Martin, Crook, & Bill

by Donna Nitz Muller

  She handed over Crook’s carving knife in a clear plastic baggie. “I cleaned it,” she said, “but Crook may need to clean it some more. Kirby Pucket Webster crapped all over it.” She bent double with laughter. Then she handed him a second baggie containing the buttons from his coat. “Bill saved the buttons,” she said.

  As Martin stepped outside, Maureen followed him.

  “I plan to propose to Crook tonight,” she said.

  “Propose what?” Martin studied her pretty face.

  “I think I will marry Jeremy Sabo,” Maureen said softly.

  “Why?” Martin felt a little shocked. “He is not a gentle man.”

  “He has gentleness somewhere in his heart. But I am going to marry him because I can’t stop thinking about him.”

  That evening Martin felt nervous for Maureen. He could not imagine what Crook would say. They were attending Mr. Holland’s Opus. They planned to shop. Crook wanted two varnished cedar-lined boxes, one with horses running across a field and one with birds flying across a blue sky. He was specific in this. He had cut the ad for the keepsake boxes from the Sunday paper.

  Crook said Martin needed a box for mementoes because he finally removed the square wad of paper that was once Christie’s letter from his shirt pocket. Martin planned to put the letter and the newspaper clipping from Joe’s wallet and the baggie of coat buttons inside the box with the birds, not the horses.

  When at last Crook and Maureen entered the house late that night, Martin waited in the family room with the TV tuned to the news, surrounded by woodwork in sorted stacks. He was drawing plans for the fireplace.

  Maureen entered first. Martin thought she looked happy. Crook lingered a little behind.

  Maureen said, “Our marriage has conditions.”

  Martin nodded, craning his neck to see Crook who hid in the doorway.

  “Jeremy has to find something productive to do with his time. He has to take lessons to become a Catholic, and he has to relocate to Fargo. Unlike you, I am not financially independent. I have a job. In fact, I am back to work on Tuesday.”

  Martin finally managed to look at Crook’s face which was split nearly in two with his smile. Martin laughed out loud. “When?” Martin said.

  This took Maureen a bit by surprise and she bent her head in thought. “Let’s go with Christmas,” she said, turning to look at Crook.

  “No,” Crook said. “We will play it by ear and see when it feels right. Martin knows a contractor in Fargo who needs a good interior man. The shrink in Yankton will set me up with a shrink in Fargo for my out-patient visits. But most of all, Martin does not need me. He will miss me, but he does not need me.”

  “All set then,” Martin said. He picked up a sleeping Kirby and left the room. He thought, this is real. Maybe some happiness lives on in the world.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The following afternoon Martin sat on his front steps. He pushed Kirby back and forth in Kirby’s new stroller. He surveyed his yard and considered the best method for fixing the over-grown mess. As he discussed his options, a late model Jeep Tahoe pulled into his driveway and Jarvis Peters DDS stepped from behind the wheel.

  Jarvis Peters was tall and thin like his daughter Sandra. Also like Sandra he carried himself with confidence and authority. Martin moved over a few inches to give the man space and Jarvis sat down.

  Jarvis said nothing at first, nor did Martin. They sat and looked at Kirby who had his fist in his mouth. Finally Jarvis said, “I came to thank you, but I can’t just yet. Now that I am here, I need to ask why you did not bring Sandra home. You should have brought her home first thing and told us what happened.”

  Martin looked at the man and thought of his own daughters. “Couldn’t,” he answered. “It wasn’t the time. Sandra would not go, and I was not capable of making her. All I could do was move with the flow as it came.”

  “You befriended her. You were kind to her and cared for her.” Jarvis Peter’s jaw shook slightly as he talked. Martin looked away.

  “I did no more for her than she did for me,” Martin answered. “We survived together. I am glad she is home now.”

  “She wants to quit basketball. After all these years that it meant so much to her, she wants to quit.”

  “No,” Martin said. “This is not the time to quit what she loves.” Martin sat for another minute. Then he asked, “How is she doing today?”

  Jarvis told Martin about the visit by Detective Vilhallen, the trophy case, and the aftermath.

  “Oh,” Martin said. “I see why she thinks she wants to quit basketball. I am so sorry.”

  “I think she wants to die but couldn’t. So she wants to quit basketball instead,” Jarvis said quietly. He could not seem to look away from Kirby. “Was she very afraid? She claims not to remember exactly how the delivery happened.”

  Martin said, “She was very brave. Crook found good people to help her.” He thought of Clara, but he was talking to Sandra’s dad. He added, “It is a hospital so they had all the equipment and professional people there to help.”

  Jarvis nodded. His jaw no longer trembled. He did not say anything so Martin said, “Can I get you something to drink? I have coffee or lemonade or beer leftover from the sliver party.”

  Jarvis shook his head. “We can’t help with him.” He nodded toward Kirby. “I do not know why I can’t. I just can not accept him as a grandson. It makes me sick to think of what Sandra went through.”

  Martin nodded. He said, “I have Kirby.”

  Jarvis stood and took a few steps toward his vehicle. He turned around, looking at the ground, and said, “Thank you for saving my daughter. It should have been me. I should have known.”

  “You couldn’t know. Sandra would do whatever she had to do so you would not know,” Martin said. “It was by the grace of God that she came here and I found her. We saved each other. Now you have the hard part. Tell her I said that I expect to see her play on Tuesday night.”

  As the Tahoe left, Crook came from the house. He said, “Me and Bill are going fishing.”

  “Have fun,” Martin said. He looked again to his lawn. “I did not thank Sandra for forcing me to function. She should know that she helped me as much as I helped her.”

  As Martin watched Sandra’s father leave the yard, he thought of his arrival. He thought of his bus ride home and the kid who sat beside him. He thought of finding Sandra. Now the time was approaching to say farewell to the teenager. She would have her own bus ride.

  Chapter Forty -Seven

  Martin did watch Sandra play on Tuesday night. He saw the difference in her. The hyper-passion was gone. She played with detachment, and the perfect game-face, and incredible skill. Emotion had no place in her game.

  He watched Sandra and her teammates through the season and through the State Tournament. Finally, he got to welcome home a winning team. He watched Sandra on the stage for the award ceremony and could not help flashing back to two boys who stood in nearly the same place many years before. Unlike Joe, Sandra declined to hold the trophy instead handing it to a teammate.

  She smiled, but it was a sad smile. Martin thought, Sandra had not got her old life back.

  Martin attended the graduation ceremony and then went to Sandra’s house for the reception. Bill and Tillie also attended, but Kirby did not. Kirby had a babysitter. This was Sandra’s day. As evening approached, Martin stepped onto the back patio and sat on a deck chair. Most of the guests had left and Sandra should leave also for her class party, but she wanted Martin to go with her.

  He sat in the warm spring evening, drinking an iced slushy drink and looking across the green manicured lawn. “I am not going to your class party. It is your decision if you want to go or not. You might enjoy being with your friends.”

  “I’m too old for them. They’re kids.” Sandra sounded very much like a child herself, and Martin smiled.

  Her mom came onto the deck and offered Sandra a ride. Sandra said, “In a minute,” then gave Martin a plea
ding look.

  In answer he smiled at her and said, “It will not hurt to have fun, but not too much fun.”

  “I know,” she choked. “I am a freak.”

  Martin stood. He took her hand and led her away from any guest. He wanted to sound firm, but he couldn’t. He looked into her lovely brown eyes that he once tried to turn green, and felt a choking sensation in his throat.

  “You are not a freak.” He hugged her to him. “You will not believe this, but you are not the only person to suffer like this. When you go to school in the fall, the University of Minnesota has a rape support group. I have the name of the person you contact. Promise me you will attend the meetings.”

  “I will promise to go to one meeting if you come to this senior party with me.” She tried to look pleading, but it only made Martin laugh.

  “I am not going to your senior party.” Martin intended to convey to Sandra that he could not be in her social life. She could not be dependent upon him. Instead he saw devastation in her eyes.

  He closed his eyes for a few seconds. “You know that we are forever connected. You know that I am your friend no matter what you do. I know, probably better than anyone but Crook, how strong you are. Don’t alienate yourself from your friends because they have not been forced to suffer.”

  Sandra said, looking into his eyes, “Why can’t you be my boyfriend?”

  For a second Martin was so shocked he almost stepped away from her. He would be grateful the rest of his life that he did not take that single step back. He had not pushed Joe, and he had not stepped away from Sandra.

  He couldn’t speak at all for several beats of his heart. Then he forced himself to meet her gaze, her teenage face so intent and so pretty. He shook his head. “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “What made you think I could be your boyfriend?”

  “I thought you loved me.” Her lips were too tight to form words. “You knew about me and still cared.”

  Martin stood speechless. He couldn’t think of what to say. He bent and kissed the top of her head, and shook his head.

  She snatched her hand from his and started to turn away. Martin took hold of her shoulders. Her tears smeared black mascara down her cheeks. “I am so sorry,” he said. Then he released her.

  Sandra nodded. She turned and strode away with a determined step. She passed her dad on her way out. Martin returned to his chair, and Jarvis sat down by him.

  Jarvis said, “What was that about?”

  “I won’t go to the senior party with her.” The words sounded trivial, but Martin knew that Sandra did not cry easily. “Her heart is broken. I hope feeling normal pain means she is healing.”

  Jarvis looked thoughtful for a few seconds. He said, “Sandra will be okay.” He paused. “Some day she will have to meet Kirby to reconcile herself to her past.”

  “Someday she will,” Martin agreed.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  On the fourth of August, Martin and Kirby stood on the south steps. Martin watched Carmen and Christie play on the carpet of grass that stretched to the road. Kirby stood beside him, clutching his bottle in one hand and the material of Martin’s jeans in the other.

  Martin reached down and scooped Kirby into his arms. “Really, son, you have to either not walk so early or trade-in your bottle.” In answer Kirby put the bottle to his mouth.

  Parked near the house sat a new SUV. Martin purchased the vehicle because he could not ask Bill to drive the girls to town for T-ball. Beside the SUV sat a John Deer pedal tractor. Kirby liked to sit on it while Carmen pushed him around the driveway.

  It was nearly a year since Martin had returned to the farm. Kirby would soon be one. Martin thought that he should be at peace but something was wrong. A nagging itch that he could not scratch hampered his contentment.

  “Daddy misses Crook,” Martin said to Kirby. You are lucky to have him for a godfather. Lucky boy.” Martin rocked Kirby and watched the girls play.

  “Daddy has to take a trip.” He would go alone. Crook was in Fargo, and Bill had work of his own. This time he had private business: one last errand, he needed to go alone.

  The following week, Nancy and her new companion came for the girls. Both girls seemed content to return to the city and school. Kirby could not stay with Tillie. It was too much for Tillie to keep track of Kirby for more than a few hours. So Maureen and Crook agreed to drive from Fargo and pick-up Kirby.

  Crook and Maureen arrived in the afternoon of the third Saturday in August. Maureen drove the fire-red Mustang into the yard and parked beside Martin’s SUV. When she strode toward Martin she looked less sophisticated and more matronly. Martin liked the subtle change. Crook unfolded from the passenger seat and put his arms out to Kirby.

  Martin hugged his sister and then he stood back and said, “Kirby can’t ride in your car. He has to have a toddler seat.”

  The three adults strode around the car looking at it as though they could somehow fix that problem. They tried the seat from Martin’s SUV, and it would not fit. They briefly considered using only the seat belt but reluctantly decided that Kirby had to have a seat.

  “We will have to take your car,” Crook said.

  “It’s not a car,” Martin said.

  Nevertheless, that was the solution. Martin would drive the Mustang.

  The four of them took a walk through the orchard and up to the bench. Crook carried the little boy, and they stood without speaking as they looked toward the house and the burned remnants of the barn. Of course, Martin and Bill had torn down the outbuildings and mowed the weeds. Martin had poured new gravel and fixed the garage.

  “You’ve done a lot in a year, Martin,” Maureen said. She had tears on her cheeks.

  Crook said, “You can build something there.” He gestured to the scarred ground where the barn had stood. “Get Kirby a horse.”

  Bill and Tillie joined them for supper. They talked about the upcoming wedding. Crook and Maureen would be married in May in Fargo.

  “Why so long?” Bill asked.

  “Crook has a lot of work to do first,” Maureen said.

  Martin said, “He has to take church lessons for almost a year. Have you started on that?” Crook nodded.

  “He has to build his furniture refinishing business,” Maureen said.

  “No one will pay him by the hour.” Bill said.

  “You better change your name to Jeremy. Crook is not a good name for a business man.” Tillie looked serious, but Crook smiled and nodded.

  Maureen said, “He has to learn how to drive.”

  Martin thought that his friend, the almost lifer from the bin, looked happy. He could not be sure because Crook showed little emotion. Then Crook lifted Kirby from his high-chair and did a graceful waltz to the sink.

  The group talked about Sandra, but Martin would say only that he heard from her about once a week. He had nothing more he could say. Sandra was a work in progress, forming her plans. He did not know.

  Maureen asked when he planned on re-finishing the fireplace. Martin shrugged. Then they played cards. Bill and Tillie went home. On Sunday morning, Maureen and Crook packed up the SUV. Kirby reached from Maureen’s arms and put his little hands on Martin’s face and kissed his cheek.

  “Daddy will come for you in one week,” Martin said.

  Then Martin stood in his driveway. He watched the dust follow his vehicle down the road. The silence and stillness felt physical. He could reach out and touch it.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  As Martin turned west onto I-90, he remembered the taillights of the bus moving west in the rain. Martin adjusted the rear-view mirror to see himself. He was clean-shaven. His thick, black hair still curled about his head but in a far more disciplined manner. He had awareness in his eyes behind his new glasses. Nothing about him was frightening. He thought he looked fairly bland.

  Rain did not slash the windows, and wind did not rock the vehicle. No one sat beside him. There was nothing lucky about the passenger seat. Martin’s heart ach
ed for that sick man riding home. He knew even then that he had to heal or die. Fortunately he had healed, and he had answered one puzzling question. It was mayhem and murder, not murder and mayhem.

  He arrived in Rapid City in time for supper. He checked into a hotel and then ate in the dining room. He asked about a casino called Uptown Joe’s. The casino was located in Spearfish next to a haunted hotel. As Martin followed his directions he could see that effort had been made to maintain the old west aura of the buildings. The tourist season was ebbing, but even so the streets were crowded. He had to drive around to find a hitching post.

  The casino was a few blocks off the beaten path, dealing mostly to regulars. Still, a lively country band played on a small stage and a long buffet was open all night for a one time ticket.

  Martin found the young man with the charismatic smile within minutes of entering the establishment. He dealt at the blackjack table. Martin watched the young man’s deft hands and careful eyes. Martin stood at the black-jack table. When the young man looked toward him, Martin said, “Do you remember me from the bus ride? I was only a short part of your trip. I wanted to thank you for helping me.”

  The kid looked at him, wary for a few seconds and then recognition lit his features, and he smiled. “You cleaned up real well,” the kid said. “Meat you at the lunch counter in forty minutes.”

  Martin bought a buffet ticket and sat at the counter eating slowly. He was not hungry. Crook would enjoy the music more than Martin did. It was too noisy.

  When the kid tapped Martin’s shoulder, he indicated an exit to an outside patio. The noise shut off behind the door and they found a table set apart from the others.

  Martin said, “You remember me.”

  “Not every day, but often, I think of you.” The kid’s name was Joshua per the tag on his pocket.