«Sure,' Michael said, having absolutely no intention to ask even if he had to climb the shelves himself to reach, what he was looking for.
Hurrying down aisle three, Michael found a huge collection of rope of all different varieties. Good thing I cut the old man off, he thought, or we'd be here all afternoon.
Grabbing a bag of fifty-foot-long, one-inch-wide rope off the shelf, Michael hurried back to make his purchase. He had taken too much time in getting the first items on his list and he could already hear Maria complaining about his disappearance. He didn't need to take any longer.
For once the delay wasn't Michael's fault. If Kyle could learn to fill his car with gas once in a while, he cursed his friend one more time. Michael had considered just driving
along without any gas in the car. It was possible to do that with his powers, but it didn't really do nice things to the engine. Instead, Michael had to use his powers to push the car to a gas station for a fill-up.
Luckily, he only had one more stop on the list before he could head back to Isabel's side. Of course, he still had to have another run-in with Elderly Old Man Garrison at the checkout.
«Found that rope?» Elderly asked the obvious as Michael dropped his purchase on the counter in front of him.
«Yes.» Michael decided to keep his answers short and sweet.
Apparently where money was concerned, Elderly Old Man Garrison was just as happy to keep the transaction quick and efficient, and Michael easily paid for the items and rushed out of the store.
«Come back soon,' the store owner hollered with a wave.
Ignoring the man, Michael continued walking down the Roswell main shopping district to a store called The Pottery Place. The store window was full of more knick-knacks and dust collectors than he ever imagined anyone could possibly need. Quite frankly, he had never expected to see the inside of the store in his lifetime in Roswell, but he had certainly done stranger things in the unending quest to combat strange alien phenomena.
Bracing himself for the smell of potpourri and the sounds of wind chimes, Michael entered the curiosity shop. The things I do for my friends, was the last thing he thought before the kitsch overwhelmed him.
If Michael had taken just a few more seconds to prepare himself before entering the store, he would have run into Jim Valenti coming out of Moby Disc, the music store attached to The Pottery Place. Valenti was carrying a bag full of sheet music and a hastily purchased guitar, still humming the same happy tune that had been stuck in his head all day.
Loading the items into his SUV, Valenti checked to confirm that his earlier purchases were still on the front seat, then pulled out onto the street. He drove his car through town, passing the Evanses' home, entirely unaware of the drama going on inside involving his son and his friends. Continuing several blocks over, he pulled up in front of a house with the garage wide open.
As he got out of his SUV, Valenti heard familiar music coming from the garage that, not so coincidentally, happened to be the very same tune he had been humming for the better part of the morning. Good, they started without me, he thought as he pulled his bags and his new guitar out of the vehicle.
From the open garage, the band saw him walking up the drive and stopped playing their song. The three remaining members of the group formerly known as The Whits looked at one another with a growing sense of anticipation.
«Sorry I'm late, fellas.» Valenti entered the garage, carefully setting down his guitar. «I rode out to a music store in Hondo first thing this morning. Had to pick up some sheet music I'd special ordered. There are some really great rockabilly tunes in here.» He held up one of his bags.
«Rockabilly?» the drummer, Chris, sounded skeptical.
«We're really more of an alternative band,' Marcus, the rhythm guy, added. «Kind of a younger sound.» He had stressed the word younger when he said it.
«I know, I know,' Valenti said. «But you have to try these songs. I promise you, it will be a great new sound for us.»
Chris and Marcus looked to their new leader, Mickey, silently willing him to have the conversation they had previously talked about that morning. Being trained in detective work, Valenti caught the glares and started putting things together. It wasn't a difficult case to crack.
«Is something wrong, Mickey?» he asked.
«Can you guys give us a second?» the lead guitarist asked his other band members.
Without another word, Chris and Marcus fled the garage.
«Let me guess.» Valenti saved the teen from the difficult job he had been left to do. «It's not working out.»
«Look, Sheriff-'
«Jim,' he corrected the boy. «I haven't been a sheriff for over five months now.»
Mickey was uncomfortable calling him by his first name. «Mr. Valenti, the guys and I have been having a great time the past few days. I mean, all the jamming we've been doing has really been fun.»
«But starting a band with someone my age doesn't fit into your plans,' Valenti finished the thought for him, hoping to save the boy from the embarrassment of having to say it to him.
«That's not it.» Mickey sat on the ratty old couch that
his parents had thrown into the garage for him and his friends. An unnoticed plume of dust rose from the cushion. «The whole band thing isn't really in our plans. You see, Alex was really the driving force behind The Whits.»
«I know.» Valenti thought about Alex. «It was the one part of his life where he really came out of his shell.»
«And without him, there is no band,' Mickey added. «When you came up to us at the memorial, we were all excited to have the chance to go on with the group, but-'
«It's not the same,' he guessed.
«Not really,' the teen admitted. «It has nothing to do with you. It's just that none of us is all that interested anymore. With senior year approaching and colleges to look at-'
«No, no, I understand. And I've got to tell you, Mickey, it takes a good man to know what he wants in life and not be afraid to say it.»
«Thanks, sir,' Mickey replied, getting off the old couch.
«Please, knock off the sir stuff.»
«Okay… Jim.» He held out his hand for Valenti to shake. «Kyle's really lucky to have an understanding father like you.»
«Thanks.» Valenti beamed at the compliment. «But about Kyle… can you and the guys keep this whole band thing just between us? I think it would embarrass him to know that his dad's been hanging out with his classmates.»
«It'll be our secret.»
«See you around,' Valenti said, grabbing his guitar and making his way out of the garage. As he walked down the drive, he nodded his good-bye to the other band members who were hanging out on the porch. They waved and
smiled in response. Roswell's got some good kids in it, he thought.
Back in his SUV, Valenti paused after placing the key in the ignition. Singing with the band had been the first recreational thing he had done in months, and he was going to miss it. It was nice to take a break from the responsibilities inherent in his more «alien» endeavors. He did understand where the kids were coming from, but that didn't necessarily mean that he couldn't continue with his plans.
Starting up the engine, Valenti's mind started working on an idea. He looked over to the passenger seat and saw the bags full of sheet music he had spent the morning collecting. It would be a shame to let all that music go to waste, he thought as he pulled away from the curb. And maybe it is time I started doing things with people my own age. I do tend to spend most of my time with friends who are young enough to be my children.
Valenti turned the idea over in his head for the rest of his drive home. Music had always been an important part of his life in the past. In fact, there had been a time while he was in high school when it was even more important to him than going into law enforcement. Now that he was no longer sheriff, he considered that it could be time again to give music another try. All he would need to do is gather up a band… and maybe come up with a really good name for the group.
