Martin, Crook, & Bill

by Donna Nitz Muller

  “Why do you remember me?” Martin asked.

  “You were unique even to someone who sees dozens of new faces in a week.”

  “Did I scare you?”

  “No, you didn’t scare me. For some reason I was scared for you. I had this feeling that something was going to happen to you.”

  “I happened to me. Are you psychic?”

  “Since I was little I’ve tried to be open to cosmic forces greater than me.” Joshua shrugged. “It never works.”

  “You don’t know that your intuitive power works, but it does. You deal in chance.” Martin reached for his wallet and was about to hand a hundred dollar bill to Joshua.

  The young man waved his hand and shook his head. “You can’t pay for cosmic forces. And you shouldn’t show that kind of money in a casino.”

  Martin returned his wallet to his pocket. “Thank you helping me when you didn’t have to,” Martin told him and Joshua nodded.

  “Did you come all this way just for this?” Joshua said.

  “Yes,” Martin said. “I came to thank you, and I had to be sure you were real. At the time, I just couldn’t be sure.”

  “I’m so real, I have to get back to work. It puts me at peace to see you all normal and everything.”

  Martin studied the young man. Joshua did not know that he had nudged him off the bus, moved him forward, talked to him when few would have. The kid did not know that he was Martin’s first push into his real life.

  “You were like a guardian angel sitting beside me. I thought I made you up. I had to tell you that in case it mattered to you.” Martin spoke calmly, without emotion, stating the facts.

  Joshua seemed taken aback but only for a second. Then he said, “Thank you, thank you for coming here and telling me that.”

  Joshua returned to his job, and Martin left. He thought, fate is a funny thing. Maybe everything would have gone exactly the same if Joshua had not sat beside him on the bus ride. No, he thought, Joshua changed it. He started to wake-up my mind.

  Chapter Fifty

  Her first year away from Wheaton, Sandra called once a week Mostly she called on Thursday night after her group support meeting. He knew the names of everyone in her group. Sometimes it was late, after a ballgame when she called. It did not matter. Martin answered her calls regardless of where or when.

  Martin felt close to Sandra: not like a daughter, not like a sister but more than a friend. He had never before Sandra or since Sandra met someone who connected so strongly to his survival.

  Her second year away she called once or twice a month. Martin loved the sound of her voice. He learned a new sound: the sound of her laughter. It was during this time that he began talking a little about Kirby. She would listen but not respond. During her third year away, Martin began to feel a separation. The separation was named Kirby. His son was the cornerstone of his life. His friend should care about his cornerstone.

  Even knowing the pain of her past did not always explain her failure to acknowledge their son. During her senior year, Sandra called only a few times. On what would be her last call, Martin said, “You can not pretend that Kirby is not here with me anymore.”

  Sandra said, “I know.” She did not call again.

  Martin returned to work doing local residence projects in Sioux Falls or Yankton or Madison. He thought of Sandra every day. He began to think that she would never come.

  Kirby grew into a loving, gentle boy with a dog named Bert. He was both a smart child and a strong child. He made friends at day care, and he thrived.

  Five years after Martin’s return, Kirby started kindergarten. Kirby and Martin had breakfast early that morning. Kirby chatted about some string he found in the grass by the south steps. Kirby was sure that the gold cord came from a treasure chest and wondered if he could dig in the yard after school.

  Martin combed Kirby’s hair, carefully parting it on the side. He took Kirby’s first day of school picture, one with Bert and one without Bert since Bert didn’t get to go to school. Martin drove Kirby to the kindergarten entrance, parked his Bronco and stepped into the line with all the other parents. Kirby would not hold his hand, but stood beside him surveying the surroundings and the other kids in silent contemplation.

  Kirby’s turn came and the teacher bent down to talk with him. He already knew her name and the seat assigned to him from a previous visit and danced in place waiting to get on with it. Martin assured him that he would be back at lunch time to take him home. He was a morning kindergarten kid. Kirby nodded, said, “Bye, Dad,” and went to his seat without looking back. When the bell rang he turned to wave goodbye. Martin had no choice but to leave him and go home.

  When he drove into his driveway, a car he did not recognize, a black Honda, sat parked in the driveway. A young woman sat on the front steps. Sandra had cut her thick light brown hair short; her flawless skin glowed and her eyes sparked. She stood when Martin stepped from his vehicle, and she walked up to him. She wore a white blouse and blue jeans. Athletic muscle showed even through the jeans. He waited for her to speak, almost holding his breath. He loved the sound of her voice.

  “Hello,” she said. “I love what you’ve done with the yard.”

  He took her hand. “Come inside?” is all he managed to say. She did.

  “How is Crook?”

  “He goes by Jeremy now. Crook is not a good name for a businessman.”

  “And Maureen?”

  “They have twin daughters.”

  “Not bald, I hope,” she said.

  Martin laughed. “Actually, they have Maureen’s hair.”

  He served her coffee and she asked about Tillie and Bill. He told her that Bill planned to sell the farm and move into town maybe next year.

  Then she said, “Tell me about Kirby.”

  He did. He brought out the pictures: baptism pictures, wedding pictures where Kirby wore a white tux, Christie and Carmen teaching Kirby to walk, to play ball, to pet Bert, hundreds of pictures. The albums included pictures of Bill showing him how to put a worm on a fishing hook, and Tillie giving him his birthday cake.

  Sandra looked at them all, laughing at some and crying at some.

  “Does he ask about his mother?” she said. She looked at the table and not at Martin.

  “Yes, but I told him I couldn’t tell him yet. I said when he was ten, I might tell him then. I assured him he had a very beautiful mother,” Martin said. “To be honest, he doesn’t seem to dwell on it much. He accepts his lot in life with wonderful resilience.”

  Sandra looked at him sharply. “You won’t tell him everything! You won’t ever tell him he was conceived in a rape!”

  “No,” Martin answered. “I am his dad, but the story of his mother has yet to be determined. Your mom and dad watch him from a distance. They ask me about him and talk to him after church. But they can’t acknowledge him, you know. They have forgiven him because they know it was not his fault.”

  Sandra nodded. “I have also forgiven him. I want you to tell him that his mother died. I want you to tell him that his mother loved him very much. Can you lie for me?”

  Martin could not speak.

  “I want Hauk’s evil to end with me.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “I didn’t even know how badly hurt I was by what happened, and what I did. I never told anyone, not even my support group about leading Hauk to the barn. It has taken all this time, years, for me to be reconciled.”

  “You know your secret is safe,” Martin said.

  “I want to meet him, but just this one time. I will tell him I am a basketball friend.”

  At lunchtime Martin parked in the row of parent vehicles. He walked with Sandra to the door. They stood with a loose cluster of moms and day-care providers. The teacher’s aid pushed open the door and a line of twenty-two glowing children emerged, having already learned to rejoice at the end of the school day.

  “Kirby,” Sandra called him as he ran by heading for the Bronco. He stopped and turned toward her. She went up to him and
said, “Hello, Kirby, how was school?”

  He said, “I am the second oldest in my class. That’s because I was on a bubble.”

  “Let’s go for a walk, Kirby,” Sandra invited. The boy looked at his dad.

  Martin said, “I will walk along. We can just walk around the block.”

  Sandra started to reach for Kirby’s hand and then stopped. Instead she set a slow pace around the school.

  “So, are you the smartest kid in your class?” she asked, making conversation.

  “Maybe,” Kirby answered. “There’s a girl in my class who can read. I can’t read.”

  “How do you know she can read?” Sandra asked.

  “She told me,” he said.

  “So, how was it to be on a bubble?” Sandra smiled as she asked.

  “It wasn’t a real bubble.” Kirby stopped and faced her and put his arms out in a gesture of explanation. “That is how my dad says things,” he said. “I was too little for school last year.”

  When they returned to Martin’s vehicle Bert occupied the front passenger seat. Sandra opened the door. Kirby climbed on the ledge and petted Bert who licked his face in return. Kirby then climbed in beside the dog leaving Sandra on the side walk.

  “Sandra is coming with us,” Martin told Kirby. So the boy and Bert climbed between the seats and settled in the back. Martin did not start the engine. He waited until Kirby groaned and buckled his seat belt.

  Kirby was required to at least pretend to nap after school. Now he entered the kitchen from the back stairs. He looked at his dad with a puzzled expression.

  “Is Sandra your friend?” he said.

  Martin said, “Yes.”

  “Come here, Kirby,” Sandra said. When the child stood at her knees, she put her hands gently on his shoulders. “I am your friend, too.”

  “Good,” Kirby said. “Can you stay for supper? My dad will cook whatever you like.”

  “No,” Sandra said. “I have to see my mom and dad, and then I fly to a city called Syracuse.”

  “I don’t have a mom,” Kirby said. “My classmate named Todd doesn’t have a dad.”

  Martin could see that Sandra had no answer for this. So he said, “Kirby, you had a mom who loved you very much. Then one day she had to take a bus ride to heaven.”

  Yes, Martin thought, he could lie for Sandra. Kirby would never know his biological parents, but he was Kirby’s dad. He had a birth certificate and a social security card inside a cedar box and the love of this strong boy to prove it.

  The End