Snapshot · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √

26. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

The Evans' Residence (italics representing the funeral)
(2003) Max is 18, Liz is 17

Max walked through the dark house; his mind empty, his eyes sore from days of crying, and his nails digging painfully into his palms.

"If you were lucky to have Diane in your life, in some way or the other, you will never forget her. She was a constant light, shining brightly and strongly."

Max's lips were pressed tightly together as he fought the tears. He would be strong for his mom. He wouldn't cry. He was determined to think of her life instead of her death and be happy for how much she meant to him.

But standing there, looking at the wooden coffin that held the dead body of his mother, the urge to cry was strong as pain slowly tore his heart apart.

"And she will always remain in our hearts."

He inhaled sharply as he felt her cool hand take his. He looked to his side, into Liz's worried face and tried to smile at her. Her presence was a relief at the same time as torture, because his plan to stay collected was quickly crumbling when she squeezed his hand.

His knuckles rapped against the door and at the lack of a reply he tried to open the door. Only to find it locked.

"Dad?" he called through the door. "You okay?"

Trying to distract himself, Max's eyes scanned the people that had come to his mother's funeral, his gaze ending on his father. His father who had barely spoken a word to him since she had died. His dad's wet cheeks were glistening in the sun and Max took a shuddering breath at the emptiness in the once so joyful eyes.

"Dad?" he tried again, the silence biting into the numbness of his heart. "Dinner's ready. You should eat something."

As the guests began to walk towards their cars, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Hey man, how're you holding up?"

Without looking at Michael, still painfully aware of the dryness of the residues of soil in his hand from dropping soil onto the coffin just minutes ago, Max tried his voice, "Not that great."

"Yeah," Michael said slowly, feeling a bit outside of his comfort zone. "If you...you know...need to talk or grab a beer or something. Watch a movie, whatever, I'm...I'm there, okay?"

Max gave him a weak smile of gratitude. "Thanks, Michael."

"You should come over tomorrow," Liz said behind them and they both turned to look at the petite girl that meant so much to both of them.

Her voice was somber and careful, something outside of the normal range of her voice.

Max swallowed thickly. "Thanks. I might."

She nodded with a tentative smile and turned to Michael. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Michael said and refocused on Max. "See you back at the house."

"Yeah," Max said quietly and looked away, unable to breathe under the weight of their concern and pity.

His eyes once again fell upon his father who was talking to Anne, Diane's sister. He was so focused on his father that her arms on his shoulders startled him.

He looked down into her chocolate brown eyes with weary surprise and was even more surprised when she rose on the tips of her toes to softly kiss his cheek. As her hands slowly slid down his front from their original position on his shoulders, her fingers softly grazed the skin of his neck.