25. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

The Evans' Residence (italics representing the funeral)
(2003) Max is 18, Liz is 17

Max walked through the dark house; his mind empty, his eyes sore from days of crying, and his nails digging painfully into his palms.

"If you were lucky to have Diane in your life, in some way or the other, you will never forget her. She was a constant light, shining brightly and strongly."

Max's lips were pressed tightly together as he fought the tears. He would be strong for his mom. He wouldn't cry. He was determined to think of her life instead of her death and be happy for how much she meant to him.

But standing there, looking at the wooden coffin that held the dead body of his mother, the urge to cry was strong as pain slowly tore his heart apart.

"And she will always remain in our hearts."

He inhaled sharply as he felt her cool hand take his. He looked to his side, into Liz's worried face and tried to smile at her. Her presence was a relief at the same time as torture, because his plan to stay collected was quickly crumbling when she squeezed his hand.

His knuckles rapped against the door and at the lack of a reply he tried to open the door. Only to find it locked.

"Dad?" he called through the door. "You okay?"

Trying to distract himself, Max's eyes scanned the people that had come to his mother's funeral, his gaze ending on his father. His father who had barely spoken a word to him since she had died. His dad's wet cheeks were glistening in the sun and Max took a shuddering breath at the emptiness in the once so joyful eyes.

"Dad?" he tried again, the silence biting into the numbness of his heart. "Dinner's ready. You should eat something."

As the guests began to walk towards their cars, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Hey man, how're you holding up?"

Without looking at Michael, still painfully aware of the dryness of the residues of soil in his hand from dropping soil onto the coffin just minutes ago, Max tried his voice, "Not that great."

"Yeah," Michael said slowly, feeling a bit outside of his comfort zone. "If you…you know…need to talk or grab a beer or something. Watch a movie, whatever, I'm…I'm there, okay?"

Max gave him a weak smile of gratitude. "Thanks Mike."

"You should come over tomorrow," Liz said behind them and they both turned to look at the petite girl that meant so much to both of them.

Her voice was somber and careful, something outside of the normal range of her voice.

Max swallowed thickly. "Thanks. I might."

She nodded with a tentative smile and turned to Michael. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Michael said and refocused on Max. "See you back at the house."

"Yeah," Max said quietly and looked away, unable to breathe under the weight of their concern and pity.

His eyes once again fell upon his father who was talking to Anne, Diane's sister. He was so focused on his father that her arms on his shoulders startled him.

He looked down into her chocolate brown eyes with weary surprise and was even more surprised when she rose on the tips of her toes to softly kiss his cheek. As her hands slowly slid down his front from their original position on his shoulders, her fingers softly grazed the skin of his neck.

"I'm so sorry, Max," she said quietly, gave him another worried glance and then she was gone.

He placed his fingers against his cheek where her lips have left a burning mark and started to cry.

"Dad?" he asked the silence and fought against the need to scream. Tightening his fists even more he fought the urge to bang on the door, scream at his dad, everyone, the world. Taking a deep breath he swallowed the sudden anger and spoke tonelessly to the door, "I'll put it in the refrigerator and you can heat it up later, okay? Whenever you want."

His father never left his office that night. Or the night after that. On the third day following his wife's funeral, Philip Evans grabbed a sandwich from the kitchen at 3 a.m. in the morning. Max didn't see his father for a week with Philip leaving his office mostly at hours Max wasn't present. Until Philip one day appeared in the living room.

He was watching videotapes – home videos – when Max walked through the front door and threw his school bag on the floor. He froze at the sounds in the normally so eerily quiet house and without removing his jacket he slowly followed the sound into the living room.

Max's throat closed up as he heard the infectious pearl laughter of his late mother fill the house. Feeling paralyzed, Max stared at the images flickering across the TV-screen of himself and his mom when he had been five. She had been trying to teach him to ride a bike.

Looking over at the couch, he saw his father and he almost jumped at the transformation. The skin of Philip's face was a sickly grey color and it seemed stretched too tightly over his face making everything in his face look hollow.

He was crying, but without seeming aware of it as tears ran unnoticed down his cheeks.

"Dad?" Max whispered.

But his father didn't acknowledge him. Didn't even look in his direction.

"Dad?" Max tried again, but his father merely kept staring at the TV-screen.

Feeling anger bubbling to the surface, Max said tightly, "Could you at least answer me?"

But Philip didn't.

Max angrily brushed a tear off his cheek and bit out, "I lost her too, okay? She was my mother! I can't lose you as well!"

Philip blinked, a hint of emotion entering his empty eyes, but he still refused to acknowledge his son's desperate pleads for his attention.

"Fine," Max mumbled and rubbed his eyes free of tears. "You know what? Fuck you, dad. Fuck you!"

And he left, not seeing how Philip crumbled at the sound of the front door slamming to announce his son's departure.

--

Fifteen minutes later
Outside the Parkers' Residence

His knocks were getting more frantic with every unresponsive second passing. He had been there for five minutes and no one was answering the door which logically told him that they weren't home. Not even Gabriella appeared to be home.

He stopped, because his knuckles started to throb in pain, and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. Clicking through his contact list he quickly found Michael's number and pressed 'dial'.

"Hi. I'm probably home; I'm just avoiding someone I don't like. Leave me a message, and if I don't call back, it's you."

Max sighed and hit the disconnect button before the answering machine could beep at him. Without a second thought, he rolled through the contact list again. This time in search of Liz's number.

"Hey guess who this is? You guessed it. Guess what you have to do now? You guessed it. Guess what's next? You guessed it..."

The beep echoed in his ear as he slowly closed his eyes, repressing the acidic feeling of abandonment. As he went about putting the phone into his pocket, he felt a piece of paper brush against the back of his hand. Curiously, he pulled out the paper and stared at it for a while in attempt to trigger his memory of its origin.

The note said, in a handwriting that was not his;

If you need to forget…

Followed by a phone number and a heart.

Her face flashed in front of his mental eye and he remembered the girl that had walked up to him on his first day back to school after the death of his mother. He had seen her in class; she was a difficult girl to miss with her strawberry blonde hair and feminine curves in all the right places.

And at right that second, it felt really tempting to forget.

He quickly dialled the number and waited for the response.

"Katie speaking," a soft voice answered.

"Hey Katie," Max said, hesitating for a second before continuing. "This is Max Evans."

He could hear the surprise in her voice as she said, "Oh…hey."

"Sorry, if this is not a good time-"

"No, no," she said quickly, getting over the surprise of having one of the most eligible single guys at school calling her. When she had given him her phone number the other day, she had hoped but never actually believed that he would actually contact her. "It's fine. What's up, Max?"

"I… I need to forget," Max said, feeling ridiculous as the words left his mouth.

But Katie didn't seem to notice. "Okay… My parents are not home. You can come over whenever you want." She gave him her address and the directions and he disconnected the call, feeling better already now that he had a purpose.

--

Katie's Bedroom

She was easy to talk to and one thing quickly led to another. Her body was soft and warm as he thrust into her with desperate need. A need to feel something. Anything.

He didn't realise he was crying until she brushed the tears off his cheek. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he whispered and kissed her.

He was okay. He felt much better now.

TBC...