Author's Note: A few lines in this part were borrowed from the episode Significant Others.
Part 12
Maria stood in the center of the main room of the cabin after Michael left to go collect Kyle so they could watch the hockey game. Her eyes were closed as she waited, letting her senses grow accustomed to her surroundings. She stretched her arms out, her fingertips coming in contact with nothing but space and more space. The cabin was small but considering the amount of room she'd had for the last few months it felt like freedom. She inhaled deeply, drawing in the strong scent of wood burning, the underlying scents of fresh laundry detergent on the linens and the waxy smell of old candles. The only sound that dared to break the silence was that of the logs shifting in the fireplace as the flames burned causing the logs to crackle and shift. She could feel the warmth from the fire and knew without looking that her face and the exposed skin of her arms would have a pinkish flush from the heat.
She slowly opened her eyes, lowering her arms to her sides as she took in the way the cabin was furnished and decorated. It was really a large room, the bath being the only thing separate. Her eyes wandered around the living area, taking in floor with its wide wooden planks and the soft woven area rug that covered it. The seafoam green and ivory pattern of the rug matched the curtains on the double hung windows. She took a step closer to the fireplace, reaching out to run her fingers over the commemorative plate depicting the opening of the Mackinac Bridge. She leaned in closer to look at the date: November 1, 1957. Good grief, it was older than her mother!
Her gaze moved on, taking in the old windup clock flanked by a pair of cinnamon scented candlesticks. She turned to look at the canopied bed she had made earlier, thinking that the lack of a comment about the girly bed was yet another sign that Michael was preoccupied. And it wasn't just because of his heightened awareness of their situation. She looked at the old cedar chest at the foot of the bed, the surface of the chest providing a resting place for their things.
The space was small and warm, but most of all it felt safe and comfortable. She turned to the fireplace once more, her eyes landing on the mantle once more and suddenly being reminded of an old oil painting that had hung in her home as a child. She smiled as she remembered her mom haggling with the owner at a garage sale before paying half of the asking price and walking away with it. She had spent hours staring at it, dreaming of the day her father would appear at the front door and take them someplace warm and safe. Home.
Not that long ago warmth, safety and home had become wrapped up in Michael. She had wanted that for them and when he had stayed for her, he had become that for her… her thoughts turned dark as they veered to Billy's visit. And then to another time when she had walked away from him, hurt him in an unforgivable manner. How had she forgotten that comfortable place with Michael? She pushed those thoughts away, not ready to bring them out yet.
Instead she walked over to the bed, fingers trailing over the old wooden post at one end as she passed it to sit down. She couldn't seem to escape the memories as they tugged at her conscience and fought to surface. The last time she had been alone in a bed with Michael, the feeling of being with him again… thoughts that were quickly overshadowed by what had happened afterwards. Once again she shook them off and focused on the reading material placed by the bed.
She smiled at the feel of the squishy mattress as she settled and reached for the stack of books on the nightstand. They were old, well-read, the pages yellowed from age and the bindings creased from many reads. As she flipped the first one open she could hear the crackle of old paper. She glanced at the title. Moby Dick. "Freudians must have a field day with that," she muttered as she set it aside. East of Eden was next and was added to the first book. Robinson Caruso. A good story, but she wasn't in the mood for it. She set it on top of the other two and looked at the cover of the last one. The Fugitive. "Well, maybe." She set it next to her on the bed and looked around once more.
Not a single romance novel or fashion magazine in sight. She stretched out on the bed and reached for a magazine on the other nightstand, sliding it out from under an old Bible. My luck isn't getting any better, she thought when she saw the faded cover of an ancient copy of Better Homes and Gardens dated 1982. Okay, maybe ancient was the wrong word since it wasn't much older than she was.
She rolled off of the bed and went to investigate the bathroom, biting her bottom lip and closing her eyes as she reached inside and felt around for the switch. It was a cabin after all… the bathroom could be something straight out of a horror movie. She finally found the switch and flipped it up, peering around the doorway to look inside.
"Oh, not bad," she breathed as she took a couple of steps inside. The little room was warm and inviting like the rest of the cabin. Her eyes rested on the claw-footed tub across from her, the sides of it clean and white. She hadn't cared much for claw-footed bathtubs since she'd had the misfortune of seeing the one in Michael's apartment. His had been creepy with cobwebs and corroded piping hiding underneath and she had hated it on sight.
The cabin was significantly older than his apartment but care had been taken to keep the piping out of sight and the floor was made of planked wood that was well-kept and clean. She followed the shower fittings and made a quiet sound of surprise when she saw there was no showerhead. She decided the showerhead made no difference because it had been too long since she'd been able to enjoy the luxury of a bath. And how long had it been since she hadn't had to share a bathroom with five other people?
She started the water, rinsing the tub out before plugging it and letting the water run for a bath. In the box of supplies Julia had sent with them she found pleasantly-scented bath soap, shampoo and some fluffy towels along with washcloths. She walked back into the bathroom to check the water before setting the towels on one side of the sink. She reached up to touch the nightlight in the shape of an outhouse plugged into the outlet, smiling at the little door with the crescent moon opening that allowed the light to escape.
On the back of the sink there was a soap holder in the shape of a canoe that held an unopened bar of soap. She paused when she heard a muted scratching sound but a moment later it stopped and her gaze dropped to the basket of magazines next to the toilet. Probably just a draft ruffling the pages, she thought before turning her head to the side to read the name of the periodicals. Ungh, hunting and fishing magazines. Well, that made sense, she supposed. It generally wasn't women who used the bathroom as their personal reading room.
She checked the window above the mini library to make sure no one could see inside before going back to the bathtub once more. The water would be ready in just a few minutes so she hurried back out into the main room to grab the book she'd selected along with one of the candles and a book of matches from the kitchen.
With the candle burning and the scent of cinnamon beginning to waft through the air, she stripped out of her clothes and turned the water off. She stepped into the tub and slid down into the warm water, sighing at the familiar feeling. "Hello, old friend," she murmured as she sank down to her chin, the fingers of one hand caressing the edge of the tub.
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The front door closed behind Kyle and Michael with a quiet click and Isabel couldn't help but notice that it was the same style door as the one that had been on Michael's apartments. With fewer coats of paint though, she thought. Style and Michael's apartment. Now there were two things that just didn't belong in the same sentence. She turned to lean back against the door, moving away from it when she registered the cold at her back. For a moment she wondered why Michael wasn't with Maria… their first night all alone and he was going to watch a hockey game while she hung out in the cabin by herself. Leave it alone, she mused.
The carpet beneath her feet was a funky shade of brown, but soft and clean. She scanned the living area and decided that it appeared someone had tried to color coordinate with the rather hideous bronze-like loveseat. The olive green vinyl recliner was an eyesore but it complemented the eclectic décor. The room's saving grace was the woven curtains in a lovely shade of ivory that dressed the windows and brought out the warm tones of the paneling that covered the walls.
The cabin was definitely a step up from the old apartment, she decided as she wandered into the kitchen with actual doors on the cabinets. There was a list of instructions laminated on the front of one of the cabinets next to the sink, detailing the use of appliances and the condition they should be left in before the occupants checked out. The small window above it was covered with a pair of yellow and white checkered curtains. She wrinkled her nose at the awful lime green linoleum that covered the floor, certain it had to be something put down in the seventies. Surely no one had used anything in that shade since then.
She walked over to the small white refrigerator, fingertips ghosting over the front that lacked a water dispenser. She didn't need to open it to know that it wouldn't have an icemaker inside either. She moved in front of the white cabinets, glancing over the nautical handles while looking for the dishwasher.
She walked over to the small nook, taking in the small table, two chairs and a bench placed under a second window with curtains that matched those over the sink. A small smile crept across her face as her gaze landed on the smallest stove she had ever seen and then back to the instructions on the cabinet. She wouldn't need to bother with them since she wouldn't know what to do with a stove beyond heating up a frozen pizza anyway.
She wandered out of the kitchen and glanced at the two open doorways on the wall to the right of the living room. She wondered once again why neither of the bedrooms had doors but let the thought go as she glanced at the wall heater. She entered the one she had chosen, staring at the full size bed without a headboard fitted up against the wall in the corner. There was just enough room for the bedside table, complete with attached lamp to fit. Below the lamp was an old-fashioned battery-operated alarm clock in the shape of a lantern. "We had to breakdown in the sticks," she muttered under her breath when the sound of the clock ticking loudly caught her attention.
She smiled slightly at the window framed by pretty white lace curtains and the shade beneath already pulled down. A small shelf made of a warm honey-colored wood was mounted to the wall above the bed with a framed picture of a lake at sunrise. She braced one knee on the mattress and leaned in to read the caption below: Lake Huron at Sunrise. Lake Huron, that was one of the Great Lakes, right? She rolled her eyes. She was pretty sure it was, but geography hadn't been one of her best subjects.
Next to the open closet door a full-length mirror hung on the wall. She ignored it as she leaned into the closet and glanced at the four-drawer chest tucked inside. She made a face as the scent of mothballs reached her nose. "Disgusting," she mumbled under her breath as she took a step back and glanced at the doorway that led to the bathroom placed between the bedrooms. Her eyes widened in disbelief when she stepped into the room and was immediately grateful that she didn't have a problem with claustrophobia.
The room wasn't small, that would've been a kind description of its size. The word miniscule came to mind. She flipped the light switch and nearly jumped out of her skin when she hit the second switch by mistake and the room was filled with a sound similar to a jet plane taking off. She smacked the second switch back into place and glared up at the exhaust fan. Note to self: Never hit that switch again. To her right was a tiny sink and above it a tiny mirror with a chip at the bottom. She pulled the mirrored cabinet open and reached for the bottle of bath wash, opening it up and sniffing it. Well, that was a nice floral fragrance. She snickered to herself. Kyle was sooo gonna smell like a girl.
Between the sink and the back wall was the toilet. Her expression was slightly pained when she took in the white rug with the bumblebee pattern… that matched the shower curtain and the little night light. To her left was the… she grimaced and then swallowed hard. A shower stall, no bathtub. She reached out with one finger and pushed the tacky curtain back, biting her lip as she craned her neck to see inside. Ungh, that was just so gross. It couldn't be more than a two-foot by two-foot space with a drain in the center of the bottom of the stall. She shuddered and stepped back, retreating to the safety of the living area.
She glanced at a picture of a black lab hanging on the wall behind the loveseat before sitting down and staring at the small 19-inch television sitting across from her. She reached for the channel guide on the rectangular coffee table with the drop-leaves, absently noting the crooked hinge on one side. She flipped through it and frowned at the whole ten channels listed. The basic four, hunting, fishing, local and a weather channel. She shook her head and turned to look at the front door when the wind gusted but something red caught her eye before she made it to the door.
She got up to go and investigate and she froze in place when she saw the little rocking chair occupied by a creepy clown. The thing had bright red hair, big black eyes that seemed to follow her no matter which way she moved, a red nose, and the most sinister smile she had ever seen on a clown. It was wearing some sort of multi-colored outfit that just added to the overall creepiness of the thing.
"No way," she said, just to hear her own voice. "You've gotta go." She glanced around, looking for a place to hide the hideous thing. She snatched it up and carried it over to the tiny broom closet in the kitchen, shoving it up onto the shelf and then jerking her hand back to slam the door. She leaned back against it for just a moment before taking a deep breath and shaking her head at her own behavior. She hated clowns and she especially hated that one. She had only taken half a dozen steps when she heard a creaking sound behind her and she slowly turned to see the broom closet door creeping open. She lunged forward and shoved the door shut once more, checking the doorknob to be sure the latch had caught this time. She stepped back and stared at it, making sure it wasn't going to open again and breathing easier when it stayed in place. She ran her hands over her sides, clearing her throat and going back into the living area. Thank God Kyle hadn't been here to see that, she thought. If he'd seen that thing he would've had a field day with it! He knew clowns freaked her out and he thought it was hilarious.
She settled down on the loveseat again, grabbing the remote and turning the television on. She started on the lowest channel first and moved up through the big ten. Talk show. "Crap." Reality show. "Crap." Hockey game. "Crap." Hunting, fishing, weather and another talk show. "Crap, crap, crap and crap." The next channel was another hunting channel and she landed on it just in time to see a deer get shot. "Sick." She turned the television off and tossed the remote back on the coffee table.
She got up and walked over to check out the little corner shelf, thinking maybe there was something there she could read. She crouched down in front of it, glancing at the stack of Better Homes and Gardens… the entire year of 1989. "Pass." The White Indian, several of the Hardy Boys mysteries, a romance novel. "Historical, juvenile, and mindless… pass, pass and pass." She checked the bottom shelf… a couple of puzzles, card games and a set of dominoes. She sighed and got up again, looking around the room, desperate for something to keep her mind busy.
She grabbed her bags and carried them into her room, opening them up and pulling her clothes out. She started hanging them up in the closet, feeling a little better once the bags were emptied. She was sitting on the bed, folding the black bags as she thought about the Stevens' mistakenly thinking that she and Kyle were married. Her first instinct had been to correct their incorrect assumption, but she had hesitated just a moment too long and it had gotten awkward. Maybe she should've just spoken up, set them straight, but even though it wasn't true it felt nice to 'belong' to someone. She missed that feeling and being around two couples 24/7 just constantly drove it home that she was alone.
Just a year ago she hadn't been alone, she had been with Jesse and her parents had been close by, no farther than a phone call away. She had been in the middle of organizing every possible Christmas activity in Roswell while trying to find a way to merge her and her new husband's lives and traditions. It had been difficult to get through the holidays without telling him the truth. How was it that she and Alex hadn't spent Christmas together? No, don't go there, Isabel.
She shook her head as her mind wandered to the conversation she'd had with Max about letting Jesse in on the secret. She had felt like a five-year-old, going to her brother and Michael to basically ask their permission to tell Jesse the truth, to let him in on the secret. Predictably, Michael had seen no reason to break their pact and allow someone else in, not even at her request. And Max had been adamant in his belief that telling him would be a mistake.
"Think about Jesse, Isabel. We agreed not to tell anyone else after Alex died because we didn't want to put anyone else at risk. The second you tell Jesse, his life changes… forever. He becomes a part of a secret he didn't ask to be part of. You can't tell him, Isabel. For his sake.
Max had been right about that. Things had never been the same once Jesse had known the truth. Would it have made a difference if she had told him earlier? If she had been the one to tell him instead of him learning the truth under such disastrous circumstances? She stared at the few items of clothing hanging in the closet and shoved her thoughts back away from that subject. Did it matter? She reached for the doorknob, intent on slamming the door and frowning when she remembered that there was no door. She shot a dirty look at the curtain that served as a door and turned to leave the room since jerking it across the closet wouldn't give the same satisfaction as slamming a door.
In the living area once more she glared at the furniture as if it had somehow offended more than her sense of style. She knew why the thoughts were surfacing and there was only one way to silence them. She had to stay busy. If she could tire herself out she could go to bed and sleep though the night without having to worry about them again tonight. She studied the arrangement of furniture and mentally began mapping out a new layout.