Unbreakable - Surviving the Truth · (Roswell Fanfiction) ·

SIX

Due to the pregnancy – and everything that came along with it – I had avoided any more interactions with Max's grandfather. I knew that he was still in the house, I could hear him on occasion, his voice sporadically traveling up the stairs from the first floor to the second. 

I had gotten accustomed to that voice and I loved the sound of it. It spoke to something inside of me the same way that Max's did. It was a voice of fundamental trust, without even knowing him.

Hence, when Max's grandfather – George Evans – requested a meeting, I was not the one to object. I was looking forward to hearing his story, to take part of the possible knowledge he possessed. It was instead Max that objected. Not straight out. Not loudly. But he was hesitant.

From his mind, I could discern that Max's hesitance partly stemmed from his fear of my overall mental health possibly deteriorating if I were dragged back into the deepest parts of the alien world, but also Max's disappointment with his grandfather. Working with small pieces of information, I could figure out that Max had been very close to his grandfather, and thus George leaving – faking his own death – was a monumental betrayal to Max. 

Max also felt betrayed by his father, who had recently admitted to knowing that his father George had not in fact been dead, but had been in hiding.

Last night, after Max had asked me to come with him to his mother's funeral, we had talked for a long time about his mother. He had told me tales of his childhood, of what she was like as a mother from a son's perspective, and we had gradually, albeit cautiously, brushed the grief he had yet to deal with. The tragedy of losing his mother, mixed with the horrific events of me losing my own mother, had broken our composure on more than one occasion, but we had never lost it completely. Both of us being serious control freaks, letting go was just not our thing. Nevertheless, being in the comfort and safety of each other's company that evening had brought us the closest to processing what had happened as of yet. 

Our conversation, before we had gotten ready for bed and fallen asleep wrapped up in each other, had led us to Max's grandfather. But compared to the subject of Diane, it was a lot more difficult for Max to speak of George. Max did, however, paint me a fairly good picture of what kind of grandfather George had been. 

He had been the attentive grandfather, the one who always listens to what you have to say, even when it's sometimes only childish gibberish and nonsensical theories. He had been the strong grandfather, the one that you could always trust to protect you no matter what. He had been the healing grandfather, in every meaning of the word, fixing scrapes and bruises, but also wiping away your tears. He had been the consoling grandfather, the one who you would cry your heart out to, who would hug you tight while doing so. He had been the grandfather with all the stories, who narrated long fairytales at bedtime. He had been the encouraging grandfather, the one that gave praise and topped up one's self esteem.

He had been the grandfather Max and Isabel never thought would leave. The stable rock in their lives. A replacement for their much colder and more aloof father.

Which only made the betrayal of George Evans' (voluntary) absence that much more cutting.

I carried that sting with me, resonating inside of me – a ghost of Max's feelings - when we positioned ourselves on the large dark brown leather couch in the living room. Max's thigh was burning with heat as he pressed it against the side of my own, sitting so close that he was almost in my lap. His grip on my hand was slightly damp. He felt tight and apprehensive. 

The walls of the room were glimmering, as if they had been sprinkled with fairy dust. Rather instinctively, Max answered my unspoken question about the odd appearance of the walls by telling me that it was soundproofing. Whatever George Evans wanted to tell us, the physical barrier of regular walls was not enough.