He finds himself wondering about the petite girl with the mane of blond curls. Who is she, exactly? And when did she join up with Max Evans' neat little group of six? They won't tell him. He's certain that they wish she didn't exist. He knows she's an outsider that wants to help.

Much like him.

Of course, he knows all the legitimate details about her: a transfer student named Tess Harding, she's sixteen, and her father is a consultant for the army. The odds of any of that official story being true are about as likely as him being Laura Bush in drag.

He also knows what she really is.

An outsider.

An alien.

In more ways than one.

Whenever he comes into the CrashDown to check on the kids, she is always clutching Max's arm. But she might as well be clutching a rag doll that doesn't talk back, because Max's eyes are always fixed on the space behind the counter. The space where Liz Parker isn't because she's in Florida for the summer.

It has become a habit for Jim to come in and watch the daily drama. Since Kyle is in Albuquerque and the lazy, July heat is too stifling for anyone to commit anything beyond petty theft, his responsibilities are at an all time low. And he doesn't have to lie. Perhaps that's the easiest part of walking in, ordering a Coke with crushed ice, and saying a polite "Afternoon" to Jeff Parker and a "Tell your mom I'll call her" to Maria DeLuca. He has nothing to explain to Kyle. No excuses to make about what happened just a few months ago.

He can thank God his son is alive, safe, and oblivious.

He can thank Max, too.

And he can just come in and be the watcher. The upstanding adult who can sense the pain between Maria and Michael...the unease between Isabel and Alex Whitman...and the way Tess Harding is set apart from it all. They don't mind his presence like they used to. They don't tense up or quit speaking because he passes the table and greets them. Except for Tess. Her huge, blue-gray eyes still hold mistrust. She doesn't like him. She doesn't want him involved. She wants him to forget what he saw at Eagle Rock. Forget that Max healed his boy.

And maybe, just maybe, she doesn't want him understanding her.

Too bad.

He sips his Coke slowly, enjoying the extra crushed ice and letting it melt on his tongue piece by piece.

He knows what it's like to be left in the dark. To be cast aside. It has happened to him too many times. He knows what it's like to look for confirmation in Max Evans' dark brown eyes. Eyes that hold answers he still hasn't gotten. There's something to be said for casual ignorance. For the pretense of inclusion. It's worse than not knowing at all. Than being shut out.

He knows that Tess feels the same. That Tess would rather have blatant disregard, insults, and a push into the dirt, than have to sit like a doll with a plastic, know-it-all grin while they pretend she is welcome.

Perhaps that is why she stops pouring sugar into her iced tea and lifts her eyebrow at him. Perhaps that is why she smiles at him, suddenly, with her red lips but not with her eyes.

Perhaps that is why he blinks. Why he clutches the wet glass of cola. Why he suddenly sees her stripped, completely naked, spread out on the table. Her body is lightly golden all over...and the handle of a butter knife protrudes from her heart. Blood stains Max's hands as he ignores the corpse and talks over it, to Michael and Isabel. As Alex laughs and Maria loiters nearby with a tray of silverware.

Jim blinks again and the vision is gone. The startling image just fades from before his eyes...and the six kids are once again all living...all scrunched into the CrashDown booth. But he can't stop his heart from pounding. From connecting.

And Tess winks.

Her long lashes fold over one eye and dimples deepen in her rounded cheeks.

He tips his Coke at her in a silent salute, watching her lips close around a straw and draw too-sweet tea into her mouth. Her hand slips away from Max's forearm and she grasps her glass with all 10 fingers. He hadn't noticed before...but her drink, too, is filled to the brim with crushed ice. And she savors each sip...as if she's letting each piece melt on her tongue.

He realizes that she knows it all.

She knows all too well.

And perhaps her mistrust springs from the fact that she understands him.

Perhaps she understands that he just might want her.

Perhaps she just might want him, too.

When they both push their empty glasses aside and rise...no one notices.

When they walk out the door, one after the other, and the bells jingle, no one notices.

The pretense of inclusion seems to have dropped.

But Jim is sure the kids will be shaken out of their oblivion soon enough.

They'll clue in.

When he and Tess come back inside...they won't be outsiders any longer.

Not to each other.

And that will be enough.

For now.