Spring in Maryland was a beautiful experience . . . for everyone except Max Evans. Winter had left its cold imprint on every facet of his life and even the warmth of Spring couldn't dispel the chill that had been left behind.

I need a phone call . . .
I need a raincoat . . .
I need a big love.
I need a phone call.

He watched life revolve all around him without once actively participating in the melee. What was the point? He'd already had everything a person could ever hope for and more besides . . . and lost it all.

These train conversations are passing me by.
And, I don't have nothing to say.

He watched the landscape as it whirled by in a blur of color outside the train window. The buzz of conversation sounded all around him. As he continued to look through the window, the colors became muted by the dull, downpour of incessant rain . . .

His thoughts turned to the day he had finally called their parents. He was profoundly grateful now for Isabel's insistence that they be honest with them about who they were. Otherwise, he didn't know how in the world he would've explained Liz's disappearance along with their first grandchild. His mind raced backward in time to the day he had lost them both. He still didn't understand what had gone wrong. Liz had seemed fine. The only thing unusual about the pregnancy had been the very lack of any problems and the year that it had lasted. Even during the delivery she had been strong. But, the moment the umbilical cord had been cut, they'd lost her. It was almost as if she couldn't survive without the attachment to Anna. Somehow her body had become dependent on the pregnancy and as soon as it was over, so was her life. Guilt had crashed through Max as he realized that the differences in their bodies had ultimately been responsible for her death. Less than an hour after Anna's birth, Liz's lifeless body had disappeared. A few days later, everyone had given their account of what they'd seen happen, but in their grief, no one was quite sure what had occurred. One moment she'd been there, and the next her image began to fade, eventually becoming nonexistent. They'd all grappled with what it could mean, but no one was prepared to offer a theory.

You get what you pay for, but
I just had no intention of living this way.

It had been four months since Liz had died and taken Anna with her. Four months, and not one thing had changed. He ached from the inside out every second of every hour of every day of every month . . .

I need a phone call.
I need a plane ride.
I need a sunburn.
I need a raincoat.

Michael and Maria and Isabel and Alex were on vacation now. They'd tried so hard to convince him to come along, but he just couldn't . . .

His thoughts turned next to the horrified expressions that Isabel and Maria had worn when they'd discovered that Anna was gone, too . . .

It had almost been too much for all of them. They'd spent that first month together almost constantly. Not being able to bear being separated for more than a few hours at a time. Not so very unusual except for Liz's absence from the group . . .

They'd always been extremely close since the move to Maryland. One of them was almost always at any given point in time with another of their small circle.

The rain fell harder as the train lumbered through the city . . .

And, I get no answers.
And, I don't get no change.
It's raining here in Baltimore, baby.
But, everything else is the same.

The train stopped where it always did and Max made his way home to the same apartment he had shared with Liz and briefly with Anna. As he opened the door, he was comforted by the very lack of change in the interior of the small residence. He hadn't been able to bear changing anything. He knew it was foolish, but one did what one could to survive . . .

He looked out the kitchen window at the rain that continued to fall like there would be no end to it . . .

There's things I remember,
and things I forget.
I miss you. I guess that I should.
3,500 miles away, but what would
you change if you could?

Max wandered out into the living room, carefully avoiding the bedroom. He would only go there later . . . when he was ready to face what would come once he crossed that threshold . . .

He never regretted that Anna was with Liz. He knew that he probably should, but he couldn't. Wherever they were, he knew that they were happy. The reason that he knew that was because he had seen them. Everyday for four months . . . in his bedroom . . .

He lay in his bed and watched on the far wall as the scene unfolded every night, revealing the subtle changes in his daughter's growth and Liz's unchanging radiance. Like watching home movies, the images continued to play across the wall . . .

He couldn't possibly explain to the others why he couldn't leave and go on vacation with them. He knew they were worried, but if he told them that he couldn't miss an opportunity to see his dead wife and daughter, they wouldn't just be worried anymore . . . .

I need a phone call.
Maybe I should buy a new car.
I can always hear a freight train,
baby, if I listen real hard.

As the sunset on another day, Max made his way from the living room to the bedroom. Pausing in the doorway momentarily, he decided to take a shower before the ritual began . . .

Stripping quickly and discarding clothing all over the bathroom floor, he stepped into the shower. The water was scalding but he barely felt it. Hygiene was a necessary nuisance at this point, but he had to at least try to live a normal life . . .

Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed a towel and hurriedly dried the moisture from his skin, glancing at the floor with a frown. Even after four months, he couldn't bring himself to leave the damn clothes on the floor. It was as if she were still there, watching and waiting to see if he would play along with the pretense of her existence . . .

Scooping up the guilt from the floor and casting it into the hamper, he dressed and turned down the bed, feeling his heart rate accelerate as the time quickly approached . . .

And, I wish it was a small world,
'cause I'm lonely for the big towns.
I'd like to hear a little guitar.
I guess it's time to put the top down.

As he lie on his back, staring at the wall, the horrifying fear of her not appearing spread through his mind and into his heart and soul . . .

These nightly visions had been the only thing that kept him going since he'd lost everything that ever mattered to him . . .

He remembered the first time it had happened. He'd thought he was dreaming but in a moment of insight realized that couldn't be possible since he hadn't been asleep . . .

The light had spread rapidly outward from the same spot behind the bed where Liz had appeared the night of her death and he had surrendered their baby girl to the knowledge that Anna *had* to be with Liz. There was no other option. He just didn't know why . . .

Light. Three-dimensional imagery. So real, he had been shaking with hope . . .

As he approached the vision, hope died a torturous death as he walked right through it. Falling backwards on the floor, he watched Liz with Anna. Changing diapers, feeding her, bathing her, holding her, loving her and . . . smiling . . .

The bond between them had been palpable even across the vastness of time and space . . .

Once, just once, Liz had looked out of the vision toward him. He would have sworn that she was looking right at him as she smiled and held Anna upright so he could see her better. It was almost as if she knew he was there watching . . .

I need a phone call.
I need a raincoat.

Max returned to the present with a jolt as thunder clapped and lightning flashed outside. It was getting late and almost time . . .

I really need a raincoat.
I really, really need a raincoat.

The clock struck midnight, and the storm raged, but Max didn't hear any of it . . .

The light inside the bedroom was as bright as midday and in the center of that light, Max watched his baby girl and his beautiful wife.

They played together on a blanket with Liz leaning over Anna and holding her tiny hands, while they both laughed . . .

The blanket was spread out on the ground in a park setting that he couldn't place but seemed vaguely familiar somehow.

Anna was getting so big. She changed every single day. As Max fell captive to the scene before him, a steady, niggling piece of knowledge crawled from the depths of his subconscious, out into the light of awareness . . .

He'd seen that park before . . . played there as a child. A very long time ago . . .

It was beautiful there. Perfect. It almost made him ache just to see it.

And, it was definitely not on this planet . . .