhmyGodyoulefthim!”

I breathe a laugh. “No, Mae, I didn’t leave Max.”

“OhmyGodhedumpedyou!”

I laugh a little harder. “No, he didn’t dump me.”

“Oh.” Silence. “Then why are you on a train heading for the east coast?”

I draw in a breath. “Max thought I needed to get away. So he packed me up and shipped me off.”

When Mae speaks again, her voice is soft, full of understanding. “Max sees a lot.”

It’s a typical Mae-ism, but it makes me think. Max sees a lot…I think back to yesterday in the bathroom, Max on his knees, obviously wanting me but only giving and not taking. He saw that I was feeling unattractive and tried to make it better, neglecting his needs in the process.

“He does,” Mae continues. “He saw that this was right for you.”

I don’t know about that. I feel rather isolated. “Actually, I just want to go home,” I confess.

“Oh, sweetie, you take the chance to get away,” Mae urges. “Home will always be here. Of course, I’ll miss you horribly, but I’ll survive.” There’s a tinge of playfulness in her tone.

“Thanks,” I laugh lightly.

“Want me to check in on them?” she offers.

“No, Max can handle Allie.” I have no doubt he can – I’m the one who needs the help.

“Well, I have a meeting in a few minutes,” she says regretfully. “But you have a good time. Sort things out in your head. And don’t let any other women feel your boobs or I’m going to be jealous.”

I laugh and say goodbye to her. Then I’m alone again with nothing but the sound of the train tracks beneath me. I stow my phone and slip on my shoes. I didn’t do any investigation of the train when I boarded – I simply found my car and went to sleep. But now I’m a little hungry and in need of the dining car.

I find it without much trouble. There are only a few people there, but it is after the lunch hour and before dinner. I slide in at the counter, beside a man who appears to be in his thirties. He’s wearing a Cubs baseball cap and reading the newspaper; he appears not to notice me.

The bartender, however, does notice me and greets me with a smile as he places a cocktail napkin before me. “What can I get you?”

I look at the bottles of alcohol lining the back of the bar and realize that without Allie to feed, I could drink until there’s no tomorrow if I wanted. But I don’t want to, so I settle on a soda. While the bartender fetches it, I finger the menu. Looking at the choices, I feel aware of my waistline again. I should get a salad, but damn that burger looks good…

The bartender sets the soda before me and waits patiently.

“The Greek salad,” I finally decide, smiling like my mind had never been imagining sinking my teeth into a nice beef patty.

He nods and moves to put my order in.

I do some people-watching while I wait for my food. There’s an elderly couple in a corner booth; both of them look aggrieved. I image that maybe they’re traveling to a funeral. No one who wasn’t would look so glum. Then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bottles and realize that maybe I look a little that way, too.

So then who died, Maria?

I frown and mentally chastise myself for being so ungrateful for what I have. I shouldn’t be depressed. I shouldn’t feel this way. If anything, I should feel ashamed for being so self-centered.

"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers - for thereby some have entertained angels unawares".

I jump visibly and whirl on the Cubs fan. The man is still holding his paper up, but his eyes are trained directly on me. I swallow hard and bring my hand to my necklace, an old nervous fidget.

“What did you say?” I ask, still startled.

He remains silent and simply smiles as he returns to reading his paper.

My frown deepens. Max sends me on a soul-cleansing vacation and with my shitty luck I get stuck on a train with a religious freak.

tbc

~~~~~~

Quote is from Hebrews 13:2 ...marking a fic first for me as I actually quoted the Bible

Part Eight

I’m seventeen years old.

The moment I have dreaded my entire life has finally come, the moment when all of my fears are confirmed. No matter how hard I try, no matter how wonderful I am, I will be left alone in the end.

I finally worked up enough strength and courage to give my body to someone, to admit I loved them – and in the next breath he told me he was leaving. Not just “going to Toledo” leaving, but “going to another planet” leaving. Simply, he’s going somewhere I can’t follow.

As I drive home, I can’t stop the flood of tears that roll down my cheeks. How could he take my virginity, tell me he loves me and then announce he’s pulling a disappearing act within the hour? Maybe Liz is lucky – she and Max hate each other right now and at least she will be spared the pain that I’m feeling.

I didn’t want my gut feelings to be true, I didn’t want to believe that I’m unworthy of keeping someone around. But here it is, proof positive.

I’m not worthy of being loved.

Max trails hot kisses down my throat, through the valley of my breasts and toward my abdomen. My breath is coming hard, all of my nerve endings snapping like the sky during an electrical storm; I want him so badly I ache. He stops when he gets to my navel, then starts to work his way back up. Veering to the right, he finds my breast, teases it with his tongue. I let out a groan and arch my back against his relentless assault. Just when I think I’m about to lose it, he slides up my body and lays flush against me. His breath his hot and ragged against my ear.

“Do you like that, baby?” he whispers and I start to tremble. “Answer me,” he demands.

“Yes,” I gasp, clenching my eyes tightly shut. My heart is slamming into my ribs, a victim of his romantic onslaught.

“Do you want me?” he asks as his teeth pinch my earlobe.

I draw in a quick breath and nod eagerly. “Yes, oh yes.”

Max’s fingers work the button on my jeans and he slides his hand inside. I push against him, needing his touch, wanting to cry. My world shrinks down to the motions of his fingers, his practiced strokes.

I can’t take it any longer. I have to have him. Reaching down, I grab the hem of his T-shirt and pull it over his head. Miraculously, the rest of our clothes disappear and I can feel him pressing into my thigh. I know as soon as he enters me I’m going to climax and it will all be over, but I can’t wait any longer. I grab his hips, urging him forward. When he doesn’t immediately comply, I look into his eyes and find nothing there but love and compassion.

“Make love to me,” I beg quietly. “Please, Max, show me how much you love me.”

He grins slightly, then rears his hips back, ready to enter me…

I’m awake.

Disappointment washes over me like a tidal wave. There is no Max, there is no romantic situation – it was all a dream. My heart is thundering in my ears, though, at the sheer tangibility of the dream and there’s a strange wet, sticky sensation about the sheets. My brow furrows as I struggle to clear my vision – women don’t usually have wet dreams.

It wasn’t a wet dream – it’s breast milk. I look down in mild disgust at my soaked nightgown and damp sheets. That’s just great – now I’m going to have to tell the caretaker that after one night alone in their bed and breakfast I already need a change of sheets. At least some of the pressure in my breasts is gone now…

I haul myself out of bed, wincing as the chilly air hits my wet clothes, and quickly scamper for the shower. Some B&B’s only have communal bathroom accommodations, but by luck or design Max found one with private facilities. For that, I will forever be grateful to him. I toss my nightie into the sink for rinsing, then jump into the shower. The water is hot and I stay there for a long time, letting the spray wash over my face.

It was dark when I reached Portsmouth, so I have yet to get a bearing on my new surroundings. I feel a little glimmer of anticipation at having my new world revealed to me, but it’s not enough to quell the loneliness I feel inside. Waking up in a quiet, relaxed environment is out of the ordinary for me. If I was at home, there would be a crying baby to attend to, and a bustling Max to dodge in the hallway. But here there is nothing but me and I feel a little lost. I suppose it doesn’t help that I had that dream this morning. I frown slightly – I never have erotic dreams, but that one was more erotic than our waking moments have been of late. It left me wanting to be with Max more than anything. How’s that for irony? I spend months pushing him away and the one morning I want him he’s several thousand miles away.

I get out of the shower, towel off and get dressed. Then I go back and strip the sheets off the bed, roll them into a ball and place them on the floor by the door. That task done, I get my cell phone from my purse and dial that old familiar number.

When Max answers, he sounds tired and I wonder if Allie had one of her sessions of being up all night. I glance at the clock and realize that Chicago is an hour behind the east coast.

“Did I wake you?” I ask guiltily.

“Hey, sweetie,” Max says into my ear, a smile in his voice. “I was hoping you’d call. And, no, you didn’t wake me up.”

I can hear little snores coming from the end of the line, quick breaths that can only come from an infant, and I know that Allie is sleeping on Max’s shoulder. He has a bad habit of not forcing that baby to sleep in her own bed – it will be his cross to bear when she expects him to hold her during all of her naps.

I work my mouth. “Max, I want to come home,” I announce.

His reply doesn’t come after a hesitation, almost as though he was anticipating this conversation. “Honey, you’ve only just gotten there. Of course I won’t make you stay somewhere you don’t want to be, but can you give it a day? Just one day. Then if you still want to come home, you can.”

A whole day. I think ahead to bedtime tonight and it seems like an eternity until then. “I miss…I miss you,” I admit.

“I miss you, too,” he replies, his tone soft.

“I had a dream about you,” I blurt before a can stop myself.

“You did?” he chuckles. There’s a rustling of fabric and I imagine him shifting Allie and the phone to opposite shoulders.

My cheeks burn. “Um, yeah…”

“What was it about? Tell me.”

I feel warm all over and I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment or the memory of the dream. “We were, um…” My words trail off sheepishly.

“Making love?” he questions and there isn’t even a hint of teasing in his voice.

I nod my head, then realize he can’t see me. “Um, yeah,” I croak. I don’t know how he’s going to react to that – disgusted? Violated?

“That’s sweet,” is his surprising reply. “Were we having fun?”

“Yeah,” I half-laugh. “Which is why I think I miss you…well, that and other reasons.”

I hear a groaned sigh and in my mind I can see Max stretching away sleep. “You’ll be home soon,” he reassures me. “Then we can talk about your dream all you want. Just one day. Can you promise me that?”

I nod again, kick myself for the mute response. “I’ll try, Max.”

“Good. That’s all I ask, Maria. Just try.”

I work my mouth, so wanting to not disappoint him. “How’s Junior?”

“Sleeping like a log,” he says.

“Is she eating?” I feel a little guilty about that. What if I headed out of town and Allie decided to reject the bottle? She would be hungry and Max would be miserable.

“She’s fine,” he assures.

“Kiss her for me,” I say.

“I will. Every hour.”

I smile, wishing I could be there to kiss her every hour, too. “I love you, Max.”

“I love you, too, Maria. Call me later, okay?”

“All right.” I hang up and sit in silence for a long time. The room is quiet save for the ticking of a clock atop the mantel. Now that the connection has been severed, I feel like Max and Allie are a billion miles away. Even if I left now, it would take twenty hours to get home to them.

Forcing myself to move, I get up and pull apart my drapes. Bright sunlight momentarily blinds me, but when I clear my vision I realize that all I can see is the ocean. My breath catches momentarily at the beauty of it, then I reach down and pull open my window. The sounds of crashing waves and seagulls enter my room and I draw in another quick breath. The air is warmer, balmier than I had anticipated and I close my eyes to let it wash over me. It smells faintly of salt water. Maybe Max is right – maybe I just need to give it a day.

Downstairs, I find the owner – a lady named Grace - and explain that I need new sheets. She’s an elderly woman, a sort of grandmother type, and she doesn’t act one bit surprised that I’ve already ruined my bed linens. Instead, she pats my arm and tells me she’ll take care of it. Then she motions to the dining room, where breakfast is being served.

The house is an old colonial and the wood floors creak as I make my way to the dining room. The smells of maple syrup and fresh coffee greet me and I feel my stomach rumbling beneath my breastbone.

The last time I had a public meal, there had been some nut in a Cubs cap there to torment me – I quickly scan the room and find no such person, but in fact I never saw that Cubs fan again after I left the dining car.

There is an older gentleman putting platters of food on the table and I assume he’s the caretaker’s husband.

“Hi,” I say as I approach the table. I feel a little self-conscious, sitting down to an intimate meal with people I don’t know.

“Hello there,” he says brightly. He puts a tray of sausage links on the table and extends a hand. “I’m Gus.”

“Maria,” I say, taking his hand in a brief shake. I reach for a chair and nod in the direction of a fifty-something couple already seated at the table.

“That’s Mr. and Mrs. Slade,” Gus says. “They’ve been with us for a couple of days now.”

“Maria Evans,” I introduce myself as I take their hands in turn. He looks friendly. She looks like a bitch. I kick myself for the snap judgment, but I can’t help what first impressions say.

Soon she speaks and removes all doubt. “Where is that other girl?” Mrs. Slade’s words are heavy with distaste.

I slip into my seat and warily cast my eyes in Gus’s direction.

But Gus only chuckles. “She’s always late, you know that, Mrs. Slade. But I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

Mrs. Slade doesn’t look one bit pleased about that.

She looks downright disgusted a few moments later when said “other girl” flounces into the room and plops down unceremoniously into the chair beside me.

Something jerks inside of me at the sight of her. I’ve never seen her before in my life, but I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s very “goth” – her hair is died a pitch black, the tips a deep burgundy. She wears a dark maroon lipstick, her eyes outlined in charcoal. Her wardrobe, as per the goth dress code, is entirely black, from her oversized sweater to her long skirt. In her nose, a gold ring catches the light coming in from the windows. My eyes fall to her fingers, which each hold a ring of some kind. She makes quite the first impression herself, but not the ugly one that Mrs. Slade did.

“Good morning, Gus,” she grins at him, tipping her head sideways flirtatiously.

He chuckles again and pats her arm on his way to back to the kitchen to retrieve more food.

“Good morning Mr. Slade,” the girl says demurely. “Mrs. Slade.”

Mr. Slade grins but Mrs. Slade simply rolls her eyes and sips her tea like the bitch I suppose she is.

The girl’s eyes fall on mine and I withdraw slightly. Her eyes are a pale blue and they seem to stare straight through me.

“You’re new,” she says, grinning. Then she thrusts a hand in my direction. “I’m Bethany.”

I take her hand mutely, then urge myself to answer her. “Maria.”

“Nice to meet you, Maria.” She’s still smiling and seems genuinely happy to meet me. I have no idea why Mrs. Slade has such distaste for her. I’m drawn to her like a magnet. “I hope Gracie made pancakes this morning. I love Gracie’s pancakes!”

I still can’t take my eyes off her. There’s just something...familiar about her.

“Hey,” she says, turning to look at me again. I gulp, afraid she’s noticed my rude staring. “Some friends are having a bonfire on the beach tonight. Why don’t you come?”

A party? Me? Married, settled, mother of one Maria Evans? I shake my head and hold up my hand. “I’m married.”

She laughs and holds up her own ring-laden left hand. “So am I. Doesn’t mean you’re dead, does it? Come on, say you’ll come.”

I’m a complete stranger and yet Bethany wants me to join her at some party tonight with her friends. I briefly think about what Max would do and realize that this is exactly what he intended for me to do on this trip. I nod meekly.

“Great!” Bethany spouts. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” Then she turns to squeal at Gus when he comes through the kitchen door with a pile of pancakes.

I continue to stare at her as she flirts harmlessly with the older man. I can’t get past the fact that I feel like I somehow already know her…

tbc

Part Nine

I’m twenty two years old.

Both of my best friends are dead. And now so it my relationship.

I’m outta here. I pack up the Jetta with as much stuff as I can and climb behind the wheel. As I pull away from the house I’ve shared with my mother most of my life, I feel no need to look back. I’m putting Roswell behind me for good.

I don’t feel sad, I don’t want to cry. If anything, I feel a little bitter. I’m not sure of the root of that emotion, other than I wish I had let Michael leave when he wanted to five years ago. Sure, my heart was broken, but I would have been spared the never-ending insecurity of “will he or won’t he be here tomorrow?”.

Michael’s fucked in the head, always has been. Me, I’m starting to think I’m a little fucked in the head as well. With our collective issues, it was childish of me to think that we could ever make it work. But breaking up wasn’t as traumatic as being together – one night while watching a hockey game I cared nothing about, it dawned on me that this is not what I want out of life. I told him so at that exact moment and his response was “Okay.” That was it – “Okay.” And I left.

Now I’m heading east. I’m not sure where I’ll land, but I know it won’t be anywhere near Roswell, New Mexico. Maybe I’ll just drive until the Jetta coughs its last breath and that’s where I’ll stay.

I pass the road Max lives on and feel a pang of guilt. I hope he’ll be okay, I hope that someone looks after him. I couldn’t stand to find that another friend had died.

As I stare at the asphalt stretching before me, I realize that I don’t even know if one of my own parents is alive or dead. I don’t even know if someone would bother to tell me.

After breakfast, I help Grace make my bed even though she claims I don’t have to. Actually, I don’t know what to do or where to go, so I guess I’m just killing time. She’s a nice lady and she’s replacing my sheets without question – it’s the least I could do.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” she fusses as she smoothes a wrinkle from the bottom sheet.

I give her a sidelong glance from the other side of the bed. “It isn’t a problem, honestly,” I say. “I don’t mind.”

She continues to mumble her disapproval but I block her out. I can dish out a little generosity, can’t I? I tune back in when I hear her mutter something under her breath.

“She’s such a nice girl, after all.”

“Who’s that?” I ask curiously.

Grace waves a hand. “Oh, don’t mind me. I talk to myself sometimes.” She gives a sheepish grin.

I raise an eyebrow in her direction and she relents.

“It’s that Bethany,” she says, reaching for the top sheet. “The Slades don’t like her.”

No kidding. “Why do you think that is?” I question casually, grabbing my side of the sheet.

Grace shrugs. “Got me. I think she’s a sweet one. Maybe it’s her appearance.”

I cock my head. Shitty reason to judge people.

She nods in silent agreement to my unspoken comment. “I know. But they’re very old school, upper class and Bethany…is not.”

“What is she then?” I question, tucking in the last of my sheet and straightening.

Grace stops, looking confused. “You know, I don’t really know…”

She doesn’t know? “Well, how long has she been staying here?” I’m just as curious about this charismatic stranger as Grace is.

She looks to the ceiling. “Let’s see…” She stares for a long time, then shrugs again. “Can’t really say.” Her lack of memory doesn’t seem to worry her as she grunts nonchalantly and turns to pull the comforter over the sheets, our job finished. “I’m going downstairs to make an apple pie for dessert for tonight,” she announces. “I insist you don’t help me.” Her eyes twinkle as she shoos me to the door.

I give a laugh and go willingly, not that I know what to do with myself.

I decide to take baby steps. I go outside, glance each way down the street, then pick a direction. I walk that way, down by the harbor, and take in all of the sights around me. I’ve never really been to the ocean, so I find some of this is fascinating. Of course, I live by one of the Great Lakes, but it pales in comparison to this. Sea gulls soar overhead and I squint against the sun to watch their graceful flight.

After I’ve circled the harbor, I pick what looks to be a lesser traveled road and start walking down it. After a while, I realize that no cars have passed in what seems like an eternity. The sky has started to cloud over and if I look closely enough at the covered bridge in the distance, I can almost see the Headless Horseman coming to torture poor Ichabod Crane. A shiver that isn’t entirely of fear tickles up my spine and I give a little laugh – I feel like a ten-year-old on Halloween.

As I turn to head back to the town, the sky has clouded over completely. That’s when I pause in my tracks and my mouth hangs open in wonder. Against the gray sky, the changing leaves of autumn are unbelievably vibrant. Seasons come and go in the Midwest as well, but I’ve never seen such deep reds, such bright yellows and oranges. I feel a pang within, a wish that Max could be here to see this. I think I’m beginning to understand why he likes to go to new places – if I hadn’t ventured out of Chicago, look what I would have missed!

The splattering of raindrops prompts me to move, jogging back to shelter. I hadn’t really traveled as far as it had felt and I’m back at the bed and breakfast in no time. I stand on the porch and watch the storm roll through, only to disappear across the ocean. In it’s wake, the air smells clean and fresh. I close my eyes, dragging in a breath, then decide to sit on the porch and enjoy the peace and quiet. I feel like I’m relaxing already.

Maybe Mae was right – maybe Max knew was what he was doing by sending me here.

*****

Anxiety returns as I fret and obsess over what to wear to this party. I didn’t really pack any party clothes and I’m afraid of looking like a doofus. I settle on a pair of jeans and Max’s Chicago Bears jersey – a reminder of him that I stuffed in my bag when he wasn’t looking. I like the way it feels, too big on my body, and I like the knowledge that it’s his, that I have a little part of him with me. Besides, I can layer clothes underneath it in case it gets cold.

Bethany picks me up at seven on the dot, just like she promised. She drives a Volkswagen convertible, but the ragtop is up in light of the cool air. It’s already dark on the east coast and I have a feeling the bonfire will be raging when we get there.

“Hey, climb in!” she calls, stooping to peer through the passenger side window.

I give her a grin and get in. The door is barely closed before she hits the gas and gives a whoop. I laugh in surprise.

“Ready to party, girlfriend?” she shouts over her stereo.

Yeah, that’s me – Maria Evans, party girl.

“Oh, why the sourpuss?” she pouts. “Tonight’s all about having fun!”

“Who’s going to be there?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Just some friends. You’ll like them.”

Friends like her? Friends who intrigue but trouble me?

Bethany catches my eye and gives a hoarse laugh. She has an odd voice, but a familiar laugh. “You look like I’m driving you to a lynching,” she jokes, reaching over to smack me on the thigh. “Relax! You’re gonna have fun!”

I give her a wan smile and turn to look out of the side mirror. What am I doing? Now that I’m here, I feel a little lost and stupid for going to a party with a group of people I don’t know. I mean, what if they’re Satanists or something? What if I’m their virgin sacrifice?

Well, scratch that. I lost that qualification eons ago.

“I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth,” Bethany muses from the driver’s seat.

I turn to look at her, cocking an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

She gives that coughing laugh again. “It’s Shakespeare. From Hamlet. You never read Hamlet?”

I crinkle my nose. “Not much into Shakespeare,” I apologize. “Though my best friend from high school…loved it…” My voice trails off as I feel a pang of loss at remembering Liz.

Bethany grins, however. “Well, your friend is a smart girl! She knows what’s good shit!”

I give her a small smile. What an odd person – a goth girl quoting Shakespeare. “What does it mean?” I ask.

“What? Oh, the quote? It just means you’re sad and not sure why.”

How does she know that? Am I that transparent to a perfect stranger? I remain silent, wondering if I should be uncomfortable around her again. She just seems to know too much…

“We’re here!” Bethany announces, turning the car off the road and into a short dirt drive.

In the distance, I can see the amber glow of the fire and push aside my doubts. There are already people here and it doesn’t look like they’re dancing naked trying to invoke the spirit of Satan or anything, so I must be safe. I climb out of the car and follow Bethany towards the pyre.

A young man greets us and immediately thrusts a cup into my hand. “Bethie!” he spouts happily, tossing his arms around her.

“This is Matthew,” Bethany introduces, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

I nod in his direction and I bring the cup to my nose, my brow furrowing at what I smell. I expected beer…but this is not.

“It’s cider,” the man says, releasing Bethany and taking me in. “We made it.”

Cider? Is this a dry party? Well, that’s not what I’d expected either.

Bethany laughs. “It’s hard,” she explains.

“Oh,” I reply, perking up and garnering some laughs from Bethany and Matthew. “In that case –“ I take a sip and it is incredibly good. With being pregnant and breastfeeding, I haven’t had alcohol in over a year and it goes straight to the tips of my fingers and toes. It feels…nice.

“Good, huh?” Matthew prompts as Bethany moves to speak with the other couple seated by the fire.

“Mmm hmmm,” I say, taking another sip. My eyes travel to the edge of the ring of light cast by the fire and I see that something is amiss. “Where’s the beach?”

Matthew follows my gaze, pauses, then lets out a laugh. “About fifty feet down.”

“Huh?”

“We’re not at sea level,” he explains. “There’s a wicked drop off a ways out, so it’s probably best if you don’t wander too far.”

“Noted,” I agree, sipping from my glass. It’s empty. Already?

Matthew puts another one in my hand and winks. “Live a little.”

Why not? The cider has gone straight to my head and I feel buzzy and light and happier than I have in a long time. Bethany introduces me to our other companions and for the life of me I can’t remember their names three seconds after she says them. And I don’t even care.

The drinks keep coming and words blur together. I hear people laughing and realize I’m one of them. Christ, I’m so drunk…

Dizzy, I rub my eyes and look through the flames at Bethany, who is staring back at me. In an instant, her hair becomes brown instead of black and burgundy, the ring in her nose dissolves and I can easily make out an all-too-familiar scar above her left eye. I gasp and my stomach lurches. Terrified at the sight, I close my eyes tightly and shake my head.

“Maria?” someone is saying in my ear. “Are you okay?”

I open my eyes and Bethany is just Bethany again, not the apparition I saw a few seconds ago. Matthew is peering into my face, his eyes full of concern.

“I’m going to be sick,” I announce, a warm wave crashing over me. I struggle to my feet and he gets up with me.

“I’ll come with you,” he volunteers.

“No,” I say, pushing him away. “I can go alone.”

I stagger away from the fire and the coolness of the night air is a blessing. I stumble a few times, but just keep walking. Eventually I can hear the crash of waves and I pull up short. Matthew had mentioned something about a drop off or cliff or something.

Looking down, I can’t see the ground. I have literally stopped at the edge of the cliff, one more step and I would have gone over. I’m too drunk for that to scare me, though, and I stare mesmerized into the abyss. Gradually, my eyes adjust to the moonlight and I can make out the whitecaps of the waves as they tumble to shore. I breathe a laugh – that is so cool!

A voice in the back of my head tells me to back away, so I take one step backward.

“Maria!” Bethany calls. “Look out!”

Her voice startles me and I look up quickly. But I’ve had too much to drink and my equilibrium is off. Panic flares briefly as I realize I have no way of stopping myself.

Then all I feel is the sensation of falling…

tbc