* * *
As he left the store, Martin was still rattled by his ghostly visitor. He’d checked all the doors twice. Everything had been locked, but there was no sign of the man in the store either. Martin had checked every aisle and every corner. Finally, with no other option but camping out in the empty store, waiting forwhat? The man to return? For him to slide through the walls and throw around more books like aGhostbustersextra? Martin let himself out, locked up the store again, and headed home.
The bike ride back to Brian’s took less than ten minutes, and the wet salt smell of a town so close to the ocean made his head spin. When Martin previously came to visit his brother in Seacroft, he always assumed the town felt small because he only knew a few places in it. Now that he lived here, it turned out there wasn’t much to see, especially once the tourists went home after Labor Day. The beachfront souvenir shops pulled down their shutters for the season, and the whole town got sleepy.
He pedaled home, trying to relax. He’d always preferred cycling to driving. Too many things could go horribly wrong inside a giant metal box hurtling down the road. The bike was safer. The physical activity was good for him too, and he was calmer by the time he got home.
“Hey, Smarts!” As Martin came in the front door, Brian was sprawled out on the couch. Martin cringed at the use of the childhood nickname. It had been funny when he’d won the city spelling bee in fourth grade. It wasn’t funny now.
“Hi.” He let his backpack drop to the floor. His collared shirt stuck to his back where he’d sweat through it from the last of the late summer heat.
“How did it go?” Brian turned the sound down on the TV and pulled himself up to sitting. He smiled up at Martin, but its wary edge flared the buzzing feeling under Martin’s skin. How had it come to this? His brother was worried that Martin couldn’t handle a part-time job in a used bookstore.
He shrugged, slumping onto the couch next to Brian. He considered telling his brother about his encounter with the blond poltergeist, but ghost stories were more likely to worry Brian than anything.
“Good, I guess.”
“Did you smile?”
Martin grimaced, which was as close to a smile as he got these days.
“C’mon, Smarts! You gotta smile more! Women like men who smile.” To demonstrate, Brian grinned, showing the tooth knocked out during a high school football mishap. Something green was wedged in between two of his lower teeth too.
“Charming.”
Brian snorted. “Smarty! You gotta try!”
“Don’t call me that!”
“But you’ve been doing so good lately!”
He’d been fine at home with Brian, where things were simple and predictable. Outside, in a public place where anyone could come in, was a different story. It shouldn’t have been, butshouldwasn’t worth much these days. Martin should also still have been at Mount Garner, assigning readings and figuring out what he was going to do when his funding ended after Christmas.
Martin squirmed, putting as much space as he could between him and his brother, which wasn’t much. Since Brian’s ex-wife had literally taken half of everything they owned when she moved out, the old pull-out couch that doubled as Martin’s bed was also the only piece of furniture in the room.
“I’ll be fine.” It was his mantra, meager though it was. He had to be fine. He’d lost too much already. Too much time, too much credibility. His academic career had gone up in flames, and now his older brother was hovering like a mother hen.
They watched some reality show where middle-aged dads brought in their minivans and their rusting sedans, and a crew of guys with a lot of tattoos and even more piercings sent them home in the same car but with a bigger engine and a paint job that almost always involved flames or barbed wire. It made no sense to Martin. Brian heckled them the whole time.
“What’s for dinner?” Martin asked as the credits rolled.
“Hmm?” Brian’s expression was blank, flipping through channels.
Martin mashed the heels of his hands against his eyes and groaned. “It’s your night to cook!”
“No it’s not! I just cooked...”
Martin waited for realization to dawn. It was Brian’s turn to cook and—“Shit. I forgot.” Brian at least had the good grace to look ashamed.
“Did you remember to go shopping?”
Brian shifted and glanced away, like a guilty golden retriever. Martin sighed and stalked off to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry!” Brian called after him. “I’ll order a pizza.”
They’d eaten more pizza since Martin had moved in than his first year in undergrad. Back then, his Freshman Fifteen had been more like Freshman Eighty. Undoing the damage had taken years, and Brian seemed intent on luring him back to the dark side.
The old landline phone rang on the wall.
