by Nat Burns
“Over in Florence?”
“Oh no, here, in Marstown. Schuyler Point,” she amended.
He smiled. “You know why they call it Marstown?”
She grinned inside. She had pegged him correctly. Local lore. “No, why?”
Marya already knew the people of eastern South Carolina had always called the small coastal village Marstown, even though its real name—the one on all the maps—was Schuyler Point. She didn’t fess up to any knowledge, though, letting him tell her the whole story. About how no one remembered exactly why it was called Marstown, but it was said it had something to do with the strange red rocks that periodically washed up on some of the beaches. No one could explain the flaky red shards of stone, but there had been several articles published over the years that attributed it to a deep ocean trench just offshore that was full of volcanic residue. It had always seemed plausible to her and Kent obviously concurred.
“And then there’s some that say they call it Marstown because Martians been seen in the water off Begaman Cove,” he added, piquing her interest.
She leaned back, shifting her weight. She had been listening to him absently, watching him, her chin cupped in one palm. “Martians.”
He eyed her, eyes twinkling. “Martians. In little red spaceships.”
Lisa slid an oval-shaped, steaming platter full of burger, french fries and sunny-side up eggs in front of him. He unwrapped his set-up and looked at the empty spot on the counter before Marya. “Not eating?”
“I know,” she said, nodding in agreement. “Too skinny. I just have a high metabolism. Believe me; I’ve been stuffing my face all the way across the country, with a carload of snacks you wouldn’t believe.” She indicated the coffee cup that Lisa was refilling. “Just needed a wake up.”
Kent nodded and dug in. Half a fried egg and a quarter of the burger disappeared before he spoke again. “What’s your field, Marya? You got a job here?”
“Not at the moment. I’m a journalist, though, a writer. I’m hoping to find work in Myrtle Beach, but if not, I’ll just wait tables until I find a reporter job.”
Kent nodded as he chewed. “Yeah, anyone can do that…for a while,” he said.
They both looked at Lisa simultaneously. She was standing off to one side, flipping through a garish tabloid.
“No offense,” he muttered.
“None taken,” she replied, setting the magazine aside and leaning in to top off his coffee cup.
“So, reporter, huh? I bet you’ve seen it all,” Kent continued.
“Oh, enough. People never fail to amaze and amuse me.”
And Kent was off, telling Marya story after interesting story, each one more comical than the last. Lisa joined in on the ones she remembered and laughter rang in the tiny, mostly deserted diner. Marya stayed and listened, even though it was getting late and she should have been moseying on to her parents’ house. But, after all, this is why she became a journalist; she enjoyed people’s stories. But soon afternoon turned into early evening and Kent finally seemed to be talked out.
“Well,” he said, balling up his paper napkin and tossing it into his empty plate. “Guess I’d better be moving on. That road doesn’t get any shorter the longer I wait.”
Marya nodded and rose, stretching stiff legs and arms. “Some say it gets longer,” she offered.
Kent laughed and stood. “Some would say that and it might be the truth. Listen, young ’un. You be safe out there, and I hope you have real good luck while you’re in Marstown.”
She took his hand, shaking it firmly in farewell. “Thanks for the stories, Kent. You made my day. Drive carefully on that long road, you hear?”
She stood and watched his huge silver truck roar past her SUV before getting into it. Minutes later she reached the Braxton Hills subdivision where her parents now lived. Two blocks further and she arrived at their modest, ranch-style brick home, which she had only visited once before. She was surprised that she remembered all the convoluted turns through their subdivision.
She parked in the driveway, pulling her car in next to their white Lincoln, switched off the engine and the lights and took a deep breath. Then her mother was there, hugging her close. She began to feel better immediately. The bosom of the family was just that, she thought, our first place of nurture. This was home, the beginning and the end.
Chapter Four
“There’s just no hope for it,” Mama said as she peered through the front picture window. It directed her gaze out into an empty suburban street, but I knew that wasn’t what Mama was seeing. She saw old betrayal and lies looking back at her.
“What do you mean?” I asked slowly. When Mama got that faraway look, I knew trouble was afoot. I studied her pale, carefully curled hair and wondered about the drama of her day. I guess she had tried to get money again. I sort of wished she’d give it up. We seemed to be doing okay and every time she went through this, it…changed her a little. That scared me.
“The bitch said no again. Said you were too full-growed for help. Didn’t matter about college, nothing,” she added, turning to study me with weighing eyes. “Like you look growed.”
I looked down at my arms and legs. They looked fine to me. I knew I was powerful even though she would never see it. The baggy jeans I was wearing didn’t help, I guess.
“It’s not bad, Mama. I’m getting stronger.”
“No thanks to that battle-ax, you ain’t.”
Her tone softened. “Go on, honey. I left you some hot food in the kitchen. Eat up, now. You just let Mama handle that cursed family of yours.”
I leaned to kiss her cheek and I smelled the lemony perfume that defined her for me. She always smelled the same, had ever since I was a kid. I had learned one thing in my secretive, sorry life. I could always depend on Mama.
“Imagine the nerve of her, full of secrets and lies but still making out like she’s the high-and-mighty queen over everyone. I hate her so much,” she said softly, her eyes gazing at stuff I couldn’t see.
I left the room, taking care to be very quiet. It was always better, when she got like this, just to disappear for a while.
Chapter Five
“I called the receptionist over at the Times, and she wants you to come in first thing Monday to meet with the editor, Ed Bush. You got here at just the right time; one of their reporters moved away this past week.”
Marya’s mother dumped a second spoonful of sugar into her tea, stirred it, then took a cautious sip. She was sitting across the table from Marya in her warm, welcoming kitchen.
Marya’s tea was Earl Grey. She let the rich aroma of the brew wash across her before she ruined the anticipation with a first sip. A discarded copy of the Schuyler Times lay on a nearby counter. She fetched it.
“What’s he like?” she asked, perusing the paper with a practiced eye. It was very much like the small-town papers she had worked on for the past ten years. She knew exactly how it was put together.
“Who? Ed? He’s okay, I suppose. Seems to have a good sense of humor.”
She lifted her eyes and studied her mother, feeling as though she were looking into a slightly distorted mirror. They both had the same short, copper-colored hair, although her mother’s was straight and hers naturally curled. They also shared the same dark blue eyes and pale, freckled skin. She was thinner than her mother, however, not able to shake her teenaged lankiness.
“How did you meet him?” she asked, wondering suddenly what her parents’ day-to-day life was like.
Her mother laughed, surprising her. “A dog,” she said, then added in explanation, “This little terrier appeared one day at our back door and just stayed and stayed. I felt so sorry for it. I fed him and washed him and tried to talk him into going home but he seemed totally lost. So, after a day or so, I went down to the newspaper office to put a classified ad in the lost and found section. I’m glad I did because the owner, a sweet little old lady, had been frantic. She saw the ad as soon as the paper came out and called me. The reunion of those two was
incredible. I wish I could have videotaped it.”
“So, what? This Ed Bush took the ad?” Her mother hadn’t really answered the question.
“Well, actually, it was funny. Your father was with me, and though Ed started taking the ad, he and your dad started talking about fishing and that was that. I bet it took us two hours before we got out of there. He’s a real friendly guy.”
Marya chuckled and took a deep sip of her tea. “I hope he’s a good boss. That’s all I care about.”
Her mother shrugged. “It is my understanding the other reporter left because he wanted to move inland, not because the job was bad.”
Marya nodded to show she understood. “Where is Dad, by the way?”
She laughed. “Deep sea fishing, where else? He’s developed a full-blown passion for it.”
A vision of her father wrestling a huge swordfish filled Marya’s mind and she had to grin. Her thin, bookish father was not what one would call the athletic type. Her mother saw her grin and seemed to understand the reason for it.
“Oh, most of it is throwing in the line long enough to get sunburned and then drinking beer with his buddies over at Randy’s pub after dark. He doesn’t struggle too hard.”
They laughed together and fell into a companionable silence. Her mother rose and fetched another cup of tea, mint this time; Marya could tell by the faint aroma that carried to her as her mother reclaimed her seat.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Her mother watched her with sad eyes, her mouth pressed into a tight line.
Hating the fact that she had helped cause the faint worry lines now marring that dear, familiar face, Marya had a sudden revelation about the responsibilities of parenting. She wondered if she would ever feel ready for such a monumental task. She sighed, trying to bring her mind back to the question.
“There’s not so much to tell, Mom. We just weren’t getting along. She started seeing other people. That’s all. It happens all the time.”
Her mother studied her. “Tell me this, Marya. What is it you want from a relationship?”
She thought about the unexpected question. “I don’t know. I want someone who gets me, I guess. And a meeting of the minds, the soul. Most of the people I’ve been with can’t see beyond their own noses, don’t understand that there’s a bigger picture out there.” She paused a handful of seconds before continuing.
“And then there’s chemistry. I want to have intense chemistry with someone. I also need a certain amount of touching, close physical contact. I feel lost when I’m not touched a lot in a relationship.”
“Do you mean sex? What?”
Marya blushed. “Sure, that too, but I need other stuff as well—kissing, cuddling, you know. There’s a certain level of intimacy that I can’t find…and really can’t seem to achieve even in myself when relating to others. I suppose it’s actually a matter of trusting someone.”
Her mom nodded acceptance, and after a moment, Marya continued.
“Did you ever see the movie Touching Hearts?”
Her mother shook her head and leaned in to sip her tea.
“I guess you haven’t.” Marya laughed with some embarrassment. “It’s made more for people like me. But it’s about these two women who fall in love. I don’t need to tell you the whole story because it was the scenes of the women together that touched me. I dreamed about it for days afterward. Their need spoke to me, they really needed one another in so many ways. Their closeness was incredible.”
She broke off. How could she express in words the deep feelings the movie had spawned in her? She looked at her mother helplessly. Luckily, she seemed to understand.
“You mean there was an unusual tenderness between the two of them and that’s what you’d like to have.”
Marya nodded slowly, doubtfully, knowing it was not as simple as that.
Her mother took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. “Well, I think we all want that at one time or another, especially when we’re young. But as time passes…”
“As time passes, what?” Marya asked dully after many moments had passed.
“We grow up and realize that romance books or movies are the only places where such tenderness and love exist.”
She raised her gaze to Marya’s. “I’m sorry, honey. Other things grow in importance, such as building a family and careers. Most women get what they need from their children, others from closeness with their women friends.”
Doubt washed over Marya. Had she subconsciously, or even consciously, allowed her relationship with Kim to end because of an impossible dream? No. Thinking of her split with Kim always brought a certain amount of regret, but deep inside she knew she’d made the right decision. But her mother, had she given up? Settled for less?
“I can’t believe that, Mom. I know it’s out there and I can find it. The right person just needs to come along, that’s all.”
Her mother nodded. “I can’t find fault with what happened between you and Kim. I hope this will be another chance for you.”
Marya knew what she meant without her spelling it out. She wanted Marya to try dating men again as she had in high school.
“It’s still early,” she replied, trying to lighten her deliberate sidestep, “but I feel happier already. I mean, look, I’m in the process of moving to a new town, and day after tomorrow I’m going to see your Mr. Bush and knock this town back on its heels with my writing panache.”
“Confident cuss,” her mother muttered, standing. “Let’s see about unpacking your car. Do you still have your Asian antimaterialism fetish?”
Marya laughed at the novel terminology as she joined her. “Yep, all my worldly possessions are packed into six large boxes. I tried for five, but my books kept interfering.”
“Oh.” Her mother stopped so suddenly that Marya bumped into her back, almost shoving her through the kitchen door and into the cool, ocean-brushed evening outside. “I checked around about your classes. There are two karate houses out on the main road in Myrtle Beach, but I’m warning you, they’re probably pretty expensive and I wouldn’t trust some of those guys as far as I could throw them. Know what I mean?”
Marya nodded and they resumed their journey outside. “Instructors concerned only with the tournament circuit and what trophies they can bring home, right?”
“Absolutely. Not to mention the fact that one of them looks like an Elvis Presley clone.”
Marya laughed and opened the door on the driver’s side.
“There is one alternative, though.”
Marya stilled and peered at her mother, concerned by her tone.
“There is an actual taekwondo class here in Marstown,” she said slowly.
“Okay, what’s wrong with it?”
She smiled a funny smile, one-half of her mouth tilted down in dislike. “Nothing so terrible. It’s run by Dorcas Wood.”
Marya lifted a box and maneuvered it, and her body, out from behind the Trooper’s heavy door. “So, what’s a Dorcas Wood?”
“She’s an…unusual lady who lives over on the knoll. She seems nice enough, though she’s something of a hermit.”
“But she teaches the martial art, taekwondo, right?” Marya called this back over her shoulder as she moved inside with the box.
Her mother was close behind so she waited, holding the door for her.
The two moved silently along the long hallway that stretched off the kitchen. The guest room was at the end.
“Thanks for the great room, Mom,” Marya said.
“Well, it’s a little musty, but I’ve aired it for you. I think you’ll be comfortable. You even have your own bathroom.”
Marya nodded as she placed the box on the soft floral counterpane. “It’s nice you letting me stay here. Are you sure I won’t be putting you and Dad out?”
“You’ll always have a home with us,” her mother said with a genuine smile of fondness. Marya’s heart swelled and sudden tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away and hurried back outside to get a se
cond carton.
“So which is the lesser of two evils then, in your opinion,” she asked as they met at the car. “Should I go with the Elvis guy or this weird woman?”
“The images you conjure in someone’s head,” her mother replied with a low laugh. “I guess Miss Wood is about as good as any. She’s cheaper, only sixty a month, and close by, here in town. What do you think?”
She struggled with a box of books.
“Here, I’ll get that one. You get the striped one, over there. I don’t know. She’s probably pretty good. Women who go into martial arts have to be or they don’t open their own schools. Is she a master?”
“Marya, I don’t know about that stuff, you know that.”
She disappeared inside the house. Marya lifted the box of books with difficulty but finally managed to swing the box onto one hip and shuffle it to the door. Her mom, arms now empty, held the door open for her.
“What are the hours like?” she queried when they met at the car for the final load. “Can I go anytime?”
Her mom nodded. “The cost covers unlimited access and she’s open from six in the morning until eight at night.”
Her mother held the door for her this time since the burden she was holding was smaller and less awkward.
“Okay, I’m sold. I’ll sign up when I’m in town Monday. Now, what’s for dinner, I’m hungry.”
“Oh no, you’re still a bottomless pit. Your father warned me, but I didn’t believe him. I figured you had outgrown it,” her mother said with a deep sigh.
“Mom! Me outgrow your wonderful stir-fry, your layered salad…your homemade apple pie? No way!”
Her mother set the box she carried on Marya’s bed and reached to muss her hair. “It’s good to have you home, pumpkin.”
Marya pulled her mother into a full body hug. “It’s good to be here.”
Chapter Six
Later that evening, finally alone, Marya stepped into a hot shower and let the grit from the road leave her body as she tried to relax and focus. Her thoughts proved uncooperative, however, and after getting soap in her eyes for the second time, she gave up, stilled and watched sudsy water flow into the drain as thoughts rushed through her.
