Between the Lines chapter 3
Disclaimer: Still not mine or gaining anything but entertainment value.
Chapter 3
Liz stood in her doorway, seeing the four Evans' standing outside, waiting for an invitation inside. Her senses had told her the four were there even before the knock and her own quick scan had confirmed it.
"Well, come in," she gave a bashful smile, stepping back and sweeping her hand back, beckoning the guests in their humble apartment.
Her eyes flicked toward Max, caught him sneaking a glance at her, and she felt her face start to warm from the sudden rush of heat that flew from her inner core to her face in milliseconds.
"Thank you, Liz," Mrs. Evans effused, smiling kindly at the shy girl who ducked her head modestly.
"You're welcome," she mumbled.
C'mon, soldier, you can kill a man thirty different ways just using your finger and take orders from surly customers all day, but you can't take a compliment. Or a look from Max…oh, God, he looked at me too! Head in the game!
"Liz, are they here yet?" Nancy called from somewhere further in the house, and Liz's keen hearing pinpointed her mother in the kitchen, by the stove.
"Yes, Momma!" she dutifully answered, making sure the door was secure and closed after their guests had all come in.
"Well, this is the house," Liz shrugged, painfully aware that this was very obvious but having no clue what to say. "If you come this way, we'll get to the living room and I can take your coats."
"Why thank you, Liz," Mrs. Evans gushed warmly, giving her a one armed hug across the shoulders. "This is a nice place you got here."
A pleased feeling rumbled inside Liz at the action, and she felt herself relax just a notch more. She took to becoming tour guide, ignoring Isabel's death glare, gesturing at the Western décor as she led them to the living room, and kitchen-dining room invariably.
"It's not much, but it covers the same footage as the café downstairs, so it's not cramped as most apartments, and we've managed to divide it up quite comfortably. Mom likes all the Navajo and Native art, so Dad and I took a couple days to paint and move furniture while Mom must have visited every flea market and store buying all this, especially the artifacts. Some of them are actually authentic, and not the touristy stuff either."
"What, no aliens?" Mr. Evans quipped, and Liz gave an amused twist of her lips, gaze sliding quickly over the two teenaged Evans, but not lingering enough to warrant suspicion.
"Mom's not really into that sort of thing, that's more Dad's clique. When Dad first wanted to convert the downstairs into the Crashdown and live up here, Mom did it only on the condition that her house wouldn't become, and I quote 'a living tourist shrine.' So Dad got his alien themed restaurant, and Mom has her Native house. Everyone's happy. I'll take your coats for you," she offered, and held her arm out to receive said jackets.
They were really just light jackets, not even jackets in the sense of the word, just something for if it got cool. Roswell nights rarely went below the mid sixties, but it was nice just in case.
"Such a nice young lady," Mr. Evans winked at her, causing another blush, but thankfully Jeff Parker made his appearance before his daughter could be further embarrassed and took the attention off her. Somewhat.
"That she is. Hello, Pete! Diane. Max, Isabel," Jeff smiled at the Evans family.
There were greetings all around and Liz took the opportunity to sneak out with the Evans coats to one of the spare bedrooms. With her heightened hearing, she listened in on their conversation, knowing that her mother had joined the group, hearing the adults laugh and imaging the polite smiles on the faces of the remaining youngsters. The thought cause Liz to smirk and chuckle deep in her throat.
The thought of the two families gathered caused an unexpected tightness in the back of her throat and a sting behind her eyes.
Family.
That word conjured up a quick snapshot of shaved heads and gray corridors, hospital like nightgowns and children gathered on single bunk beds, and the acrid smell of gunpowder and cleaning oil, the heady life scent of the woods and decomposing leaves, of blood, the musky scent of man, cat, and fur against naked skin.
Eyes Front! Liz chastised herself, shaking herself to get focused. Composing herself, she stepped back into the hall and headed toward the direction of conversation.
