by Ivy Raine
“Did you tell them you heard?” Marta pinched the tears off. She had to be strong for Kyle.
Kyle shook his head, his whole body quaking. “No. I just…I want it to go away.” A deluge of tears erupted and washed down over his cheeks. He turned and buried his face in the fresh-cut hay that they’d scraped up into a bed to watch the clouds roll by. The dolphin cloud that Marta had spotted a few minutes ago morphed into something ugly – something terrifying.
She waited, not sure when to speak.
“Kyle,” she said at long last. “You need to tell them that you know.”
“I wish I didn’t.” His small, helpless voice stabbed Marta right through the heart. To know and understand your mother is dying from cancer is one thing, but to overhear it – with no one to comfort you – is heartbreaking.
“I’ll go with you.” Marta wrapped an arm around Kyle and pulled him close, her tears now joining his. “I can’t let you do this alone.”
Kyle turned and held her tight, shaking through the sobs until he threw up.
“Promise you’ll never leave me, Marta.” His voice, raspy and barely above a whisper, echoed in circles, around and around in her head.
“I promise,” she whispered.
I promise. Marta had so wanted to keep her word. Every time she remembered that day she hated herself all over again and vowed never to make another promise she couldn’t keep. That’s probably why she hadn’t made one since.
The lazy, carefree day sped by, and just as the last of the sun dipped down behind the trees, the heap of logs exploded into a wall of flames.
Swatting at the mosquitos buzzing around her face and arms, Marta made a move toward the bonfire.
“Marta!”
Marta froze. She’d know that voice anywhere, despite the darkness falling all around her.
“It’s time for our song.” Awash in the gentle, orange glow of the fire, Mr. Mirelli stood with his hand outstretched.
Come on, Marta. It’s only a simple kid’s song. She gave herself a mental kick and took his hand. The warmth radiating down through his fingers felt nice against her cool ones.
He led her to the make-shift stage and handed her a microphone.
“You ready?”
“As ready as I can possibly be considering the difficulty of this number.” Marta flicked on her microphone and waited for the words to appear on the tiny screen. Once the song started, Marta found herself looking up at Mr. Mirelli; total glee emanated from each and every syllable he sang. He peeked at Marta once or twice and smiled even wider. By the time the simple song ended, Marta couldn’t help but laugh. It had been quite a while since she’d let herself be silly – and it felt good. The rowdy crowd gave them a standing ovation.
“That was fun,” she said, still smiling.
Mr. Mirelli took her microphone and handed it to the DJ. “I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out a plain, white envelope. “This is for being such a good sport.”
The envelope was slightly bent and creased from being in his pocket all day. Marta opened it and pulled out a certificate with her name splashed across the front.
“Get out of work free,” she read. “Good for two days off with pay.” Marta looked up at Mr. Mirelli. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I think you should go ahead and use it for this weekend.”
Marta looked at the certificate again. “I would be nice, wouldn’t it? Thank you Mr. Mirelli.”
“You’ve earned it. And call me Brad.”
Marta handed the certificate back to him. “Consider it redeemed. I’ll see you Monday morning. Thanks again, Brad.”
It felt odd to call an employer by their first name, but it rolled off her tongue so naturally. He caught her arm as she turned to leave.
“Since you’re off for the next two days, you wouldn’t mind helping me retrieve the hot dogs, would you?”
Brad’s hand lingered on her arm, his grip firm, yet gentle.
“Sure.” What else could she say? He’d just given her two paid days that didn’t count against her vacation. Marta did a little internal eye roll. Who was she kidding? That had nothing to do with it.
“Too bad my mom couldn’t be here,” he said, holding the back door for her. “She usually helps me host this thing.” He let out a little laugh. “I wasn’t exactly born for entertaining. Mom, on the other hand, is an excellent hostess.”
Marta stepped into the enormous, country kitchen just off the back entry. “I think you’re doing just fine. Not to change the subject,” she said, leering at the old gas stove hogging almost an entire wall, “but this kitchen is fabulous!”
Nodding, Brad opened the refrigerator. “Cooking’s a thing with my family, and the kitchen’s the most important room in the house.” He dragged out ten packs of foot long dogs. “You take these and I’ll grab the buns.” He groaned when he heaved the jumbo sized cardboard box from the floor. “Okay. I think we’re armed and ready to go.”
Marta slipped ahead and held the screen door for Brad. When he came through, he bumped her with the box, sending a pack of hot dogs to the ground. They both leaned over at the same time, bumping heads.
“Ouch!” Marta rubbed the top of her head with her free hand. “Let me grab those.”
Still hovering just over top of her and close enough that his warm breath ruffled up her hair, Brad sighed. “I’m sorry, Marta. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“I’m okay,” she said, standing up. “How about you?”
“Another lump on my head won’t make a difference.” Brad balanced the box in his hip.
Marta could have sworn she saw him flush red in the dim of approaching dusk. She shifted the hot dogs to keep from dropping another pack.
“Well, it looks like the bonfire’s ready to go.”
Hesitating, Brad looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just agreed. “We probably ought to go feed the horde. I’m sure they’re getting hungry again.”
And they were. All one hundred and nineteen hot dogs were roasted and dispersed before the evening was through, and with only one left, Brad cut it in half and shared with Marta.
“Thanks for your help tonight. You’ve definitely earned the weekend off.”
Marta bit her lip, trying not to smile at the glob of ketchup smeared at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome.” Though she tried to resist, Marta couldn’t let the spot of red go. She used her napkin to wipe it away. “Ketchup,” she clarified.
“At least you didn’t use saliva,” he said, finishing up with his own napkin.
Marta laughed. “I remember those days.”
“You, too? I swear, I think my mother would still do that if I’d let her.”
Marta looked around, spying Midge and Palmer cuddling on a bale of hay. “Moms are all the same. It’s too bad she couldn’t be here today.”
Bradley followed her gaze. “It would’ve been nice. However, if she were here she’d say ‘It’s almost midnight, Bradley. Time to get this thing wrapped up’.”
A yawn escaped before Marta could stop it. “And she’d be right.”
Midge was wound up tight, and by the time she dropped Marta off at the ‘castle’, she’d reiterated practically every word Palmer had said to her the entire afternoon and evening. Marta didn’t mind. She was glad to see someone excited about being in love.
When she stepped out of Midge’s little car, Marta knew instantly that Stash wasn’t home. Her van was nowhere in sight. She stuffed her hand down into her bag and felt around until the little door key scraped against her knuckles.
“I thought I left you on,” she said to the post light.
Fingering the lock with her left hand and shoving the key in with her right, Marta heard the click and felt the knob release its grip. She reached around the doorway and flipped on the light. Midge gave the horn a quick beep before slipping away in the dark. All alone. Marta hated how it felt.
She lay awake that night until the wee hours of the morning, waiting. Her van made a specific vibrating rumble, and the sound didn’t jar her awake until just before sunrise.
Chapter 7
The Christmas tree twinkled brighter than Marta had ever seen. Maybe it was the tears of joy magnifying the colors or maybe it was the enormous smile on Kyle’s face.
“Remission?” Marta could hardly believe the words coming from Kyle’s mouth. “It’s a miracle – a Christmas miracle!”
He beamed, happier than she’d ever seen him. “Eradicated, according to the doctor.” Kyle wiggled his arm back behind the stacks of gifts under the tree and pulled out a rectangular box. “Merry Christmas.” He tossed the box on her lap.
Marta ran her hands over the Snoopy paper.
“Well, open it, piglet!”
Giving in to temptation, Marta slid a finger under the tape, carefully extracting the box from the paper. It was a tradition in her household to save the paper¸ and she couldn’t bring herself to rip it to pieces.
She shook the box. “Sounds like clothes.”
Kyle frowned. “No guessing. Hurry up!”
Lifting the lid, Marta found the top she’d been eyeing up for over a month. “Kyle! You remembered!”
He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Yes, I remembered, but that’s from Mom. My gift’s underneath.”
Pulling back the tissue paper, Marta found a tiny, misshapen gift swaddled by the sleeves of the top. Eyeing up Kyle, she turned it over in her hand.
“No more stalling, Marta!”
Marta smiled at the angst on his face. Carefully tearing away the paper, a necklace fell out and into her lap.
“My swimming medal!” he blurted, not waiting for her to figure it out on her own. “I can swim!”
When did he do this? Marta held it up and examined the one inch disc dangling from the gold chain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He put an arm around her shoulder. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Surprised?”
Knowing how terrified he was of the water, surprised was an understatement. “I’m just – I’m so proud of you!”
“It’s all because of you,” he said, taking the medal from her and clasping it around her neck. I kept remembering what you told me – ‘you can’t do anything unless you try’.”
Marta looked down at the medal resting against her chest. “This is the best gift ever.”
“My best gift ever is Mom getting better.”
***
“This is it. This is the one.”
Marta looked at the thin, red material of the top and wondered what sensitive areas it would cling to. “I don’t know, Stash.”
He shook it, excited like a kid on Christmas. “It’s perfect! The color’ll be gorgeous next to your skin.” Stash slid a finger down her arm. “Your lovely, lovely skin.”
Marta swatted his hand away. “Okay, but you’re buying. No way in hell am I spending forty-five bucks on a shirt. And just for the record,” she said, propping a hand on her hip, “this, in no way, constitutes ‘gold digging’. You’re doing this of your own volition in spite of my verbal objection.”
Stash swooped in a low bow. “Yes, milady.”
Marta squinted, her mind going a mile a minute to figure out just what he was up to. First he bails out on her the night before and now he’s falling all over her like he’s trying to make up for something. “This is too easy. What are you setting me up for?”
Clutching the thread bare top to his chest, Stash put on the wounded look. “Nothing but a lovely day, beautiful. Why so suspicious?”
Looking between Stash and the over-inflated price tag dangling in the wind, Marta sighed and shook her head. “Then you’re just nuts.”
Stash leaned in and planted a sloppy, child-like kiss on her cheek. “For you,” he whispered in her ear. “And for the anticipation of what this rag’s gonna look like caressing all the spots I’d like to caress myself.”
Biting the inside of her mouth, Marta couldn’t stop the question she’d been holding in all morning, despite how it was going to come out. “So, how was your date last night?”
“My…date. Why?” Stash held the top up to Marta.
Stepping back and away from Stash, Marta worked her way around the opposite side of the mountainous bin. “Just curious. Apparently it was good enough to keep you out all night.” She cocked her head and looked at him from under her lashes. “Aren’t you a little curious about what I did last night?”
Stash shook his head. “Nope. And I don’t know about you, but I never involve my friends in my love life. That sort of thing can get messy if the info gets in the wrong hands.”
Now irritated, Marta looked at the top still dangling from his fingers, and shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean, I’ll probably never wear it. I’d be advertising my bra for the entire world to see.” Who was he kidding? He could buy it for his date, instead.
Stash raised a brow. “Who said anything about a bra?”
Marta had met brazen men, but Stash was the master. “Figures,” she said, swiping the top out of his hands and tossing it back onto the multi-colored pile of look-a-likes. “Do you leer at all your pals?”
When he ignored her comment, it became abundantly clear that he’d not be giving up any information.
“Well, I’m not leaving without buying you something.” Stash inched up on his toes to scan across the tops of the heads of the throng of vacationers scouring through the wares of the boardwalk vendors. “There,” he said, grabbing Marta’s hand. “I see it.”
Not caring who was in his way, Stash pulled Marta behind him, leaving her with more than one nasty look as she stepped on sandaled toes and bumped into shoppers.
“There.” Stash pointed up to a blouse high on a waterfall rack. “It’s perfect.”
Marta nodded, impressed with Stash’s taste when ulterior motives weren’t part of the decision. “It’s nice. Really nice.”
The observant Chinese shop-keeper didn’t wait to be asked; he used a long hook to lift the top from the rack. “Nice choice” he said, nodding at Stash while giving Marta a toothy grin. “Twenty-five.”
The shop-keeper slid the gorgeous ivory top down into a bag and handed it to Marta. “You put on. Dressing room there.” He pointed to a small structure no bigger than an outhouse. “Pink door.”
Marta hesitated.
“You heard the man, beautiful. Pink door.” Stash nudged Marta. “Humor us,” he said, putting an arm around the shop-keeper. “We’d like to see the thing in action.”
Looking at the two of them standing there together with grins a mile wide, Marta knew she was beat before she started. “Fine.”
The tiny dressing room was actually much bigger on the inside than it looked from out, and as Marta dropped the cool, chiffon top down over her head, she took a quick peek in the mirrors lining the walls.
“Wow.” She smoothed down the tiny, satin fringes lining the low-cut neckline. The top hit in all the right spots. Shoving her old shirt in the bag, Marta took one last look in the mirror and stepped back out into the sunlight and directly into a man’s chest – a very tall man’s chest.
“Hello!”
Marta looked up at the owner of the familiar voice. Squinting through the rays of sun pouring into her eyes, she finally recognized his face.
“Travis!”
His smooth laugh tickled her ears. “I never expected to see you here. I thought you worked every Saturday?”
Marta struggled to remember if she told him that little fact or if he just picked it up by observation. “Lucky break, I guess. But, what about you?” His normal Saturday sea smells were replaced by cologne.
“The boat’s in repair for a few day.” Holding up an enormous bag of cotton candy, Travis looked at her with a devious glint in his eye. “I don’t suppose you’d care to walk and partake for a bit?”
She tried not to grin, but it was nearly impossible. Travis was relent
less. “I really can’t,” she said, glad to have a real excuse this time. “I’m here with someone.”
The slightest of frowns flit across his face as he raised his head to look around. “Oh?”
Marta nodded. “I’m sure I’ll see you next Saturday, right?”
The smile returned to his face. “Sure! Bright and early. Just like always.”
“Great! I’ll have your table ready and waiting.”
Travis put a finger to his forehead in a quick salute and melted back into the growing midday crowd.
Marta was still watching the top of his head bob away when something brushed against her arm.
“Someone from last night?” Stash played with the fringe along the plunging back of the top.
“Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know.” Marta couldn’t believe he had the nerve to actually ask that question after his refusal to talk just ten, short minutes earlier.
“Yes, actually, I would.”
Surprised by his attitude, Marta looked up at Stash, and watched as his eyes followed Travis’ every move until he vanished in the sea of heads.
“Well, if you’ve gotta know, he’s just a regular in the restaurant.” She may as well have been talking to a stump. “He’s a really nice guy.” It was no use. Stash’s grimace wasn’t budging. “What’s the problem?”
Stash finally looked at Marta. “No problem. I just think it’s a little odd that he’d approach you like this.”
Marta rolled her eyes. “It’s not like he could avoid it, Stash. I practically fell into his arms.”
The fact that she was wearing the new top finally hit him over the head. “You look like a billion bucks,” he said, drinking her in.
“Um, isn’t it a million?” she teased, happy to see the light return to his eyes.
Stash grabbed the bag swinging from her fingertips. “Inflation.”
“Thanks.” Marta ran her fingers down the soft, sleek material. “You didn’t have to waste your money on me, though. You’re supposed to be saving. Remember?”
“If you could only see what I see, then you’d know it was worth every penny and then some.” Stash slid his free hand around hers as they meandered through the crowd and into a less congested area. “I want you to remember me every time you wear it.”