“Martha? Talk to me.” The moment had come and gone, and Fern knew it, but she wanted it back again. Wanted it so badly she burned inside.
Martha’s head turned slowly to her, and it was plain that all semblance of intelligence had escaped. The only thing that remained was the smile, crooked as it was, and Fern wondered if maybe Martha’s eyes hadn’t finally been opened to beauty.
She kissed the top of her daughter’s head and went back to the kitchen to finish dinner, pondering the development—if it was development—that had taken place.
Harry came in as Fern was setting the table, and went directly to the shower. Martha came from her room, dressed, still smiling. It softened her face, gave her a pleasant look. She went around the table polishing the spoons on her dress, straightening the plates, rearranging the glasses, and folding the napkins as she’d seen Fern do on Sundays. Then she went outside.
“Dinner’s almost on, Martha. Stay close.”
In just a few minutes she was back, clutching flowers she’d ripped up from the garden, dirt and roots hanging below. With that same little smile on her face, she touched the velvety petals of the colored pansies, then held them up for Fern to touch. Fern smelled them first, then touched the petals gently, and the smile on Martha’s face deepened.
Oh God, she’s getting better, Fern thought. She’s responding! She put her arms around her child and hugged her close, tight, rocking her back and forth, afraid to laugh, afraid to cry, this new development seemed so tenuous, so fragile.
She took down a jelly glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. Then she snipped off the roots of the flowers and put them in the glass, slowly, carefully, so Martha could see what she was doing; then she helped Martha arrange them. Martha set them gently in the center of the table, turning them around and around until they suited her.
She watched them, lightly smiling, head tilting this way and that, throughout their silent dinner.
Fern was delighted. Harry pretended not to notice.
CHAPTER 19
Martha heard the truck scrunching the gravel in the drive. The night was cool and quiet, the sound of the truck out of place, menacing in its inappropriateness. She looked over at Leon, sound asleep next to her, the faint shadow of a beard giving his cheeks a hollow appearance in the moonlight. The engine outside died, and she heard the rusted creak of a door opening.
“Leon,” she whispered, shaking his shoulder.
He cracked a sleepy eye.
“What?”
“Someone’s outside.”
“Nah. Why would someone be outside?” His eyes rolled, and his lids closed again.
Gravel crunched underfoot.
“Leon, wake up. Someone’s coming.”
He opened his eyes again and lay there, patiently. Then he heard it, and his eyes widened as he sat up. They heard a giggle, a low, harsh word, then a soft footfall on the porch steps. Leon swung his legs out of bed and grabbed his jeans, pulling them on quickly. He motioned to her with his hand. “Stay here.”
She nodded, her eyes wide with fear, and pulled the covers up to her chin.
Leon looked around the room for a weapon, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. There was nothing.
He walked quietly through the kitchen, looked cautiously out the kitchen window and saw two silhouetted forms on the porch. He waited in the dark, his heart pounding, his breathing loud in his ears.
The doorknob turned slowly and stopped. It was locked. He heard a muffled curse, and digging and scratching. He couldn’t decide whether to turn on the porch light or not. Better do it. Maybe they’ll just go away. Better than having them inside.
He took two quick steps and turned on the light switch.
Two startled faces looked up at the light, squinting. Leslie recovered quickly. He smiled through the glass.
“Hey, Leon! That you, Leon?”
Leslie and Priscilla. Shit. Both drunk.
“What do you want?”
“Come on, man, let us in. We just came by to say hello.” Leslie dug Priscilla in the ribs, starting off a whole new set of giggles. She looked pretty unsteady.
“Get out of here, Leslie. It’s the middle of the night.”
“Hey, Leon, buddy, just thought you might want to . . .”
“Go home!” Leon snapped off the porch light. He heard Priscilla start to whine.
“C’mon, Leslie. This wasn’t such a good idea.”
Leslie started to pound on the door. Leon flicked on the light and whipped open the door at the same time. Leslie almost fell on his face. Priscilla stumbled in behind him.
“I’m going to give you ten seconds to state your business and decide to go home.”
“Hey, brother. Don’t be so hasty. Where’s your manners? Come on, how about a beer?”
“Yeah, Leon, how about a beer?” Priscilla thought she was real cute. “Why don’t you invite Martha to come join us?”
“I don’t need an invitation in my own house,” Martha said from the doorway. She was wrapped up in her robe, her hair all astray, hands clutching the robe closed.
Priscilla’s eyes opened in amazement. Sobriety settled over her. This can’t be Martha!
“Hey, Martha,” Priscilla said. “What happened? I mean you look terrific.” She belched without even trying to be polite about it.
“What is it you want?”
“Just thought we’d drop by for a little party, right, Priscilla?”
“Uh, right.” Priscilla couldn’t take her eyes off Martha. “Hey, Martha, remember when we painted the living room, you and me?”
“No.”
Priscilla’s eyes turned to Leslie. “We better go, Les.”
“Not until I get my beer.”
“I don’t have any beer, Leslie,” Leon said.
“C’mon, Les. Let’s go.” Priscilla looked at Martha with something close to fear in her eyes. She grabbed Leslie’s T-shirt and pulled him toward the door. “This is too weird.”
Leslie punched Leon lightly on the arm. “Take it easy, eh, Leon? Maybe we’ll get together for that beer soon.” He followed Priscilla out the door. “I’ll come back.”
“There’ll be a shotgun waitin’ next time, Leslie.”
Pure evil rippled across Leslie’s face. His arms hung limply at his sides, as if the beer were finally catching up with his body, but his face sneered. He whispered menacingly. “You fuckin’ pervert.”
Leon clenched his fists and stood his ground, watching as Priscilla grabbed Leslie’s T-shirt again and pulled him out to the truck. Leslie stumbled backward, then jerked out of her grasp, eyes clamped tight on Leon’s.
They both got in on the driver’s side, and Leslie started the engine. It coughed. He wanted it to roar. When it caught, he tried to spin around, spitting gravel fifty feet behind him. Instead, the truck died, and the headlights dimmed again and again as he ground the starter. He cursed it to life, and the truck with its two drunken passengers lurched out of the drive as Martha and Leon watched them go.
“Take me home, Leslie,” Priscilla said. “I don’t feel too good.” She leaned out the car window and puked.
“Sonofabitch! All over my truck, you cunt. I’ll get your ass, Leon, and that weird retard, too. Son of a bitch!” He pounded on the steering wheel.
Leon turned out the light and locked the door. He went to Martha, standing in the doorway, staring straight ahead. She was trembling, and perspiration stood out in little drops on her forehead.
“Martha? You okay?”
“I don’t know. I feel . . . for a moment there, I felt . . . while you were in here and I was in the bedroom, I almost . . .”
“Shhhh.” He put his arms around her and held her close for a moment, then guided her gently back to bed. He got in next to her and held her, a very young man and his very strange lover. He did love her, in a way.
“I felt out of control, Leon.”
“Fear can do that. I was afraid, too.”
“Out of control?”
“Not exactly, but men are supposed to be braver than women.”