* * *
glanced at her mustering a thin smile that died quickly. Liz
hated to see the broken expression on his innocent and open
face. It didn't belong there, even though Liz knew she had
seen it before: in her vision of Jimmy at his sisters funeral.
Suddenly Liz was overwhelmed with feelings of help-
lessness. For all of the incredible things Max and her
friends could do—things she was beginning to do her-
self—they could do nothing to help a scared teenage girl
in trouble and this boy who had lost his sister.
Bell came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder,
"Are you okay, Jimmy?" she asked.
He nodded.
"You don't have to work today if you don't want to.
Why don't you go home," she said.
He shook his head. "She'll come here first. She knows
I'm working today."
Jimmy disappeared into the back and came back out with
his apron on. He immediately began collecting the first batch
of dirty dishes. When he came back, he grabbed another tray
to get some more. He stopped what he was doing for a
moment, looked up at Bell, and said, "Sorry about the mess."
"What?" she said.
"The mess. I'm sorry," he said.
Then he turned quickly, accidentally smashing his tray
into the pot of coffee that Maria was carrying. Maria let go
immediately and the coffeepot went flying to the floor,
breaking and spilling half a pot of coffee onto the floor.
Though Maria jumped back, Jimmy just looked at the
coffee and then at Bell. "Sorry, I'll clean it up."
Bell was right there, putting a hand on Jimmy's shoul-
der again. "It's okay. Why don't you come with me?"
* * *
She took Jimmy to an open booth near the window and sat
him down gently "Why don't you take some time, Jimmy?"
"She might come," he protested.
"Then you can stay right here and watch for her," Bell said.
"Okay," Jimmy said flatly.
Liz and Maria immediately started cleaning up the mess
when Bell came over and said, "I'll get that."
Going back to the kitchen, Liz picked up the order for
her table. She looked at Jimmy sitting at his booth, staring
brokenly out the window. He was waiting for his sister,
but he somehow sensed that she wasn't coming. Whatever
force that allowed Jimmy glimpses into the future was
telling him that his sister's time was very short.
Liz had the same feeling about Jessica's future.
As she worked, Liz found herself thinking about Jimmy
and the spilled sugar, then about the spilled coffee. Jimmy
had known about each event before it happened, but had
been unable to stop it.
Teiresias, Liz remembered. That was the name of the
man from ancient Greece who was cursed with the ability
to see the future but was powerless to change it. Well, Max
had given Liz the power to see the future. Was that
power—that incredible ability—going to be Liz's curse?
She and Max had used the power just days ago to save
the life of a woman who was attacked in an alley outside
the Crashdown. Then they had used it to save themselves
from the gunman on graduation day.
Were those two successes going to be the exception,
not the rule?
As Liz looked at Jimmy sitting by the window waiting for
his sister, Liz was afraid that she already knew the answer.
* * *
15
T
hat is it?" Max asked.
Isabel was silent for a moment. "Nothing that will help.
She was dreaming about her brother. They were both
younger. They were playing Candy Land."
"So maybe she's okay for now," he said.
Isabel shook her head. "No, something's wrong. The
dream was disjointed. She's . . . fading somehow. And I got
the feeling that the monster was always just around the
corner."
Max put his hand on her shoulder. "You're doing every-
thing you can."
When she looked up, her eyes were ringed with tears.
"She was playing with her brother, Max. He's very sweet,
Max didn't need telepathy to know what Isabel was
thinking. Isabel had been his sister for as long as he could
remember—and for a lifetime on another world that he
couldn't recall.
How many rainy weekends had they spent playing
* * *
Chutes and Ladders or Monopoly—sometimes with
Michael, but always with each other?
Was Jessica dying? Was that image of playing with her
brother going to be her last thought on Earth? Max had
not had visions of the missing girl like Liz, nor had he
shared a dream with her like Isabel. Nevertheless, he felt
like he understood her.
He wanted to say something else to Isabel but could
think of nothing to say, nothing to make this better. So he
kept silent, but he did something he hadn't done in longer
than he could remember.
He took Isabel's hand in his.
A few minutes later, Michael approached the bench they
were sitting on and said, "Looks like they won't be needing
any help today meeting the community's laundry needs."
Michael looked closely at Max and Isabel for a minute
and said, "No way. Get up, you just can't sit here and stew.
Come on, let's take a walk or something."
Max shook his head. "No, I don't want to leave Liz and
Maria. We should stay here," he said, indicating the bench
outside of the diner.
It wasn't rational, Max knew. Liz and Maria were
indoors, in a public place with plenty of people around.
Max was certain that he was being unreasonable.
But he was equally certain that he wouldn't be going any-
where. Michael didn't argue. "Okay. You're probably right."
Michael sat down next to Max. After less than a minute,
he said, "But we can't just sit here all day."
Max nodded. "Come on, I have an idea."
He led the trio back into the diner and approached Bell,
who was working the register. When she smiled at him, he
* * *
said, "Maybe there's some work we can do around here."
"There's lots we need done, but I really can't afford—"
"We'll work for free," Max said, before he could finish.
Immediately he felt Michael's elbow in his side.
Bell looked surprised. "Free?" she asked.
"Well, Maria tells us that you're cutting us a break for
our food," Max said. "We'd like to thank you." He paused
and then said, "And frankly, it would let us keep an eye on
Liz and Maria."
"Okay, hang around till the breakfast rush is over and
we'll figure something out," Bell conceded.
Kyle walked into the office and saw Dawn sitting there.
She looked up immediately and smiled broadly. "Hello,
sugar," she said.
"Hi," he said.
She looked good, and he could immediately smell her
perfume, but something had changed in him last night
while he'd lain next to Isabel. Suddenly, Dawn looked like
a dim shadow.
"What can I do you for?" she asked.
"Who's Johnny?" he asked, keeping his tone polite but
neutral.
"Who?" she said.
"Johnny. You know, of Johnny's Garage," he said.
"Oh," she said, a look of recognition on her face. "That
Johnny," she said with a smile.
Kyle didn't return the smile. "Who is he?" Kyle repeated.
Dawn's response was neutral. "He's Dan's brother. He
was some kind of a war hero in Vietnam. He won a medal
from Congress or something."
* * *
"Congressional Medal of Honor?" Kyle offered.
"Yeah, I've heard my dad talk about him," she said.
"Did he open this place?" Kyle asked.
"No, Dan's father did when he was born, or when he
was young, before Dan was born, I think," Dawn said.
Kyle nodded. "So where is he now?"
Dawn looked confused. "Where?"
"Yes, where is Johnny? Does he ever come in?" Kyle
asked.
Dawn shook her head and said, "No. He's dead. He died
in the war. They gave him the medal post. . . poss ..."
"Posthumously," Kyle finished for her.
"Why are you interested?" she asked.
Kyle shrugged. "Just curious. I found this out back," he
said, holding out the photo.
Dawn studied it for a moment and said, "You think it's
Dan and his brother?"
"Maybe," Kyle said. "Anyway, I'll just give it to Dan."
"Dan never talks about his brother. I just know because
my dad knew them both when they were kids," she said.
"Okay, thanks," Kyle said, turning to go.
"Anytime," Dawn said as he stepped outside.
Kyle went back into the garage and approached Dan,
who was getting ready to test-drive one of the cars.
"Dan, I just wanted to apologize for poking around
without asking you," he said.
His boss didn't say anything for a minute, then said,
"Don't worry about it."
"I still would like to put our van in one of the bays
tonight and check it out, work on it a bit," Kyle said.
It wasn't ideal. Without a new timing chain, he
* * *
wouldn't be able to start the car, which made diagnosing
other problems even tougher.
Dan nodded. "Sure, as long as you lock up."
"And I still need a timing chain," Kyle said.
But even as he said it, Kyle sensed that Dan was sensi-
tive about the van. It would never run again, of that much
Kyle was sure. But it must mean something to Dan. Sud-
denly he had the feeling that his boss wouldn't want to
part with even pieces of it.
"Ill see if any of my suppliers have what you need,"
Dan said.
That was it, Kyle realized. Maybe it was just as well. He
would pay more from a classic car parts dealer, but he
couldn't afford trouble with his boss. He was making more
money at the garage than either Liz or Maria were making
at the diner.
The group needed him to keep this job. On the other
hand, it would take longer to earn the money for the more
expensive part. And it would take some time to have it
shipped over.
More delays. And they did need to move on. The closer
they stayed to Roswell, the more danger they were in. And
then there were the disappearances in the town. He knew
Isabel could take care of herself, but he also knew he
would feel better when they were out of here.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Kyle said, holding out the photo.
"I found this in the van," he added.
Dan took the picture and looked down. He was so
startled when he saw the image, it looked to Kyle like Dan
had just been struck. The color drained from his face, and
he stared down blankly. Then he turned the photo over
* * *
and read the back. Something moved on Dan's face and
for a terrible moment, Kyle was afraid that his boss was
going to burst into tears in front of him. Then Dan swal-
lowed down whatever he was feeling, and his face was
once again unreadable. Turning, he walked out toward the
back door and said in a tight voice, "Get to work Kyle."
Kyle stared after him for a moment, then he picked up
the exhaust pipe he needed for his first car of the day and
got started.
"Can you kids paint?" Bell asked.
Max nodded.
"Sure," Michael said.
"The outside?" Isabel asked.
Max had also noticed that the outside of the place
needed it.
"I was going to wait until Sam got around to it, but I'm
not getting any younger." Bell said.
"The front, side, and the back?" Michael asked.
"Yes, might as well do the whole thing," Bell said.
"It's pretty chipped. We'll probably have to scrape and
prime it before we paint," Max said.
The building was red brick underneath but it had been
painted many times since it was built. The last coat was
white, but other colors showed through in a number of
places as well as the original red brick.
"Just make it look nice. Match the white if you can.
There's a ladder in the basement and some tools. Sam will
show them to you. Then go see Harry at the hardware
store to get whatever else you need. Tell him it's for me
and that he can put it on my account," Bell said.
* * *
Then she turned toward the kitchen and shouted, "Sam!"
A few minutes later they were rummaging around the
basement, wading through old restaurant equipment.
They found a tall, extendable ladder as well as a six-foot
stepladder. There were also some drop cloths, old rollers,
and one brush. They would be able to use all of it, and it
would save Bell some money.
At the hardware store, Harry had looked at them with dis-
trust. Max didn't mind. He was used to it in this town.
And knowing what he did about what was happening
here, he understood it.
But once Harry had called Bell, he had been helpful, if
not particularly friendly.
Less than half an hour later, they were putting on three
pairs of painter's overalls.
"I'll take the ground level," Isabel said.
Max put the extendable ladder in position, grabbed a
scraper, and started climbing. They were working on the
side of the building and Max started on the top left. He
scraped at the chipped paint while Isabel did the same on
the ground and Michael did the same from the stepladder.
The prep work is most of the job, his father's voice said in his
head. Do it right, or you’ll be back at it again in an year. The
sum-
mer after sixth grade, his father had taught him to paint.
"Don't overwork it, Max," Isabel said from below. It was
more of his father's advice.
When he looked down, he saw his sister; there was a
slight smile on her face. He found himself returning it.
That summer when Max was thirteen and Isabel four-
teen, Dad had announced that they were going to paint
* * *
the house. Still, he was th
irteen and there was a certain
procedure for these things, so Max had protested. Isabel
had too, but the next day the three of them were outside,
surrounded by equipment and paint.
It was a clear day, early in the summer. And since it was
pretty early in the morning (which had been a real sore point
for Isabel), it was not hot yet. A few minutes into the job,
Michael had shown up dressed in old shorts and a T-shirt.
"Glad you could make it, Michael," Dad had said.
"Sure," Michael replied.
No protests. Michael actually wanted to be there, Max
had marveled. Well, Max knew things were tough with his
foster father. Michael was hanging around more and more.
Max's parents acted as if it was perfectly normal. In fact,
they had taken to inviting him over themselves. A wave of
feeling washed over him. He was surprised to find that he
missed his parents.
He shook it off. It had only been a couple of days. . . .
Yet, it would be much longer before he saw either of
them again. Maybe never. He felt a stab in his stomach at
that. It surprised him. Things had been rough with Mom
and Dad after his and Liz's arrest for holding up the conven-
ience store. Max had even moved out to live with Michael.
He had not been able to tell this father the truth about
why they had really done it—or the more important truth
about who he and Isabel really were. Finally, they had told
their parents the whole truth. And then they'd had to leave
Roswell, which just wasn't safe for them anymore.
But one summer before all of that—even before Liz—
Max, Isabel, and Michael had painted the house with Dad.
And soon, the clear, warm air, the motion of the rollers
* * *
on the side of the house, and some old rock and roll that
was playing on the radio had begun to work on them all.
Max had found all of his thirteen-year-old worries fading
away. The group began to joke and laugh.
Michael burped once. Then Dad had made it a burping
contest. Isabel had pretended to be disgusted at first, but
she'd joined the game. In fact, Max remembered that she
had won. It was a great summer, Max remembered. And
that first day was one of the best days of his life, he realized.