Part 5
Isabel moved around the living room, her gaze moving over the comfortably worn furniture, the decorations on the walls, and the old upright piano that sat in one corner. She moved closer to it, taking in the many framed photographs resting on top of it. Pictures of the couple and their children, as individuals and as a family took up every available inch of the cloth-covered surface.
The house was warm and welcoming just like the family that inhabited its walls. The familiar warmth reminded her of home and the family she had left behind. Her fingers brushed over different frames and her vision blurred slightly as she thought about her own parents. It would be their first Christmas without their children… for her and Max it would be their first Christmas without their parents.
She reached up to brush a tear away when she reached for a picture near the back. All three of the Stevens' children were proudly holding up handmade Christmas stockings and she sighed at the memory of her own husband hanging his own handmade stocking that she had felt was an eyesore over their fireplace. Jesse. She wondered if he had taken the job in Boston. She looked down at the rings she still wore and she wondered if he had done what she had asked him to do. Had he accepted that she wasn't coming back? Had he moved on in her absence? Was he celebrating Christmas with someone else?
She hoped that he had accepted the job and that he had found a way to move on. He deserved to be happy, to be with someone who could be who he needed. Part of her regretted telling him that she would keep praying she would be able to come back to him, that maybe someday it would be safe enough. It felt like a selfish thing to have said when she didn't believe that it was possible. She sighed and placed the photograph back on the piano, giving it a gentle nudge to push it back into its original position before turning to go back to the kitchen.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Max sat at the table, lingering over a cooling mug of coffee while Liz and Maria wandered around the large kitchen. Isabel had disappeared into the living room to investigate and Mrs. Stevens was busy inventorying the contents of her refrigerator. He abandoned his spot when the lady of the house grabbed one of the chairs and placed it in front of one of the cupboards, her intentions obvious.
"Here, let me get that for you," he offered. "Which one?"
"Thanks." Julia pointed to the flour container as she smiled. "I'm hoping to be taller in my next life."
He chuckled. "It has its advantages."
"So, Max, how long have you two been married?" The sugar canister took a nosedive before he could answer, the fine grains glittering as they rained down on the linoleum.
Max' right hand shot out, deftly catching the canister before it could make contact with the floor. He gave her a disarming grin as he set it on the counter. "Where's the broom and dustpan?"
Julia pulled her gaze away from the sugar canister to look at him, stunned by his quick, catlike reflexes. "It's um… oh, in the closet next to the pantry," she said, pointing it out.
He nodded. "I'll clean this up." He gave Liz a knowing look as he passed her and Maria where they stood looking at a picture of the Stevens children. The framed photograph sat on a small hand-crafted shelf on the wall above an old wooden high chair that was occupied by Miss Cindy the Bear.
Maria grinned at Max and shook her head. "Butterfingers," she muttered, knowing full well why the sugar had been spilled.
Liz inclined her head and turned to look at Julia. "You house is just lovely. How did you and Edward meet?"
"Well, the resort's been in my family most of my life," Julia answered. She knew she was being redirected but she went with it, hoping to gain their trust. It was obvious that they needed help but they wouldn't ask for it. "I spent summers here when I was growing up. Edward and his mom lived in West Branch and they'd come here for a week's vacation every July." Her lips turned up at the corners in a smile that made her eyes light up. "At first he was just that boy who would tease me and pull me under the water while we were swimming." She chuckled at the memories. "He still thinks pestering me to no end is romantic."
Maria snorted at that. "Boys." She glanced at the bear Maggie held in the picture as her fingers brushed against the well-loved stuffed animal. "Does Miss Cindy have a story?"
Julia smiled, stepping aside to give Max plenty of room to work as he set about sweeping up the spilled sugar. "Of course," she said with a gentle laugh. "Just before Maggie turned three she started having nightmares about polar bears of all things. My poor little girl would wake up screaming and crying because they were chasing after her. She woke the boys up one night and scared the you-know-what out of them." She glanced up when Isabel joined them, sitting at the table and listening to the story. "They were out with Edward a couple of days later when they saw the white bear in a store window downtown. Not exactly a polar bear, but close enough. They pooled their allowances and bought it. They gave it to her for her birthday and explained that she's a good polar bear who never lies and she would keep the bad polar bears away."
"How'd she get her name?" Liz asked curiously.
"I asked what her name was and she whispered it in Maggie's ear." The door off of the kitchen opened and she noted the way their heads shot up and their tense gazes locked on it. They didn't even seem to notice the blast of cold air that came in with Edward and their friend and she wondered at the relieved looks on their faces when they recognized them.
"You didn't stay with Michael?" Maria asked with a frown.
"He sent me back with our stuff outta the van." He shrugged. "You know how he is. Besides, he's less than a quarter mile away. It's a lot closer than we thought it was."
"You didn't leave your cell phone with him?" Julia asked, her voice lowered so it wouldn't carry past her husband. She shook her head at him and sighed sharply as she left them to their conversation, disappearing into the mudroom to consult with the contents of her chest freezer. She lifted the lid and leaned over to dig around for the ground beef hidden amongst the ground venison. She needed to thaw out enough to feed her family and guests because she was certain they would be staying a while.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Michael glanced at the scratched face of the watch he had found in Kyle's seat as he paced along the trench his booted feet had made in the snow. His shoulders were hunched against the wind and he shoved his reddened fists into the pockets once more. 45 minutes, he thought irritably. Where was that tow truck comin' from, Detroit?
There wasn't much traffic on the road but he tensed up a little more with each vehicle that passed him. He felt his heart start to race when he noticed a couple of black SUVs approaching and for a moment he was back in New Mexico.
He sat on his dirtbike just outside of Roswell, his gaze focused on that stupid tarot card as he tried once more to make sense of the fortuneteller's cryptic words. He looked up to see the convoy of black cars and SUVs rolling past him on their way into town and he knew everyone he cared about was in danger.
His chest tightened at the memory. They were alive because he had gone back. He could feel his palms beginning to sweat and his pulse was pounding as the SUVs neared and it wasn't until they were almost past him that he noticed the Christmas trees tied to the roofs of the vehicles. A young boy in the backseat of the second SUV waved, smiling happily.
He exhaled in relief, his breath momentarily visible on the cold air. What if next time I can't get to them, to her, in time? he wondered. He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets as he locked the door on those thoughts. Failure wasn't an option. Fuck, where's that tow truck? He could almost hear Kyle's response to his silent question. The driver's probably curled up with a bottle of the local moonshine.
His pacing paused a short while later when he heard a horn honking and he turned his head to see an older model tow truck coming from his right. Once the driver had parked in front of the van he dropped down out of the cab and walked around to check the underside of the van.
"Been longer than an hour," Michael growled when the guy approached him.
James "Buckeye" Murphy reached up with one gloved hand to shove his grease-stained baseball cap back. "Yup, sorry 'bout that. Seems the driver they called was tanked so it took 'em a while to reroute your call for a tow." He held his hand out and grinned. "Name's James Murphy but you can call me Buckeye. Everyone does."
"Buckeye?" Michael asked as he stared at the guy's hand for a moment before shaking it.
"Yup, family moved here from Ohio. It's the Buckeye State, ya know. Tons of buckeye trees grow down there. Didja know that buckeyes are nuts?"
"I do now." This guy was definitely nuts, he thought. "Michael," he said in response to the expectant look on Buckeye's face.
"Been waitin' out here long?" he asked, nodding at Michael's reddened hands.
"Long enough."
He nodded sympathetically and pulled his gloves off, shoving them at the other guy. "Here, put these on."
"No, I – "
"S'okay," Buckeye said, walking backwards and holding his hands up. "I've got big paws, they'll fit ya." He nodded at the truck. "No worries, I've got another pair in the cab, couple pairs back at the shop. Hey, didja know that the oldest pair of gloves known to exist belonged to King Tut?" He nodded to himself. "Yup, it's a fact."
Great, he was stuck with a walking, talking encyclopedia. Michael slid his hands into the warmed gloves when Buckeye emerged with another pair in hand. "Thanks," he muttered.
The driver waved one hand dismissively. "S'all good," he said with a smile. "Lemme get you all hooked up so you can get back in outta the cold. Got your keys?"
Michael pulled one of the gloves off and reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling the ring of keys out and handing it over. "Any idea how long it'll take to look at it?"
"Wanna get back on the road, huh? Any idea what's wrong with it?"
Michael frowned at him. "You're the mechanic."
"Naw, that'd be Dean. I just handle most of the routine maintenance, tows an' stuff like that," he said as he reached for one of the levers on the side of the truck.
"Oh, well, we're pretty sure the engine's shot."
"That'd be a shame, wouldn't it? These babies are classics." He glanced at the key chain as he paused next to the drivers' side door. He held them up, nodding at the little yellow-green alien with almond-shaped blue eyes dangling from the ring. "That's funny. Don't think I've ever seen one of these before."
"Yeah, well, roadside tourist trap," he said, thinking about Maria's mom for a moment.
Buckeye pointed downward. "Hey, you've got Florida plates. Whatcha doin' all the way up here?"
The questions seemed innocuous enough but Michael had learned to never take anything at face value. "Touring the country with some friends. We were on our way to visit another friend when the engine went out on us," he answered, using the ridiculous story that had already been started.
"That's gotta be nice, huh?"
"The engine goin' out in the middle of this frozen wasteland?"
Buckeye chuckled, not put off by the irritated edge in the other man's voice. "I've thought about doin' somethin' like that one day. Ya know how many things there are to see in this great country? I'll tell ya, I've got a list as long as my right arm of things I'd like to see an' do…"
Michael tuned him out as he set about hooking the van up to the towing mechanism, talking incessantly the entire time. Damn, and he had thought Maria could talk!
"…but I can tell ya 'bout that another day I s'pose," he said a few minutes later, unaware that the other man hadn't been paying a bit of attention to him. "If you'll just sign off on the paperwork I'll get this puppy back to the shop so Dean can take a look at it. Mr. Stevens left his contact information so soon as the boss has somethin' he'll give y'all a call."
"Right," Michael said as he nodded and followed the driver to the cab. He accepted the banged-up clipboard Buckeye held out to him, signing in all of the appropriate places and handing it back. He watched the other man as he tore off the receipt and once it was in his hands he folded it over twice and shoved it in his pocket.
"Can I give you a lift up to the Stevens' place?"
Michael shook his head. "No, I think I'll just walk," he said, willing to freeze for another 15 minutes or so if it meant he could be alone with his thoughts.