Hawk and a Handsaw
“I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.”
For Mike  

Chapter One

Memories are a strange thing. Sometimes they’re no more than recalled smells, sensations, or just a sense of déjà vu. Places were like that for me. I want to start by saying something true, austere and wrenching to the gut.

“I remember Amy.”

But that isn’t true. I don’t remember Amy. My mother. No, not really. For the longest time I used to sit around and think my thoughts of fantastical places, other worlds, other times, and a life different from the one that I live. I want to say, “I remember Amy,” but I can’t.

Amy DeLuca is but a dream, a shadow in my mind. Shakespeare once wrote, “A dream itself, is but a shadow.” I woke up one day to learn that I lived my life in a shadow, and there, trapped in the gloom, was Amy. She still is.

So I have to start by saying instead that, “I remember Grandma.”

Lila DeLuca, was my mother’s mother. Amy’s mom. She was a woman who stood taller than all others, at a mere five foot three and slim as a thistle. She was smart and swift, kind and gentle, and with tensile strength untold. Lila was my everything. All the love I knew and understood, I learned from her. All the sense of being my mother’s daughter was taught to me by her. And every day I’ve lived, I’ve lived with the knowledge that I’m nothing like Amy. But I want to be.

If life is a series of events and people in a procession of living, and those people and events determine the course of a life, then my life was drawn and set by both Lila and Amy DeLuca. They gave me many things beyond my hair, eyes, and mouth. They gave me a madness, a life of shadows, and a walking dream called Roswell.

Roswell. The sun pounds down on the vast open plains of the desert floor. Desert. It sounds dead, lacking in life, but it merely denotes a lack of annual rainfall. I remember the desert from childhood. I loved it. It was a vast land of open spaces, adventure and mystery. Lost in thought and alone, I used to walk the desert as a child, running from something, or maybe just searching. In all those times, I was never really alone. I felt someone with me, a quiet guide, watching, observing, and protecting me from afar. I never knew my father. No one did. No one but my mother, and she was silent in all things about him, even his name. I learned early that even adults have secrets. I think that one thought, that moment of clarity, changed me forever. I grew up at seven, and died at eight. It’s a terrible thing to live an entire lifetime in one year.

Roswell was my memory. It held all the truths I could no longer remember, or the ones I chose not to forget. To some, Roswell was a place to leave. A place to hate and despise. It was a trap, a place to regret when a person was caught in the fair distinction of being born, bred and raised there. That was me. Maria DeLuca. I was born there, I was bred there, and I was delivered from there. Every day of my life I regretted not being raised there.

It wasn’t always that way. It wasn’t how it was meant to be.

My destiny was to be one of the many trapped in the Roswell quadrangle, born, bred, and raised to die there, always wanting more and embittered by the knowledge that this was all there ever would be. That was my destiny. At the age of almost eight, that destiny was ripped away.

That was the year Amy disappeared.

~~~

 September 13th The highway. Darkened payment with running lines stretching into the blackness. There was a cleanness there. Nothing. Solitude. No expectations. No doubts. No lies. No betrayals. The road was the road. It was deceptively non-changing. During the day it looked long and winding, far seeking, and endless with a light pavement, almost welcoming in a promise to take one from here to there. At night, the distances shortened. The road became dark and dangerous with the beam of light defining sight, a moment, and a possible mistake. There was no here. No there. Just that place, that small patch defined by the high beam, but it too was a comfort. The road is the road. It was there. It was always there. Waiting to be found.

Maria shook her head at the thoughts clouding it. Roswell. Thirty-six more miles due south. Almost there. Almost.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Maria rubbed her forehead and finally turned down the music. Roswell. Home. The only home she ever felt or really knew. It was so far from Chicago. Almost a world away. As Chicago receded to the background, Roswell rose like a Mecca in a sea of desert. Home. Solitude. Peace.

A place to begin again, or perhaps a place to resume something started long ago.

It would be different this time. Different. She wouldn’t be there anymore.

Maria swallowed a sob. Oh Lila! Grandma!. Gone.

Wiping a single tear with the back of her hand, Maria rolled down the window to let the hot dry heat of the desert steal the coolness from the air conditioned compartment. Twenty-three years old. Fifteen years was a long time to be ripped away from home. For seven years after Amy left, Roswell was the place she visited only in the summers only, or for Thanksgiving and Christmas. At fifteen he stopped that.

Her father. Peter DeLuca. Her father, but not her father. Actually, her uncle, Amy’s brother. He took her from Roswell and raised her in Chicago. It was a moment that was both the worst thing that ever happened to her, and the best. Worst because she was ripped away from all she knew (from Lila), and best because she got a brother out of the deal, her cousin Sean. For the first six months after her mother disappeared, she lived in Roswell with Lila. A little girl pitied by everyone, deserted by a nameless father, and then again by her mother.

Something inside her was diseased. Different.

But not to Lila. Grandma loved her. Wanted her. She would always be there. She’d never leave. That was until April 5th of this year. Lila died that day. Lila left.

Maria was startled from her thoughts. Damn! Did it again! You have got to stop that shit! No more daydreaming! No more wandering off in your own brain. Speak, dammit! Speak! Live! There it was. Thirty-six miles whittled away to nothing. Passing the ‘Welcome to Roswell’ sign showing an alien waving at her, Maria headed home, down a long treed avenue of older majestic houses in Roswell. They weren’t like the newer additions, or the older hovels. These houses were built by craftsmen, men and people who came from an older, gentler world who tried to recreate what they had left behind. The DeLuca Manor or Mansion…was built by her great-grandfather, Ryan DeLuca, Lila’s father. His family left Louisiana when he was a teenage boy. He missed the world of New Orleans. The grace of the South. The beauty of his native home. As soon as he was old enough he began to rebuild what he lost. All his time and money went toward creating a home that reminded him of the one left behind. It was a three-story home with a sweeping wraparound veranda and another upper one around the second story. The third floor contained dormer windows looking over the roof covering the upper veranda. All the wood was imported. Stern heavy dark oak and mahogany, polished and crafted. Loved.

Lila once told Maria that she couldn’t remember anything about her father except the smell of worked wood and polish. The one thing Lila learned from her father was a love of the house where she was born. Her first marriage took her from the house for fifteen years, but widowed, she returned home. An unexpected second marriage created out of the necessity of an unplanned pregnancy threatened to remove her from the Manor again, but it was not meant to be. Her second marriage didn’t last long. Pregnant with Amy, Lila strode to the courthouse and filed a petition of annulment from her husband. It was denied, considering her condition being so obviously pregnant. It took her less than ten minutes to harass…um, well... to convince them that she was right, and they were wrong. She walked out of the courthouse pregnant, single, and once again a DeLuca.

Amy never met her father, or the man that donated his sperm towards her creation. She was also born and raised in that house. She too, remained a DeLuca, and raised a fatherless child. A year later, fathered by yet another unknown man, Peter DeLuca was born.

Maria laughed. Guess when she decided to have a child, she would just forgo the husband and father bit and go with artificial insemination. There was obviously a legacy among DeLuca women, and Maria couldn’t see how such a firmly entrenched tradition could be changed. She hadn’t always thought that way. Once she swore she would never create a child and leave them fatherless. She would make sure her child knew its father, and for a while she worked towards that end. A breaking of the DeLuca women's curse. But now? Now she wasn’t so sure it wasn’t the best way.

Billy.

No. She would not think about him. Not today.

Maria stopped her car and looked up at the house. Silent. Cold. It looked alone and angry. Her fault. She had left it alone too long. Over five months.

Maria slowly turned the car into the cobblestone drive and followed its sweeping lines around the back of the house to the garage and covered carport space leading into the back of the house. The garage technically was what her great-grandfather would’ve called a gatehouse with a spacious upper apartment. But it was always ‘the garage’ to them. Parking her car in the courtyard, she got out and looked around.

The gardens and trees were well-tended, and the lawn mowed. A low stone fence outlined the courtyard and separated it from a long expanse of green lawn. Frowning, Maria tried to remember if the management company was keeping it under control. She’d have to find out. Whoever was doing it was doing a great job. No need to break a system that already worked. But the house? Damn. Her great-grandfather would have wept. It was still majestic, but in need of what had been missing for a long time. Upkeep.

Uncle Peter hadn’t been interested in carpentry, and he hated Roswell and the DeLuca house. Sean only spent summers there. It was a house that had passed from generation to generation of DeLuca women, and during the course of that journey, it had suffered. Maria sighed. Lila had had plans. Big plans. She had wanted to do renovations, bring the house back up to its former glory, but time had slipped away. Now it was too late. Lila would never see her childhood home restored, but Maria would. At that moment, that second, it was decided. She had a project.

Ignoring the back door, Maria walked under the crossway that ran over the drive to the back veranda and around to the front door. The veranda creaked and moaned under her weight of only a little over a hundred pounds. The veranda needed to be fixed, along with the front stairs. Her finger pushing the doorbell, Maria could hear no sound. Great. The doorbell needed to be fixed as well. Using her keys, she entered the cold quiet house. Lila. It missed Lila. She missed Lila.

“Grandma...” Maria sat on the bottom stairs and lowered her head to her knees and cried. Rocking herself for comfort in that cold dark home.

~~~

“Where are you?”

“Watching. Waiting. Whaddya want?”

“Just…” There was a pause on the other end. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Michael sighed. Why wouldn’t he be?

“So did she come?”

“Today. She came today. Look, Maxwell, unless you want something can I talk to you later?”

Max sighed. Still Michael. After all these years, he was still the same. “She can be a problem, you know that, right?”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Max. We’re no longer kids, and I’m not your best friend anymore.”

Same words. Same argument. Years could go by, and it never changed. Not when they were sixteen. Not when they were eighteen. And at twenty-three, it was the same story. “You can’t tell her…”

“No. No, I can’t. I gave my word. I promised. I don’t break promises. Not to you, not to anyone.” Michael twisted the knife, knowing that Max was living a lie.

“Michael…”

“Just leave it alone. You don’t understand. You can’t. And this doesn’t involve you. None of your business. My business.”

Max was quiet on the other end. Michael waited until finally Max just hung up. Disconnecting his cell phone, Michael reached for his thermos as he sat back in his truck, watching the house. Home. She was finally home. Daughter of Amy.

~~~

So tired. After carting all her stuff inside, Maria checked out the kitchen. There was food, even perishables. The management company must have stocked the house for her. It took a while for Maria to decide which room she wanted. She stood in doorway to her grandmother’s bedroom, and couldn’t enter. Not yet.

Her childhood bedroom was too small, and strangely, after all those years, it seemed different. It felt masculine, forbidden, like a domain with distinctive repellant vibes. Maybe all those years ago, when she was forced from her only known home, she had left behind a feeling of anger. Untouchable.

Maria backed away, and moved down the hall to a room that had always been closed throughout her life. It had been open once, but Maria’s face frowned as she tried to remember that time. Amy’s room. Her mom’s room was large and airy with light from windows. It was a large corner room with a window seat.

As a child she had sat in that seat watching her mother get dressed, brushing her hair, and laughing. Closing her eyes, all she could hear was laughter. She had no other memory of her mom.

Maria entered the room and sat on the edge of the large bed. It was high and comfortable with a feather pillow mattress, a large comforter, and a homemade quilt draped across the foot. The room still smelt of Amy. Opening the bedside drawer, Maria could smell the scent more intensely. Lavender with a touch of sweet patchouli. White rose and gardenia. Picking up a few bottles, Maria smelt them. Getting up she walked over to the dressing table. Sitting down, she stared at her face in the mirror.

Twenty-three years old. Her own reflection looked like a stranger's. Her eyebrows were trim and arched along a natural line. She never had to pluck them. They were naturally thin and well defined. Her skin was clear and milky with a slight blush to her cheeks, with a missed softness to her cheekbones that recently had become gaunt and angular because she had lost too much weight.

There was a slight cleft to her chin, almost unnoticeable until she became stubborn. The rest of her face was lean and insignificant. Maria ignored her most brilliant features. Her face was more than angular lines, clefts and white skin. Her mouth was hard to miss with the natural redness of her lips, puffy and bee stung. Women paid small fortunes to have collagen and dyes added to get what genetics had given Maria naturally. Her nose was small and pert, filling her small face perfectly, with a cute roundness to the end, slightly upturned. But it was her eyes that held a person’s attention. Green. Sparkling and brilliant with golden flecks in their deep recesses. Her emerald green eyes were like priceless gems with topaz added in, and a darker green, almost black, around the edge of the irises that turned her eyes to a deeper dark green when she was emotional.

But Maria never got emotional. She hardly ever felt anything. That was until recently. Recently she broke a lifetime mold of silence, and let anger and madness find a home in her small slight body. Rage. It started before she left Chicago, and had continued on, despite being home in Roswell. Silence and indifference finally gave way to a madness, an abiding anger.

This was her room now. It felt warm and alive, and Maria felt comfortable for the first time in a long time. She was tired. Weary. She should make something to eat, but food didn’t hold any attraction for her. Hunger. When was the last time she felt hungry? The bed looked so inviting, but Maria forced herself to go into the bathroom attached to her room and bathe. It was a respect thing. She couldn’t sleep without first removing all the dust of travel.

Yelping, Maria gritted her teeth and waited for the water to get warm. It took forever, and she was too impatient to get to bed. The bathroom was antiquated, and the fixtures rattled and groaned. Great. New plumbing. A larger hot water heater too. She liked long hot baths and showers. Leaving the bathroom, she looked at her bags and sighed. Too tired to unpack tonight. It would have to wait.

Searching in a drawer, she found a folded antique slip, silky and beautiful. They didn’t make them like this anymore. This belonged to a bygone era before women wore jeans and cut-off shorts. Strange. Her mother was sort of a peace activist, or so she was told. Into the freedom generation of the late seventies and early eighties. Strange that she would wear undergarments more in keeping with women of the thirties and forties.

Maria quickly searched the drawer.

“Oh, I love this!” Holding it up to her body and looking in the full mirror in the corner by the window seat, Maria smiled. Mom. Don’t remember you, but you definitely had grace and style!

~~~

Michael agreed as he watched the scantily dressed figure in the window as it tried on clothing. As Maria held up the slip, he watched as a smile moved across her face. Damn voyeur. Michael didn’t even blink, he just settled back and watched the show. Damn, she was even more beautiful then he feared! This wasn’t good. Not a damn bit. Where he was parked under a tree, deep in an adjacent arbor almost behind the house, it felt strange that he somehow knew she would pick that room, and not her old bedroom. He drank his coffee and continued to watch, even after the light in the window went out.

Amy. It felt like Amy had come home too.

~~~

Shadows ran the length of the garden. It was dark, too dark. Darker than anything she could remember. Crouching and too tired to stand, she hid under the hedge, hoping not to be seen or heard. It was a surprise. It had to be. The shadows lengthened and elongated into a monster…..stark and forbidding. Bad. Very Bad. Very bad things. Her heart galloped in her chest at a fast pace, and fear tasted rusty in her mouth. No. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. No. Hand to mouth, she stood on shaking legs, too young to really understand anything except it was bad. Very, very bad. Walking backwards, she struggled to stay upright, tripping on her own feet. In a partial crawl, like a lobster, she scrambled backwards. No! I didn’t mean it! I didn’t! I won’t be bad. I won’t cry. I won’t beg. I won’t….. To her knees, then her feet, she took flight. If they didn’t see her, didn’t hear her, didn’t know, then it would be just a dream, a bad dream….a nightmare. It came for her. In her hair. Waving her hands in fright, running, running…she couldn’t stop it. The screams. Screaming and screaming, she ran into the night... “Maria? Baby? C’mon, sweetie. Wake up. It’s just a dream. Just a dream.” Maria heard the soothing voice, felt the comforting hand. Thank God! It was just a dream. A nightmare. Like so many she had before, but over the years they faded.

“Maria, it’s okay. I’ve got you, my little love. It’s okay.” Maria snuggled into the familiar smell and softness, snuggling in the warm embrace as the hand patted her head, calmed her quaking insides. The raging beat of her heart slowed, leaving nothing but an ache in her chest, a remnant of a heart stressed too long.

“Grandma, I thought you left me,” she said softly.

A small chuckle and a kiss on her brow, and the soft hand continued to sooth away the fear and pain. “No, little one. You will never be free of us.”

Maria opened her eyes to stare into the eyes of her dead Grandmother’s face…

Screaming, Maria sat up in bed. Her hand to her mouth as her other clutched her chest. Heart attack. Can’t breathe! Can’t breathe!

~~~

Michael was drifting to sleep in the cab of his truck when the earthshattering scream pierced the night.

“Fuck!” He sat up so quickly he spilt his coffee in his lap.

Chapter Two

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Michael said sourly as Max slid into the booth seat across from him. Pouring more sugar and cream in his coffee, Michael rested his head back against the seat. Go away. Just go away.

“We need to talk.”

Okay. We do it the hard way. “No. Nothing to talk about.”

“You were out there all night, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“And nothing happened, right?”

“No, something happened.”

“Good! Then she’s okay, and you can shut the door…”

“I said something happened.” Michael repeated, interrupting Max on a tirade. “She screamed. Around three-thirty in the morning, she woke up screaming.”

“You heard it?”

“I heard it. I spilled coffee all over myself and my truck. Almost went into the house, but before I could make the back door, her light came on, and she was pacing in the window. So I didn’t go in; I went back to watching.”

Max sighed and noticed Liz coming towards them. Liz Parker. Smiling he waited until she came to stop next to him. His girlfriend.

“Coffee, Sir?”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Michael swallowed rising nausea. He looked up at Liz and then away, as she deposited his eggs, steak and fries in front of him. Great. Doesn’t she ever do anything but work when they come to eat? Michael purposely ignored the two gooing all over each other, Liz’s smile was simpering sweet, nauseating with a touch of feminine smugness, that really made what little liking he might have had for her disappear. It was hard to respect a woman fucking another woman’s man, especially when the other woman was the man's wife, seven months pregnant with their third child.

Michael looked at the wedding ring on Max’s finger and purposely turned away from it. It was a joke. One huge fucking joke. Max was his friend. Sort of. They came from different social groups, but as teenagers had played basketball together. Not a sterling, “invite me to your house” friendship, but still they had been friends. When they were fifteen, that friendship had been solidified by a secret that they shared. Now their friendship was hardly that. More like nodding acquaintances. Perhaps they might have stayed good friends if it had not been for one thing.

“Mikey, sleeping in a dumpster again?”

Michael rolled his eyes. Isabel. That was the one thing. Max’s evil, bitchy sister. The Bitch of Roswell. He didn’t even bother to look up at her. She would be tailored and groomed. Well coifed with a shrewish look that would never leave her face. That look had been pasted on her face for so long that it had taken up permanent residence. Ever have your parent tell you not to do a face, or it might get stuck? Well, they weren’t lying. Isabel had a stick up her ass, a sucked-on condescending look on her sour puss since high school, and that look was there to stay.

“Isabel. Still fighting all those venereal diseases? I heard they had to move you to an investigational antibiotic once you started practicing your blowing techniques on the partners of the hubby’s firm. So how is that promotion going? Did he get it yet?” How could he miss? He had married the firm’s senior partner and major shareholder’s daughter. Michael noted the new hair style. Isabel Evans-Ramirez used to have long blonde hair, but now it was a short brunette style. Mistake. It didn’t do much for her, and without the long blonde hair, she no longer looked the sexy Amazon bitch. Now she was just a drab bitch. The short style framed her face, making it appear round.

Max sighed. “Would you two give it a rest?”

Isabel snorted and threw herself down in the seat next to Max, giving Michael a glare. He looked back at her with disinterest. It was all packaging. Expensive on the outside, empty air on the inside. Jesse Ramirez, you’re a dead man.

“Why are you talking to ‘Trailer Park?’” Isabel asked her brother.

Michael grabbed more fries and purposely ate them with his mouth open, letting a few of them spray in Isabel’s direction. Hell, it wasn’t worth it. He had places to be. Taking a nap would be better than being forced to endure the high and mighty Evans.

Liz was back, rubbing up against Max in a suggestive manner. Michael rolled his eyes. Damn, there went his food back up the other way. “Can I get my bill?”

“Sure. Do you want a doggie bag?” Liz asked noting how little Michael had eaten.

“Nah. I think I’ve got ample grease in my bloodstream to guarantee a coronary. Think I’ll go pick up a pack of cigarettes and start smoking.”

“Good,” said Isabel nastily. “Anything that rushes you towards death faster.”

“If that were the case, I could let you try to give me blowjob again. I’d die of sheer boredom or impotence,” Michael said with a sarcastic smile.

Before Isabel could retaliate, Max quickly interrupted. “Michael, we’ve got to talk…”

“Later! I’ve got work.” Michael tossed money on the table to cover his tab. The Crashdown. He couldn’t wait to get out of that place. On his way out of the diner, he ran smack into Deputy Kyle Valenti, High School jock gone wrong. Law enforcement gone wrong.

“Valenti.”

“Guerin.” Kyle walked around him.

Ah, Roswell... Some things never changed. The hierarchies established in small town high schools continued on into real life. He was Michael Guerin, orphan with an abusive foster father named Hank. He was the Roswell reject, the bad boy who had a juvenile sheet longer than an arm, but not as long as most people’s memories. His bad times had been from twelve until sixteen. After sixteen, he was better. He got into a better situation, but no one remembered that. They only remembered the bad times.

 ~~~

 “Hey, boss, you look angry.” Courtney passed Michael a cup of coffee as he entered the trailer. Michael grunted.

“Whatcha doin’ at the work site, Courtney? I pay you to answer phones at the main office.” Michael sipped his coffee, searching through his desk. The architecture plans and papers were overwhelming.

“You do. I brought down the important mail. Haven’t seen you in the office in a few days, so…”

“Yeah,” said Michael, moving her aside off the corner of his desk. “I hired you as a secretary, not a watchdog. I don’t need a babysitter.” Michael looked up when Alex Whitman entered the trailer. He nodded. “Building inspector here yet?”

“Nope. He’s late. So are you.”

“Yeah, so I’ve been informed.” Michael pointedly looked at Courtney. “So how about going and doing what I pay you to do? Otherwise, you can always go back to waiting on tables for a living.” Courtney made a huffing sound and took herself off.

Alex winced at the slamming of the door. Michael was oblivious. He went into the back room, which was a bedroom, and searched for a clean shirt. Alex followed and leaned his long lean frame up against the door jamb, watching Michael change into cleaner clothes and wash his face.

Michael Guerin was a tall man with a large frame. It ran to the lean side, but it was still substantial. His light brown hair had golden highlights that were offset by a face that was long and angular. The golden brown of his eyes belied the lack of warmth in his demeanor. His mouth was wide with noteworthy lips. It was strange to see those lips in a smile that wasn’t sarcastic or wry. Most of the time he frowned. His hands were large, as large as his body in proportion, but for their size, they were surprisingly skillful and gentle. He was a man who worked best with his hands. All in all, he was highly attractive, except for one thing. There was an etching of anger about his mouth, strong lines of indifference. Michael wasn’t what anyone would call a warm man.

“She’s trying desperately to get your attention,” Alex said softly.

Michael shrugged. “I realize that.” He wiped his face with a towel. “I don’t like obvious women, especially ones with hard beady eyes. They're happy to use their bodies and looks to get them places, and it's usually the direct opposite from the place that their lying mouth will tell you.”

“Harsh, partner.” Alex said smiling slightly. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a cynical asshole?” No one else would dare.

Michael snort. “You. Often.” He pulled the clean t-shirt over head, ignoring the bed in the bedroom. He resisted the need to take a nap.

The trailer was a modified trailer, used as his on-location office. It was moved from work site to work site. What would normally be the living room, dining room and kitchen was renovated into a makeshift office with desks for him and Alex and an architectural table for plans. The wall was covered in boards, tacked with project notes, maps and plans. The kitchen was a place where they stored lunches, drinks and made coffee with the back bedroom a place that Michael had been recently sleeping. Hence, the reason that Courtney, the sex kitten was trying to get established in the trailer. She was slowly trying to ooze her way into Michael’s bed.

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” Alex leaned his hip, his arms crossing. “Didn’t you go home?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Maria DeLuca?”

Michael looked at his best friend. Alex Whitman had been the biggest surprise of his life. In high school they had barely talked. They ran in different crowds. Alex ran in a geekish group of computer wizards who played Dungeon and Dragons and an artsy group of wannabe rockers. Michael's group had a member of one. A loner. It was Alex’s love of heavy metal music, playing in a makeshift band called ‘the Whits’ that made them friends. Michael used to go to all their performances. They weren’t bad; they just weren’t good, either. Michael wasn’t quite a groupie, but he became a regular. So, despite his long nerdish looks and enthusiastic attitude, Alex found himself suddenly having something in common with Michael Guerin. He too, was outside the accepted social crowd, despite coming from an influential family.

It was the year after high school, when he was playing bars with the Whits, that Alex joined Michael in the business of construction. He needed the work, and Michael had a talent for everything hands-on. Together they built a fledging construction company that, after four years, was finally coming out of the red and showing real profit. Sort of.

Michael nodded. “She came home last night.”

“Hmm.... So Stalker Boy, how is the woman?” Alex frowned. He vaguely remembered Maria DeLuca. He had taken a bath with her a few times when they were puppies. He played with her in grade school before she moved away, and a few times during the summers. “I take it you spent the night watching her?”

Michael sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his tired body. He nodded. Yeah, he watched her. Watched over her. Whatever you wanted to call it.

“She…” Michael licked his lips, quickly scratching his right eyebrow. Alex’s eyebrow went up at that. Michael’s tell-tale sign, the sign that he was pushed to a limit. Uncertain. Ready to prevaricate. “She was there.”

“There?” Alex smiled to himself. “I see.” Oh yeah, he saw a lot. Michael wasn’t ready to talk about the mysterious new resident of Roswell. Without saying a word to him, she already had Michael on the defensive. “So, this looks like trouble.”

Michael looked up sharply, standing away from the bed. “No trouble here. I know what I’ve gotta do!”

“You could wait and meet her, see…”

“No. She didn’t even bother to come home when the old woman died. What’s there to know? Just another heartless DeLuca. I know her, or all I need to know. I’ll deal with her myself.”

Alex moved out the way so Michael could move back into the office. “Oh, I bet you will.” He lifted a brow, but refrained from continuing. Years of friendship with Michael had taught him when to back off. Michael didn’t give up much. Not until he had to.

“You ready to work?”

Alex laughed. Born ready. He was the numbers cruncher. The paper man in the business. He liked to get his hands dirty, but the office and computers was his domain. Michael handled the physical stuff running the construction crews and work sites.

“I’m very ready. Big shock to get to the main office and see our secretary gone. Now, how did I know she would be down here sniffing around you like a bitch in heat?”

“You hired her, not me. I told you she had that hungry look.” Michael made a sour face. Courtney was a tissue girl. Something to be used and then discarded. Michael was too busy to even use her right now, too smart to want to, so basically, he wanted her out of his space.

Alex laughed. “I’m insulted. She sees you as the partner to fuck, and not me. Chopped liver again.” He picked up some files. “In my next life, I'm going to be the sexy bachelor everyone wants to take a ride with. Eh, cowboy?”

“Have at it, partner.” Michael frowned. Where the hell was that building inspector? “So what’s on the agenda this morning?”

Alex went to grab a cup of coffee. Courtney was a shitty secretary, but at least she could brew a cup of java. “The new project. Wheeler Chemical’s expansion. I think we should drop out of the bidding.”

“It’s a lot of money.”

“It’s too much money, Michael. We’re pushing it right now.” Alex sat on the side of the desk, his long leg swinging. He was a tall man, as tall as Michael, but leaner. His dark hair was short on the neck, cut close, but not too close. His eyes were a dark brown. He was attractive in a subtle way. His charm and easy manner made people overlook him, but there was an intensity to his stare, a firmness in his attitude that was deceiving by his easy demeanor. People tended to misjudge and discount him. It had worked to his advantage. In business, he was a cutthroat. It had helped to push Guerin-Whitman to the forefront of construction businesses in Roswell and surrounding area. They were moving into the Las Cruces business as well.

“How close are we?”

“We aren’t in the red, but teetering on the brink of bankruptcy if this project falls through in any way.” Alex sighed. “Our cash flow is heavy in the negative. We need to bring in assets or close some sites. Too many crews going at once. Payroll is becoming a problem.”

Michael rubbed his face. “I can dip into private funds to meet…”

“No way! We talked about this. It was why we incorporated.” Alex blew out the air in his lungs forcefully. “This last project was too large for us. I told you that. We had to put too much of our money into it to cover the construction materials on top of labor. It’s bleeding us dry.”

“We’re two weeks out until completion, Alex. Can we swim for two more weeks?”

Alex nodded. “We can swim. It’s a little deep, but no delays!” Michael shrugged. “I mean it, Michael! We need our payoff to cover the materials and stuff we fronted.”

Michael looked out of the trailer window at the largest project their growing company had contracted. A five building Industrial Park. It was almost done. Eighteen months of work. They had pushed all the limits to win the bid, despite Alex’s protest that it was too much for their small company, too fast. Michael wanted it. He wanted it, and between the two of them, they got it.

“Just hold off the sharks, Alex. I’ll bring it in ahead of schedule. I’ve got ten teams doing final cleanup. The inspector clears us today, and we're golden.”

“Good. We need a payday.”

It had been a long time in coming. Alex and Michael drew no money from the company except the bare minimum. They used all their resources to meet payroll for their workers and pay the bills. Both of them were banking on the major project payoff. Small projects over the past eighteen months kept the company in cash, but it had been a hard tight ride.

Michael sighed in relief as the building inspector’s car drove up. “Amen to that. I could use beer money!”

Alex laughed. “Let’s go charm the man.” Alex looked at his partner. “On second thought, let me do the talking. You try not to piss him off.”

Michael grunted.

 ~~~
 
“Ms. DeLuca?” Maria looked up, putting down the magazine she had been reading. “Mr. Ramirez will see you now.”

“Thank you.” Maria said politely, standing and smoothing down her shirt. She was dressed in an elegant dress, formfitting, yet tasteful. The secretary noted the designer label as she held the office door open for the client.

Jesse Ramirez stood and smiled at Maria, coming forward to shake her hand. He was a tall lean handsome man of  Spanish origin. Maria responded to the warmth of his smile. “Ms. DeLuca, I’m Jesse Ramirez.” He shook Maria’s hand in a two-hand hold. “Can my secretary get you something? Coffee?”

Maria nodded. “Coffee would be appreciated.” She allowed Jesse to lead her to a chair, as he looked over at his secretary, “Kathleen, could you please see to a coffee tray?”

Smiling warmly at her boss, she quickly complied. “Of course, Jesse…..Sir.” She shut the door on her way out.

Maria waited until Jesse sat down at his desk. For a moment, she had been afraid he would sit on the edge of his desk in front of her. The possible closeness was daunting.

“Mr. Ramirez, I’m confused.”

“About what, Ms. DeLuca?”

Maria cleared her throat. “I understand that the DeLuca accounts, specifically my Grandmother’s, were handled by a Mr. Philip Evans.”

“They are. Were. I’m afraid that Mr. Evans, our senior partner, is retiring soon. He’s been moving his accounts around. And since the old woman…..er, Ms. Lila’s passing, there have been no DeLuca’s in Roswell. Mr. Evans moved the account to my books.”

“I see.” Maria did. The DeLuca accounts were no longer a high priority.

“Of course, your family’s accounts are of the utmost importance to the firm. After all, DeLucas have been managed by us since the firm began, staring with your great-grandfather.” Jesse smiled charmingly as the secretary brought in the coffee server. “Thank you, Kathleen.”

“Ms. DeLuca, would you like cream or sugar in your coffee?”

“Black. Thank you.” Maria politely waited until the secretary poured her coffee, Jessie’s and then left the office again.

“Ms. DeLuca…Maria. May I call you Maria?” Maria nodded her consent. “Philip realizes that you are a concert violinist with a busy professional schedule. Your uncle contacted the firm informing them that you would be leaving Roswell, and moving all the accounts to a firm in Chicago, the firm he uses. Mr. Evans is greatly saddened to see the end of such a long relationship, but since there are no DeLuca’s in Roswell…”

“That is incorrect,” Maria said softly. “I’m a DeLuca, and I am very much in Roswell.”

Jesse laughed. “Of course, but you’ll be resuming your concert tours, and…”

“Actually, I won't. I'm taking a hiatus from the concert circuit.” Maria smiled tightly. “But, of course, if the firm is unable or unwilling to continue to serve my family accounts, I am sure I can find another firm here in Roswell that will meet my needs.”

Jesse sat up straighter. “No! Of course we’d be happy to continue working for you, Ms. DeLuca... Maria. I guess we were misinformed of your intentions.”

Maria smiled tightly. “Indeed.”

Jesse sat back a little. “I should tell you that there has been a purchase offer for your house and lands….”

“Seeing how I intend to live in my house, and have no intention of selling, I am afraid the offer is premature.”

“I see.” Jesse looked at the file in front of him. It had a phone request by Peter DeLuca asking them to initiate sales procedures. “Your uncle….”

“Is my uncle. He has no power or rights with regard to my personal estate or business. I am your client. Perhaps you should ask me what I would like done.”

Jesse quickly closed the file. “Of course.”

“First, the house. Am I able to take over ownership and live there?”

“Yes. Absolutely! You missed the reading of the will. A copy was sent to your address in Chicago.”

Maria sighed. Of course it was. “I’ll be needing another copy. Also, my current address and information should be changed to my grandmother’s house.”

“Immediately. I’ll see to it.” Jesse could feel the unease prickle along his spine. “You can take control of the house, no question. All the papers are in order. It will be another six months before we close on the estate, but ownership isn’t in dispute. You realize of course that you only co-own the house?”

Maria nodded. That was to be expected. Sean was the only other living grandchild. Lila would have wanted him to have a part as well. “Yes, that's fine. There is no problem between us. We easily share, I promise you.”

“Then that's good.” Jesse sipped his coffee. “Was there anything else you needed immediately?”

“Renovations. The house needs repairs. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. It’s your house. Feel free to do anything necessary. Your grandmother set up a renovation fund for the house, but it won’t be accessible until after probate. So you'll need to keep receipts so you can be refunded.”

“Thank you.” Maria reached into her bag and extracted a card. “This is my personal lawyer in Chicago. He’s new. I informed him that he would need to transfer many of my accounts to Roswell and work in close proximity with you on the rest. I’ve left mainly major investment portfolios with the Chicago branch and managerial concerns with my agent. The rest is being transferred to your firm, including my personal accounts, and smaller investments. You’ll see to this?”

“Absolutely.” Jesse cleared his throat. “Ms. DeLuca, since your family is no longer leaving the firm, would you be more comfortable if I have my father-in-law, Mr. Evans retain your accounts?”

Maria shook her head. Standing up, she waited until Jesse joined her. “Not at all. Mr. Evans gave you the DeLuca account, then it would appear you are now my lawyer.”

Jesse seemed genuinely pleased. Before he could comment, he could hear voices outside, and then a flurry of noise. His door was opened.

“You can’t go in there! He's currently with a client! Mrs. Ramirez...!”

“Don’t be silly!” Isabel Evans-Ramirez entered her husband’s office in a huff. “Oh!” She stopped at the sight of her husband and Maria standing there. “Darling! I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized that you were with a client. I thought your secretary meant the phone.”

Maria noted the tall elegant woman. Her brunette hair was short and fixed in a bob. Her clothing and makeup were impeccable, and all in all, the woman looked like she had stepped from a fashion magazine. It was the coldness of her brown eyes that made Maria step away from Jesse. That, and the overly bright fake smile, somehow grotesque with the bright red lipstick accentuating it.

Jesse sighed, and led Maria to stand next to his wife. “No. I’m not on the phone. Ms. DeLuca, may I present my wife, Isabel?”

“Mrs. Ramirez,” said Maria politely, not enjoying the raking cold brown eyes along her body, taking in her clothing, hair and makeup.

“Evans-Ramirez. Isabel Evans-Ramirez.” Maria made a slight gesture of acknowledgment, making no overt indication that she recognized that her new lawyer was married to the firm's senior partner's daughter. Her family’s former lawyer, Philip Evans. “Ms. DeLuca, I heard that you were returning to Roswell. Such a small place for a world renowned pianist, such as yourself.”

“Violinist.” Maria corrected, her eyes narrowing. Isabel Evans-Ramirez knew what instrument she played. It was evident in her eyes.

“Of course. I heard you play once in Chicago. How small Roswell must feel to you.”

“I like small. Large metropolises can be highly overrated and impersonal.” Maria turned and offered her hand to Jesse once again. “If you’ll excuse me, I have other errands to run.”

Jesse shook her hand, holding it longer than necessary. Maria saw Isabel’s eyes narrow, and a tight frown pulled at her mouth, deleting the large fake smile she had pasted on her face. Maria quickly pulled her hand free and rushed from the office, happy to be able to breathe again.

Well, what the heck was that?
 
~~~
 
Maria found her way around town without much problem. A lot of Roswell had remained the same. Quickly moving along the streets, she located a recommended doctor and made an appointment. The grocery was limited in its stock, or limited in that they didn’t have home delivery and a full service deli. Maria stood for a long time, concentrating on all the products on the shelves. Damn! She might need to learn to cook.

Frozen. Anything frozen would be good. Bagged stuff. That was easy. Maria left the store with an incredible supply of junk food.

Drugstore. Bank. Lawyers. Dry Cleaning. Doctor. Groceries. The essentials of life. Roswell in all these years had not changed that much. The Crashdown. Maria smiled. That and the UFO Center. Crossing the street, Maria admired the new front of the Crashdown. The flying saucer was classic.

Mmmm, the smell of greasy burgers! Maria entered the establishment, and since there was no sign to wait to be seated, she seated herself. A woman around her age came up and set down a glass of water and handed her a menu.

“Thank you for landing at the Crashdown. I’m Liz, and I’ll be your waitress. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A Coke would be lovely.” Maria said softly, her voice slightly husky. Who knew that this old diner would make her feel like home?

“Anything in that? Vanilla, cherry, or….”

“Cherry.” Maria said quickly.

The woman smiled and left Maria to look at the menu. That took a while. The place was so outlandish, Maria kept getting distracted from the menu to look around, not at only the décor, but the local color in the form of its patrons. Giggling softly under her breath, she noticed a young man wearing Spock ears.

Placing the cherry coke in front of the elegant blonde, the waitress waited politely. Maria looked out of place in the small family run diner. Maria didn’t seem to notice the waitress who was forced to clear her throat. “Would you like to order?”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Maria’s cheeks took on a healthy blush, which increased as the waitress looked at her critically. She was skinny. Maria recognized that look. She preferred the term ‘slim,’ but in truth, she was too skinny. The last six weeks had taken a terrible toll on her health. “I was looking around. Some places never change, do they?”

The waitress huffed. “Unfortunately. Do you need some more time to decide?”

Maria looked at the menu. “No. I think I could sit here forever and never get through it all.” Maria gave the woman a pleading look. “Cheeseburger, extra pickles, and no onions. Does that compute somewhere in this menu?”

That got a slight smile, not really warm, but definitely amused. “It does. Do you want fries with that?”

Maria’s eyes went big. “Fries! Large! Absolutely! Oh….and an extra thick chocolate shake?”

“Extra thick. Gotcha.”

Maria smiled and handed over the menu. Leaning on the table she looked around planning to occupy her time with local watching. Technically, she was planning on becoming a local, so it was like research.

“Maria? Maria DeLuca?”

Maria looked up at the male voice. A tall lean man with dark hair, and deep brown eyes smiled at her questionably.

“Yes?”

His smile increased. “Alex Whitman! You probably don’t remember me.”

“Alex! Of course I do!” Maria started to stand, but Alex forestalled her by taking a seat in the booth. “I remember you in some graphic detail. Do you still have that birthmark on your….?”

“Hey!” Alex looked around dramatically. “Not so loud! It gets the ladies all curious.”

“I bet.” Maria studied the invader of her table. Alex Whitman. She had played with him as a child, and in the summers when she visited. She hadn’t seen him since she was fifteen. He had grown up nicely. Very nicely. “So, still in Roswell?”

“For my sins. I co-own a company.” Alex critically examined Maria DeLuca. She was still the little girl he remembered. Time couldn’t hide those lips, those eyes, and that smile. It was chance that he had seen her. He was in to pick up his and Michael’s late lunch. Here was an opportunity to see up close and personal what Michael had watched all night.

“So, you survived the teenage years.” Maria sat back, amused. “You told me that you were destined to die tragically at eighteen.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “I told all the girls that. Got me more dates. Who could pass up the opportunity to boohoo over a dead boyfriend? Of course, when eighteen came and went and I remained alive, women stopped taking me seriously.”

“And there is the tragedy.”

“Indeed.” Alex’s eyes couldn’t wander far from her face. It was a seriously gorgeous face. Maria DeLuca had grown up well. Her lips that dominated her face as a child, were now her most noteworthy feature. That and her eyes. “You grew up nice. Very nice.”

“Hmm, this from the boy that used to call me fish lips?’” Maria said in a huff.

Alex tossed a hand on his chest, covering his heart. “That wasn’t me!” Maria huffed again and looked away. “Really. I was a victim of a body snatching.”

“Was that before or after you talked Sean into eating worms?” Maria asked curiously.

“Um…” Alex leaned an arm on the table to moon at Maria ‘Fish lips’ DeLuca. “Which is the better answer?”

“Neither. You called me ‘Fish lips’ before and after.”

“I was abducted out of the crib. A mere baby. I can’t be held accountable.”

“Too bad they never brought you back, huh?”

Alex was saved from a comment by the appearance of Maria’s food, and the waitress. He looked up and then away as she put down the plate.

“Alex…” Maria frowned as the waitress said Alex’s name softly, her voice had a slight squeak as she cleared her throat. “I…I didn’t know you were expecting company,” she said to Maria.

“She wasn’t. I was just catching up.” Alex barely spared a glance at her. “Think you could get my takeout order?” he asked coldly.

She turned red and nodded, scurrying off. Maria frowned at the interaction. Maria munched on a fry thoughtfully.

“Old girlfriend?”

Alex snorted. “Hardly. Old friend.” Alex looked at Maria. “I take it you don’t remember Liz Parker?”

“Liz?” Maria turned her head to find the other woman. “No! That’s not Liz! Our Liz?” No. She didn’t look anything like Maria remembered her. Strange, she looked the same, but not.

“I said that for years, but unfortunately it is.”

Maria frowned. She remembered Liz Parker. They used to play together with Alex. Liz’s grandmother was Lila’s best friend, in a strange and evil way. Claudia Parker and Lila DeLuca had spent a lifetime together complaining to the other. They had a very strange friendship.

“Liz…I remember her differently for some reason. Smart. She was always talking about moving to a large city, and becoming an award winning scientist.” That woman looked about ten years too old to be Liz Parker. Not in a hard way, or anything. She still had a youthful body and face, but there was a haggard, worn look about the eyes and mouth, and the lack of makeup and moisturizer was putting on the years.

“Yeah, well...dreams die hard. She got sidetracked around fifteen.”

Maria frowned. Looking at the slim brunette with her hair all screwed up off her face, it didn’t seem right. The Liz she remembered was vibrant. Alive. Enthusiastic. Funny and laughing. Carefree. This woman was none of those things. She frowned. Her hair was up and untidy. She seemed to be arguing with someone behind the orders window.

Maria watched as a man walked into the Crashdown. He was tall, not as tall as Alex, but about six feet. His hair was cut short and dark. He was thin. He leaned over the counter and called to Liz. Her face changed. She smiled, and quickly left what she was doing to drag him into the back room.

Alex noticed Liz leaving too. He rolled his eyes. “Great! I’ll never get my lunch.”

Maria nodded at her plate. “You can share my fries.”

“Thanks, DeLuca, but I’ve got to get back to work. I better go try to find someone who actually is working.” Alex paused looking down at Maria. “I heard about your grandmother. I was very sorry about that. She was a great lady.” Alex meant that. Lila DeLuca was stately, regal, real Roswell royalty in a good way. She never treated people as being beneath her, but always with open respect and honesty.

“Thank you,” Maria said quietly. Some things took time to get used to, and the loss of Lila was one of those things.

Alex scratched his reddening neck, smiling boyishly. “Well, I best get back. It was good to see you. We’ll have to get together sometime and talk old times. Before you leave.”

Maria frowned. What the heck was up with that? Seemed liked every person and their brother wanted her to leave town.

“No hurry. I’m not leaving. I’m moving home to Roswell.”

 
~~~


“Not now, Alex.” Michael said in a huff. “The damn delivery came wrong today. I had to send it all back. They’re not going to be able to get the stuff to us until early next week. Sonnabitch. That puts us behind.”

“Your lunch, your royal crabby one.” Alex tossed Michael’s takeout on the desk. Going to the refrigerator, Alex pulled a bottle water for both of them.

“About time! I was wasting away here.”

“Hmm, yeah, I can see through you and all. Going all ghosty.”

“Geek.”

“Freak.”

Alex sat back and observed his partner coolly. “So I met Maria DeLuca at the Crashdown.” That got Michael’s attention. “You could’ve mentioned that she's a knockout. That she has the face of an angel, and the mouth of a sinner.” Alex smirked. “I pulled wood just looking at her, but damn when she spoke….”

“You talked to her?” Michael’s voice took on a real edge.

“Back off, Sparky. It’s a free country. She’s not your property, and I can assure you, others will talk to her too. Those legs. Those eyes. Those lips. It happens.”

Michael rolled his eyes and took out his sandwich. Dammit. It was wrong. They put on the wrong cheese, and there were no onions. Cold. Alex probably sat there with Maria, talking letting his lunch get cold.

“So what did she say?”

Alex shrugged. “Nothing much. She hadn’t recognized Liz, and seemed genuinely shocked that Liz was Liz.”

Michael snorted. Yeah, join the club. Bet Liz shocked herself every time she looked in a mirror. Michael, remembering that smug look Liz got and decided not. Some people felt entitled, and morals only applied to others.

“I guess she thought that the Liz she knew would be out of Roswell, off somewhere helping to break the genetic mysteries of life, or something.”

“Yeah, well life in a small town sucks away all potential. Liz Parker’s importance only extends to bubblegum or pouring orange soda. Next subject. I’m eating greasy food, my stomach is already upset.”

“Oh, then you’ll love this!” Alex said with great relish. “According to the babe DeLuca, she ain’t vacating in Roswell, but rather, she is home to stay.”

Michael dropped his sandwich cursing.

 

Chapter Three

The memories of late summer in Roswell were like nowhere else in the world. It was hot. The heat stuck in a person’s throat like a blast furnace, and it was only the welcoming coolness of going indoors that finally gave a sense of comfort.

Strange. As child, it was easier. They would play outside for endless hours in the heat and sunshine, and never think to seek refuge inside. Maybe that was the gift or insanity of youth. Getting old. That was all there was to it. No other explanation. Old? Or just out of condition? At twenty-three, there had to be a better explanation.

Damn this door. It stuck all those years ago; it still stuck today. Another item to be added to the ‘to do’ list. Crap. Double Crap. Jiggling the lock to the backdoor, Maria struggled to get into the kitchen. Finally the latch slipped and the door flung open, depositing her and her packages on the floor.

Well, gosh. Maria rolled her eyes. Okay, another thing to add to the ‘to do’ list. The house was stifling and hot! No air conditioning? No way. Absolutely no way! No, it’s New Mexico. No, this is southern New Mexico. Picking up the packages, Maria stood up to see Lila.

“Maria, open the windows, honey. It’s hot in here. Now, what would we want an air conditioner for? We’d be locked up in the house like mummies. Air, child. It’s the only way to live a clean healthy life. You open the windows like a good girl, and I’ll turn on the ceiling fans.”

Lila walked around her still talking to herself about the unnecessary electrical expense of modern air conditioning.

“Now a nice swamp cooler has always been enough in the past, though this summer has been a scorcher.” Lila stopped and looked directly in Maria’s eyes. “Child, did you hear me?”

The packages in her hands dropped to the floor, as did Maria in a dead faint.

~~~

Coolness. Wetness. Like the spray of water on the lawn in the middle of a scorching summer day. Where was the screaming laughter of the children? Maria’s eyes fluttered open, her brow furled in a frown. More water hit her face. Sputtering, she struggled to sit up away from a pair of strong hands holding her.

“What...?” Maria moved a weak hand over her wet face, pushing clinging hair from her eyes. Looking around confused, she was on the floor of the kitchen. “Who...?” Looking up into a pair of warm golden brown eyes, she blinked owlishly.

“You really shouldn’t nap on the kitchen floor. Not in this heat. I suggest opening a few windows. Not much breeze, but it might help.”

Maria pushed the stranger’s hands off her, scurrying backward, as she tried to collect herself. “What….what are you doing in my house?” Looking down at her wet clothing and the dripping cloth he still held in his hand, Maria struggled to her feet. He quickly tried to help her, but she pushed away his hands, especially the one with the cloth. “Hey! What’s the idea of trying to drown me?”

“I wasn’t trying to drown you! Found you on the floor like some swooning movie starlet, exposing a nice length of leg, I might add. I thought you had been overcome by the heat. Should’ve left you there.” Michael said. Actually, no. He thought she was dead at first.

Maria put some distance between them. Between herself and the stranger. Distance and the kitchen table. “Who are you?” He didn’t look repulsive or like a degenerate, but who knew nowadays? Ted Bundy was a well put-together charming man from all accounts. Maria ignored the warm golden brown eyes, and those full lips were more than likely very versed in lying. All men were.

“Don’t remember me, huh?”

“Should I?” He didn’t look like anyone she remembered. Though, she frowned. Whatever had hit her memory soon was gone. His eyes? Her eyes darted to his hands, and then away. No. She didn’t remember him.

“Not really. I don’t think we ever officially met.” Michael went to open up windows. “Don’t open the ones without screens, otherwise, half of Roswell’s bug population will take refuge in here.”

Maria looked around. What was he doing? Who was he? Why the heck was he in her house, and….and….?

“Hey! You hear me? Open the windows…” Child, did you hear me? Michael swore as her eyes seemed to roll up to the back of her head, and she was slumping to the floor again. Quickly picking her up, he took her through to the main parlor. Damn, she was so small. Hardly weighed anything. He had tools that weighed more. Placing her on the sofa, he quickly opened windows in the bottom level of the house. Getting a glass of cool water, he tried to revive her again.

“I shoulda known you’d be trouble.”

She scared the crap out of him. He had come over to talk to her after Alex dropped his bombshell on him, and the back door was open. Cautiously entering, he saw her on the floor. Not again. No. It was the first thought in his head. She was dead.

“Get off me!”

Michael sat back at her irritated voice. She was more like the old lady than he realized. Strange. He had always imagined her as a soft-spoken little thing, almost so fragile that a strong wind would blow her away. Looks were deceiving though. Lila DeLuca looked fragile too, and she was the farthest from fragile that he had ever seen.

“I’m not on you.” Michael backed off as she sat up. He cut her some slack. He was a stranger in her house. That couldn’t be too comfortable.

“Who are you? Why are you in my house? And how did you get in?”

“Ever think of only asking one question at a time? Give a person a chance to answer?”

“Slow, huh?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed, his voice becoming slower and dripping in sarcasm. “Gosh, durnit, ma’am, I wuz justa walkin’ bah. What wuz yer other questions? I cain’t rightly remember ‘em.”

Maria pushed him off the sofa, and sat on the side. “Let’s start with who you are, Buckwheat.”

“Guerin. Michael Guerin.”

Maria waited, but he seemed to decide to give only minimal facts. The name Guerin sparked a memory, but that was soon gone. Maria frowned.

“Okay, so Mr. Michael Guerin, what are you doing here?”

“Besides picking you off floors?” he inquired. Maria nodded quickly. He was irritating. “I came to do some work on the veranda and front steps.”

“I didn’t hire you.”

“You are smart. Real quick!” Michael said sarcastically. “I promised the old lady, and…”

“My grandmother,” Maria corrected quickly and with a bite. “Her name wasn’t ‘old lady’, it was Lila.”

Michael’s mouth tightened. “I know her name. Shocking. I didn’t know you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Maria pushed him aside as she stood up, her head swimming a little. It had to be the heat. The heat was making her hallucinate. She didn’t get a chance to hit the floor again; he quickly straightened her.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. It’s hot. I’m not used to it, and…” Maria looked around the house helplessly. She was alone. That hadn’t happened in a long time. The house. The voices. It was in her head. The stress was eating at her stomach, along with the greasy burger she had eaten. “I’m fine. I need to take my medication.”

“Medication?”

Maria pulled her arm away from him. She wasn’t going to tell the handyman her personal medical history. “What did you say you were doing here again?”

“And you think I’m slow?”

Prig. Maria’s eyes narrowed in anger. Men. They weren’t on the top of her list right now, and this member of the species wasn’t helping to recommend them.

Michael sighed. Antagonizing her wasn’t getting him anywhere fast. “Look, I promised Lila that I would do the veranda first, especially the stairs. With her…” Michael paused. He didn’t want to talk about Lila being gone. “Anyway, things got a little hectic at work, and I couldn’t get it done, so I came around to check on the condition and my supplies. Is that alright with you?”

“My grandmother hired you to fix the veranda and stairs?”

Michael shook his head. He took it back. She wasn’t like Lila. Lila was smart as a whip, even moments before she died. This creature took after the other remaining DeLucas, brain dead. “You really are slow.”

“No, I’m not! I’m slightly disoriented. The heat. The stress. I stopped taking my medication, and I think I need to take some now.”

Michael raised his eyebrow. “What kind of medication?” That was twice she mentioned it.

“None of your business.” She pushed him aside to go find a fresh glass of water and her bag. Michael shrugged and followed her. It was hot; she was pissed off. He could be working his job, or he could be working her. She looked like more fun at that moment.

“I hope they’re for your mental problems.”

Maria stopped in the middle of downing the medication to glare at him. “I don’t have any mental problems!” Michael snorted. “I do not!” Maria tossed the pills down, slamming the glass of water on the table. “I’ve been under stress. It’s bad for me! Who wouldn’t be? Coming home to this empty house? To a place I barely remember? My grandmother gone, and seeing things that…” She stopped talking.

“Seeing things?” Michael asked softly.

Sniffing, she pushed him out of the way. “Nothing. You wouldn’t understand…” Wiping sweat from her neck, she shrugged. “It’s nothing.” Michael opened the refrigerator for a cold beer. “What are you doing?”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “You really aren’t that swift, are ya?” He waved his bottle at her. “This is the elixir of us low brow types. Beer.”

“I know what beer is!” Maria huffed. She was hot. He was making her hotter. “I mean, what do you think you’re doing, helping yourself?”

Michael shrugged. Yeah, well it wasn’t going to be easy any way he came around to it. She wasn’t leaving, so he had to give her a nice shove. “I put them in there. So, why not?” Michael took a long draw from his beer. Damn, it was hot. “Let’s open up some windows, cool this place down, and then you can yell at me in your broken, slow English.”

She stomped her foot as he walked off unconcerned. “I never yell!” A hand moved over the tension in the back of her neck. She really didn’t. Yell. Scream. Or make a scene in any way or manner. It wasn’t like her, but this man... He irritated. Got under the skin. Something.

“You gonna help or what?” he yelled from the other room.

Maria sighed, going off to open windows and start ceiling fans.

~~~

Sipping her cold apple juice, she watched him from her seat. He was measuring the supports to the veranda. “So, you do construction?”

Michael grunted. Duh!

“I mean professionally. This isn’t just a side job or hobby?”

Michael looked at her quickly before assessing the ceiling of the veranda. The entire upper veranda would have to be redone, so that meant ripping out the entire ceiling, and replacing struts.

“I own a company.” Michael quickly climbed up on the banister, checking the wood. It had gotten worse in the last few months. The summer had been hot and dry, and the rotting wood that had absorbed moisture in the winter had dried out into a brittle timber. “My company has a huge project that has kept me busy, so I could only spare small amount of time for Lila. I redid the walkway to the gatehouse so she could move from the garage to the house undercover. The yard was overgrown and the back area was slowly washing out into the riverbed.” Michael jumped down, and Maria winced as the wood groaned. “I had the entire area rebuilt for her. We saved the some of the older trees and replanted.”

“This was a large project?”

Michael took out a small black notebook from his back pocket and made a few notes. “A very large one. She wanted the house restored to its former glory.” Michael looked at Maria. “I was going to do it, even after she died. It was a promise.”

Maria looked out over the yard. She was born in that house. Her mother had gone into labor, and before they could move her to the hospital, it was too late. Maria’s grandmother delivered her in her mother’s room.

“I want that too.” Maria said softly. “I started a mental list. New water heater. Air conditioning. The stairs. The entire front foyer. The kitchen tile is coming up, new cabinets, and all the windows need replacing.”

“Don’t walk out on the upper veranda. I’ll pull it this coming week. All the mainframe and joists are rotting. Even at your slight weight, it’s still dangerous.”

“The roof?”

Michael blew out the air heavily from his lungs. “Another task. I was waiting until the worst of the summer heat passed. The upper walls are pushing outward. That means the pins to the rafters are probably free. We need to pull the entire roof, fix the rafters and joiners, and replace the wood interfaces. The roof is old tongue in groove board. I’d like to keep it.” Michael didn’t mention that he hadn’t done the roof because all his crews were busy on other projects, and until his large contract was done, he couldn’t afford to use them. “I need to do the gatehouse at the same time, so the shingles match.”

“Sounds expensive.”

Michael pulled a folded paper from the back of his black book, one he updated on occasion. “Current estimated costs, with materials, labor not added in, and I didn’t work in your new water heater or air conditioning.”

Maria took the paper, unfolding two sheets of paper with a huge list. Her face paled. The bottom line cost was extraordinary.

“You’re joking!”

“Nope. The materials are top of the line. I could cut back or skimp on it, but Lila wanted everything replaced with what her father used. The materials he built with were expensive back then, and even more so today. Mahogany and sturdy oak ain’t cheap. Irish bogwood, even harder to come by. Your great-grandfather was a man with expensive taste, and a real genius for wood.” Michael didn’t bother to keep the admiration out of his voice.

“This project looks costly in both money and time.” Maria commented reading the itemized list. She bit her lip. This wasn’t some small feat.

“I estimated about a year, maybe two. I could get it done quicker, but that would require me bringing in full construction crews.”

Maria looked up at that. “How many are you using now?”

Michael scratched his brow. “You’re looking at them. Me.” Maria opened her mouth to protest, but Michael continued. “I pulled in crews for the restoration of the retaining walls, and a full crew to rebuild the areas in the yard, but I was planning on doing most of the construction of the veranda on my own, maybe with a few helpers. I can’t pull any crews from the company right now. I’ve got them all overextended as it is.”

“You’re talking all outside construction. What about inside?”

Michael shrugged. “That can be ongoing. Obviously the upper floor needs to be done first after the roof. There's leak damage on the third floor. Most of the rooms have been closed and used for storage. All the bathrooms and the plumbing need revamping.”

Maria groaned. The price. “I can’t afford all this! The cost would kill my bank account.” Maria looked at the price. “Actually, murder is a better description. I’ve got investments, but ready cash? This would break me.”

“You could sell. There has been an offer for your half of the house.”

Maria shook her head. “Forget it. I was born here. I want to come home.”

Michael seemed to mull that over. “You might want to rethink that decision. Sharing a house isn’t the easiest task. There’s money left for the restoration. Lila made sure of that, and your cost would only be half of what exceeds that fund, but still…”

“Sean wouldn’t want to own the house. He has a thing about owning things. He also has places he likes to spend his money. I can’t sell my half, and settle him with an unknown co-owner. I am sure they could get him to sell, but he would sell to me first.”

Michael stood up and stretched. He looked at his watch. She looked better. Cooler and rested. He couldn’t sit here talking construction or anything else for that matter. She obviously hadn’t a clue what was what.

“Did you read the will?”

Maria frowned. “The lawyers are sending me a copy. It was sent to my uncle, and he neglected to give it to me.” Her uncle had neglected to do a lot of things. The will was the least of his offenses.

“I suggest you read the will as soon as possible.” Michael took his empty beer bottle. “I’m going to go shower and get back to work, so refrain from flushing any of the toilets or running water for the next ten minutes.”

Maria nodded, but his words hit her. “Wait! What do you mean you’re showering? Where? Here?”

“What did I tell you about asking multiple questions?” Michael almost felt bad. She was confused, and he wasn’t helping. “Here. My room. It’s your old room. I live here. And the ownership of this house? It’s not you and Sean. It’s you and me. I’m the person offering to buy out your half of the house.”

Michael didn’t wait for her reaction. She sat with a thunk in the large wicker chair staring at the closed screen door.

Chapter Four

“Maria! I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon.” Jesse waved his secretary off, and offered Maria a seat.

“Michael Guerin. I need to know everything about him.”

Jesse frowned. “Michael? What about him?”

“He owns half of my house!”

Jesse looked at his open door. He quickly went to shut it, giving them some privacy. “I thought you knew.” He sat in front of Maria on the edge of his desk. “You seemed aware that the house was only half yours.”

“Sean! I thought my grandmother left it to me and Sean!”

Jesse turned red. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize…” Jesse pushed his intercom. “Kathleen, could you bring in a copy of the DeLuca will?”

“Michael. Guerin.” Maria asked again.

Jesse smiled slightly. “Lila left all the properties split equally between you, Sean, and Michael. Peter, your uncle, was left a token annuity in some stocks and funds, but nothing to the extent that the rest of you were. Sean was left the gatehouse apartment above the garage, and some accounts that he’s not allowed to manage or sell. He gets the dividends only. I think your grandmother wanted to make sure he didn’t, um...” Jesse struggled for a polite way to put it.

“Piss it away. It’s okay, Counselor. I’m very aware of Sean’s tendencies.”

“Of course. The rest of the property and accounts are almost exclusively divided between you and Michael.”

“Michael? Again! You need to tell me about Michael Guerin.”

Jesse looked uncomfortable. “I thought you knew.”

“Obviously I do not know. So inform me. Michael. Guerin.”

Jesse looked relieved when Kathleen entered with a copy of the will. “Thank you. Maria, would you like something to drink?”

“Michael. Guerin,” said Maria firmly. Jesse’s secretary quickly left the room. Jesse sighed and handed the will to Maria.

“Michael Guerin was adopted by your grandmother when he was sixteen. He lived in the house with her until she died.”

Maria’s heart jumped in her chest. It felt heavy, and she closed her eyes for a moment to stop from passing out. Her stomach hurt.

~~~

Roswell was once a small town, but over the years it had grown into a small large town. A history of alien crashes and a bit of a quirky sci-fi memorabilia was part of its ongoing charm, but the Roswell of today was fast moving away from that small quirky town. New sophisticated areas were growing, and an upperclass group of citizens was desperate to lose the old stigma surrounding the once small town noted for the alien crash of 1947.

Roswell was more than a town created out of the hype of alien crashes. It originally started as a conversion point of waterways, a crossroads where several springs provided cattle herds with water. The Chisum Trail began near Roswell and was used by cowboys driving longhorn cattle to the railhead at Las Cruces.

In 1869 Roswell began to take shape with the arrival of Van C. Smith, a professional gambler.

Mr. Smith filed his claim in the Spring of 1871, and changed the settlement’s name to honor his father, Roswell Smith. Maria’s uncle Peter had married the great-granddaughter to Van C. Smith, Becky Ann. Sean’s grandparents still lived in Roswell, but he hadn’t seen them in years, only when they came to Chicago to visit.

However, it wasn’t until Captain Joseph C. Lea took hold of the little cowtown that Roswell turned into a community. Many consider Captain Lea to be the true "Father of Roswell." Under Lea’s control and influence, Roswell began an era of stability and growth that has continued for over a hundred years. Ryan DeLuca had been born in the delta regions of Louisiana, with New Orleans culturing his family back over a hundred years. In 1878, his father, charmed by the promise of open spaces followed the Western and Chisum Trails from Louisiana through Texas, and finally to Roswell. There his family relocated to a place that was dry and open. Ryan missed the rich lush vegetation of the bayou, the heated muskiness, and the damp heat of summer. Roswell was the confluence of artesian springs, but the bracing heat of the desert made it a strange world from his beloved home. He married Eula Mae Lea, daughter of Captain Lea in 1883, and a year later at the age of nineteen he began construction of the DeLuca Manor. They had eight children, and in 1920, Lila, the youngest was born when Ryan DeLuca was fifty-five.

In 1890, a vast artesian water supply was discovered beneath Roswell and ditches were dug to divert the water into vegetable fields. That same year the First National Bank was established. And in 1891, the town of Roswell was incorporated. That same year, the Roswell Dispatch, now known as the Roswell Daily Record, began its long history of providing the news to the Roswell area, as well as the establishment of the Goss Military Institute, later known as the New Mexico Military Institute.

Lila had married her childhood sweetheart, Samuel Parker when she turned seventeen. Sam Parker was never meant to have children. After fifteen years of marriage, Lila had remained barren, and Sam Parker died in an accident. Lila took back her maiden name and returned home to her father’s house. It wasn’t until she was thirty-seven that Lila DeLuca found herself pregnant. She married the man, a transitory worker who ran combines through the mid-Planes during harvest. The marriage lasted mere weeks before Lila had the marriage annulled. In 1958, Amy DeLuca was born. Lila never heard from her ex-husband again, and in her father’s house she raised her daughter Amy alone. A year later, she arranged to become pregnant again, wanting another child before her childbearing years were over. Peter DeLuca, father unknown.

Maria stood looking out over the quarry. The confluence of waterways met in the quarry region. It was the very existence of those waters and the underground artesian springs that made Roswell one of the prettiest towns in the Midwest, a virtual oasis in the desert.

It was impossible. Maria paced, her mind searching for an explanation. She hadn’t known. How could she not know? Michael Guerin. Adopted?

It made no sense. Or maybe it did.

Roswell. Her home. Her family’s home for well over a century. After being exiled from it, coming home had all the feelings of nostalgia, and all the horror of being a lie. She was a lie. All she ever knew was that she was loved by Lila. Now that felt like a lie too.

Unsettled, she couldn’t walk back into that house. Not now. Not immediately. The ghost and the voices were there. Turning away from Roswell, she sought out the one place that had always brought her solace.

The desert.

~~~

Michael scowled at the expensive sports car cluttering up the space in front of the trailer. Juggling the construction plans, he ignored the driver sitting in the air conditioned car and entered the trailer. Long day. Hot. September in Roswell usually saw a decrease in heat. In the high eighties, which was still hot, but not the scorchers of the hundreds found in mid-summer.

“Michael…”

Michael took a cold beer out of the refrigerator, and drank half of it before acknowledging Jesse Ramirez. He didn’t need this. Not now.

“Jesse.”

“Look,” Jesse seemed uncomfortable. His interactions with Michael always were. It wasn’t only the animosity that his wife, Isabel had towards Michael, but more because Michael had walked in on him once during an inopportune moment. “Maria came to see me a while ago.”

Michael lifted a brow over his beer. “And? You straighten her out?”

“You could say that.” Jesse shifted uncomfortable. His shirt was sticking to him. “How could she not know about your adoption?”

“Perhaps she didn’t want to know.” Michael shrugged. “Lila argued with her son about me for a long time. I guess neither Maria nor Sean was permitted to return to Roswell, and whether that was due to me, I can’t say. Lila and perhaps Peter are the only ones that really know.” Michael polished off his beer. “Lila was her own woman. I never really understood why she adopted me.” Old history. His history. Michael shrugged it off. It was hardly Jesse’s business.

Jesse nodded. It was understandable. Hank, Michael’s onetime foster father had been a bad candidate for the foster system. Very bad. He taught Michael not to care, to live indifferently.

“She looked ill, Michael. Physically. I tried to stop her from leaving the office, but she refused to stay.” Jesse frowned. “I’m worried. I tried the house. Everywhere I could think…”

“And you want me to go find her?”

“If not you, then who?”

Michael swore. Great. Like his life wasn’t complicated enough. “Fine. Whatever.” Jesse nodded, and Michael watched him leave. She hadn’t known. How could that be? Seven years. He lived with Lila for seven years. She went to visit Maria and Sean, toured overseas to see Maria in concert, and numerous other trips. In all that time, he was never mentioned?

“What the fuck was up with that, old lady? What were you playing at?” Lila DeLuca was always a woman with a plan. Trouble usually happened when her plans were unknown. It wouldn’t surprise him to see her reach out her hand beyond the grave. God, he missed her meddling ways!



“Why are you crying, boy?”

“I’m not.” Michael wiped his nose, and steadfastly refused to meet her eyes.

“I see. Your face is leaking.” Lila DeLuca handed the fifteen year old boy her hanky.

“Allergies.”

“Uh huh.” She perched her lips. “You’re the Guerin boy.” He didn’t comment. “I hear you’re a holy terror, a bad seed.” She noticed the tightening of his body and the clenching of his jaw, made more obvious by the bruise gracing it. Fighting? She doubted it. More than likely his foster father’s fist. She knew of the Guerin child. Amy, her daughter, had tried to help him so many years ago. That was the year she disappeared. The boy had been abused then, and if what she was seeing was true, he was still in a bad place.

“What’s it to ya?”

She smiled at the grit in his voice. He was abused, but he wasn’t broken. Pride was in his young voice. Lila’s smile quickly melted away. That would change. Every day would be a step closer to the breaking point.

“I’d rightly say nothing, unless you want it to be.” Michael finally looked at her. Lila searched his face. He was a beautiful young boy. What type of monster would hit such a child? “I figure a man has a right to walk away from a situation that ain’t right. I guess, it’s hard when you’re only fifteen.” Lord, the child was just barely older than Maria. “You might have to ask for help, or trust someone to do right by you.”

“I trust no one. There’s me, and there’s everyone else.”

Lila nodded sagely, respecting that. “Well, it’s best you think that way, I’m sure. Gets awful lonely out there all alone.” Lila took the hanky Michael offered back. “It’s best not to make promises. I can’t promise you anything, but I’ve got space in my home. I wouldn’t mind company, but I wouldn’t be taking in no charity case. I’d expect you to help around the place, go to school, and do your homework. I don’t need some whiny baby getting all maudlin on me, demanding my attention.”

“I don’t cry,” Michael said with a bite to his voice. What was maudlin?

“Good. Do you know where I live?”

“Yes, ma’am, Ms. DeLuca. I’d reckon everyone knows where you live.” His voice was cautious. Uncertain. What was she offering?

“Then gather your things, and come over. I’ll feed you three squares a day, even dessert if you clear your plate, and I don’t allow young men to entertain young women in their rooms.” Michael shrugged. He wasn’t much into girls right now either. They looked like too much work. “You’ll get an allowance as long as you do your chores and keep your room clean. There’ll be rules,” she warned. “You got any problems with that?”

“No ma’am.” Michael frowned. “Hank will...”

“Don’t you worry about Hank, young man. You let me take care of him.” She looked back at his bruised face. “We’ll put some witch hazel on that. It’ll take out the sting. You hurry on, like I told you. No dallying. I ain’t got all day.”

Michael nodded. He never knew what happened, but whatever the old lady did, she did it good. It took him some time to trust her. He always kept his bags packed in case he needed to leave. Michael couldn’t even remember when that bag stopped being packed, and one day he was using it to carry his books to school. It happened gradually. Sort of snuck up on him. That was Lila DeLuca. She snuck up on a person.

Michael wiped the sweat from his face. He could use another beer. Too many bottoms of beer bottles he seen since Lila died. Damn her! “Shut up, old woman! I’m going!”

Michael slammed out of the trailer, barely taking the time to lock up behind him. He better go find that Maria girl. If she was anything like Lila, she was in trouble somewhere, or fixin’ to get into trouble. Those DeLuca women, they were built that way.

~~~

“You’re late.”

Jesse put his briefcase down, but seeing Isabel’s frown, he quickly picked it up again. His office. The only place in the house exclusively his. Everything and everywhere else was Isabel’s.

“I had to stop and see Michael Guerin.” Jesse walked towards his home office as Isabel followed handing him the daily mail. Bills. Lots of them. Credit cards. Damn. How many did they have now? Seemed that every day was a new crop of credit card bills, household bills, and insurance.

“This place is a mess!” Isabel looked around the office, her nose shriveling at the end. “We should redecorate it, and…”

“Isabel,” Jesse warned. It was his place. She touched it, he’d divorce her. Period.

“Fine.” Isabel sniffed. She sat on the edge of his desk. “So, why did you go see Michael?”

Jesse sighed. “I can’t talk about my clients. You know that.” He learned the hard way. His wife wasn’t to be trusted not to gossip intimate details.

“I can’t imagine why you need to represent Trash Boy.”

“Michael. His name is Michael. He’s a client, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your derogatory remarks to a minimum.” The feud was old. Too old to care about any longer. That would be true of any other person, but not his wife. Not Isabel. Her hate kept it alive.

Isabel ignored him. Looking at her elegant watch, she stood up and smoothed down her dress. “We have dinner reservations at seven-thirty. You might want to get going, or we’ll be late.”

Isabel didn’t wait for a response. Hell. He had work. Dinner with some brainless friends of Isabel was the lowest item on his list of things that were fun to do. Jesse rubbed his eyes, and tiredly sat back in this chair. When was the last time it rained?

~~~

The first time I came to the desert? I can’t remember. That seems strange to me, that sometime in my past, I decided to go to the desert, and it eludes me as to when. There is something about the open spaces, the freedom, and ability to see in all directions at once. Walls of stone rising out of the desert floor, holding the warmth long into the evening. Stone is alive, sometimes more alive than people.

I feel safe in the desert, as if something or someone watches over me. In town, I feel eyes too, but the feeling there is almost sinister, watchful in a close guarded way, and it’s hard. They stare at the girl deserted by a father she never knew, and then her mother, also. Too hard to say where I belong, if at all. Roswell? Chicago? Europe, or some concert hall? I like the desert. It’s honest. In the desert, it doesn’t matter. If you were to stay too long, the desert would tell you if you belong.

Lila was the first person to introduce me to the desert. She took me to a site that my mother was working on, or more specifically, an archaeological site that my mother was protesting. Lila found it highly amusing. The site was run by her good friend, Claudia Parker. So there was my grandmother, in her favorite position, trapped between two feuding factions. My mother, Amy on the side of preserving the burial lands and rights of the Mescalero Indians, and Claudia Parker, on the side of discovering the past from remains etched from the very Earth so the Wheelers could build a new plant.

Amy DeLuca, my mother, was a woman always with a cause. The plight of the noble Condor, to human dignity, helping a child lost in the cruel cold system, or even something as simple as preserving a historical directory. Moral consciousness? It’s hard to say. I always felt it was Amy trying to take the basic characteristics she got from Lila, the meddling ones, and trying to channel it into something productive.

Standing on the high cliff face of red rocks uplifted from the very canyon floor, I can see far into the distance. Roswell, it was out there, waiting for me. Taunting. Laughing. I thought I belonged. I was wrong. All those years I thought she let me go because she was old, and I would require great care. I was so wrong.

The wind, it blows in a direction from the north bringing a coolness. It doesn’t matter. Tomorrow the wind will change again, and the heat will climb upward in a threatening furnace. Cook the bones. Hide the bodies. The land claims back every ounce of moisture. Nature of the desert. Dry. Who knew that after so much pain, the body could lose all its tears to the heat of dying? When will it rain?

~~~

Michael paced the room, staring out in the darkness. Where the hell was she? He had checked everywhere. Circled the streets of Roswell searching for her car. He even took a trip into the desert, but it was vast, and like a needle in a haystack, if she was out there, she could remain lost for a long time.

His phone ringing wasn’t a welcome interruption. There was no one he wanted to talk to, and that meant it could only be someone wanting something from him.

“Yeah?”

“Michael, I was thinking…”

“Not now, Maxwell.”

He could hear that sucking breath Max took in when he wanted to say something, but tried to control how he said it. It wouldn’t help. He wasn’t interested.

“Michael…”

“You know what, Max? I’m sick of it. All of it. I’ve kept my silence for over seven years. That’s a long time. Maybe I should tell her, or at least ask her if she wants to know? I’d like nothing better than to be free of this guilt, free of you, and free of Roswell. So back off, or…”

“Don’t tell her, Michael. It can’t change anything. It doesn’t change…”

Maria came through the door.

Michael frowned. “Yeah, whatever.” He disconnected the phone tossing it down on the chair. “Where the hell have you been?” Frantic. He had been frantic, but hell, he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“A drive.”

Michael opened his mouth to tell her about courtesy. The etiquette of telling a person where she was going, when he noticed her face. She seemed to be shivering, but there was a thin layer of sweat on her forehead. She was pale. Deathly pale. Raising a shaking hand, she wiped moisture from above her lip. Her eyes seemed to dominate her face, and their green orbs were surprisingly darker than normal, puncturing holes in her face.

Swearing under his breath, he took her arm to guide her to a chair, in an uncharacteristic gentleness. “Sit down before you fall down.”

“I’m fine. I forgot to take my med…”

“Medicine. Yeah, I figured as much. Where is it?”

“Upstairs, on the vanity in my bathroom.” Michael nodded. He quickly went into the kitchen and took a bottled water from the refrigerator. Rushing up the back stairs behind the kitchen he went into her room. The small formation of pill containers stood in front of the mirror, as if standing at attention. Her soldiers. Reading the label, he frowned at the names. Of the four bottles, he recognized two of them as serious medication. Ulcer. She had an ulcer. Another was for stress, or more likely something to keep her calm so not to aggravate her ulcer. A small store of vitamins, and Michael noticed the birth control pills on his way out. Good to know. He hadn’t pegged her for a shrinking virgin, but confirmation was always appreciated.

“How many?”

“Two of the small white ones, and one of the purple capsules.” Michael quickly handed her the pills. “Thank you.” Her voice was subdued. She quickly downed them to lie down on her side on the sofa. So tired. Sleep might help. Maria didn’t feel the small tear that found its way down her cheek.

Michael saw it. Her unhappy face. She was lacking the fire he was expecting from his early run-in with her. Where did the hellcat go, and who was this lackluster creature?

Michael cleared his throat. “Jesse Ramirez came by after you left his office. He was worried about you.” Maria didn’t say anything. Michael sighed. He sucked at this. “He told you about the will.” Shit. State the facts. Of course he told her. The look on her face, the devastation, said it all.

Maria didn’t say a word. She was strangely silent and still. Her gaze went past him, beyond where he stood, as if she could see a world beyond his perception. Lost there. She ignored him.

“It’s not what you think, child. It never is.” Lila sat in the chair staring at her kindly, her green hazel eyes sympathetic. “Listen with your heart, honey. Know with your heart. The mind can reason wrong, because it only sees what’s in front of it. The heart knows.”

“Maria?” Michael squatted down. Her gaze was transfixed, and he watched the pupils dilate as her line of sight readjusted. She became aware of him. Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned at the empty chair. Rubbing his face, he sighed. Damn. It should’ve been easier. It was Lila’s fault. She could’ve warned the girl. Ambushing something so fawnlike, with a boiling ulcer, seemed obscene. “Maria?”

The room seemed small suddenly as her gaze redirected itself to him. Golden brown eyes met the darkened green of hers. The speckling of golden flakes in her green eyes gave them a life, a brilliance. She was far from over. The sound of their collective breathing broke the silence. Michael ran a hand over his neck, the intensity of her stare was disconcerting. He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry you hate that she adopted me and gave me your room.” That was a lie. Lila hadn’t given him the room, he had chosen it. What else was there to say? He was sorry. Not that Lila gave him the only home he ever knew, but that he was an interloper in her world.

“It’s not that,” she said softly. Michael frowned. When did her voice become so soft and husky?

“It’s alright. I know I’m not a DeLuca, and this house really belongs to the DeLucas. Your uncle, he made that clear long ago.”

“Uncle Peter? He knew?” Maria struggled to sit up.

Helping her, his hands remained longer than they needed. “I moved in with her on a trial basis. She assumed foster care of me.” Michael smiled slightly derisive. “She was too old for fostering or adoption. Or so they tried to convince her. Obviously, she educated them to the truth, because within the year, she adopted me.”

“That was the last year I was here? When I was fifteen?”

“The same year, a few months after you left.” Michael scratched an eyebrow. He remembered that year. That summer. Maria. He wondered what happened, but the old woman had never been very forthcoming in information. He always wondered what happened after that one day. “Why did you stop visiting in the summers?”

Maria sat up on the side of the sofa. She weakly moved hair off her neck, the movement of her right hand caught his eye. He frowned at the hand. “I don’t know. My uncle forbid it, and Lila agreed. I started playing violin professionally that Fall, and my concert schedule, tutoring and school took up so much of my life.”

Michael caught her hand. “What happened?” He hadn’t noticed the special fiberglass cast on her right hand. It hadn’t been obvious before.

“I broke my wrist.” Maria took her hand back. “I have at least another six weeks before it can be removed.”

“Is that why you stopped touring?” Michael stared at her hand. Her hand was her life. Her ability to play the violin was how she made her living.

“No, I stopped before that.” Maria cradled her arm. “This was after. I broke it in an accident.” Michael’s eyebrow went up. Maria rolled her eyes. That was the problem with people, they thought they needed to know everything, to the minutest of details. “I accidentally pushed it into my uncle’s jaw.” Unfortunately, it had done more damage to her wrist then his face, but the act had made her feel better.

The pain in her stomach had subsided, Maria stood up. Michael was on his feet helping her.

“Don’t be nice to me,” she said. Niceness. That was something she learned not to believe in or trust. There was always a motive. People never gave without wanting something in return. There was nothing guaranteed, nothing for free. There was no unconditional love. Before today, she believed there was. Now? No. Everything was a lie.

“I don’t do ‘nice,’” Michael said. Hell, he hardly did ‘civil.’ “I take it that you and your uncle had a disagreement.”

“That is an understatement.” Maria stared at the empty chair. “I should shower. It was hot in the desert.”

He should’ve known. Of course she would go there. It was where she had always gone as a child. Lila told him that after her mother disappeared, young Maria had searched the desert for her mother. Whenever Maria was missing, that was where they found her.

Maria paused at the stairs. Without looking back, she stared ahead of her. “I don’t hate that she adopted you. Really I don’t. It’s not you. It’s me.” Maria looked back at him. “She let him take me away. I thought it was because she was too old to raise me.” Maria shook her head. Lila hadn’t been too old to raise Michael. “I was wrong. She didn’t want me.”

The room was silent as she ascended the stairs. It was surprisingly cold in the house, as if a hush had moved over the rooms. Michael’s jaw clenched. “Dammit, old woman, what mess did you leave me?”

~~~

The wind was from the north cooling the end of days. His hands clenched in fists, holding tight a rage that never seemed to abate. The leaves of the trees rustled, brushing against the branches of wood on wood, moving to the swaying wind. Subtle things. Other things. She was back.

After all those years, and she was finally back. He thought he put her down. After all those years, she had returned to taunt him, and he took care of it. Then she left for good, or so he thought. The light from the room was on for the first time in almost fifteen years. The slim figure moving behind the blinds, the shadow intriguing. Would she still remember? She changed, but he knew her. He’d know her anywhere. The face had changed over the years, but it was the eyes. He could see her behind other eyes. They lied. They tried to pretend that they weren’t her, but he knew.

She kept coming back, finding a way out of the place, but this time he would put her back. This time, she’d stay.
 

Chapter Five

“What are you doing here?”

Michael moved the eggs onto a hot platter. “I live here.” She was dressed in an antique slip and a silk dressing gown, untied. It was short leaving a nice length of exposed legs and bare feet. Swallowing his tongue, he tried not to ogle her. Much.

Maria quickly closed her dressing gown pulling the sash tight. His eyes were still moving over her. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Michael smirked. “Feel free to check me out all you want.”

“Generous offer,” she said looking him over, dispassionately. He wasn’t…awful. There was that one thing against him, though. He was a man. Sniffing, she lifted a delicate brow and went to pour some coffee.

Michael chuckled under his breath. He hadn’t planned on moving back into the house, not until they had things settled. Namely, until she sold him her half and ran back to Chicago, but yesterday changed that. The trailer at the work site wasn’t as comfortable, and it didn’t have the added entertainment benefits. Maria DeLuca was proving to be an interesting distraction to his usually mundane life.

“Should you be drinking coffee?”

Maria took a seat, shrugging. Roswell Daily Record. It wasn’t that bad. There were no pig reports, but weather seemed to be a huge topic. “I’d like to see the man strong enough to come between me and the morning brew.”

“Decaf?”

Maria snorted. “What would be the point?” Flipping through the local news, she frowned at a small article on a missing student from the University. Eastern New Mexico University in Roswell reported no progress in the local authorities search for a missing graduate student. “So how long has Carol Ann Barker been missing?”

“Who?” Michael turned his pancakes. They were large. They were thick. They were his.

“The girl missing from the local University.”

Michael leaned over to read the article. “According to the article, five days. She probably took off to Corpus Christi or something, forgetting to tell her family. She’ll be back soon.”

“It’s early September. No one takes a vacation mere weeks after a new semester starts.”

“Know a lot about college?”

Maria sniffed. “I took classes. A few.”

“Hmm, so how was that?” Michael asked. Personally, he’d rather have his teeth pulled and gum his food for life than ever have to suffer formal education again.

Maria purposely continued reading, her comment was a low mumble.

“Excuse me?” Michael put a plate of food in front of her. “You should learn to enunciate.”

“Spell that!” Maria put her napkin across her lap. Breakfast! Personally, she would’ve fixed one of those disgusting pastries that came out of a box that kids tended to like. She looked up at him when he took away her plate, his brow lifting.

“Fine! I went to college…for a short while.” Michael replaced her plate. Maria wrapped her arm around it to prevent him from taking it away again. Meanie. “It didn’t take. I kept falling asleep in class. I would’ve had to become a drama major to survive. Their classes were the only ones that started late enough in the day.” Michael took a seat across from her passing her the syrup. “College was too…boring. I guess had no real aptitude for all those classes they forced me to take.’’

“You could’ve taken music. I understand you’re pretty good at it.”

“You’d think.” Maria frowned when Michael got up and placed a large glass of milk in front of her. “Milk bothers my ulcer.” She gazed longingly at the tall cold glass of milk. Her favorite drink. She sighed wistfully. Repeating in her head how it was nothing more than a result of glandular secretions from inside an animal with four stomachs.

“Fine, I’ll drink it.” Maria snatched it before Michael could take it from her.

“That’s okay. I’m sure this once won’t hurt.” She sipped the milk, digging into her stack of pancakes. They were good. “You can cook! Really. These are good.”

“Yeah, Lila made me learn. She said with my personality and attitude I should get accustomed to the idea of living alone for a long time.”

Maria chewed thoughtfully. “She really did know you.”

Michael snorted. “Relationships are overrated. There is sex. There is companionship. It’s when you mix the two that things go wrong.” Michael polished off a pancake in three large bites jabbing his fork in the air to emphasize his points to the argument. “If you keep them separate, like seek out your buddies for companionship, and a…”

“Hooker for sex?”

“I was going to say, a willing participant, but I guess sooner or later, I might have to pay for sex, in forty years or so.”

Maria made a snorting noise. “More like ten.”

The insult rolled off his back like water. Michael finished up his eggs and pancakes. He was late. The job would already be underway. “I remember. You’re engaged.” Michael took his plate to the sink. That explained the birth control pills. “Three years, right? I remember Lila told me about it when you got engaged. She thought you were too young to tie yourself to one man.”

Maria joined him at the sink, handing him her plate. “She was right. I was too young. Still am. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“What mistake?” he asked curiously.

“Tying myself to a man.”

“Ouch! Whoever he was, he must have done a real number on you. Turning you all man-hating lesbian.”

“I’m not a lesbian, or I don’t think I am. Maybe I never met the right woman that could change me. But, man-hating? I don’t think so. Men have their uses, and it usually ranges in the fifteen minutes of fame.” Maria rolled her eyes. Michael lifted his brow. Whoever her ex-fiancée was, he didn’t leave a good impression on her in regards to men. Fifteen minutes? He usually tried to make it at least to twenty. “I’m off men right now. I’ll get over it.”

Michael scratched his eyebrow. “So, what does that make you?”

“Happy. Celibate,” she said on her way out of the room. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“You can cook dinner.”

Maria paused in the doorway. “I said I was off men, not that I wanted to murder them.”

“Bad?”

Maria nodded. “Lethal. I can thaw things. I don’t know that I ever knew where the kitchen was in my uncle’s house.”

“Don’t you mean home?” Strange how she clinically referred to her uncle’s home as a place that she visited. You’d think that she wasn’t raised in that house.

“Grow up. I don’t have a home.” Michael sighed as she disappeared upstairs. Wish she would stop doing that. Making comments like those, and walking away. Who would’ve thought? A person more enigmatical then he was, and equally disillusioned and closed-mouthed? Well, damn. He might have finally met his soulmate.

~~~

The music box. Its place had been on the corner of Amy’s dressing vanity for as long as Maria could remember. It was a present from Ryan DeLuca, Maria’s great-grandfather. Lifting the lid, Maria listened to the melody. It wasn’t Brahms, it was a Jewel Box Symphonium playing Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite. She started humming the melody before she lifted the lid. It was the first piece she learned to play on her violin when she was six. After all these years, it was still her warm-up piece.

Leaving the vanity, she stood over her violin case. She had carefully placed in a special area of the room, safe from being in any way abused. She ran her hand over it. The case was of the finest quality. It had to be. Peter DeLuca didn’t deal in substandard materials. The violin was a Stradivarius, from the antique Italian school of musical instruments. Its rich Italian sound timbre made it almost sing. She owned numerous instruments, but this was her favorite. The antique instruments of Amati, Stradivari, and Guarneri graced her home in Chicago, but the Stradivarius went everywhere she did. Each Stradivarius had a name. Hers was Firebird, and was handmade by the master in 1718.

Her hand paused mere inches from the case. She hadn’t touched it in over six weeks. Her violin had laid in its case, like a corpse forgotten in a coffin.

“Never be afraid to touch things, child.”

“Go away. You’re not here.” Maria didn’t bother to turn towards the voice. It was in her head. It had to be. Any other possibility was unthinkable. She had enough problems with the living. There was no sense in adding the dead to the mix. “You’re not here. No one is. I’m alone.”

“When all else in your life fails you, there is always music. Use it, sweetheart. Use the music. In it, there is solace.”

“I can’t. You wouldn’t understand.” Maria let her fingers trail on the closed case. “This was the one pure thing in my life. The one thing that would not fail me.” Maria bowed her head. “They took that too.”

Maria turned at the sound of knocking at the front door. Looking around the room, it was empty. She remained frozen there for a moment until the knock sounded again. Rushing down the stairs, she refused to look back. There was always time for going insane.

Maria saw a small blonde woman standing outside the door. Looking through the lace curtains, her first instinct was not to answer the door. Pretend not to be home. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on a few deep breaths. What was the point of getting free if she remained cloistered? This is a new part of your life, a new chapter. The ‘Maria Interacts in the Real World Like a Human’ chapter.

“Hi? Can I help you?” Maria asked the turned back of the woman. So she left it a little late. The woman had already started to leave.

“Maria DeLuca?”

Maria smiled. The woman was young, around her age. “Maybe you better come in?” It was hot, and the young woman was very obviously pregnant. She had a small child on her hip, a little girl with wild blonde curls and her mother’s blue eyes. It was the little boy behind his mother’s legs that made Maria smile. He was so serious looking, his brown eyes guarded. He looked the opposite of his mother, but he held onto her hand leaning into her body.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“No bother. There has to be something cold to drink in the house. Won’t you come in?”

Maria led the young woman and her children to the kitchen. It was hot, but the fans were helping, and compared to outside, the inside of the house felt refreshing. Lemonade? How the heck did people make that anyway? Lemons?

Maria searched the refrigerator, and then the freezer. Oh damn. She couldn’t make anything. The poor woman was with child. Poisoning a pregnant woman had to be one of those sins that guaranteed immediate sentencing to hell. Juice!

“I’ve got apple juice! Nice and refreshingly cold.” The little boy was finally overcoming his shyness to peek at Maria from his mother’s clothing. The little girl, maybe three years old, didn’t seem to suffer shyness in any form. She smiled brilliantly at Maria.

Pouring them glasses of juice, Maria looked at the woman. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Tess. I’m Tess Evans.” She helped her daughter drink the juice. “I’m really sorry to interrupt you without being announced or introduced.” Tess smiled wryly. “I heard a rumor that you were in town, and that you might be staying.” That tidbit of information sure moved fast.

“That’s true. I am planning on living here.” Maria smiled politely, but it was hard to imagine what her plans had to do with this woman.

“I…” Tess passed a hand over her hair, and smiled self-consciously. “I was hoping that if you’re going to live in Roswell, that you might consider giving my son violin lessons.”

“Lessons?” Maria choked back a squeak in her voice. “I…um, that is to say, I haven’t given it much thought.”

Tess’s hand went over her son’s head. “I think he has some natural talent.” Tess smiled at her son, gently. “I really don’t have much money, especially with another baby on the way, but I can maybe make some kind of arrangements with you?”

“Arrangement?” Well, damn. What to say? Maria looked at the small boy. “What is his name?”

“Zan.”

“Zan? That’s different.” Lessons? Teaching? That was a new concept. The adage that those that couldn’t do…taught, came to mind. Was she even ready to give up playing for a new role as a teacher? Maria frowned. That was a question. “I don’t know that I’m looking to pick up students.” Maria bit her lip. The crestfallen look on Tess’s face was too hard to take. “Look, maybe you could let me think about it? I haven’t given much thought to my future, and if I decide to take on students…”

“Thank you!”

Maria sat at the table long after Tess and her merry band of children left. Sinking her head in her arms on the table, she moaned. So this was being grown up? Decisions. Reality. Having to make decisive plans for a future. Maria hit the table with her hand. She could do this. She could. It was what she had fought for, what she wanted. Sitting up, she waited for the ghost of her grandmother to appear, to make a comment, or something.

“Now you’re quiet? What? Do I look capable of doing this alone?” Nothing. Damn. Maybe she was crazy. She was in an empty house talking to the kitchen walls.

~~~

“Michael, how many crews did you put on this morning?”

“Eighteen.”

Alex groaned. He quickly entered numbers into the computer. “We can’t cover payroll.”

“The Anderson job finished yesterday. We got paid. What about that?”

“Gone. Bergman’s called in our credit yesterday. I was forced to cover materials. The cost shattered our accounts.” Alex chewed on his lip in thought. “We might have enough left to buy the crews beer and get them a little drunk before telling them we can’t afford to cut their paychecks.”

“We’ve finished other jobs! Where the hell is our money going?” Hell, neither of them had taken a payday in so many months, it was hard to remember what a paycheck looked like!

Alex pointed towards the door. The job. It was huge. Too huge for them. It was sucking their company dry. “I told you we couldn’t handle it.”

Michael shrugged. The same old argument. Growing too fast. Alex erred on the side of caution, and Michael saw an opportunity that might never come their way again, and seized it. He was the gambler.

“We never should’ve agreed to cover all costs until closing payoff.”

Michael took a beer out of the refrigerator. Leaning against the wall he downed half of it. His clothing was soaked in sweat. It was hot today. The inside of the buildings were almost complete, but the air conditioning wasn’t on, and it was like a hotbox, over a hundred degrees inside, even with electrical fans trying to combat the heat. Whoever designed a large office complex building to have windows that didn’t open was a menace. A breeze would’ve been appreciated.

“It’s how we won the bid. You know that. The other option was to underbid the competitors, but that would cut our profit margin to hell. What's the use of taking on a new job if we don’t make money?” Michael finished his beer in one gulp. “We’re ahead of schedule. That means a huge bonus on top of the contract.”

“What is the use of making money if we bankrupt ourselves getting there?”

They weren’t going to agree, but it didn’t matter. The project was theirs. It was almost done, and somehow they needed to make it work. The door opening to the trailer forestalled any other discussions. Courtney. Michael rolled his eyes and went to take a shower.

“Michael…”

“Talk to Alex.” Michael went into the back bedroom slamming the door. His clothes were soaked through.

Alex hid a smile. “What is it, Courtney?”

The pouting woman was still staring at the shut bedroom door. “I brought over the office mail and messages.” Courtney passed a pile of envelopes to Alex. “I thought you were going to be in the main office today.”

“Things got busy here.” Alex flipped through the mail. There was nothing that couldn’t be handled on Monday. “Did you bring over payroll?”

Courtney passed him a large manila envelope. “Do you want me to run these over to the crews?”

“I’ll do it.” Alex looked at the time. It was past lunchtime. The crews were probably wondering where their Friday checks were. Courtney was quiet, and Alex looked up at her. “Was there something else?”

“Some papers that Michael needs to sign. Bids came back All the contracts are finalized and signed. They already have your signature, but they need Michael’s.” She kept the papers clutched in her hands.

“Leave them. I’ll make sure he signs them.” She wasn’t budging. “Leave them!”

Courtney tossed them on the desk, and left in a huff. She ran straight into Maria trying to enter the trailer. Knocking her to the side, Courtney glared at her.

“Excuse you!”

Maria lifted an eyebrow. Brushing her clothes down, she looked into the large office trailer. “Is it safe to enter?”

“Maria!” Alex stood up. “This is unexpected.”

“The woman answering phones at Michael’s office told me where to come.” Maria pointed at the door she had entered. “Who was that? One of those old girlfriends you promised to leave widowed at eighteen?”

“Worse. Company secretary. She leaves a poor minimum wage phone girl and chases Michael all around the greater Roswell area.”

Maria frowned. “His girlfriend?”

Alex snorted. “She wishes! That would require that Michael actual notice she lives and breathes. Fat chance of that happening.”

“Ouch!” Maria sat on the edge of the desk smiling at Alex. “Brutal. I like! Have you always been this…forceful?”

“I worked my way towards it.” Alex leaned back. Maria DeLuca flirting with him. That made his day! Who could’ve predicted that old ‘Fish Lips’ would turn into a total spankable babe? She definitely could be easily penciled to the top of his laminated list right next to Reese Witherspoon.

“You know, I was looking for Michael Guerin, and this was where I was told to go. Exactly what are you doing here?”

“Working. Michael Guerin would be my partner.”

Maria’s eyebrow went up at that. News to her. She wouldn’t have imagined Alex and Michael being partners, let alone friends. She really must be off her meds. The company’s name of Guerin-Whitman hadn’t registered.

“So where is he?”

“Showering. He was stinky, and trying to avoid having his body salivated over by Courtney.”

Maria’s eyebrow lifted again, very coolly to that. “Really? Imagine that. Takes all kinds. I guess in a small town like Roswell, Michael Guerin actually looks good.”

Alex laughed with glee. Oh geez, his life just took a nice turn to the strange and interesting thanks to Maria! Someone not hot to get Michael’s attention was worth watching, worth worshipping.

“And what is wrong with me, exactly?” Michael asked snidely from the doorway. No frickin’ wonder his ears were burning. They had been dissecting him.

“Would you like a list?” Maria asked sweetly.

“I made you pancakes this morning.”

Well, he did have a point. “That was a definite plus towards your attractiveness. A few more of those and you might actually elevate to Alex’s level.”

“Alex’s level? He already made time with you?”

Alex watched the two with interest. Michael’s eyes had an electricity to them, and Maria’s was sparkling with life. Interesting. Michael only got animated over a building contracts and after-work beer.

“Of course he does. After all, I have seen him naked, and when you add in that charming birthmark, and all that...”

Alex blushed. “Oh stop it! Stop. I’m blushing.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, what's with that?” She saw him naked? What? He took off his clothes for her in the office while Michael was showering? Frickin’ pervert. “Something I should know about?” Michael’s eyes took on a cold hardness. Damn. If that was all it took, Michael would strip for her. He went to the gym with Alex. Hell, Maria needed to get out more or chose a different class of men.

Alex held up his hands. “Sorry, buddy. I can’t be held responsible for my actions at five. How was I to know that Maria bathing with me as a child would have such a positive lasting effect?”

Maria snickered under her breath. “Indeed. All my life, he has been the measuring stick.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed in thought. “You off your meds again?”

Laughing, she took a seat across from the desk. “So, am I interrupting anything?”

Nothing they didn’t want interruptions. Talking about their redlined accounts was enough to give them both Maria’s ulcer. Alex held up the manila envelope with the payroll checks and the stash of papers Michael needed to sign to his partner.

“Payroll. Business. Which first?”

Michael shook his head and read through the papers. Six new contracts. They had originally been signed by Alex, and now that negotiations were through, he needed to make it official.

“Six new jobs? You sure?”

“None of them take eighteen months, and they cover material costs. I’m happy.” Alex pointed at his large cheesy smile. “This is a happy man.”

“Payroll,” said Michael sourly. The bane of his existence lately. He wasn’t against paying his men. He was against paying them with money he didn’t have.

“What do you want to do?”

Michael rubbed his face. Damn. He liked business. He liked his business. This was the grind that came with it. “We can’t not pay them.” Michael sighed looking at the floor between his feet. “We should’ve held off the materials accounts longer.”

“I tried. We were against the wall.”

“I’ll cover the payroll with private funds.” Michael forestalled Alex’s protest. “This once.”

“I thought you earmarked your money for house renovations?”

Michael looked at Maria and smiled charmingly. Well, at least he tried. It didn’t come off so much charming as it came off feral.

“Lucky me, I’ve got a partner in that project as well. Ms. ‘Money bags’ DeLuca.”

“Hey! You’re paying for your half, buddy. Leave my stacks alone.” He was determined to bankrupt her. Maria frowned. “If your company is overextended, why don’t you get a loan? A short term loan to cover cost.”

Alex grabbed the phone to call the accountant to cover the accounts. “We thought of that, but Guerin-Whitman has stayed afloat all these years with a cash and carry policy. We don’t want to start that loan thing. It’s a slippery slope. Next thing I know, my partner, who is a tad boyish in his irresponsibility, will be bidding us larger and larger jobs until we’re busted.”

“The Wheeler Expansion is still a possibility,” offered Michael helpfully.

Alex gestured towards his partner. “See? No regard towards what is economical and feasible.”

Maria hid a smile as the call went through and Alex quickly had the accountant take the necessary funds from Michael’s personal accounts. He finished the transaction pretty quickly. “Now that the company has robbed you, I’ll go distribute the payroll. The boys are probably wondering if they’re getting paid.”

“Give them all the rest of the day off. Tell them to shut it down early. We’ll see them on Monday.” Hopefully the missing air conditioning component would be installed by then.

“That’s it?” Alex asked hopefully. “We’re through?”

“Yeah. Final inspection for specials, then the building inspector is back for one last inspection. Then the clean up crews, and we can close this deal.”

“Thank you, God!” Alex, not normally a religious man, was willing to thank whatever, and whoever to be free of that one project. He gathered his papers.

Michael smiled slightly at his partner’s enthusiasm. It had been a tough project. They finished under the wire, so they were looking at a bonus as well. Looking Maria up and down, taking in her cool appearance, the elegant clothing, she didn’t fit with his work trailer. She looked too uptown.

“What are ya doing here anyway, DeLuca?”

“Looking for you.”

“Uh huh. Like I said, what are ya doing here?”

Maria twirled the shoulder strap to her bag. “Well, something strange happened this morning after you left, and I decided I needed to talk about it with someone.”

“Someone? Meaning me?”

“Uh huh. Normally, it would’ve been Sean, who is almost a brother to me, or Lila, but that obviously won’t work here,” Maria smiled charmingly. “So, that leaves you.”

“Me? I’m still not catching on.”

Maria tsked. “To think you almost reversed my original assessment that you were a slow, low brow, mentally challenged, local bad boy.”

“I don’t know why you reversed your beliefs. Those are all true. So why am I suddenly designated to be your father confessor?”

Maria took herself and her bag over to stand in front of him, her fingers playing with the buttons of his fresh shirt. “Obviously, because we are fam-il-y. Like the song, you know?”

“Family?” Okay, so maybe she was right. He was thick.

“My grandmother adopted you, so by my reckoning, that makes you, my uncle.” Maria tapped him on his chest. “Uncle Michael. Has a nice ring, huh?”

Alex chuckled grabbing his stuff quick. “I’m outta here! Uncle Michael, I’ll see you on Monday. No work this Saturday. So take your young niece out to lunch.”

Michael growled at his evil partner.

“Lunch! I could eat.” Maria said in a happy singsong voice making Alex laugh even harder on his way out of the trailer.

~~~

“Galaxy sub?”

“Has turkey. Usually slimy.”

“Eww. Okay, MIB hoagie.”

“Bologna.”

Maria frowned. “They still make that? I thought it was outlawed as constitutionally bad for the arteries.”

“Nope. Some people still love lips and assholes. Find something else.”

Maria read the menu. All the alien names were cutesy in a demented way, but it made ordering impossible. “Tuna melt?”

“Fishy, and the tuna is from the can.”

“Canned? Does tuna come another way?”

“Never had a fresh grilled tuna steak?”

Maria shrugged. “I like haddock or Chilean Sea Bass.”

“How about a nice, normal, easy to cook, greasy cheeseburger?”

Maria chewed on a fingernail. The waitress came to take their order. It was the same one from yesterday. Liz Parker. Maria tried not to stare. “Um, does a pastrami on rye with Swiss compute somewhere on this menu?” Maria saw Michael shake his head from the corner of her eye. “No?”

“Pastrami is fatty. Try the Ruben. The sauerkraut kills all bacterium, and the corned beef tends not to be green.”

“Our food is fresh daily, and there are no bacterium!” Liz snatched Michael’s menu away looking at Maria. “You probably don’t remember me, but…”

“Sure I do. How are you, Liz?”

That seemed to knock the wind out of Liz’s sails. “I didn’t realize you remembered. Yesterday, I…”

Maria smiled. “Sorry about that. I didn’t recognize you at first, and by the time I could’ve introduced myself, some other waitress took over my table. Alice?”

“Alice. Right.” Liz turned slightly red. “I was on break.”

“That’s what they’re calling it now?” Michael asked nastily. Liz glared at him, and turned back to Maria. “Really, everything is fresh. Tell me what you want, and I’ll have them make it.”

Maria ignored all the high signs Michael was giving her. Rude beast. “Cheeseburger, extra pickles, hold the onions? Large order of onion rings?” Maria swallowed the giggle that almost escaped when Michael gave her two thumbs up.

Liz nodded. “That’s almost what you had yesterday.”

“It was good. You can’t imagine how many years it has been since I had something as simple as a burger. Oh, and a large cherry coke.” Liz nodded.

“Michael?” Her voice was laced in vitriol.

“My usual. Extra onions.” Michael watched as Liz walked away and then quickly forgot her.

“Are you usually this charming?”

“Huh?”

“Thought so. Here I thought I was special.”

Michael raised his eyebrow. “Oh, you’re definitely special.”

Maria snorted. She wasn’t even going to pretend to take that in a nice way. He told her he didn’t do nice. “So why so nasty to Liz? You must’ve known her most of your life.”

“Too much of my life.” Michael winced as Liz squealed. An old woman walked into the Crashdown, and Liz was enthusiastically hugging her. Shit. Claudia Parker. Michael scowled. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice them. To distract Maria from the loud display, he searched her face. “You going to tell me what you needed to talk about?”

“Lessons.”

Lessons? Shit. She was deranged. “What? Is that like a super secret code word or something? Is it supposed to mean something to me?”

“Only if we are talking charm lessons, and in your case, you should be lamenting the lack of them.” Maria frowned at the older woman. She knew her from somewhere. “A woman came by the house after you left.” Maria continued, distracted by the noise. “She said she heard that I was moving to Roswell fulltime, and wanted me to give her son violin lessons.”

Michael swore under his breath. So it begins. Word was circulating that Maria DeLuca was home to stay. Scratching his brow, he waited for her to continue. She was a damn DeLuca. They didn’t do one word responses.

“I told her that I hadn’t thought about my future much, and that once I decided, I would contact her.” Maria breathed easier. Sitting back, she waited.

They were both silent, staring at each other. Neither spoke. Maria sat with her hands in her lap. The damn place was loud, or maybe it was the sound of time ticking away.

“So?” Michael cursed on his breath. He hadn’t wanted to be the one to break the silence.

“What?”

“Huh?”

“Maria!” They both looked up at Claudia Parker.

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