"Hi," he said.

She looked good, and he could immediately smell her perfume, but something had changed in him last night while he'd lain next to Isabel. Suddenly, Dawn looked like a dim shadow.

"What can I do you for?" she asked.

"Who's Johnny?" he asked, keeping his tone polite but neutral.

"Who?" she said.

"Johnny. You know, of Johnny's Garage," he said.

"Oh," she said, a look of recognition on her face. "That Johnny," she said with a smile.

Kyle didn't return the smile. "Who is he?" Kyle repeated.

Dawn's response was neutral. "He's Dan's brother. He was some kind of a war hero in Vietnam. He won a medal from Congress or something.”

"Congressional Medal of Honor?" Kyle offered.

"Yeah, I've heard my dad talk about him," she said.

"Did he open this place?" Kyle asked.

"No, Dan's father did when he was born, or when he was young, before Dan was born, I think," Dawn said.

Kyle nodded. "So where is he now?”

Dawn looked confused. "Where?”

"Yes, where is Johnny? Does he ever come in?" Kyle asked.

Dawn shook her head and said, "No. He's dead. He died in the war. They gave him the medal post… poss…”

"Posthumously," Kyle finished for her.

"Why are you interested?" she asked.

Kyle shrugged. "Just curious. I found this out back," he said, holding out the photo.

Dawn studied it for a moment and said, "You think it's Dan and his brother?”

"Maybe," Kyle said. "Anyway, I'll just give it to Dan.”

"Dan never talks about his brother. I just know because my dad knew them both when they were kids," she said.

"Okay, thanks," Kyle said, turning to go.

"Anytime," Dawn said as he stepped outside.

Kyle went back into the garage and approached Dan, who was getting ready to test-drive one of the cars.

"Dan, I just wanted to apologize for poking around without asking you," he said.

His boss didn't say anything for a minute, then said, "Don't worry about it.”

"I still would like to put our van in one of the bays tonight and check it out, work on it a bit," Kyle said.

It wasn't ideal. Without a new timing chain, he wouldn't be able to start the car, which made diagnosing other problems even tougher.

Dan nodded. "Sure, as long as you lock up.”

"And I still need a timing chain," Kyle said.

But even as he said it, Kyle sensed that Dan was sensi- tive about the van. It would never run again, of that much Kyle was sure. But it must mean something to Dan. Sud- denly he had the feeling that his boss wouldn't want to part with even pieces of it.

"Ill see if any of my suppliers have what you need," Dan said.

That was it, Kyle realized. Maybe it was just as well. He would pay more from a classic car parts dealer, but he couldn't afford trouble with his boss. He was making more money at the garage than either Liz or Maria were making at the diner.

The group needed him to keep this job. On the other hand, it would take longer to earn the money for the more expensive part. And it would take some time to have it shipped over.

More delays. And they did need to move on. The closer they stayed to Roswell, the more danger they were in. And then there were the disappearances in the town. He knew Isabel could take care of herself, but he also knew he would feel better when they were out of here.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Kyle said, holding out the photo. "I found this in the van," he added.

Dan took the picture and looked down. He was so startled when he saw the image, it looked to Kyle like Dan had just been struck. The color drained from his face, and he stared down blankly. Then he turned the photo over and read the back. Something moved on Dan's face and for a terrible moment, Kyle was afraid that his boss was going to burst into tears in front of him. Then Dan swal- lowed down whatever he was feeling, and his face was once again unreadable. Turning, he walked out toward the back door and said in a tight voice, "Get to work Kyle.”

Kyle stared after him for a moment, then he picked up the exhaust pipe he needed for his first car of the day and got started.

"Can you kids paint?" Bell asked.

Max nodded.

"Sure," Michael said.

"The outside?" Isabel asked.

Max had also noticed that the outside of the place needed it.

"I was going to wait until Sam got around to it, but I'm not getting any younger." Bell said.

"The front, side, and the back?" Michael asked.

"Yes, might as well do the whole thing," Bell said.

"It's pretty chipped. We'll probably have to scrape and prime it before we paint," Max said.

The building was red brick underneath but it had been painted many times since it was built. The last coat was white, but other colors showed through in a number of places as well as the original red brick.

"Just make it look nice. Match the white if you can. There's a ladder in the basement and some tools. Sam will show them to you. Then go see Harry at the hardware store to get whatever else you need. Tell him it's for me and that he can put it on my account," Bell said.

Then she turned toward the kitchen and shouted, "Sam!" A few minutes later they were rummaging around the basement, wading through old restaurant equipment. They found a tall, extendable ladder as well as a six-foot stepladder. There were also some drop cloths, old rollers, and one brush. They would be able to use all of it, and it would save Bell some money.

At the hardware store, Harry had looked at them with dis- trust. Max didn't mind. He was used to it in this town. And knowing what he did about what was happening here, he understood it.

But once Harry had called Bell, he had been helpful, if not particularly friendly.

Less than half an hour later, they were putting on three pairs of painter's overalls.

"I'll take the ground level," Isabel said.

Max put the extendable ladder in position, grabbed a scraper, and started climbing. They were working on the side of the building and Max started on the top left. He scraped at the chipped paint while Isabel did the same on the ground and Michael did the same from the stepladder.

The prep work is most of the job, his father's voice said in his head. Do it right, or you’ll be back at it again in an year. The sum- mer after sixth grade, his father had taught him to paint.

"Don't overwork it, Max," Isabel said from below. It was more of his father's advice.

When he looked down, he saw his sister; there was a slight smile on her face. He found himself returning it.

That summer when Max was thirteen and Isabel four- teen, Dad had announced that they were going to paint the house. Still, he was thirteen and there was a certain procedure for these things, so Max had protested. Isabel had too, but the next day the three of them were outside, surrounded by equipment and paint.

It was a clear day, early in the summer. And since it was pretty early in the morning (which had been a real sore point for Isabel), it was not hot yet. A few minutes into the job, Michael had shown up dressed in old shorts and a T-shirt.

"Glad you could make it, Michael," Dad had said.

"Sure," Michael replied.

No protests. Michael actually wanted to be there, Max had marveled. Well, Max knew things were tough with his foster father. Michael was hanging around more and more. Max's parents acted as if it was perfectly normal. In fact, they had taken to inviting him over themselves. A wave of feeling washed over him. He was surprised to find that he missed his parents.

He shook it off. It had only been a couple of days…

Yet, it would be much longer before he saw either of them again. Maybe never. He felt a stab in his stomach at that. It surprised him. Things had been rough with Mom and Dad after his and Liz's arrest for holding up the conven- ience store. Max had even moved out to live with Michael.