13
Martin had been a nervous wreck since Penny showed up mid-afternoon with a suit in a bag and a glint in her eye.
“You’re representing the community. We can’t have you looking like you’re in need of a fundraiser yourself.”
He swore his own clothes would work perfectly well, but Penny regarded his dress pants and collared shirt with an arched eyebrow. “Did you raid your big brother’s closet?”
He protested, but she produced a full-length mirror out of seemingly nowhere and propped it up against a bookshelf. The reflection shocked Martin. When had he gotten so thin? The shirt that fit him six months earlier hung off his body, and the pants were baggy enough to be mistaken for pajamas.
“I was sick,” he said to Penny’s reflection over his shoulder. “I didn’t realize I’d lost so much weight.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of!” Penny held the dark suit up on its hanger. “But trust me when I say this will be a much better look for you.” The suit was her husband’s, but she’d said years of cooking diner food meant it didn’t fit him anymore.
“I’m just glad someone can wear it,” she’d said, smoothing down his shoulders.
Later, a nervous-looking music teacher shepherded the jazz trio into the store, clucking and bobbing while they set up. Her worries seemed to be completely unfounded, though. The trio struck up promptly at seven o’clock sharp with a mellow arrangement perfectly suited to the environment.
Carol Anne did some shepherding of her own, leading Martin around the room to introduce him to people, mostly members of the organizing committee and the town council. Everyone seemed suitably impressed when Carol Anne gave them a little information on his background. Martin managed to keep from trembling too much as he shook hands with the apparent who’s who of Seacroft.
Most interestingly, Seb seemed unable to take his eyes off Martin. Every time they happened to pass by, Seb gave him a smile, and his blue eyes darkened in an expression Martin hadn’t seen before. Seb often looked at him with curiosity, amusement, or sometimes pity, but this was new and intense.
Martin’s speech was scheduled for eight o’clock. All he needed to do was thank everyone for coming, announce the amount of money raised so far, and remind everyone to bid on the silent auction. Then he had to introduce Mrs. Green—currently gliding through the space, shaking hands and blowing air kisses—and he would be safe.
By seven forty-five, dread knotted his stomach. As he fiddled with the cuffs of his borrowed shirt, he told himself to get over it. He’d done this before. For years. And half the students in any given lecture hall hadn’t been interested in anything he had to say. The people here would indulge him at least. And if he blew it completely, he could hide out in Brian’s den or Seb’s apartment for the rest of his life.
“You look like a man who could use a drink.” Seb appeared before him, holding two wine glasses.
“Is it that obvious?” Martin took a glass and swallowed a big mouthful. The wine was red and a little more bitter than he usually liked, but any port in a storm, as it were.
“Just think of it as completing the look. Besides, if you’ve got a glass when you make your speech, it will give you something to do with your hands.” Seb had changed into a checkered shirt and a paisley bowtie. He went to say something else, but Penny walked up to him, pulling a tall bearded man behind her.
“Hey guys!” she said, smiling wide. “Tim wanted to say hi! Seb and Martin, this is Tim, my husband. Tim, this is Seb and Martin.” She said it like they were a unit. Batman and Robin. Sherlock and Watson. Seb and Martin.
Tim shook their hands and smiled politely. He had the distinct look of an introvert being tugged along by his extroverted partner when he’d much rather be at home or back in his kitchen.
“All set?” Penny asked.
“As much as I’ll ever be.” Martin took another sip of his wine.
“Just do what I do,” Tim said.
“Picture everyone naked?” Penny laughed.
“No, muffin.” Tim laughed. “That’s what you do. Pick one person in the back of the crowd and pretend you’re only talking to them.”
“I’ll be in the back,” Penny said. She wore a multitude of bracelets that jangled as she bobbed up and down in her high heels and party dress. “I’ll wave so you can see me.”
Martin felt green around his edges as he walked up to the front of the room. He turned to face the group of milling attendees, chatting amongst themselves without seeming to notice him at all.
“Good evening, everyone,” he said. The ambient noise didn’t change. This had been his least favorite part of teaching. Getting a room of flighty undergrads to settle was always a chore.
He cleared his throat. “Good evening.”
A few people glanced at him, but otherwise, there was no perceivable change.
Behind him, a trumpet pealed. One of the musicians played a complicated fanfare that reverberated through the whole room. As the last note died, the bookshop went silent. The trumpeter gave Martin a wry salute and sat back down.
Martin cleared his throat. “Good evening, everyone.”
