Martin saw the insult on Maureen’s face. Did Nancy not realize calling Martin ridiculous would hurt his sister? Maureen said nothing. She would not argue. Martin and Christie and Carmen remained frozen still.
“Although,” Nancy said in a quieter, reserved tone, “Martin did always have lists. On his desk right now is a list written on a yellow legal pad. It is a list of the most prominent names in St. Paul, a waiting list of people who want Martin to build their homes. When I get home, I will have to start calling them. Martin will never build their homes, nor would they any longer want him to.” Nancy appeared satisfied with that, like this was Martin’s punishment for changing.
“They have already moved on,” Maureen said as she turned away and saw Martin standing at the door. Nancy’s voice continued behind her.
“Martin did not father a baby nine months ago. Nine months ago Martin was impotent and sick. I don’t believe there is a baby.” Nancy turned toward Maureen and also saw Martin and her daughters. Her face blanched, but then she shrugged. “Show me the baby,” she said.
Martin sat the girls down at the table. Martin wanted a cup of coffee so he poured a cup. He poured juice for the girls in coffee cups. While he did this the only sound in the room was the low rumble from the new energy-efficient dishwasher.
Maureen sat at the table as well, holding a wet wash cloth and looking gray under her red-blond hair. Maureen looked at the two little girls. She said softly, “The barn, that old building outside, is where your Uncle Joe died. That is why Daddy is sad and Mommy is angry. It was a long time ago before you were born. None of it is your fault. The adults around here still have to deal with it.” At this Maureen gave Martin a reproachful look.
Martin knew his brother Joseph was dead. He had come that far. He knew that was why he feared the barn. Then he thought that he had to be careful. Exhaustion made him unfocused.
Nancy turned around and said, “Joseph died in the barn? Martin never talked about it. It was like it didn’t happen.”
Martin looked at his daughters with their wide eyes and pinched cheeks. He said, “Can you go play now? This is not for children.”
Christie took Carmen’s hand. She pulled the younger girl through the arch into the big entry way and staircase. She said, “We can climb, and they won’t care.”
Maureen said, “Martin was with him and could never tell exactly what happened. Somehow, Joe fell. All I remember is running in the mud. I couldn’t get my feet to move, and I was desperate to call an ambulance. It was a nightmare.” Maureen let her voice trail off. “Telling the story still makes me sad and afraid.”
Maureen, with tears on her cheeks, said to Martin. “I think I can say it now.”
Martin nodded. He wanted to comfort her. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Nancy looked confused. She said rather stiffly, “So long ago. How does this all still matter?”
Maureen stood and walked to the porch. Martin said, looking directly at Nancy, “Not to you, but to us. It is why I am sick.”
Then Martin glanced down and spoke toward his hands. “Joe died first. He was seventeen and I was sixteen. After Joe died I never again went to the barn. Dad sold his dairy operation. Maureen helped him until it was all settled. My mother died seven years later. I was twenty-three when my mother died. My father died when I was thirty years old. He left the farm to me.”
Martin looked up at Nancy but could not really see her more than a colored blur in front of the window. “You and I came to visit my dad several times over the years. After he died I never set foot on the place again. The girls have never seen this house. I’ve known for a very long time that there was something wrong with me. I just kept on going until I saw that picture in the Milwaukee paper. Then I could not continue with my life. From before Dad’s funeral and until I returned, I have never admitted inside of me that Joe is dead.”
His voice stopped working. He knew he was crying. He was afraid to see a sneer on Nancy’s face so he did not look at her. Then Martin felt Nancy’s chin on his head, a gesture she used to do when he was sitting down at his drafting board. The pressure on his head felt familiar and he reached up to pat her hair.
“It is all in the past now,” Nancy said. “We have to move forward.”
Then Crook’s voice drifted down the back stairs to the kitchen. Martin hoped that Crook was in a better mood than he had been earlier in the day. This was not the day for Crook to be silent and brooding and tired. Martin did not have the time or the energy today to wonder what was bothering his friend.
Chapter Seventeen
“Happy Birthday, Christie,” Crook said as he stepped from the enclosed stairway and into the kitchen. His eyes sought Christie and found her. He smiled. He carried Kirby on his shoulder. The baby held his head erect while clutching Crook’s shirt, and Crook patted Kirby’s back in an attempt to keep the tension in the kitchen from making the baby cry.
Martin looked pale but at the same time less sick. Crook paused to study his friend. Yes, he was sad in his heart but more alert in his eyes. He looked Nancy over, who in turn was gaping at him. Her mouth held a sneer, but her eyes held shock. Crook moved his eyes to Maureen who filled the doorway from the porch to the kitchen. With the afternoon light outlining her shape, she looked stunning. Crook felt his heart stop.
He moved to the refrigerator and opened it in search of Kirby’s bottle. Two sets of female eyes were boring holes in his back. He wondered if smoke would soon curl away from his shirt. He turned around and as Martin held out his arms Crook handed over the baby while he went to warm the bottle.
He caught Nancy. Her mouth gaped open and her eyes bulged. Crook followed her line of sight right to Martin holding Kirby, tummy down on Martin’s knee while jiggling his leg as he always did.
With tremendous effort, grasping the edge of the counter, Nancy croaked, “Where did that baby come from?”
Crook saw Martin look up but he knew Martin did not see Nancy, did not see her knees shaking. Crook hesitated, wondering if he should answer and with what words when Martin said, “This is Kirby. I told you about him. He came home from the bin the same day as Crook.”
Maureen, who had not moved from the doorway, now walked slowly, stiffly, around the table. She lifted Kirby from Martin’s knee. She came near Crook and took the bottle from the microwave. She felt the outside of Kirby’s diaper and wrapped tighter his blanket, then she removed the baby from the kitchen.
After a full minute of watching Nancy gulp air and Martin look at his hands, Crook said, “We need plates and napkins for the party.”
“When I have my birthday,” Crook told Martin, “I want fifty candles.”
Martin looked tired.
“Are we on the porch for cake?” Crook asked, glancing at Nancy who looked at him but did not answer. This kind of behavior was fine with Crook. He was completely comfortable. When Maureen answered from the porch, however, there was no more comfort. She was beautiful and whole and healthy.
Martin said that he would find the girls. Crook heard laughter from what sounded like the ceiling. The place echoed. Nancy walked very carefully onto the porch without carrying a single thing with her, not the juice, not the glasses, nothing.
Crook first carried Kirby’s seat to the porch so Maureen had a place for Kirby. Then the two of them opened the tables and laid out paper Barbie table clothes and napkins. Crook handed Nancy a bag of balloons and gestured for her to blow them up.
Martin carried out the sheet cake with dancing Barbie Dolls and supervised Christie as she punched the candles through the frosting. Carmen tried to help her mother blow up balloons.
Crook heard Martin say to his sister, “No one would accuse Crook of being handsome, but he is cool all the same. Don’t you think so?”
He saw Maureen blush and laugh. She did not glance at him. He could not think about a woman, not now. But the thought of Maureen lingered all the same.
Maureen said to Martin, “You should introduce me since we are both
in your house.”
Martin said, “This is Crook. Crook say hello to my sister, Maureen.”
“Hello,” Crook said.
“I saw you every time I visited Martin,” Maureen said. “I did not know for sure that you were the person Martin talked about.”
“I am that person,” Crook said. He could not control his stare. For Christ’s sake what was wrong with him?
He knew himself to be lean and lithe. He practiced a type of over-bearing confidence, complete control. He felt his control slip a fraction as he looked into those round, green eyes. Not happening, he thought.
Martin said, “We called Crook Steve McQueen in Great Escape.”
Maureen said, “Martin, stop it.” Then she looked at Crook and said. “Martin can’t help himself. He is always trying to fix me up. He thinks it is my place in life to be married.”
Crook allowed himself to feel good about that. Maureen was not married.
A few minutes later everything was nearly ready. Christie held the cake knife and Carmen the ice cream scoop. Maureen happened to stand shoulder to shoulder with Crook at the long edge of the table.
Maureen said quietly to Crook, “I did not trust you because Martin seemed so dependent upon you. I heard your name a hundred times every time I visited.”
Maureen paused for several seconds before adding, “I suppose I have you to thank for Martin’s vast improvement.”
Crook understood that Maureen was hurt by this. He said, “It is too hard for family. Family is not mean enough.”
Crook saw a brief look of surprise hit and leave her eyes. He said with intensity, “Just because I enjoy visitor day and flit around do not mistake me for a nice person. Flip the coin and I am a mean son-of-a-bitch.”
Maureen’s eyes widened. Then for the first time in his memory, an actual surprise happened; Maureen laughed. The sound sparkled and tinkled around him like crystal.
“Was I funny?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
To cover the new feeling of confusion, Crook picked Kirby up from his seat and showed him the cake, talking to him easily and naturally. He could not allow anything more in his life, especially not now.
Nancy sat in the chair by the window facing Crook. She appeared to consider him a four-eyed monster. This was water off a duck’s back to Crook. He did think that Martin should show more respect to the mother of his children, at least in regards to some plausible explanation of a new sibling. However he did not tell Martin this opinion. Martin would do as he had to do.
“How does it feel to be out?” Nancy asked Crook.
“I like it,” Crook answered. “The main difference so far is that Martin is the only other nut I see. We have not been off the farm much. Bill and I go fishing on Saturdays.” Crook’s voice was calm with an odd, quiet cadence that he assumed when speaking with unknown parties or authority figures.
“At least you can walk around outside, look at the trees changing color,” Nancy said. Crook, who generally spotted phony, was unsure of Nancy. He thought perhaps his equilibrium was off-kilter. He decided to treat her as a visitor.
“Strange thing about that, now that I can walk outside whenever I want, I don’t want to except at the same time of day that we always were allowed outside. Just two days ago I took Martin’s watch and timed myself. I had to make myself stay outside five minutes longer than our allotted time at the bin. I’m a creature of habit now.” His face parted in his huge smile.
“I never believed you were real,” Nancy said.
“You never came to the hospital,” Crook answered.
The words burst from her. “Tell us about Kirby,” she demanded. “He did not just come home from the bin.” She looked at the baby in Crook’s arms as though neither Crook nor the baby belonged on this porch or on this earth. Kirby yawned and smacked and stretched turning his strong, little body in Crook’s arm.
Crook had a more realistic understanding of Nancy’s position than Martin did or likely than Nancy realized. He started to answer something of no meaning when Martin answered. Nancy obviously did not understand that Martin was better. Every time Martin spoke it seemed to take her by surprise.
Martin said, “It doesn’t matter, Nancy. Not to you. He is my son. You have to accept that and move on.” Martin sat on a wicker chair near the kitchen door and held Carmen on his knee.
Crook, like Martin and Bill, would protect Sandra’s secret no matter what that meant. They had been there, witnessing the price she paid. Kirby had not been born alone. Along with Kirby was born a loyalty to him and to his mother that no one would speak of, least of all Crook.
“Where did he come from?” Nancy persisted with passion.
Without moving, without standing, Martin looked steady at his ex-wife. Crook felt his pulse quicken. He had never known a well Martin, and he did not know this man of steel, who said, “His mother died in labor, and I claimed him as his father.”
Crook held Kirby against his shoulder and stepped slightly to allow a clear line of site between Nancy and Martin. He rooted for Martin and could not show it. Martin was fragile in his recovery, and Crook understood his influence. Any gesture from him and Martin would stop talking. Softly on his heels, he rocked Kirby.
Crook thought he would drop the subject if he was Nancy. But the woman did not drop it. The children hid their faces.
Nancy said, “I could have blood test run to disprove you are the father.” A flush climbed up Nancy’s neck and across her face. It looked hot and painful.
Martin said, “Do you as please.” He said it so calmly and with such poise that Nancy had no choice but to back off.
“Please, mommy, stop fighting,” Christie said.
“I wasn’t fighting.” But she sat back and calmed herself.
Crook moved to sit by Maureen. He laid Kirby in his seat and watched as Carmen tried to put Kirby’s fingers around a rattle. Maureen was staring at her brother, and she was smiling. Suddenly she jumped up from her seat. “The presents,” she said. She left the porch followed by the girls. For a minute it was silent on the pastel-painted porch. Crook watched Kirby.
The birthday party was held with balloons and party favors and presents. This particular group of adults was likely never to be gathered again, but for this one time and for this little girl, they would be together. Christie opened her presents, and Carmen opened some presents as well.
Christie opened the present from Crook last. “Thank you very much, Mr. Crook,” she told him as she held onto the chess piece. This piece was a Queen, the last Queen that Crook carved.
“It’s for a game,” Crook told her. “For chess.”
“Where is the rest of it?” Christie asked.
“It will come, eventually,” Crook told her.
It was after 4:00 pm, and six hours of driving lay between Martin’s place in South Dakota and Maureen’s apartment in St. Paul. Crook did not go outside with Martin and his guests. He watched from the porch window as everyone settled into their places. A genuine stab of pity cut his chest as he watched Christie clutch her daddy. The child did not cry. Martin likely promised to see her soon, for Christmas, for T-ball. Her dad was much, much better.
Chapter Eighteen
Martin knew that Nancy did not believe it when she said to Martin, “Well, maybe you will come out of this a better person.”
“I want the girls to live here,” Martin told her.
“Not a chance,” Nancy answered.
“Summers,” Martin responded. “I would never miss a T-ball game again.”
“Deal,” Nancy said. “I like to travel in the summer.”
“I hope we are not interrupting something here,” Maureen’s voice caught them both off-guard.
“We’re finished,” Nancy answered and rolled up the window.
Maureen approached her brother. She reached around him and gave him a tight hug with all her strength.
“I hope you find a husband,” Martin told her while he patted her back.
Maureen laughed, “I grew up with standards that ordinary mortals cannot possibly meet.”
“In that case you have to go with something completely different so they can’t be compared.” Martin smiled at her.
Nancy again rolled down the window and added, “I think Crook is incomparable.”
Maureen bent to snap Carmen into her seat. She was laughing with her head high and hair lightly blowing across her face.
Martin considered this a successful past social event considering he had nothing to compare it too. He felt good, happy. He stood in front of the porch and watched as Maureen pulled her car into the grass to allow Bill’s pick-up room to pass. Even from this distance he felt alarm in Bill’s expression. He felt urgency in the way Bill drove without stopping to chat with Maureen.
Bill exited the pick-up hollering for Martin and shut the door with a hard shove. The color of Bill’s skin was pale green.
“What!” Martin asked, his face stiff, almost frozen. Bill strode past Martin and onto the porch. Martin shut the door behind them, his heart thundering between his shoulders.
“Crook,” Bill continued to yell, pacing back and forth. Crook ran onto the porch from the kitchen. He had been clearing away party leftovers and looked distracted as he returned to the porch. Kirby slept in his seat by the kitchen door.
“Jesus, man,” he said. “What is the problem?”
Bill reached for a cigarette from a pack he bought an hour ago. Martin was too stiff to move or talk. He watched Bill with barely a breath. The men sat, Bill and Crook on the wicker chairs and Martin on a kitchen chair. They sat in a circle with Kirby in his seat at Crook’s feet. They were three owls in a tree.
Finally Bill rubbed his face. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“Not Sandra.” Martin barely forced the words through stiff lips. Has Hauk hurt her?
“No,” Bill jerked his head up. He inhaled. “Somebody murdered Hauk. Now we have a mess!”
Crook leaned back and Martin came forward. “Who?” they asked almost simultaneously.
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