6
On Sunday, Martin woke up with a mattress spring poking him in the back and a fight roaring in his ears.
“I’ll call the lawyer!” a woman’s voice said.
“You and your lawyers.” This was Brian. Martin shifted just enough to get off the spring and then lay still, burying his head under a pillow.
“I wouldn’t have to use the lawyers if you would answer the goddamn phone.” Jess. The screen door banged open and shut. Loud footsteps came up the hall.
“Why would I answer my phone? So you can nag me some more?”
“I’m just asking you to be fair!” Jess and Brian were in the house, coming up the front hall. Martin’s pillow wasn’t doing much of anything besides making it hard to breathe.
“I’m being fair!” They were right outside the living room now. “You wanted half, you got half.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
Martin lay frozen on the pullout while his brother and former sister-in-law argued in front of him.
“Look at this, Jess! I don’t even have a goddamn bed for my brother to sleep in!”
Martin’s eyes widened, and he tried to pull himself up to sitting. The blankets slipped down to his waist. He’d slept in one of his old Mount Garner History T-shirts and briefs, which seemed like totally acceptable attire when he and Brian were alone in the house. With Jess here, he didn’t feel like he could get out of bed.
“Um, good morning?” he said, hoping one of them would take the hint.
“Hey, Marty. Sorry about all this.” Jess smiled at him, the same kind smile she’d always given him.
“Don’t be nice to him!” Brian took a step forward, planting himself between Jess and Martin. His big frame cast Martin in shadow. “He’s not part of this. Say whatever you came here to say, take whatever thing you think is the rest of your fair share, and then get the hell out.”
Jess’s eyes went teary. Martin’s chest twisted, and the line of tension in Brian’s shoulders softened a bit too.
“You’re a real jerk, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you want from me!” Brian’s voice was strangled.
Martin searched desperately for a way to escape. Unfortunately, there weren’t many options short of dumping himself onto the floor and crawling under the mattress.
“I can’t keep living like this!” The words cracked in Jess’s throat. “This in between where we’re not together but still not finished with each other. I don’t know who I am!”
Adrenaline burst through his body at the distress in Jess’s voice. Martin really shouldn’t have been here. Never mind they were technically in his room, as much as the living room could be considered his. He needed an escape.
“Can I go make some coffee? Maybe we can sit down, sort out—”
“Shut up, Smarts, This isn’t about you.” Brian didn’t even bother to turn around, and Martin nearly bit his own tongue as his cheeks flushed. Their invasion this early on a Sunday morning had left him with no choice. Silently, he slunk out of the room.
As hurt and panic washed over his scalp and down his throat, he found clean clothes in the dryer. It was time to leave. He’d grabbed his phone as he’d snuck out of bed, but his coat and scarf were by the front door, where Brian and Jess had moved their argument. Instead, he grabbed an old hoodie of Brian’s, then took off into the backyard at a near run.
His bicycle was in the garage. Neither Brian nor Jess, who were now yelling on the front porch, said anything as he made his way out onto street.
“You’re the one who said you couldn’t do it!” Jess said.
“You’re the one who left!”
Across the street, a man walking a small dog had stopped to watch the show. He didn’t so much as glance at Martin as he pedaled away.
It was cool for October, and still early in the day. The ride kept his core warm, but his fingers, nose and ears were red and burning by the time he stopped. He was at the beach, and the cold stretch of ocean was deserted. Struggling, he wheeled his bike out onto the sand. He let it fall against an old log before collapsing right next to it.
It was windy, and the waves were up, rolling and crashing to shore. The sound was soothing, blocking out the roar in his head. He sniffed and pulled his limbs closer. A lone seagull padded up the sand on knobby legs and webbed feet, stopping a few feet away to stare at him with belligerent eyes. No doubt it was looking for a snack: old bread or discarded French fries.
