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Chapter Twenty:
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It’s getting colder.
It’s even colder at night.
It’s three in the morning.
I couldn’t sleep.
Max said he was coming home.
That was eight hours ago.
I’m sitting on the balcony.
The wind has picked up.
It’s sprinkling.
It’s late.
It’s cold.
But I can’t feel it.
The world turns without you.
Time passes without you.
People move on without you.
When you sit, and just let things go.
Alex will move on.
Mother has moved on.
Has Max?
He wears expensive suits. Drives expensive cars. Has expensive tastes.
But he lives in a one bedroom apartment. With me.
At least, he did.
His car drove up an hour later.
I saw him walk up from where I sat, on the balcony, in the cold, alone.
I can hear his keys in the door.
I can hear him walk in.
I sit.
It’s sprinkling.
It’s cold.
But I don’t feel it.
I sit.
He opens the balcony door an eternity later.
“It’s cold,” I hear him say.
I nod my head.
Two years ago he would have joined me.
Now, he leans against the door frame.
I can see his shadow from the light inside.
“Come inside, Liz,” he says.
Max said he was coming home.
Because of Alex?
Because of me?
I stand up.
I go inside.
He closes the door behind me.
The heater’s on in the apartment.
A fire is burning in the fireplace.
Max likes to come home to warmth.
I forgot.
There’s tension in the air.
I can feel it.
He can too.
I sit on the couch.
He stands, leaning on the mantle, staring into the fire.
It’s why we chose this apartment. Max liked the fireplace. I liked the balcony.
“So what’s going on?” he asks. He doesn’t look at me, stares at the fire.
I sit.
He sighs.
He looks up. “Who are the flowers from?”
They’re still on the table, where he left them.
They’re pretty.
Alex always liked pretty things.
“Who are the flowers from?” he repeats.
“Alex,” but I didn’t have to say. Max already knew.
He picks them up.
They’re pretty, the flowers.
He throws them into the fire.
“What’s going on?” he says it more forcefully.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
He doesn’t believe me.
“Have you decided?” he asks. He doesn’t look at me, stares into the fire.
He’s upset.
Is it because of Alex?
Or because of me?
“Have you decided?” he repeats.
“On what?” I ask.
I sit. I stare. I stare at the man.
He’s too handsome for his own good.
“On what you want,” he pushes the words out. He’s upset.
Because of Alex?
Or because of me?
“Do you want to stay or do you want to go?” he asks.
There’s a pause. He looks at me. Finally. He’s upset. “Be with me? Or be with him?”
I sit. I stare.
“Don’t think I don’t see it. I’m not stupid, Liz,” he says, shaking his head. He’s upset, turning back to stare at the fire. The pretty flowers all but ashes now. “His calls. His messages. The way your mother pushes you two together. I know she’d rather have had you marry him instead of me.”
He’s upset.
Because of Alex.
And because of me.
“And he was here,” he cringes, like the thought disgusts him. “With flowers. With you.”
He watches me.
I stare at him.
“And how I’m always away on business …” he’s shaking his head. “It’d be so easy for you to … with him.”
He won’t fill in the blanks.
I wait for the question.
“Are you having an affair?” he asks. Finally.
He watches me.
I stare at him.
“Are you?” I ask.
He stares at me. “No.”
I stare back. “No.”
The fire isn’t as bright anymore.
The room isn’t as warm.
He walks over to me. “I’m tired of this, Liz.”
I stand up. “Me too.”
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Empty (AU, ML, MATURE) (Complete)
Moderators: Itzstacie, Forum Moderators
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Chapter Twenty One:
-------------------------------------------------
He sat down on the coffee table then.
He left me standing.
Waiting.
“Let’s hear it,” he says, not looking at me.
I stare down at him.
“You said you were tired too. Tired of what? Because I’d really like to know,” his voice gets edgier.
I sit down.
There’s silence.
It screams at me.
“Are you tired of me?” he stares at the carpet. He wrings his hands. “Tired of our marriage? Tired of us?”
It’s past four. It’s Sunday. I meet with mother for tea in eight hours.
This silence is deafening.
His eyes are closed.
“What do you want, Liz?” He seems angered. He seems upset. He seems tired.
But he won’t look at me.
I stare at him, my husband.
My husband with secrets. With a life I know nothing about.
The newspaper picture.
The business trips.
The blonde.
He reaches out. He takes my hand. But he won’t look at me. “Talk to me.”
I stare at him.
Two years is a long time to go not knowing the man you marry. The man in front of me. My husband.
“Please,” he’s watching me now, staring into me.
My eyes close. I pull my hand away.
He’s tired. So am I.
Is he tired of me? Tired of our marriage? Tired of us?
Why is he here?
What is he doing?
“Liz–”
“Who is the blonde?” The words fall out. I wasn’t thinking them.
“Isabel?” he looks confused.
So that’s her name. Isabel. Sounds exotic.
“This isn’t about her. This is about you, about us.”
Us. It’s a two letter word.
“What do you want?” he asks.
I sit.
“What do you want, Liz?” his voice is edgier again.
I stare.
“Damn it. Talk to me!”
I blink. My husband rarely yelled. At least, not at me.
The picture.
The blonde.
“Who are you?” I ask. I stare.
Silence.
It’s earth-shattering.
“What kind of question is that?” He laughs. Not out of humor.
Multi-million dollar shipping business. But he lived a simple life in this one bedroom apartment. With me.
Nothing makes sense. Did it ever?
He drives his expensive cars. Has his expensive tastes.
Where do I fit in?
“Who are you?” he retaliates. He shakes his head. “I don’t even know you anymore. Before, I never had to question whether or not you loved me. Or needed me. I could see it in your eyes.”
Is that why he married me? Because I needed him? Needed him to love me?
“But when I look into your eyes now …” he watches. He stares. “… I don’t see anything.”
… He’s right.
I am empty.
It hurts, his words.
I know. But they still hurt.
Max used to promise me the moon and the stars. Max used to promise he would never hurt me. Max used to promise me forever.
Is that why I married him?
“I can’t live like this anymore.” There’s no more edge in his voice. No more anger. Only well rehearsed lines. “Stop living your zombie-like existence. Your father died. Mine did too. Let go already.”
I sit.
I stare.
His hand is covering his eyes. Words are coming from his lips. He’s thought this all over. “Two years isn’t grieving, it’s hanging on. He’s not there for you to try to hang on to anymore.”
…
I stare at the balcony door.
…
I can’t think …
He drops his hand.
He stares.
His eyes are suffocating me.
…
Hanging on …
…
His cell phone rings.
He ignores it.
He watches me.
I look at the door.
It stops ringing.
He still stares.
I look at him.
The apartment feels empty.
And I’m tired.
It’s past four.
It’s Sunday.
Max is here.
He talked. He yelled. He threw the pretty flowers in the fire.
He makes me feel emptier than ever.
Because there’s nothing left for me.
…
Let go …
His phone rings again.
He takes it from his pocket.
He turns it off.
It’s past four in the morning.
Maxwell. New York. Late night phone calls. Expensive suits and cars. His charm. His class. His sophistication. The newspaper photo. The blonde.
It doesn’t fit with his life here. With me.
“Who are you, Maxwell Evans?” I whisper.
“What does that mean?” he whispers.
I can only shake my head. “Multi-million dollar shipping company.”
Silence.
Empty silence.
Late night phone calls. Business trips. A blonde with an exotic name.
“What do you want to know?” he stares at his hands.
I close my eyes. “Nothing.”
“What do you want from me, Liz?”
New York. Expensive suits. Letting go …
Where do I fit in?
“What do you want from me, Liz?”
I don’t.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Silence.
There’s an ocean between us.
He’s sitting only a foot away.
He stands up.
He talks.
I’m done.
Let go …
He leaves.
The only words I heard from him … divorce … separation … time apart …
He left.
Maybe this time, forever.
Let go …
-------------------------------------------------
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Chapter Twenty One:
-------------------------------------------------
He sat down on the coffee table then.
He left me standing.
Waiting.
“Let’s hear it,” he says, not looking at me.
I stare down at him.
“You said you were tired too. Tired of what? Because I’d really like to know,” his voice gets edgier.
I sit down.
There’s silence.
It screams at me.
“Are you tired of me?” he stares at the carpet. He wrings his hands. “Tired of our marriage? Tired of us?”
It’s past four. It’s Sunday. I meet with mother for tea in eight hours.
This silence is deafening.
His eyes are closed.
“What do you want, Liz?” He seems angered. He seems upset. He seems tired.
But he won’t look at me.
I stare at him, my husband.
My husband with secrets. With a life I know nothing about.
The newspaper picture.
The business trips.
The blonde.
He reaches out. He takes my hand. But he won’t look at me. “Talk to me.”
I stare at him.
Two years is a long time to go not knowing the man you marry. The man in front of me. My husband.
“Please,” he’s watching me now, staring into me.
My eyes close. I pull my hand away.
He’s tired. So am I.
Is he tired of me? Tired of our marriage? Tired of us?
Why is he here?
What is he doing?
“Liz–”
“Who is the blonde?” The words fall out. I wasn’t thinking them.
“Isabel?” he looks confused.
So that’s her name. Isabel. Sounds exotic.
“This isn’t about her. This is about you, about us.”
Us. It’s a two letter word.
“What do you want?” he asks.
I sit.
“What do you want, Liz?” his voice is edgier again.
I stare.
“Damn it. Talk to me!”
I blink. My husband rarely yelled. At least, not at me.
The picture.
The blonde.
“Who are you?” I ask. I stare.
Silence.
It’s earth-shattering.
“What kind of question is that?” He laughs. Not out of humor.
Multi-million dollar shipping business. But he lived a simple life in this one bedroom apartment. With me.
Nothing makes sense. Did it ever?
He drives his expensive cars. Has his expensive tastes.
Where do I fit in?
“Who are you?” he retaliates. He shakes his head. “I don’t even know you anymore. Before, I never had to question whether or not you loved me. Or needed me. I could see it in your eyes.”
Is that why he married me? Because I needed him? Needed him to love me?
“But when I look into your eyes now …” he watches. He stares. “… I don’t see anything.”
… He’s right.
I am empty.
It hurts, his words.
I know. But they still hurt.
Max used to promise me the moon and the stars. Max used to promise he would never hurt me. Max used to promise me forever.
Is that why I married him?
“I can’t live like this anymore.” There’s no more edge in his voice. No more anger. Only well rehearsed lines. “Stop living your zombie-like existence. Your father died. Mine did too. Let go already.”
I sit.
I stare.
His hand is covering his eyes. Words are coming from his lips. He’s thought this all over. “Two years isn’t grieving, it’s hanging on. He’s not there for you to try to hang on to anymore.”
…
I stare at the balcony door.
…
I can’t think …
He drops his hand.
He stares.
His eyes are suffocating me.
…
Hanging on …
…
His cell phone rings.
He ignores it.
He watches me.
I look at the door.
It stops ringing.
He still stares.
I look at him.
The apartment feels empty.
And I’m tired.
It’s past four.
It’s Sunday.
Max is here.
He talked. He yelled. He threw the pretty flowers in the fire.
He makes me feel emptier than ever.
Because there’s nothing left for me.
…
Let go …
His phone rings again.
He takes it from his pocket.
He turns it off.
It’s past four in the morning.
Maxwell. New York. Late night phone calls. Expensive suits and cars. His charm. His class. His sophistication. The newspaper photo. The blonde.
It doesn’t fit with his life here. With me.
“Who are you, Maxwell Evans?” I whisper.
“What does that mean?” he whispers.
I can only shake my head. “Multi-million dollar shipping company.”
Silence.
Empty silence.
Late night phone calls. Business trips. A blonde with an exotic name.
“What do you want to know?” he stares at his hands.
I close my eyes. “Nothing.”
“What do you want from me, Liz?”
New York. Expensive suits. Letting go …
Where do I fit in?
“What do you want from me, Liz?”
I don’t.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Silence.
There’s an ocean between us.
He’s sitting only a foot away.
He stands up.
He talks.
I’m done.
Let go …
He leaves.
The only words I heard from him … divorce … separation … time apart …
He left.
Maybe this time, forever.
Let go …
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Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 6:41 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Chapter Twenty Two:
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“You look haggard, Liz,” she says, holding her tea cup in one hand. “Like you haven’t slept or eaten in days.”
She’s wrong. It’s only been one day.
Only hours since he left.
“How’s Max doing?” she asks.
I pick up my cup. “He’s fine.”
“That’s good,” she says. She sips her tea.
I nod.
“Has he been home?” she’s prying.
I nod. It isn’t a lie.
“Good,” she says. Whether she meant it, is questionable.
Time has been slipping by all day.
My cup is half empty.
“How did things go with Alex?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.
I look at her.
“He came by last night, didn’t he?” she asks.
I watch her. “You called him,” I say. It isn’t a question.
She sips her tea. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.
“Don’t be upset,” she rolls her eyes. “I just-”
“I’ve settled things with Alex,” I interrupt.
I can see her mind working.
“By settled, you mean?”
“Settled.” I put my cup down.
She sighs. She shakes her head. “You had a good thing going with that boy. Why you didn’t marry him is beyond me.”
“How’s Richard?” I ask.
The remark hits her. It was meant to.
I sip my tea and watch her stare out the window.
“I’m thinking of selling the house,” she says, still staring out the window. “There’s no point in me keeping it. It’s too big for one person to live in.”
I nod.
My father’s gone.
My mother’s let go.
“I’ll get an apartment somewhere. Your father left me enough money to live off of.” She looks at me, can read my thoughts. “I’m just thinking about it, Liz. I haven’t really decided yet.”
She says this. But I know she has.
“It’s your father’s birthday tomorrow,” she says, staring out the window again.
I nod. I know.
I visit him every Monday. She knows this.
“Take some of his plants home with you, will you?” she asks, but it’s not really a question.
The rest of tea time passes without much more conversation.
I left earlier than usual, with two of my father’s potted plants in the passenger side.
The drive was slow.
I’m in no hurry.
Time slips by.
I’m in no hurry.
The apartment is empty.
It’s cold.
The fire long gone.
It took its warmth with it.
There was one message on the machine.
“This message is for Elizabeth Evans from Doctor Davis’s office. We’re calling in regard to your missed appointment last week. If you would call us back as soon as possible to reschedule. The number is eight three three, five nine, two five. We’ll be expecting your call. Thank you.”
I drop the plants on the coffee table.
I head for the balcony door.
Time slips by faster out there.
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Chapter Twenty Two:
-------------------------------------------------
“You look haggard, Liz,” she says, holding her tea cup in one hand. “Like you haven’t slept or eaten in days.”
She’s wrong. It’s only been one day.
Only hours since he left.
“How’s Max doing?” she asks.
I pick up my cup. “He’s fine.”
“That’s good,” she says. She sips her tea.
I nod.
“Has he been home?” she’s prying.
I nod. It isn’t a lie.
“Good,” she says. Whether she meant it, is questionable.
Time has been slipping by all day.
My cup is half empty.
“How did things go with Alex?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.
I look at her.
“He came by last night, didn’t he?” she asks.
I watch her. “You called him,” I say. It isn’t a question.
She sips her tea. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.
“Don’t be upset,” she rolls her eyes. “I just-”
“I’ve settled things with Alex,” I interrupt.
I can see her mind working.
“By settled, you mean?”
“Settled.” I put my cup down.
She sighs. She shakes her head. “You had a good thing going with that boy. Why you didn’t marry him is beyond me.”
“How’s Richard?” I ask.
The remark hits her. It was meant to.
I sip my tea and watch her stare out the window.
“I’m thinking of selling the house,” she says, still staring out the window. “There’s no point in me keeping it. It’s too big for one person to live in.”
I nod.
My father’s gone.
My mother’s let go.
“I’ll get an apartment somewhere. Your father left me enough money to live off of.” She looks at me, can read my thoughts. “I’m just thinking about it, Liz. I haven’t really decided yet.”
She says this. But I know she has.
“It’s your father’s birthday tomorrow,” she says, staring out the window again.
I nod. I know.
I visit him every Monday. She knows this.
“Take some of his plants home with you, will you?” she asks, but it’s not really a question.
The rest of tea time passes without much more conversation.
I left earlier than usual, with two of my father’s potted plants in the passenger side.
The drive was slow.
I’m in no hurry.
Time slips by.
I’m in no hurry.
The apartment is empty.
It’s cold.
The fire long gone.
It took its warmth with it.
There was one message on the machine.
“This message is for Elizabeth Evans from Doctor Davis’s office. We’re calling in regard to your missed appointment last week. If you would call us back as soon as possible to reschedule. The number is eight three three, five nine, two five. We’ll be expecting your call. Thank you.”
I drop the plants on the coffee table.
I head for the balcony door.
Time slips by faster out there.
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Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 6:44 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Chapter Twenty Three:
-------------------------------------------------
The air gets colder and colder.
He left over twenty fours hours ago.
He didn’t say if he would be back.
Mondays are lonely.
I left the apartment earlier than normal.
Yesterday, time slipped by.
Today, it’s slow.
And I’m tired.
The girl behind the counter smiles at me.
“You’re early,” she says.
I nod. I know.
I had to wait for my coffee.
I’m early.
The seconds tick by.
Two cups. Black.
She hands them to me and I leave.
It goes on a tab that Max pays at the end of the month.
My car is low on gas.
I’ll refuel later.
It’ll be charged to a gas card that Max will pay at the end of the month.
I park my car and walk the path that I know all too well.
I place one cup in front of him and keep the other in hand.
I sit.
It’s quiet.
The leaves are falling.
The seasons are changing.
Winter’s almost here.
Father always liked the quiet. He liked to think. He thought a lot.
It’s cold.
Max likes warmth.
Is it warm where Max is?
I hold the cup to my lips, but I can’t drink.
I haven’t had coffee in three weeks.
I had coffee with father every Monday for seven years now.
We used to talk. He used to listen.
I could always hear my father’s voice.
I can’t anymore.
He’s gone.
Let go.
Max has been here before. With me and without.
Did he hear my father’s voice?
Did father listen to him too?
Coffee Mondays are lonely.
A gust of wind hits me.
His cup falls over. The coffee spills into the ground.
Can he feel it?
No.
He’s gone.
But I can’t let go.
Why can’t I let go?
More wind and my cup falls from my hand.
I let it fall.
Today’s his birthday.
I can’t wish him a happy birthday if he can’t hear it.
The seconds tick by.
And I’m alone.
I’m cold.
I’m alone.
Is Max alone?
New York. Charm. An exotic blonde.
No. Max likes warmth.
He left over twenty four hours ago.
He left me.
Warmth and an exotic blonde.
A one bedroom apartment. And emptiness.
Was he ever with me?
I hear footsteps.
I don’t look up.
He’s early.
I’m early.
Time is slow today.
He picks the cup up off the ground like always. He takes mine from my hands. Like always. He puts them in a bag.
But I sit.
I don’t leave yet.
It isn’t time.
He’s early.
He sits beside me. He’s never done that before.
“So where’s your husband today?” he asks. He’s cheerful. Kyle always is.
I shake my head. I don’t look up.
“Does your family own this whole plot area?” he asks.
He’s looking at me.
I don’t understand.
He smiles. “This whole little fenced area? I mean, those three back there are Parker and these two up here are Parker too,” he points while he speaks.
My mind has never gone beyond my father and this bench.
“Are those your parents?” he whispers. He points to the two headstones in front.
I look at them.
“Because that one says ‘Loving Husband and Father,” he points to my father’s headstone. “And the other one says ‘Loving Wife and Mother,” he keeps talking.
I read them and shake my head.
“Must be your grandmother then, right?” He’s smiling.
He’s cheery. He talks lightly. About graves and headstones. He must be used to this. To death. It’s his job.
So why can’t I let go?
“Who is that one for?” he points to the empty plot beside my father.
I stare at it.
“It’s mine.” I stand.
He stands too.
“I’ll see you next week.” He nods. He smiles.
I smile back.
I leave.
It’s time.
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Chapter Twenty Three:
-------------------------------------------------
The air gets colder and colder.
He left over twenty fours hours ago.
He didn’t say if he would be back.
Mondays are lonely.
I left the apartment earlier than normal.
Yesterday, time slipped by.
Today, it’s slow.
And I’m tired.
The girl behind the counter smiles at me.
“You’re early,” she says.
I nod. I know.
I had to wait for my coffee.
I’m early.
The seconds tick by.
Two cups. Black.
She hands them to me and I leave.
It goes on a tab that Max pays at the end of the month.
My car is low on gas.
I’ll refuel later.
It’ll be charged to a gas card that Max will pay at the end of the month.
I park my car and walk the path that I know all too well.
I place one cup in front of him and keep the other in hand.
I sit.
It’s quiet.
The leaves are falling.
The seasons are changing.
Winter’s almost here.
Father always liked the quiet. He liked to think. He thought a lot.
It’s cold.
Max likes warmth.
Is it warm where Max is?
I hold the cup to my lips, but I can’t drink.
I haven’t had coffee in three weeks.
I had coffee with father every Monday for seven years now.
We used to talk. He used to listen.
I could always hear my father’s voice.
I can’t anymore.
He’s gone.
Let go.
Max has been here before. With me and without.
Did he hear my father’s voice?
Did father listen to him too?
Coffee Mondays are lonely.
A gust of wind hits me.
His cup falls over. The coffee spills into the ground.
Can he feel it?
No.
He’s gone.
But I can’t let go.
Why can’t I let go?
More wind and my cup falls from my hand.
I let it fall.
Today’s his birthday.
I can’t wish him a happy birthday if he can’t hear it.
The seconds tick by.
And I’m alone.
I’m cold.
I’m alone.
Is Max alone?
New York. Charm. An exotic blonde.
No. Max likes warmth.
He left over twenty four hours ago.
He left me.
Warmth and an exotic blonde.
A one bedroom apartment. And emptiness.
Was he ever with me?
I hear footsteps.
I don’t look up.
He’s early.
I’m early.
Time is slow today.
He picks the cup up off the ground like always. He takes mine from my hands. Like always. He puts them in a bag.
But I sit.
I don’t leave yet.
It isn’t time.
He’s early.
He sits beside me. He’s never done that before.
“So where’s your husband today?” he asks. He’s cheerful. Kyle always is.
I shake my head. I don’t look up.
“Does your family own this whole plot area?” he asks.
He’s looking at me.
I don’t understand.
He smiles. “This whole little fenced area? I mean, those three back there are Parker and these two up here are Parker too,” he points while he speaks.
My mind has never gone beyond my father and this bench.
“Are those your parents?” he whispers. He points to the two headstones in front.
I look at them.
“Because that one says ‘Loving Husband and Father,” he points to my father’s headstone. “And the other one says ‘Loving Wife and Mother,” he keeps talking.
I read them and shake my head.
“Must be your grandmother then, right?” He’s smiling.
He’s cheery. He talks lightly. About graves and headstones. He must be used to this. To death. It’s his job.
So why can’t I let go?
“Who is that one for?” he points to the empty plot beside my father.
I stare at it.
“It’s mine.” I stand.
He stands too.
“I’ll see you next week.” He nods. He smiles.
I smile back.
I leave.
It’s time.
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Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 6:48 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Chapter Twenty Four:
-------------------------------------------------
It rained all night and into the day.
Heavy, thick rain.
I watched it from my metal chair on the balcony.
Max’s parking spot was empty.
Everything was dark.
The entire week was slow.
He left me.
He didn’t say if he’d be back.
I can’t count the days until he returns.
Because he didn’t say if he’d be back.
Mother left a message on Wednesday. She wanted me to know she updated her will. She’s donating ten percent to the church. The rest, she’s leaving to me. She wanted me to call her back.
It’s Thursday.
I haven’t called.
The world looks different when you watch it from the outside in.
Life looks different when you watch it from the outside in.
It’s lonely. It’s cold.
It’s dark and wet.
That’s what my life is.
Eddie stopped by earlier.
His mom is out of the hospital. He thanked me for helping him. He said it helped ease his worry.
He smiled at me and left.
It’s late now.
It’s raining and dark outside.
Half the balcony is wet.
My jeans are soaked through.
But I sit.
And I watch.
And I listen.
I saw her walking up.
I saw the taxi pull up into Max’s parking spot and sit there while she stepped out with her umbrella and closed the door behind her. She looked up at me and then headed toward my door.
The doorbell rang twice.
I stood up and answered it.
She was much like the first time she came here, wearing all black, looking impatient, her blonde hair tied back.
She closes her umbrella, leans it against the wall outside.
She straightens up. She looks at me.
I hold on to the door.
“I think you’ll remember me from the last time I was here,” she says, arching a perfect eyebrow.
I nod. “Max isn’t here-”
“I know where Maxwell is,” she talks in a cold, controlled voice. “I haven’t come to see him. May I come in?”
I open the door wider.
She goes straight to the kitchen table. It’s the first time I notice her briefcase.
She doesn’t tell me who she is.
She assumes I know.
And I do, this time. The pretty blonde with an exotic name. The one standing behind Max in the newspaper clip. New York.
I close the door and walk towards her.
“As you should know, Maxwell is in New York, where he should be,” she gives me a pointed look.
I stare back. I know where Max is. I don’t need her to tell me.
“But here is the problem,” she keeps talking. “He won’t stay because apparently he has a life here. Because of you.”
She glances around the one bedroom apartment, rolling her eyes, before looking back towards me.
She wears her expensive coat and matching gloves.
My jeans are soaked through.
My sweater old and fading.
She’s snooty.
She reeks of money.
Does she fit in with Max’s life?
Expensive tastes. New York. The blonde with an exotic name.
“If that’s what it takes to keep Maxwell in New York, then I’m willing to compromise,” she motions for me to sit.
I don’t.
“Alright. What it comes down to, is two options. Because now that’s he back, I refuse to let him go,” she pulls papers out of her briefcase, placing them on the table before me.
I don’t look down.
I cross my hands over my chest.
“So, you either come to New York,” she pauses in her speech. “Or … you divorce him. I don’t claim to know under what pretences you managed to have Maxwell marry you, but knowing Maxwell, and knowing his … habits, he wouldn’t willingly settle down, especially not at twenty nine.”
She closes her briefcase and turns towards me.
I stand facing her.
I think I stopped listening.
“If it was for money, if you give him this divorce, I will see to it personally that you are fully compensated and enough provisions are made for your future. But it’s your choice,” she says with a cold, hard smile. “I will just remind you that I refuse to let him go.”
She’s done talking.
She’s cool and controlling.
She’s money and authoritative.
She’s cold and hard.
She’s standing and waiting for an answer.
I uncross my arms.
I walk to the front door.
I open it wide.
I stare at the cold woman and her wordy speech.
And I tell her, “Get the hell out of my home.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty Four:
-------------------------------------------------
It rained all night and into the day.
Heavy, thick rain.
I watched it from my metal chair on the balcony.
Max’s parking spot was empty.
Everything was dark.
The entire week was slow.
He left me.
He didn’t say if he’d be back.
I can’t count the days until he returns.
Because he didn’t say if he’d be back.
Mother left a message on Wednesday. She wanted me to know she updated her will. She’s donating ten percent to the church. The rest, she’s leaving to me. She wanted me to call her back.
It’s Thursday.
I haven’t called.
The world looks different when you watch it from the outside in.
Life looks different when you watch it from the outside in.
It’s lonely. It’s cold.
It’s dark and wet.
That’s what my life is.
Eddie stopped by earlier.
His mom is out of the hospital. He thanked me for helping him. He said it helped ease his worry.
He smiled at me and left.
It’s late now.
It’s raining and dark outside.
Half the balcony is wet.
My jeans are soaked through.
But I sit.
And I watch.
And I listen.
I saw her walking up.
I saw the taxi pull up into Max’s parking spot and sit there while she stepped out with her umbrella and closed the door behind her. She looked up at me and then headed toward my door.
The doorbell rang twice.
I stood up and answered it.
She was much like the first time she came here, wearing all black, looking impatient, her blonde hair tied back.
She closes her umbrella, leans it against the wall outside.
She straightens up. She looks at me.
I hold on to the door.
“I think you’ll remember me from the last time I was here,” she says, arching a perfect eyebrow.
I nod. “Max isn’t here-”
“I know where Maxwell is,” she talks in a cold, controlled voice. “I haven’t come to see him. May I come in?”
I open the door wider.
She goes straight to the kitchen table. It’s the first time I notice her briefcase.
She doesn’t tell me who she is.
She assumes I know.
And I do, this time. The pretty blonde with an exotic name. The one standing behind Max in the newspaper clip. New York.
I close the door and walk towards her.
“As you should know, Maxwell is in New York, where he should be,” she gives me a pointed look.
I stare back. I know where Max is. I don’t need her to tell me.
“But here is the problem,” she keeps talking. “He won’t stay because apparently he has a life here. Because of you.”
She glances around the one bedroom apartment, rolling her eyes, before looking back towards me.
She wears her expensive coat and matching gloves.
My jeans are soaked through.
My sweater old and fading.
She’s snooty.
She reeks of money.
Does she fit in with Max’s life?
Expensive tastes. New York. The blonde with an exotic name.
“If that’s what it takes to keep Maxwell in New York, then I’m willing to compromise,” she motions for me to sit.
I don’t.
“Alright. What it comes down to, is two options. Because now that’s he back, I refuse to let him go,” she pulls papers out of her briefcase, placing them on the table before me.
I don’t look down.
I cross my hands over my chest.
“So, you either come to New York,” she pauses in her speech. “Or … you divorce him. I don’t claim to know under what pretences you managed to have Maxwell marry you, but knowing Maxwell, and knowing his … habits, he wouldn’t willingly settle down, especially not at twenty nine.”
She closes her briefcase and turns towards me.
I stand facing her.
I think I stopped listening.
“If it was for money, if you give him this divorce, I will see to it personally that you are fully compensated and enough provisions are made for your future. But it’s your choice,” she says with a cold, hard smile. “I will just remind you that I refuse to let him go.”
She’s done talking.
She’s cool and controlling.
She’s money and authoritative.
She’s cold and hard.
She’s standing and waiting for an answer.
I uncross my arms.
I walk to the front door.
I open it wide.
I stare at the cold woman and her wordy speech.
And I tell her, “Get the hell out of my home.”
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-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 6:57 am, edited 1 time in total.
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-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty Five:
-------------------------------------------------
It was still cold and wet the next morning. But the rain had stopped.
Still, she met me at a table outside. She couldn’t smoke inside, could she?
“I hate this weather,” she complains. She’s still on her first cup of coffee, cigarette in hand, and large glasses covering nearly half her face.
There’s no sun out.
The clouds are covering above, promising more rain.
I like it when it rains.
Laurie doesn’t.
“It’s so dreary here,” she drops her cigarette butt and pulls two out of her pack. She lights them both up and hands one to me.
I put it to my lips and inhale.
“I’m thinking of moving,” she says with a smirk. “To California. Or maybe to New York.” She says this, but she and I both know different.
We don’t talk much more after that.
She is on her last cup when the taxi comes to a screeching halt on the road beside us. It pulls crudely into the coffee shop parking lot, a short blonde girl coming out of the backseat, with a small suitcase in tow.
“She reeks of money,” Laurie says, noting the designer luggage the girl is pulling.
The short blonde looks right at us, walking towardss our table and waving the cab off.
She stops in front of me.
She’s holding a photograph in her hand.
I know it.
I’ve seen it before.
It’s a wallet sized version of the framed one sitting on my bedside table.
“Umm … excuse me,” the short blonde speaks in a polite voice, “are you Elizabeth Parker?”
“Elizabeth Evans,” Laurie corrects her.
But the girl doesn’t look towardss Laurie. She stares at me.
“Right,” she smiles her polite smile and nods her head. “Evans. Of course.”
She hands me the photograph.
I take it from her and hold it in both hands.
The edges are worn.
There’s only one person she could have gotten it from.
Only one other person with this copy.
And he’s in New York.
I look up at the girl who stands before me, staring.
“Oh, sorry. You’re just …” she shakes her head. “You’re not what I imagined you’d be. But that’s you in the picture, all right.”
I stare at the photo.
Memories dance in my head.
I was happier then.
So was he.
He doesn’t smile like this anymore.
Laurie takes the photograph from my hands. She makes a face. “Is this your wedding picture?”
I nod.
Laurie drops her last empty cup on the ground.
The short blonde pulls the photograph from Laurie’s hand and puts it in her pocket.
I stare at the girl.
She can’t be over seventeen.
Maybe he lied when he told me he liked brunettes.
Laurie is the one that asks the question, “What do you want with Liz?”
The short blonde turns towardss her, all politeness gone. “Was I talking to you?”
There’s a smile on her face again when she turns back towards me. “My name is Maria. Maria Evans. I’m Maxwell’s sister.”
I’ve only ever heard one other person call him Maxwell.
Exotic blonde. New York. Money.
“His sister?” Laurie coughs out. Here eyes go wide. “I didn’t know he had a sister.”
“Again, am I talking to your ass?” the short blonde girl sneers.
She turns back towards me. “Look, maybe we should go somewhere to talk.”
I nod.
I point towards my car.
The girl walks towards it, pulling her suitcase along with her.
I stand up.
Laurie stays in her seat.
“I’ll see you next week, Liz,” she says.
I nod.
I walk towards my car and unlock the door for the blonde girl. Maria.
She puts her suitcase in the backseat.
She sits in the front beside me.
I turn on the engine.
“The blonde back there?” she says once we pulled away from the coffee shop. “I don’t like her.”
Strange. Because neither did Max.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty Five:
-------------------------------------------------
It was still cold and wet the next morning. But the rain had stopped.
Still, she met me at a table outside. She couldn’t smoke inside, could she?
“I hate this weather,” she complains. She’s still on her first cup of coffee, cigarette in hand, and large glasses covering nearly half her face.
There’s no sun out.
The clouds are covering above, promising more rain.
I like it when it rains.
Laurie doesn’t.
“It’s so dreary here,” she drops her cigarette butt and pulls two out of her pack. She lights them both up and hands one to me.
I put it to my lips and inhale.
“I’m thinking of moving,” she says with a smirk. “To California. Or maybe to New York.” She says this, but she and I both know different.
We don’t talk much more after that.
She is on her last cup when the taxi comes to a screeching halt on the road beside us. It pulls crudely into the coffee shop parking lot, a short blonde girl coming out of the backseat, with a small suitcase in tow.
“She reeks of money,” Laurie says, noting the designer luggage the girl is pulling.
The short blonde looks right at us, walking towardss our table and waving the cab off.
She stops in front of me.
She’s holding a photograph in her hand.
I know it.
I’ve seen it before.
It’s a wallet sized version of the framed one sitting on my bedside table.
“Umm … excuse me,” the short blonde speaks in a polite voice, “are you Elizabeth Parker?”
“Elizabeth Evans,” Laurie corrects her.
But the girl doesn’t look towardss Laurie. She stares at me.
“Right,” she smiles her polite smile and nods her head. “Evans. Of course.”
She hands me the photograph.
I take it from her and hold it in both hands.
The edges are worn.
There’s only one person she could have gotten it from.
Only one other person with this copy.
And he’s in New York.
I look up at the girl who stands before me, staring.
“Oh, sorry. You’re just …” she shakes her head. “You’re not what I imagined you’d be. But that’s you in the picture, all right.”
I stare at the photo.
Memories dance in my head.
I was happier then.
So was he.
He doesn’t smile like this anymore.
Laurie takes the photograph from my hands. She makes a face. “Is this your wedding picture?”
I nod.
Laurie drops her last empty cup on the ground.
The short blonde pulls the photograph from Laurie’s hand and puts it in her pocket.
I stare at the girl.
She can’t be over seventeen.
Maybe he lied when he told me he liked brunettes.
Laurie is the one that asks the question, “What do you want with Liz?”
The short blonde turns towardss her, all politeness gone. “Was I talking to you?”
There’s a smile on her face again when she turns back towards me. “My name is Maria. Maria Evans. I’m Maxwell’s sister.”
I’ve only ever heard one other person call him Maxwell.
Exotic blonde. New York. Money.
“His sister?” Laurie coughs out. Here eyes go wide. “I didn’t know he had a sister.”
“Again, am I talking to your ass?” the short blonde girl sneers.
She turns back towards me. “Look, maybe we should go somewhere to talk.”
I nod.
I point towards my car.
The girl walks towards it, pulling her suitcase along with her.
I stand up.
Laurie stays in her seat.
“I’ll see you next week, Liz,” she says.
I nod.
I walk towards my car and unlock the door for the blonde girl. Maria.
She puts her suitcase in the backseat.
She sits in the front beside me.
I turn on the engine.
“The blonde back there?” she says once we pulled away from the coffee shop. “I don’t like her.”
Strange. Because neither did Max.
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Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 7:13 am, edited 2 times in total.
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-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty Six:
-------------------------------------------------
“So … um … sorry to bombard you like this and all,” she says, holding a cup of coffee in her hand, looking oddly comfortable sitting on the sofa, in the apartment, her designer suitcase beside the kitchen table.
“Right. Not the talking type, huh?” she says. She sips her tea.
I sit in a chair in the living room next to her.
She places her cup down on the coffee table. “So, I guess you kind of want an explanation of why I’m here?” She sits back and laughs. “Or who I am. Since I didn’t know about you until a few days ago. And by what the blonde at the coffee shop said, you didn’t know about me either, huh?”
I nod.
“Alright then, quick summary,” she smiles a bright smile, the gears in her head twirling. “I’m Maxwell’s sister, Maria. Well, I’m his half-sister. I have a half-sister, Maxwell’s full sister, Isabel, who you met before.”
Exotic blonde. New York. His Sister?
“And I also have another half brother, who is Maxwell’s step-brother,” she keeps talking, without missing a beat. “Maxwell left home about five years ago, not to be heard from again. Well,” she makes a face, “that isn’t true, he still kind of kept in touch with me, only Isabel didn’t know. But then, Isabel hired this P.I. who tracked him down and got him to come back only now we’ve found out that he has a wife that we don’t know about and that said wife doesn’t know about us.”
She stops to breathe, the smile still glued to her face. “Crazy, huh? Did you know she thought you were the maid the first time she met you? Isabel, that is.”
She laughs.
I don’t.
I sit.
His sister?
“So …” she leans closer towards me. “Anyway. I was wondering, since you married Maxwell, who is my brother, which makes you my sister-in-law, so we’re like family and this is Maxwell’s and your apartment, so I was wondering if I can stay here. I mean, I could stay in a hotel, but I don’t really have much money of my own left, but I could use my charge card, but Maxwell and Isabel would find me faster than I could unpack and then what would be the point in running away from home, huh?”
I stare at her and try to soak in all she’s saying. “You ran away from home?”
“Yeah,” she makes a face. “Well, I’m vacationing.”
She’s not telling the whole truth.
I sit and wait.
“Okay, fine,” she drawls out. “I need to stow away somewhere to bide my time while Maxwell cools down. You see, the other day he kind of … caught me in a very uncompromising position with one of the mailroom guys and,” she takes a breath, “let’s just say he wasn’t very amused. So I just have to wait it out.” She looks straight at me. “You know how Maxwell is. He blows a gasket, but he cools down and forgives and forgets after a while.”
Is that how he is?
His sister …
“How old are you?” she asks. She looks me over, taking me in. “You don’t look that much older than me.”
“Twenty Three,” I answer.
“Wow,” her eyes go wide. “I’m almost seventeen. Isabel’s twenty eight. And Maxwell’s almost thirty.” She pauses to do the math in her head. “So he’s like, six years older than you!”
He was twenty seven when we married.
I was twenty one.
It seemed perfect at the time.
She pulls the photo out of her pocket, looking it over again.
“How come I wasn’t invited to the wedding?” she asks. “Was it a small wedding?” She looks at me.
I nod.
Very small.
“Hmm …” she places the picture on the coffee table.
The larger copy sits on our bedside table.
The two pictures were complimentary of the chapel.
We rushed out soon after they handed it to us to catch our flight for our honeymoon.
He put the smaller copy into his wallet.
He said he would have it with him always.
He lied.
“I never would have believed that Maxwell got married if I hadn’t seen the picture,” she’s talking to herself more than me. “But he looks happy there,” she points to the photograph on the coffee table. “So did you.”
We were.
I was.
At the time.
Everything looked so bright then.
“And now you both are just grumpy people,” she says, shaking her head with a sigh.
I pick up the photo and stare at it.
Smiling faces. There was so much emotion and love in that moment.
I look up to see Maria staring at me, obviously noting the differences between the girl in the photo and me now. She shakes her head. “What happened?”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty Six:
-------------------------------------------------
“So … um … sorry to bombard you like this and all,” she says, holding a cup of coffee in her hand, looking oddly comfortable sitting on the sofa, in the apartment, her designer suitcase beside the kitchen table.
“Right. Not the talking type, huh?” she says. She sips her tea.
I sit in a chair in the living room next to her.
She places her cup down on the coffee table. “So, I guess you kind of want an explanation of why I’m here?” She sits back and laughs. “Or who I am. Since I didn’t know about you until a few days ago. And by what the blonde at the coffee shop said, you didn’t know about me either, huh?”
I nod.
“Alright then, quick summary,” she smiles a bright smile, the gears in her head twirling. “I’m Maxwell’s sister, Maria. Well, I’m his half-sister. I have a half-sister, Maxwell’s full sister, Isabel, who you met before.”
Exotic blonde. New York. His Sister?
“And I also have another half brother, who is Maxwell’s step-brother,” she keeps talking, without missing a beat. “Maxwell left home about five years ago, not to be heard from again. Well,” she makes a face, “that isn’t true, he still kind of kept in touch with me, only Isabel didn’t know. But then, Isabel hired this P.I. who tracked him down and got him to come back only now we’ve found out that he has a wife that we don’t know about and that said wife doesn’t know about us.”
She stops to breathe, the smile still glued to her face. “Crazy, huh? Did you know she thought you were the maid the first time she met you? Isabel, that is.”
She laughs.
I don’t.
I sit.
His sister?
“So …” she leans closer towards me. “Anyway. I was wondering, since you married Maxwell, who is my brother, which makes you my sister-in-law, so we’re like family and this is Maxwell’s and your apartment, so I was wondering if I can stay here. I mean, I could stay in a hotel, but I don’t really have much money of my own left, but I could use my charge card, but Maxwell and Isabel would find me faster than I could unpack and then what would be the point in running away from home, huh?”
I stare at her and try to soak in all she’s saying. “You ran away from home?”
“Yeah,” she makes a face. “Well, I’m vacationing.”
She’s not telling the whole truth.
I sit and wait.
“Okay, fine,” she drawls out. “I need to stow away somewhere to bide my time while Maxwell cools down. You see, the other day he kind of … caught me in a very uncompromising position with one of the mailroom guys and,” she takes a breath, “let’s just say he wasn’t very amused. So I just have to wait it out.” She looks straight at me. “You know how Maxwell is. He blows a gasket, but he cools down and forgives and forgets after a while.”
Is that how he is?
His sister …
“How old are you?” she asks. She looks me over, taking me in. “You don’t look that much older than me.”
“Twenty Three,” I answer.
“Wow,” her eyes go wide. “I’m almost seventeen. Isabel’s twenty eight. And Maxwell’s almost thirty.” She pauses to do the math in her head. “So he’s like, six years older than you!”
He was twenty seven when we married.
I was twenty one.
It seemed perfect at the time.
She pulls the photo out of her pocket, looking it over again.
“How come I wasn’t invited to the wedding?” she asks. “Was it a small wedding?” She looks at me.
I nod.
Very small.
“Hmm …” she places the picture on the coffee table.
The larger copy sits on our bedside table.
The two pictures were complimentary of the chapel.
We rushed out soon after they handed it to us to catch our flight for our honeymoon.
He put the smaller copy into his wallet.
He said he would have it with him always.
He lied.
“I never would have believed that Maxwell got married if I hadn’t seen the picture,” she’s talking to herself more than me. “But he looks happy there,” she points to the photograph on the coffee table. “So did you.”
We were.
I was.
At the time.
Everything looked so bright then.
“And now you both are just grumpy people,” she says, shaking her head with a sigh.
I pick up the photo and stare at it.
Smiling faces. There was so much emotion and love in that moment.
I look up to see Maria staring at me, obviously noting the differences between the girl in the photo and me now. She shakes her head. “What happened?”
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-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 7:18 am, edited 1 time in total.
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-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty Seven:
-------------------------------------------------
It’s Sunday.
Maria has stayed all weekend.
I didn’t outright say she could.
But I didn’t say no, either.
How could I? She’s my husband’s sister.
One of two.
It thundered outside. Lightning in the distance. But rain won’t come.
The weather has been strange. Cold. Windy.
Maria’s in the kitchen making coffee.
I’m sitting in my folding chair. On the balcony.
It’s Sunday morning.
The balcony door opens.
“So you spend a lot of time out here, huh?” she asks from the doorway.
I nod.
I don’t turn.
I’m surprised she’s even up. She slept until three in the afternoon on Saturday.
She said she needed a place to stay for a few days.
A few days is three or four, according to Max.
She walks out onto the balcony and leans on the rail, holding a coffee cup and facing me.
She drinks a lot of coffee.
“Do you want some?” she holds her cup out to me.
I shake my head.
“So what do you do during the week?” she asks.
I shrug.
“You don’t work, right?” she asks, though it’s not really a question. “Because heaven forbid the wife of Maxwell Evans has to lift a finger.” She rolls her eyes.
She’s being sarcastic. I’ve learned that about her in her short time here.
She’s blunt, brutal, sarcastic, rude at times, and talks non-stop.
She’s a teenager.
Eddie’s balcony door opens.
He walks out with a pack of cigarettes in his hand and looks surprised when he looks over at us.
Maria smiles at him.
“Hello,” he smiles back, leaning against the rail, facing us. “I’m Eddie. And you are?”
“Maria. I’m Liz’s sister-in-law,” she answers.
She turns on this charm that seems natural.
Just like her brother.
My husband.
“Max’s sister?” Eddie looks at me for a second before he focuses back on the Maria. “I didn’t know he had a sister. And such a pretty one at that.”
“So, Eddie,” her finger traces around the rim of her mug, “what is it you do?”
“Oh, this and that.” He tilts his head raises an eyebrow at her.
“Hmm …” she mimics his actions.
“I’m a professional poker player,” he brags. Just like he told me the first time I met him.
Next he’ll tell her he’s a millionaire.
“Really,” she says, as though it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
I stop looking.
I stare ahead.
I like the quiet.
I like the cold.
I like to think.
He’s disturbing this by hitting on my teenaged sister-in-law.
“Do you play poker, Maria?” I hear him ask her.
“I don’t know a thing about it,” she eggs him on.
“Oh? Maybe I can teach you some time,” he says.
I cringe.
“I’d like that,” she answers him.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
An alarm goes off in my head.
And Maria is asking for this trouble. “Nothing, really. I-”
“Maria,” I stand up from my chair, “I’d like some coffee now.”
“Oh,” she looks between Eddie and me. “Okay,” she sighs, dragging her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch his eyes follow Maria as she walks inside. He smiles warmly at me. “So, Liz-”
“She’s sixteen,” I say.
His eyes go wide and he blinks many times. “Oh … my bad.”
I nod.
He lets out a sigh and pulls out a cigarette from his pack.
I turn away.
It’s almost noon.
I have tea with mother on Sundays.
I go inside.
Maria is walking out of the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee.
I grab my purse off the coffee table.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asks with a smile.
I nod. “Tea with my mother.”
“Oh,” her smile widens. “Well, I can stay here.”
She starts inching towards the door.
I can see Eddie still out on his balcony through the window panes of the door.
I look at her and shake my head. “No. Get your coat.”
I stand at the door while she picks her coat up from off the sofa.
She’s frowning.
She puts the cup down on the coffee table.
I open the door.
She steps out with a huff.
Another thing I’ve learned about Maria, a flirt doesn’t quite describe her charm and the trouble she could get into.
She’s only been here for the weekend.
She said she just needed a place to stay for a few days.
A few days is three to four, according to Max.
Something tells me a few days is a lot longer than that to Maria.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty Seven:
-------------------------------------------------
It’s Sunday.
Maria has stayed all weekend.
I didn’t outright say she could.
But I didn’t say no, either.
How could I? She’s my husband’s sister.
One of two.
It thundered outside. Lightning in the distance. But rain won’t come.
The weather has been strange. Cold. Windy.
Maria’s in the kitchen making coffee.
I’m sitting in my folding chair. On the balcony.
It’s Sunday morning.
The balcony door opens.
“So you spend a lot of time out here, huh?” she asks from the doorway.
I nod.
I don’t turn.
I’m surprised she’s even up. She slept until three in the afternoon on Saturday.
She said she needed a place to stay for a few days.
A few days is three or four, according to Max.
She walks out onto the balcony and leans on the rail, holding a coffee cup and facing me.
She drinks a lot of coffee.
“Do you want some?” she holds her cup out to me.
I shake my head.
“So what do you do during the week?” she asks.
I shrug.
“You don’t work, right?” she asks, though it’s not really a question. “Because heaven forbid the wife of Maxwell Evans has to lift a finger.” She rolls her eyes.
She’s being sarcastic. I’ve learned that about her in her short time here.
She’s blunt, brutal, sarcastic, rude at times, and talks non-stop.
She’s a teenager.
Eddie’s balcony door opens.
He walks out with a pack of cigarettes in his hand and looks surprised when he looks over at us.
Maria smiles at him.
“Hello,” he smiles back, leaning against the rail, facing us. “I’m Eddie. And you are?”
“Maria. I’m Liz’s sister-in-law,” she answers.
She turns on this charm that seems natural.
Just like her brother.
My husband.
“Max’s sister?” Eddie looks at me for a second before he focuses back on the Maria. “I didn’t know he had a sister. And such a pretty one at that.”
“So, Eddie,” her finger traces around the rim of her mug, “what is it you do?”
“Oh, this and that.” He tilts his head raises an eyebrow at her.
“Hmm …” she mimics his actions.
“I’m a professional poker player,” he brags. Just like he told me the first time I met him.
Next he’ll tell her he’s a millionaire.
“Really,” she says, as though it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
I stop looking.
I stare ahead.
I like the quiet.
I like the cold.
I like to think.
He’s disturbing this by hitting on my teenaged sister-in-law.
“Do you play poker, Maria?” I hear him ask her.
“I don’t know a thing about it,” she eggs him on.
“Oh? Maybe I can teach you some time,” he says.
I cringe.
“I’d like that,” she answers him.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
An alarm goes off in my head.
And Maria is asking for this trouble. “Nothing, really. I-”
“Maria,” I stand up from my chair, “I’d like some coffee now.”
“Oh,” she looks between Eddie and me. “Okay,” she sighs, dragging her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch his eyes follow Maria as she walks inside. He smiles warmly at me. “So, Liz-”
“She’s sixteen,” I say.
His eyes go wide and he blinks many times. “Oh … my bad.”
I nod.
He lets out a sigh and pulls out a cigarette from his pack.
I turn away.
It’s almost noon.
I have tea with mother on Sundays.
I go inside.
Maria is walking out of the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee.
I grab my purse off the coffee table.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asks with a smile.
I nod. “Tea with my mother.”
“Oh,” her smile widens. “Well, I can stay here.”
She starts inching towards the door.
I can see Eddie still out on his balcony through the window panes of the door.
I look at her and shake my head. “No. Get your coat.”
I stand at the door while she picks her coat up from off the sofa.
She’s frowning.
She puts the cup down on the coffee table.
I open the door.
She steps out with a huff.
Another thing I’ve learned about Maria, a flirt doesn’t quite describe her charm and the trouble she could get into.
She’s only been here for the weekend.
She said she just needed a place to stay for a few days.
A few days is three to four, according to Max.
Something tells me a few days is a lot longer than that to Maria.
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Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 7:23 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Chapter Twenty Eight:
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To say she was surprised was an understatement.
“His sister!” My mother looks at me confused. “Liz, you never told me Max had a sister.”
I take a seat at the kitchen table. Until recently, I didn’t know either.
She turns back towards Maria with a polite smile. “Max never said anything about a sister.”
“Maxwell has two sisters, actually. And a brother,” Maria says with a smile.
“Well,” she motions Maria to take a seat.
They’re both polite to each other. Maria and my mother. Like Max and my mother.
Or Max with anyone.
Two cups of tea.
One cup of coffee.
Polite conversation.
One hour passes.
Maria and I leave.
“Your mother felt funny,” Maria blurts out, once we’re both in the car. “I go on vibes. So first impressions kind of do it for me. Like that blonde you were with on Friday,” she makes a face. “She felt way off.”
Max didn’t like her either.
“I don’t really put up with fakeness when I don’t have to,” Maria says with a snootiness that reminds me of another blonde. Isabel. His sister.
“And your mother felt a little off too. But, I wouldn’t be rude to her like I was with the other person on Friday,” she adds the last comment in a hurry. “I mean, it is your mother, after all.”
I nod.
“And you,” she talks more to herself, “you feel off too. But your family now, so …”
We stop at a red light and I look at her.
What does that mean?
I feel off?
“So …” She smiles. She’s bubbly every now and then. “What are we doing tomorrow?”
Today is Sunday.
Tomorrow is Monday.
Coffee Mondays are lonely.
“Don’t you have school?” I ask.
“No,” she shakes her head. “I got my GED months ago.”
GED?
“Isabel didn’t approve,” Maria says, making another one of her faces. “But whatever. I’m tired of school anyway.”
Tired of school? “At sixteen?”
“I’m almost seventeen,” she points out indignantly. “And it’s not like college is for everyone.”
Education is a luxury that not all can afford.
Multi-million dollar shipping company.
“I mean, my mother didn’t go to college,” she says, defensively. “And look at how she lived her life, cruising on yachts in the Mediterranean or whatever the hell it is she did.”
She’s bitter.
“I mean, she wasn’t really my mother anyway,” she huffs. Teenage angst fuel her words. “Sure, biologically. But really, Maxwell took care of me. And then Isabel when he left.”
Maxwell.
Multi-million dollar shipping company.
Two sisters and a brother.
Why would he leave?
“Hey, do you mind dropping me off at the coffee shop?” she asks, all smiles again. “I wanted to get another cup. And frankly, the stuff you’ve got at home … not so good.”
Home?
It’s mine.
It was Max’s.
Is Maria taking his place?
“Please?” More smiles from her and I agree.
I drop her off and drive back to the apartment alone.
I pull my car into my usual spot.
Max’s is empty.
It’s quiet outside.
I walk up the stairs.
The phone is ringing.
I can hear it through the front door.
I unlock the door and step inside.
The ringing stops.
The answering machine starts.
It’s Max.
“Um …” I hear him clearing his throat. “I thought you’d be home from your mother’s by now. Just calling to-”
I pick up the receiver.
“Hi.”
There’s a pause on the other side.
But I can hear him breathing before his voice comes through the line.
“Hi.”
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Chapter Twenty Eight:
-------------------------------------------------
To say she was surprised was an understatement.
“His sister!” My mother looks at me confused. “Liz, you never told me Max had a sister.”
I take a seat at the kitchen table. Until recently, I didn’t know either.
She turns back towards Maria with a polite smile. “Max never said anything about a sister.”
“Maxwell has two sisters, actually. And a brother,” Maria says with a smile.
“Well,” she motions Maria to take a seat.
They’re both polite to each other. Maria and my mother. Like Max and my mother.
Or Max with anyone.
Two cups of tea.
One cup of coffee.
Polite conversation.
One hour passes.
Maria and I leave.
“Your mother felt funny,” Maria blurts out, once we’re both in the car. “I go on vibes. So first impressions kind of do it for me. Like that blonde you were with on Friday,” she makes a face. “She felt way off.”
Max didn’t like her either.
“I don’t really put up with fakeness when I don’t have to,” Maria says with a snootiness that reminds me of another blonde. Isabel. His sister.
“And your mother felt a little off too. But, I wouldn’t be rude to her like I was with the other person on Friday,” she adds the last comment in a hurry. “I mean, it is your mother, after all.”
I nod.
“And you,” she talks more to herself, “you feel off too. But your family now, so …”
We stop at a red light and I look at her.
What does that mean?
I feel off?
“So …” She smiles. She’s bubbly every now and then. “What are we doing tomorrow?”
Today is Sunday.
Tomorrow is Monday.
Coffee Mondays are lonely.
“Don’t you have school?” I ask.
“No,” she shakes her head. “I got my GED months ago.”
GED?
“Isabel didn’t approve,” Maria says, making another one of her faces. “But whatever. I’m tired of school anyway.”
Tired of school? “At sixteen?”
“I’m almost seventeen,” she points out indignantly. “And it’s not like college is for everyone.”
Education is a luxury that not all can afford.
Multi-million dollar shipping company.
“I mean, my mother didn’t go to college,” she says, defensively. “And look at how she lived her life, cruising on yachts in the Mediterranean or whatever the hell it is she did.”
She’s bitter.
“I mean, she wasn’t really my mother anyway,” she huffs. Teenage angst fuel her words. “Sure, biologically. But really, Maxwell took care of me. And then Isabel when he left.”
Maxwell.
Multi-million dollar shipping company.
Two sisters and a brother.
Why would he leave?
“Hey, do you mind dropping me off at the coffee shop?” she asks, all smiles again. “I wanted to get another cup. And frankly, the stuff you’ve got at home … not so good.”
Home?
It’s mine.
It was Max’s.
Is Maria taking his place?
“Please?” More smiles from her and I agree.
I drop her off and drive back to the apartment alone.
I pull my car into my usual spot.
Max’s is empty.
It’s quiet outside.
I walk up the stairs.
The phone is ringing.
I can hear it through the front door.
I unlock the door and step inside.
The ringing stops.
The answering machine starts.
It’s Max.
“Um …” I hear him clearing his throat. “I thought you’d be home from your mother’s by now. Just calling to-”
I pick up the receiver.
“Hi.”
There’s a pause on the other side.
But I can hear him breathing before his voice comes through the line.
“Hi.”
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Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 7:28 am, edited 4 times in total.
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Chapter Twenty Nine:
-------------------------------------------------
Max called.
We’re talking.
At least, we’re trying to.
“Hi,” he says again. After a long pause. “I just …”
He sounds worried. He sounds strange.
It isn’t like Max.
“I just wanted to check up on you. See how you were doing,” he finishes.
“I’m fine.” I nod, even though he can’t see me.
“That’s good,” he sighs. “How was- how was tea?”
“It was fine.” I nod again.
“Elizabeth?” He says and I blink.
He doesn’t call me that.
Liz. Darling. Honey.
But hardly ever Elizabeth.
“Are you there?” he breathes into the phone.
I nod. “Yes.”
There’s a short pause before he speaks again. “Are you happy?”
I grip the phone tighter.
Uncertainty fills me.
Happy?
No.
“I’m fine,” the words leave my lips.
It wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
He sighs. “I have to get back to work. I’ll call you later, okay?”
I nod my head.
I feel his hesitation. “Bye.”
“G’bye.”
I pull the phone away from my ear, ready to hang up before I hear it …
“I miss you, Liz.”
… and a click.
My eyes close.
My mouth opens but it’s useless.
He’s gone.
I hang up the phone.
The balcony door looks enticing.
I take a seat on the sofa.
Maria comes walking back half an hour later.
I let her in.
She is giddy.
“I got a job!” she blurts before I even closed the door behind her.
She is busy taking off her coat and tossing it onto the sofa. “I was ordering my coffee and the blonde girl behind the counter asked me if I was new and I said I was and she said that if I didn’t have a job yet, they were looking for another part-time worker if I was interested and I said I was!”
She’s so excited.
It’s a teenage moment.
“So then I met with the manager. Who, let me tell you, not the best looking guy. And he asked me if I had any experience and I said yeah. Well, I lied, but I’ve been going to Starbucks since I was like ten, and, you know, how hard could it be?” she looks at me, her head tilts to one side, a wide smile on her face.
She takes a breath.
I try to absorb everything she said. “A job?”
“Yeah. Isn’t this great? My first job! I start tomorrow morning,” she sighs and I sit down on the sofa.
Her cell phone rings.
She ignores it.
She goes into the kitchen to make herself more coffee.
I stay seated on the sofa.
The phone rings again about a half a dozen more times.
Not mine, hers.
Mine only rang once.
Earlier.
When Max called.
He misses me, he said.
Maria walks out of the kitchen, annoyed.
Her mood swings a lot.
She’s a teenager.
She turns her phone off.
I look at her.
“Maxwell and Isabel have been calling me,” she explains. “I guess they finally noticed I was gone.”
I look at her.
Pointedly.
“I know. I know,” she pouts. “I should probably talk to them, but … I just … I like it here. I don’t want to go back yet.”
She sits next to me on the sofa. She’s trying to make me sympathize with her. “Can’t you see? Up there, I knew I was just a burden. Here, I don’t feel that way, so much. I’m not a burden, am I?”
I look at her.
I don’t answer.
She tilts her head. “Have you always been like this?”
I blink. “Like what?” I ask.
“This,” she motions towards me. “Because God … maybe that’s why he married you. You’re completely different from the women he’s used to back home. Courtney would have a cow.”
She laughs.
I think. “Courtney?”
“His fiancée,” Maria says, easily, pausing for only a second. “Well, ex-fiancée … I guess. I mean, he never really officially broke it off with her. He just left. Didn’t tell her. Didn’t tell anyone.”
Fiancé?
But … he married me.
“She kept wearing his ring for the longest time after Maxwell left,” Maria says, shaking her head. “I’d feel sorry for her … if she wasn’t such a bitch.”
The phone rings. Not Maria’s, mine.
I stay seated.
Maria stands. “I’ll get it.”
She picks up the receiver. “Hello?”
She listens and then she holds it out to me, her hand over one end. “It’s for you. It’s Maxwell.”
I take the phone from her. “Hello?”
“Liz?” his voice sounds anxious. “Who was that?”
I watch her while I speak into the phone. “Maria.” His sister.
“Maria?” There’s a lilt in his voice.
I nod … even though he can’t see it.
There’s a pause.
His voice is tight. “Let me talk to her.”
I hand her the phone.
I walk out to the balcony.
I sit in my chair.
He said he misses me.
Did I imagine the words?
I’ve been his wife for two years.
My husband has a past I don’t know about.
I never question him.
I never ask.
He’s never here.
He has a sister. Two sisters.
One of them is living with me.
She has a job.
He says I need to let go already.
She says I feel off.
My head hurts.
The door opens.
Maria steps out.
“That was Maxwell,” she says.
I nod. I know.
“He wants me to go back home,” she says.
I nod.
“I told him no,” she says.
I know. After all, she has work tomorrow.
She unfolds the other chair and puts it beside me.
“Thanksgiving it coming up,” she talks softly. Like I’m the child and she is the adult. “Maybe we can spend it in New York.”
I nod. “Maybe.”
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Chapter Twenty Nine:
-------------------------------------------------
Max called.
We’re talking.
At least, we’re trying to.
“Hi,” he says again. After a long pause. “I just …”
He sounds worried. He sounds strange.
It isn’t like Max.
“I just wanted to check up on you. See how you were doing,” he finishes.
“I’m fine.” I nod, even though he can’t see me.
“That’s good,” he sighs. “How was- how was tea?”
“It was fine.” I nod again.
“Elizabeth?” He says and I blink.
He doesn’t call me that.
Liz. Darling. Honey.
But hardly ever Elizabeth.
“Are you there?” he breathes into the phone.
I nod. “Yes.”
There’s a short pause before he speaks again. “Are you happy?”
I grip the phone tighter.
Uncertainty fills me.
Happy?
No.
“I’m fine,” the words leave my lips.
It wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
He sighs. “I have to get back to work. I’ll call you later, okay?”
I nod my head.
I feel his hesitation. “Bye.”
“G’bye.”
I pull the phone away from my ear, ready to hang up before I hear it …
“I miss you, Liz.”
… and a click.
My eyes close.
My mouth opens but it’s useless.
He’s gone.
I hang up the phone.
The balcony door looks enticing.
I take a seat on the sofa.
Maria comes walking back half an hour later.
I let her in.
She is giddy.
“I got a job!” she blurts before I even closed the door behind her.
She is busy taking off her coat and tossing it onto the sofa. “I was ordering my coffee and the blonde girl behind the counter asked me if I was new and I said I was and she said that if I didn’t have a job yet, they were looking for another part-time worker if I was interested and I said I was!”
She’s so excited.
It’s a teenage moment.
“So then I met with the manager. Who, let me tell you, not the best looking guy. And he asked me if I had any experience and I said yeah. Well, I lied, but I’ve been going to Starbucks since I was like ten, and, you know, how hard could it be?” she looks at me, her head tilts to one side, a wide smile on her face.
She takes a breath.
I try to absorb everything she said. “A job?”
“Yeah. Isn’t this great? My first job! I start tomorrow morning,” she sighs and I sit down on the sofa.
Her cell phone rings.
She ignores it.
She goes into the kitchen to make herself more coffee.
I stay seated on the sofa.
The phone rings again about a half a dozen more times.
Not mine, hers.
Mine only rang once.
Earlier.
When Max called.
He misses me, he said.
Maria walks out of the kitchen, annoyed.
Her mood swings a lot.
She’s a teenager.
She turns her phone off.
I look at her.
“Maxwell and Isabel have been calling me,” she explains. “I guess they finally noticed I was gone.”
I look at her.
Pointedly.
“I know. I know,” she pouts. “I should probably talk to them, but … I just … I like it here. I don’t want to go back yet.”
She sits next to me on the sofa. She’s trying to make me sympathize with her. “Can’t you see? Up there, I knew I was just a burden. Here, I don’t feel that way, so much. I’m not a burden, am I?”
I look at her.
I don’t answer.
She tilts her head. “Have you always been like this?”
I blink. “Like what?” I ask.
“This,” she motions towards me. “Because God … maybe that’s why he married you. You’re completely different from the women he’s used to back home. Courtney would have a cow.”
She laughs.
I think. “Courtney?”
“His fiancée,” Maria says, easily, pausing for only a second. “Well, ex-fiancée … I guess. I mean, he never really officially broke it off with her. He just left. Didn’t tell her. Didn’t tell anyone.”
Fiancé?
But … he married me.
“She kept wearing his ring for the longest time after Maxwell left,” Maria says, shaking her head. “I’d feel sorry for her … if she wasn’t such a bitch.”
The phone rings. Not Maria’s, mine.
I stay seated.
Maria stands. “I’ll get it.”
She picks up the receiver. “Hello?”
She listens and then she holds it out to me, her hand over one end. “It’s for you. It’s Maxwell.”
I take the phone from her. “Hello?”
“Liz?” his voice sounds anxious. “Who was that?”
I watch her while I speak into the phone. “Maria.” His sister.
“Maria?” There’s a lilt in his voice.
I nod … even though he can’t see it.
There’s a pause.
His voice is tight. “Let me talk to her.”
I hand her the phone.
I walk out to the balcony.
I sit in my chair.
He said he misses me.
Did I imagine the words?
I’ve been his wife for two years.
My husband has a past I don’t know about.
I never question him.
I never ask.
He’s never here.
He has a sister. Two sisters.
One of them is living with me.
She has a job.
He says I need to let go already.
She says I feel off.
My head hurts.
The door opens.
Maria steps out.
“That was Maxwell,” she says.
I nod. I know.
“He wants me to go back home,” she says.
I nod.
“I told him no,” she says.
I know. After all, she has work tomorrow.
She unfolds the other chair and puts it beside me.
“Thanksgiving it coming up,” she talks softly. Like I’m the child and she is the adult. “Maybe we can spend it in New York.”
I nod. “Maybe.”
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Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 7:34 am, edited 1 time in total.