"Nothing will ever be
Quite like your memories"
~The Badlees
Prologue
There's a thin line between love and hate.
I never understood the meaning of that expression. Surely you could never hate someone you love and vice versa. But I think now I know what it means. It is easier to hate someone you have loved than anyone else in the world.
It's a simple concept, really. You let people you love under your skin, into your life, into your heart. And from that strategic position, they can hurt you worse than anyone. With the hurt comes pain, then anger then hate.
But on the flipside of hate, there is always forgiveness. Children do awful things to their parents - they betray to get their way, they lie, they disappoint - but parents are always willing to open their arms and welcome those children back into their lives. Why is it so different with lovers?
I glance over at Michael as he drives, his wrist resting on the wheel of the Explorer. It's been years since we've been away and I can see our experiences etched into his face. Youthfulness has abandoned Michael. Not that he looks old. He just looks wizened, calmer perhaps, more mature. But with the things we've seen, how could he not be?
It might be mistaken that we've left earth. We haven't, of course. Space travel is a fallacy on this planet. We're earthlings, bound here on this wonderful green and blue marble. But we've been to hell and back. More than once.
I turn back to the road and watch the barren landscape whiz past our window at a high velocity - Michael always has and always will drive like a maniac. He missed his calling - NASCAR is minus one incredible driver. Not only can he drive fast, he does it well. Meaning we've never crashed or had a close call and he has always managed to get us out of a sticky situation. I know I owe my life to Michael in more ways than one.
A cactus flies past and I can't help but smile. I haven't seen a cactus in so long its appearance is somewhat comical. I can't even remember the last time we were this far west. Months? Years? And for all of its barrenness, I never thought I'd miss the desert, but I did.
The desert. In a memory flash, not a human remembrance but an alien barrage of intense feelings and images, I see days of my youth, remarkable times spent among sand and rock. I can hear the steady beep of a communication orb, feel small hands on my skin, hear angry words, happy words, see the bright flames of a funeral pyre. Until now, I don't think I realized how many pivotal moments of my life took place in the desert.
Aliens and deserts just seem to go hand in hand. Maybe it's because of the whole 1947 crash legend. Maybe it's because deserts are hostile and hard to navigate, only intensifying their mystery. Maybe it's because that's where we were born - me, Michael, Isabel and eventually Tess. We're all bound to the desert.
Michael releases one of those deep sighs of his. I know he's thinking of Maria even though he won't admit it. There isn't much point in it - she gave him the boot two years ago. I don't blame her. Even though she craved adventure, she still craved stability and he couldn't give it to her.
Just like I couldn't give it to Liz. It's been longer than two years since Liz gave me the boot, but it hurts like it was yesterday. I can still hear her words, the hurt in her voice and that was the day I understood which side of love and hate I stood on.
I have to wonder if Michael is anticipating or dreading seeing Maria. Me, I can't wait to see her. I've missed Maria and her generous friendship. She was my first 'girlfriend', meaning my first feminine friend. It was odd to have a female in my life who wasn't a love interest or a relative and who had no interest in me sexually. I was a teenage guy, so of course I thought about Maria sexually more than once - I mean, what guy wouldn't? She was gorgeous then and I'm sure she still is. But it wasn't love or lust or anything like that. It was just teenage hormones.I think I thought of every woman (non-relative, of course) in my life in a sexual context at least once. That part of me is very human.
I digress. I glance at Michael and his lips are pursed. Yep - thinking about Maria.
And I automatically think of Liz. I know what I want. I want to be back with her. I want to make things right. I want to make her understand what we've been through. I want her to know that I haven't given up on her. I don't dread seeing her - I look forward to it because whether she knows it or not, I'm going to win her back.
Part One
"Maxwell, we have to get out of here!" Michael's voice is strained, his breath coming in short gasps.
Behind us, there's another loud explosion and I throw my hands over my ears to protect them from the concussion, then I duck my head as bits of rocks and mortar rain down on us.
"They're gonna kill us!" Michael yells over the roar. "We have to fall back! Now!"
I nod in his direction. I don't want to fall back. I don't want to let them go. I have so much hatred for them that I want to stay here and put an end to them once and for all. But there is a reason Michael is my second in command - he grounds me when my emotions run away with my common sense.
"Let's go," I shout between gun blasts and gesture toward the back of the warehouse, where he left the Explorer. As I rise, there is a whistling sound past my ear and I know it's too late. Within a millisecond there is a blast very near to our position. I hear a scream of pain and don't really realize that it is coming from me. In fact, I don't realize it until I am falling to the ground, my leg seemingly blown out from beneath me.
Then I hear footsteps, thousands of them, descending on us. Michael's eyes are desperate as he pulls on my arm. I try to help him, but I can't. My arm suddenly pops off and he falls to his rear in the rubble, a look of astonishment on his face. Then I'm screaming again as Michael looks at my detached arm in horror.
"Max, wake up."
I'm suddenly squinting against the bright sunlight, wondering where the blood and guts and gunfire have gone. The room is oddly white, clean, homey. I smell something - food?
When my vision clears, I see Isabel perched on the end of the couch, a fuzzy white housecoat wrapped around her slim body. She smiles at me and I realize that while she was a pretty girl, she is a ridiculously beautiful woman.
"Must've been some dream," she says, no worry in her tone.
I nod and push the comforter from my body - I'm slick with sweat. "Yeah, good one this time."
"Coffee?" she asks.
I nod and she disappears into the kitchen. When she returns, she sits on the coffee table and hands me the cup. I take a couple of sips and glance quickly around the apartment as a form of surveillance - an old habit I don't think I'll ever get rid of.
"Where's Michael?" I ask.
"Still asleep."
That's all the information she offers and it's really all I want. I know he shared her bed last night and as her brother, I do not want to know what happened, if anything did at all. "You're up early," I comment.
She nods. "I go to work early." She's a nurse. Agent Topolsky was right - Isabel leans toward care-giving fields.
"Do you have to work today?" I ask.
She nods again. "But I'll be home by six. Maybe we can do dinner?"
I placed the cup on the table and settle back into my makeshift bed. "Sure."
"But not the Crashdown."
I look at her quizzically.
She shifts her weight uncomfortably. "I don't think you should go there, Max."
I shrug. "Point taken. Now mind your own business." My words aren't harsh, but maybe she understands anyway. Then the oddity of her comment dawns on me. "Why do I have to stay away from the Crashdown? Are you telling me Liz is still a waitress?" It seems somewhat inconceivable given the amount of time that has passed and the fact that Liz was smart enough to be anything she wanted.
Isabel laughs lightly. "No. But her parents still own the restaurant. You never know when she'll be there."
I smile and my sister frowns.
In an overly protective gesture, she reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. "Max, maybe it's time you moved on," she says gently.
"I don't want to," I reply honestly. "I want Liz back."
She looks uncomfortable. "But what if."
I push myself up so that I am sitting rather than lying. "What if she's moved on?" I finish her sentence for her and she nods. "I don't believe that."
"You think she waited." It's a statement, not a question.
I don't know how to make Isabel understand the relationship that Liz and I had. Not many people do. But we were bound together so tightly I know if I haven't given up, then she hasn't either. No matter what she said.
"Just think about it for awhile," my sister suggests.
"Iz, I've had plenty of time to think about it. I know what I want."
She nods in resignation, then offers a small smile. "I have to get in the shower or I'm going to be late. So, dinner tonight?"
"Yes," I agree and smile at her. "Some place other than the Crashdown."
* * * * *
"Are you really sure you want to do this?"
Michael and I are poised across the street from a gift shop on Main Street, the traffic whizzing past us. The early afternoon sun is hot, nearly blinding in its intensity. His dark eyes are somber and he nods slowly. Well, I guess my second is just as much a glutton for punishment as I am.
We wait until the traffic dissipates, then we jog across the street. We pause again at the shop's entrance; Michael gives me a last look of reassurance and pulls the door open. A cool blast of air conditioning greets us as a bell above the door chimes. The smell of lavender and musk drifts to my nose and my ears are filled with something that sounds a lot like Celtic flute music.
"You'll love this." I hear the familiar voice as she talks to a customer. "I use it every night before bed."
My eyes settle on her behind the counter, dropping some lotion into a small white bag. The customer thanks her and moves away, past us and out the door. Then her eyes settle on us and her full lips break into an easy smile.
I wasn't wrong - Maria Deluca is still a gorgeous person. The first thing that strikes me is that she now dresses very much like her mother used to - kind of trendy, kind of hippy. Her blond hair is long, to the center of her back, and wavy without being curly.
"Well, it's Frodo and Samwise returning from saving the world," she says, a playful smirk on those highly-glossed lips. "So, did you get the ring destroyed?"
Michael snorts - I'm not sure if that was a laugh or not, so I laugh nervously. But Maria comes out from behind the counter and hugs him. It's not the embrace of lovers, but rather one of familiarity, quick, tight, something you'd give your grandmother. Then she's in my arms and maybe it's my imagination, but she seems to longer a bit longer. I squeeze her tightly, breathe in the gentle scent of her perfume. It feels odd to hold a woman after so long without doing so.
Michael's still in the room, I remind myself and release his ex-girlfriend from my grasp.
"You haven't aged a day," she says, brushing the hair from my forehead.
I think I blushed. I've fought many battles, I've seen things no one should ever have to see.and yet Maria can still make me blush.
"When did you get in?" she asks, pivoting to address Michael.
"Late last night," he explains, shoving his hands into his pockets.
She circles the counter again and perches on a stool she's placed back there. On the counter itself there is a magazine, opened, and I can only assume she has a lot of down time. "Am I your first visitation?" she laughs.
I let Michael talk. He seems to want to. "We, um, saw Iz first. She put us up for the night."
Maria clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "Have you boys got another blond in your life? I thought I was the only one."
She laughs happily and I have to wonder if all of the exotic scents in these small quarters have gotten to her. The Maria I knew was much more brooding than this. And there is no way I'm going to spill Michael's sleeping arrangements from last night.
"What time is it?" she asks.
I glance at my watch. "One."
Hopping down from the stool, she walks to the door and flips the "open" sign to "closed." "Time for lunch," she announces. "Let's get something to eat."
We walk the streets of Roswell for a long while, just catching up on what has been going on. At one point, she reaches down and takes my hand in hers, squeezing it as she talks. I feel self-conscious about it, but Michael seems not to notice. We end up picking up sub sandwiches and going to the park.
It feels odd to be in the park, a place Mom used to take me and Isabel when we were children, a place where we'd meet to talk about the latest threat to our existence, a place I went to sit in stunned silence when I thought Liz had slept with Kyle.
"How's your Mom?" Michael asks quietly.
Maria sips from her lemonade, washing down a bite of her sandwich. My eyes are mesmerized by her fingers - long, nails perfectly manicured, beautifully feminine. "She moved to Texas. Met a guy. Got married."
Michael's eyebrows rise slightly. "Really?"
She nods. "Nice man. In law enforcement, believe it or not."
We all laugh, remembering Amy Deluca's run-ins with the law, and later her interludes with Sheriff Valenti. Which prompts my next question.
"What about the sheriff?"
"Still the sheriff," she confirms. "He always will be." Her smile is sweet, sincere. "You guys should stop and see him."
I nod. She's right - we should.
"What about Kyle?" Michael asks. He's not usually so concerned about others and I know he's just talking to talk, to avoid those uncomfortable silences.
"California." She scrunches up her face as she rethinks her answer. "I think." Then she sighs. "I can't keep track of him. He's a rolling stone."
"What's he doing that he travels so much?" I ask.
She shrugs her slim shoulders. "Whatever he wants to. Kyle's a true Bohemian. But, man, has he been to some neat places. He went to Tibet for a year. Then to Europe for a while. He just never stops." She looks wistful, like maybe she'd like to have that life.
Her sea-green eyes lock on mine and I'm somewhat startled at that.
"I know what you want to ask," she says, almost as though Michael isn't still sitting with us."
"You do?"
She nods slowly. "Forget about it, Max."
I give her the same smile I gave Isabel.
"I mean it," she says, putting down her cup. "Just let Liz go."
It's so quiet the birds suddenly sound deafening. Michael looks down at his shoes, uncomfortable.
"I have to try," I tell her quietly. I won't be able to make her understand, either.
She doesn't look surprised. "Well, it was worth a shot." Tilting her head, she checks out my watch. "I have to get back. No one to run the shop but me."
As we walk back, we pass the Crashdown. I can't help but look in its windows and I catch a glimpse of her dark hair. It's been years, but I'd recognize Liz Parker out of a crowd of a million. Excitement rushes through my veins and I turn to Maria and Michael; they both look nauseous.
"You want to catch up with us later?" Michael offers. He knows there is no point in trying to talk me out of this.
I nod eagerly. But my hope wanes when Maria steps forward, her eyes sad, and kisses me on the cheek. It's like I'm going off to war and she may never see me again.
Of all of the battles I've fought, this one with be the hardest. And its outcome will mean the most.
Prologue
There's a thin line between love and hate.
I never understood the meaning of that expression. Surely you could never hate someone you love and vice versa. But I think now I know what it means. It is easier to hate someone you have loved than anyone else in the world.
It's a simple concept, really. You let people you love under your skin, into your life, into your heart. And from that strategic position, they can hurt you worse than anyone. With the hurt comes pain, then anger then hate.
But on the flipside of hate, there is always forgiveness. Children do awful things to their parents - they betray to get their way, they lie, they disappoint - but parents are always willing to open their arms and welcome those children back into their lives. Why is it so different with lovers?
I glance over at Michael as he drives, his wrist resting on the wheel of the Explorer. It's been years since we've been away and I can see our experiences etched into his face. Youthfulness has abandoned Michael. Not that he looks old. He just looks wizened, calmer perhaps, more mature. But with the things we've seen, how could he not be?
It might be mistaken that we've left earth. We haven't, of course. Space travel is a fallacy on this planet. We're earthlings, bound here on this wonderful green and blue marble. But we've been to hell and back. More than once.
I turn back to the road and watch the barren landscape whiz past our window at a high velocity - Michael always has and always will drive like a maniac. He missed his calling - NASCAR is minus one incredible driver. Not only can he drive fast, he does it well. Meaning we've never crashed or had a close call and he has always managed to get us out of a sticky situation. I know I owe my life to Michael in more ways than one.
A cactus flies past and I can't help but smile. I haven't seen a cactus in so long its appearance is somewhat comical. I can't even remember the last time we were this far west. Months? Years? And for all of its barrenness, I never thought I'd miss the desert, but I did.
The desert. In a memory flash, not a human remembrance but an alien barrage of intense feelings and images, I see days of my youth, remarkable times spent among sand and rock. I can hear the steady beep of a communication orb, feel small hands on my skin, hear angry words, happy words, see the bright flames of a funeral pyre. Until now, I don't think I realized how many pivotal moments of my life took place in the desert.
Aliens and deserts just seem to go hand in hand. Maybe it's because of the whole 1947 crash legend. Maybe it's because deserts are hostile and hard to navigate, only intensifying their mystery. Maybe it's because that's where we were born - me, Michael, Isabel and eventually Tess. We're all bound to the desert.
Michael releases one of those deep sighs of his. I know he's thinking of Maria even though he won't admit it. There isn't much point in it - she gave him the boot two years ago. I don't blame her. Even though she craved adventure, she still craved stability and he couldn't give it to her.
Just like I couldn't give it to Liz. It's been longer than two years since Liz gave me the boot, but it hurts like it was yesterday. I can still hear her words, the hurt in her voice and that was the day I understood which side of love and hate I stood on.
I have to wonder if Michael is anticipating or dreading seeing Maria. Me, I can't wait to see her. I've missed Maria and her generous friendship. She was my first 'girlfriend', meaning my first feminine friend. It was odd to have a female in my life who wasn't a love interest or a relative and who had no interest in me sexually. I was a teenage guy, so of course I thought about Maria sexually more than once - I mean, what guy wouldn't? She was gorgeous then and I'm sure she still is. But it wasn't love or lust or anything like that. It was just teenage hormones.I think I thought of every woman (non-relative, of course) in my life in a sexual context at least once. That part of me is very human.
I digress. I glance at Michael and his lips are pursed. Yep - thinking about Maria.
And I automatically think of Liz. I know what I want. I want to be back with her. I want to make things right. I want to make her understand what we've been through. I want her to know that I haven't given up on her. I don't dread seeing her - I look forward to it because whether she knows it or not, I'm going to win her back.
Part One
"Maxwell, we have to get out of here!" Michael's voice is strained, his breath coming in short gasps.
Behind us, there's another loud explosion and I throw my hands over my ears to protect them from the concussion, then I duck my head as bits of rocks and mortar rain down on us.
"They're gonna kill us!" Michael yells over the roar. "We have to fall back! Now!"
I nod in his direction. I don't want to fall back. I don't want to let them go. I have so much hatred for them that I want to stay here and put an end to them once and for all. But there is a reason Michael is my second in command - he grounds me when my emotions run away with my common sense.
"Let's go," I shout between gun blasts and gesture toward the back of the warehouse, where he left the Explorer. As I rise, there is a whistling sound past my ear and I know it's too late. Within a millisecond there is a blast very near to our position. I hear a scream of pain and don't really realize that it is coming from me. In fact, I don't realize it until I am falling to the ground, my leg seemingly blown out from beneath me.
Then I hear footsteps, thousands of them, descending on us. Michael's eyes are desperate as he pulls on my arm. I try to help him, but I can't. My arm suddenly pops off and he falls to his rear in the rubble, a look of astonishment on his face. Then I'm screaming again as Michael looks at my detached arm in horror.
"Max, wake up."
I'm suddenly squinting against the bright sunlight, wondering where the blood and guts and gunfire have gone. The room is oddly white, clean, homey. I smell something - food?
When my vision clears, I see Isabel perched on the end of the couch, a fuzzy white housecoat wrapped around her slim body. She smiles at me and I realize that while she was a pretty girl, she is a ridiculously beautiful woman.
"Must've been some dream," she says, no worry in her tone.
I nod and push the comforter from my body - I'm slick with sweat. "Yeah, good one this time."
"Coffee?" she asks.
I nod and she disappears into the kitchen. When she returns, she sits on the coffee table and hands me the cup. I take a couple of sips and glance quickly around the apartment as a form of surveillance - an old habit I don't think I'll ever get rid of.
"Where's Michael?" I ask.
"Still asleep."
That's all the information she offers and it's really all I want. I know he shared her bed last night and as her brother, I do not want to know what happened, if anything did at all. "You're up early," I comment.
She nods. "I go to work early." She's a nurse. Agent Topolsky was right - Isabel leans toward care-giving fields.
"Do you have to work today?" I ask.
She nods again. "But I'll be home by six. Maybe we can do dinner?"
I placed the cup on the table and settle back into my makeshift bed. "Sure."
"But not the Crashdown."
I look at her quizzically.
She shifts her weight uncomfortably. "I don't think you should go there, Max."
I shrug. "Point taken. Now mind your own business." My words aren't harsh, but maybe she understands anyway. Then the oddity of her comment dawns on me. "Why do I have to stay away from the Crashdown? Are you telling me Liz is still a waitress?" It seems somewhat inconceivable given the amount of time that has passed and the fact that Liz was smart enough to be anything she wanted.
Isabel laughs lightly. "No. But her parents still own the restaurant. You never know when she'll be there."
I smile and my sister frowns.
In an overly protective gesture, she reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. "Max, maybe it's time you moved on," she says gently.
"I don't want to," I reply honestly. "I want Liz back."
She looks uncomfortable. "But what if."
I push myself up so that I am sitting rather than lying. "What if she's moved on?" I finish her sentence for her and she nods. "I don't believe that."
"You think she waited." It's a statement, not a question.
I don't know how to make Isabel understand the relationship that Liz and I had. Not many people do. But we were bound together so tightly I know if I haven't given up, then she hasn't either. No matter what she said.
"Just think about it for awhile," my sister suggests.
"Iz, I've had plenty of time to think about it. I know what I want."
She nods in resignation, then offers a small smile. "I have to get in the shower or I'm going to be late. So, dinner tonight?"
"Yes," I agree and smile at her. "Some place other than the Crashdown."
* * * * *
"Are you really sure you want to do this?"
Michael and I are poised across the street from a gift shop on Main Street, the traffic whizzing past us. The early afternoon sun is hot, nearly blinding in its intensity. His dark eyes are somber and he nods slowly. Well, I guess my second is just as much a glutton for punishment as I am.
We wait until the traffic dissipates, then we jog across the street. We pause again at the shop's entrance; Michael gives me a last look of reassurance and pulls the door open. A cool blast of air conditioning greets us as a bell above the door chimes. The smell of lavender and musk drifts to my nose and my ears are filled with something that sounds a lot like Celtic flute music.
"You'll love this." I hear the familiar voice as she talks to a customer. "I use it every night before bed."
My eyes settle on her behind the counter, dropping some lotion into a small white bag. The customer thanks her and moves away, past us and out the door. Then her eyes settle on us and her full lips break into an easy smile.
I wasn't wrong - Maria Deluca is still a gorgeous person. The first thing that strikes me is that she now dresses very much like her mother used to - kind of trendy, kind of hippy. Her blond hair is long, to the center of her back, and wavy without being curly.
"Well, it's Frodo and Samwise returning from saving the world," she says, a playful smirk on those highly-glossed lips. "So, did you get the ring destroyed?"
Michael snorts - I'm not sure if that was a laugh or not, so I laugh nervously. But Maria comes out from behind the counter and hugs him. It's not the embrace of lovers, but rather one of familiarity, quick, tight, something you'd give your grandmother. Then she's in my arms and maybe it's my imagination, but she seems to longer a bit longer. I squeeze her tightly, breathe in the gentle scent of her perfume. It feels odd to hold a woman after so long without doing so.
Michael's still in the room, I remind myself and release his ex-girlfriend from my grasp.
"You haven't aged a day," she says, brushing the hair from my forehead.
I think I blushed. I've fought many battles, I've seen things no one should ever have to see.and yet Maria can still make me blush.
"When did you get in?" she asks, pivoting to address Michael.
"Late last night," he explains, shoving his hands into his pockets.
She circles the counter again and perches on a stool she's placed back there. On the counter itself there is a magazine, opened, and I can only assume she has a lot of down time. "Am I your first visitation?" she laughs.
I let Michael talk. He seems to want to. "We, um, saw Iz first. She put us up for the night."
Maria clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "Have you boys got another blond in your life? I thought I was the only one."
She laughs happily and I have to wonder if all of the exotic scents in these small quarters have gotten to her. The Maria I knew was much more brooding than this. And there is no way I'm going to spill Michael's sleeping arrangements from last night.
"What time is it?" she asks.
I glance at my watch. "One."
Hopping down from the stool, she walks to the door and flips the "open" sign to "closed." "Time for lunch," she announces. "Let's get something to eat."
We walk the streets of Roswell for a long while, just catching up on what has been going on. At one point, she reaches down and takes my hand in hers, squeezing it as she talks. I feel self-conscious about it, but Michael seems not to notice. We end up picking up sub sandwiches and going to the park.
It feels odd to be in the park, a place Mom used to take me and Isabel when we were children, a place where we'd meet to talk about the latest threat to our existence, a place I went to sit in stunned silence when I thought Liz had slept with Kyle.
"How's your Mom?" Michael asks quietly.
Maria sips from her lemonade, washing down a bite of her sandwich. My eyes are mesmerized by her fingers - long, nails perfectly manicured, beautifully feminine. "She moved to Texas. Met a guy. Got married."
Michael's eyebrows rise slightly. "Really?"
She nods. "Nice man. In law enforcement, believe it or not."
We all laugh, remembering Amy Deluca's run-ins with the law, and later her interludes with Sheriff Valenti. Which prompts my next question.
"What about the sheriff?"
"Still the sheriff," she confirms. "He always will be." Her smile is sweet, sincere. "You guys should stop and see him."
I nod. She's right - we should.
"What about Kyle?" Michael asks. He's not usually so concerned about others and I know he's just talking to talk, to avoid those uncomfortable silences.
"California." She scrunches up her face as she rethinks her answer. "I think." Then she sighs. "I can't keep track of him. He's a rolling stone."
"What's he doing that he travels so much?" I ask.
She shrugs her slim shoulders. "Whatever he wants to. Kyle's a true Bohemian. But, man, has he been to some neat places. He went to Tibet for a year. Then to Europe for a while. He just never stops." She looks wistful, like maybe she'd like to have that life.
Her sea-green eyes lock on mine and I'm somewhat startled at that.
"I know what you want to ask," she says, almost as though Michael isn't still sitting with us."
"You do?"
She nods slowly. "Forget about it, Max."
I give her the same smile I gave Isabel.
"I mean it," she says, putting down her cup. "Just let Liz go."
It's so quiet the birds suddenly sound deafening. Michael looks down at his shoes, uncomfortable.
"I have to try," I tell her quietly. I won't be able to make her understand, either.
She doesn't look surprised. "Well, it was worth a shot." Tilting her head, she checks out my watch. "I have to get back. No one to run the shop but me."
As we walk back, we pass the Crashdown. I can't help but look in its windows and I catch a glimpse of her dark hair. It's been years, but I'd recognize Liz Parker out of a crowd of a million. Excitement rushes through my veins and I turn to Maria and Michael; they both look nauseous.
"You want to catch up with us later?" Michael offers. He knows there is no point in trying to talk me out of this.
I nod eagerly. But my hope wanes when Maria steps forward, her eyes sad, and kisses me on the cheek. It's like I'm going off to war and she may never see me again.
Of all of the battles I've fought, this one with be the hardest. And its outcome will mean the most.