“I’m supposed to check on you,” he said. “Make sure you eat and all. Have you been out of this bed since they left?”
I had to think. “To use the bathroom,” I said.
“How ’bout to eat?”
I knew I’d had water and apple juice, but I couldn’t remember eating anything. “Not really.”
Marcus shook my foot beneath the blanket. “Get up and come next door. I picked up some shrimp, and I’ll make grits. You’ll feel better with some food in you.”
“No, thanks.” It was so much easier just to dig deeper under the covers.
“Do you know it stinks in this room?” he asked. “This whole house?”
I nearly laughed. “I bet you vacuum every day,” I said. Marcus lived in Talos like the irresponsible, alcoholic, twenty-one-year-old bachelor he was.
“Yeah, well, my house doesn’t stink.”
I recalled the stench of stale beer and cigarettes from my last visit next door, but I was too tired to argue. “Go away, Marcus.” I rolled on my side and put the pillow over my head.
The next thing I knew, he’d pulled the covers off me and was dragging me in my underpants and T-shirt toward the bathroom. “You’ve been sleeping in the same clothes for days, I bet,” he said.
I didn’t fight him as he pushed me, still dressed, into the shower and turned on the faucet. I screamed as the cold water spiked against my skin. He leaned against the shower door when I tried to push it open.
“I’m going to get pneumonia!” I shrieked.
“It’ll warm up soon enough.”
“Marcus, you bastard!” I backed into a corner of the shower to try to avoid the cold spray.
“You got shampoo in there? Soap?”
I looked at the bottles on the little ledge built into the tiled wall. “Yes,” I said, giving in.
“Water warmin’ up?”
It was. I ducked my head under the spray and felt it thrum against my scalp. “Yes.”
“All right. Got any clean towels? The one out here’s growing fungus or something.”
“In the little closet.”
The closet door squeaked open.
“I’ll put this old one in the hamper, then I’ll wait for you in the living room.”
He was stripping the bed when I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a clean towel.
“These sheets are revolting,” he said, bundling them into his arms.
“Oh, shut up.” I clutched the towel tightly around me and leaned against the wall.
“I’ll start a wash and then meet you at my house. If you’re not there in twenty minutes, I’m comin’ back for you.”
I closed my eyes, waiting for him to leave. I heard him walk out the front door and clomp down the stairs to the laundry closet on the beach level. Resigned, I pulled the curtains closed against the darkening sea and began to dress.
I supposed having Marcus check up on me was Jamie’s way of making his brother work for a living. Marcus had come over to the house one day, shortly before Jamie left with Maggie, and the two of them got into another of their heated battles.
“You need a job!” Jamie’d shouted at him. Marcus was the only person I’d ever heard him raise his voice to. I was in bed, and I pulled the pillow over my head but could still hear him. “All you do is surf, party, sleep, screw and drink!”
“I don’t need a job,” Marcus countered. “Neither do you. We’re rich. Did you forget?”
“We weren’t raised to be slugs,” Jamie said.
“Let’s face it, bro,” Marcus said. “You were raised one way and I was raised another.”
“You live off the income from family properties,” Jamie said. “Don’t you think you could manage a few hours a week on repairs and maintenance?”
“I suppose you’d expect me to be clean and sober while I worked?”
“Damn straight,” Jamie said.
“Not interested,” Marcus had answered.
Climbing the steps to the front door of Talos nearly did me in. I had no wind and my muscles felt flaccid and shaky. I opened the door without knocking and saw him standing at the stove, spatula in hand.
“Much better!” he said, appraising me. He wore the cute grin that had so captivated me when he was sixteen. “And you’re almost smiling,” he added.
Was I? I’d thought the muscles in my face had forgotten how.
The sharp smell of shrimp filled his kitchen. He pulled out a stool at the breakfast bar. “You better sit down before you keel over. What do you want to drink?” He was already well into a bottle of beer, and some empties littered the counter.
“Juice?” I lowered myself to the stool and put my elbows on the breakfast bar as Marcus opened his refrigerator.
“No juice. Beer?”
“Ugh. Have any wine?”
“No, but I do have these.” He pulled out a wine cooler and set it on the counter. “I keep them around for the ladies.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Just water,” I said.
He opened the bottle. “Try it. You’ll like it.”
I took a sip. I could barely taste it. Although my sense of smell seemed overly developed, my sense of taste was shot, but the drink was cool and wet and I figured it would do.
Marcus set a plate of grits topped with shrimp and cheese in front of me. I liked shrimp and grits—at least, the old me did. The before-Maggie me. But I had no appetite at all anymore. My stomach was concave. When I woke up each morning, I could see the little mountains of my hipbones below the covers.
“It looks good, Marcus. I’m just not really hungry.”
“Girl, you’re wasting away.” He circled my wrist with his hand. “Just eat as much as you can.”
I’d been through all this with Jamie. With Sara. And I’d remained stubborn and unyielding with them. There was something about Marcus cooking for me, though. The second-best brother. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I slipped my fork into the grits and ate a bite. They might as well have been little bits of Styrofoam, but I managed to eat half of what was in my bowl. It was more than I’d eaten in months.
“Stay here for a while and we’ll just veg,” he said once we’d eaten. “I’ve got a couple of movies. Gotta get lonely over there by yourself.”
I thought of telling him how much I liked the solitude, but it seemed cold and horrible to admit I liked being separated from my child and husband.
As soon as I stood up, I realized I had a bit of a buzz, and it was not at all unpleasant. I carried another wine cooler with me to the living room. Jamie and I rarely drank, and since Marcus moved out, there’d been no alcohol in the house at all.
Marcus knelt down in front of the VCR, two tapes in his hands. “Do you want to see When Harry Met Sally or Born on the Fourth of July?”
“I don’t know anything about either of them,” I said. “Put on whichever is lighter.”
He inserted When Harry Met Sally into the VCR and sat on the opposite end of the sofa from me. We kicked off our shoes and put our feet up on his heavy wooden coffee table. I’d forgotten to put socks on and my feet were cold, so he loaned me a pair of his. They were too big and, as I wiggled my feet, the toes flopped back and forth.
I slid down on the sofa and lost myself in the movie. It made me giggle. When was the last time I’d giggled? Right after Meg Ryan faked an orgasm in the restaurant, Marcus said he was hungry again, so we stopped the movie while he made popcorn in the microwave.
“So what d’you think about the message in this movie, Laurel?” Marcus set the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and handed me another wine cooler.
“There’s a message?” I giggled again.
“Can men and women be friends without letting…you know…sex get in the way?”
“Of course!” I said. “You and I are friends.”
“But you’re my sister-in-law, so that’s different.”
“Well, I still think it’s possible.” I took a handful of popcorn. More Styrofoam, but it went down easy w
ith the wine cooler. The image of Meg Ryan faking an orgasm in the restaurant slipped into my mind. “Speaking of orgasms,” I said impulsively, “I had my first ever on the back of Jamie’s bike.”
Marcus’s eyes widened. “That really happens? I thought it was a myth.”
“Oh, it happens all right. There’s something about fourth gear.”
He laughed. “You’re drunk.”
“Am not.” But I was and I knew it and I was grateful for it.
“Are, too.” He grinned. “I like you drunk, though. Been a while since I’ve seen you look this happy.”
I leaned forward for another handful of popcorn, but missed the bowl by inches. It swam in front of my eyes. I tried again, but moving my head made the room spin. Before I’m going to be sick was even a conscious thought, I threw up on Marcus’s coffee table.
“Shit!” He sprang to his feet.
“Oh my God.” Hands on either side of my head, I looked in disbelief at the pool of grits and masticated shrimp and wine cooler on his coffee table. “I’m so sorry.”
Marcus darted for the kitchen. “My fault,” he said. “I let you drink too much.”
I was going to throw up again. I stood up, but fell against the side of the couch. Marcus came into my field of vision, a roll of paper towels in one hand, catching me by the arm with the other.
“To the bathroom,” he said, half dragging me toward the hall.
I just made it to the toilet. He held my hair back as I got sick. When I was finally able to sit on the floor, my back against the shower door, he cleaned my face with a cool washcloth.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I made a mess in your living room.”
“I’ll clean it up. Stay right here.”
I tried to say I’d help him, but the words wouldn’t come out.
I must have fallen asleep—or passed out—because I woke up in a strange bed in a strange room. The door was closed, but I saw a line of light beneath it.
I sat up, my head pounding. “Marcus?”
In a moment the door opened and I winced against the light.
He walked into the room. “How d’ya feel?” he asked, sitting down on the bed.
“Did you have to carry me in here? Is this your bed?”
“Guest room. You know, the bedroom in the front of the house? And I only had to half carry you in here.”
“What time is it?”
“Two in the morning.”
“Why are you still up?”
He laughed. “I was afraid you were going to die on me. I told Jamie I’d get you to eat. He didn’t say anything about getting you to drink, though.” He patted my leg through the covers. “Can’t hold your liquor, girl.”
“I liked how I felt up until the time I threw up.”
“Yeah, it was fun till then.”
“What a mess. I’m really sorry.” I giggled again, the sound surprising me, and Marcus smiled.
“C’mere, you,” he said, gently lifting me into a hug. “You gotta promise me something, Laurel,” he said.
“Mmm?”
“You’ll try to work things out with Jamie. Because I want you to always be in my family. You’re the only one who ever treated me like I was worth something.”
“That’s not true,” I said into his shoulder. “Jamie treats you well.”
“He kicked me out.”
“You were a little shit.”
Marcus was quiet for so long that I nearly fell asleep with my head on his shoulder.
“You’re right,” he finally said with a sigh. “We know our roles and we play them well. Jamie’s the saint and I’m the sinner.”
That night was the start of a new chapter in my life. Marcus and I ate dinner together at The Sea Tender or Talos most evenings, then watched TV or a movie, and I learned how many wine coolers I could drink so that I felt good without getting sick. Marcus usually cooked, but I shopped for any ingredients he needed, which felt like a huge step forward to me, since I hadn’t grocery shopped in months. The outings to the store in Sneads Ferry wore me out and I usually napped when I came home, but I was no longer sleeping in my clothes or going for days without a shower. I looked forward to my evenings with him, although I worried at first that he felt the need to babysit me. I gradually realized he was choosing my company over that of his friends. We were proving When Harry Met Sally wrong, I thought. Men and women could be good friends and nothing more.
I started worrying about him. I felt scared when I’d see him out surfing alone, knowing he was probably wasted. I didn’t want to lose him, not only because he was my brother-in-law and my friend, but also, frankly, because he was my drinking buddy.
The alcohol loosened my tongue, and I talked to Marcus in a way that I couldn’t talk to Jamie or the therapist I’d seen or Sara. He was the only person I told about my fear of hurting Maggie.
“D’you miss her?” he asked me one night. We were curled up on opposite ends of the sofa at Talos.
I hugged my knees with my arms. “I miss…” There was no easy answer to his question. “I miss the woman I planned to be with her,” I said. “The mother I expected to be. I thought I’d be such a great mother. Instead I’m the worst. I’m horrible.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m actually relieved not to have her with me anymore.” I plunked my forehead down on my arms. “I know that sounds terrible.”
“You’re too tired to take care of her,” he said.
“That’s not why I’m relieved.” I looked him in the eye. “It’s because I was afraid I was going to hurt her.”
He laughed, but then realized I was serious. “You?” he asked. “You won’t even go fishing because you think it’s fish abuse.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I’d get frustrated with her and…I’d picture myself hurting her.” I didn’t want to tell him of the ways I’d imagined myself doing it. Those unwanted images that flew into my mind when I least expected them and made me feel both crazy and dangerous. I didn’t want him to have to see them, too. “Just believe me,” I said. “She’s safer not being with me.”
Once a week, Jamie would bring Maggie back to The Sea Tender. She was a beautiful child, with Jamie’s large brown eyes and dark hair that already fell in silky waves over her delicate shoulders. I didn’t see myself in her face at all. Maybe that’s why she seemed more like a friend’s child than my own. I wanted to feel love for her. When I’d see her get out of the car with Jamie, my heart would swell with a kind of longing, but it was as if the closer she came to me, the less I felt. I pretended, though.
“Hi, Maggie!” I’d say, in a voice that rang false to my own ears. “Would you like to play with your blocks? Or we could put together one of your puzzles?”
She’d cling to Jamie’s leg, yet keep me in her field of vision. It would take all my energy and false cheer, but I could usually engage her in an activity if Jamie played along with us.
One day, Jamie gave me his usual hug when he arrived, then drew back with a quizzical look.
“Have you been drinking?” he asked.
My breath had given me away. “Just a wine cooler with lunch,” I said.
“Be careful.” He rested his big hand on Maggie’s head. “You know alcohol’s a depressant.”
“Oh, I know.” I brushed the comment aside. “You don’t need to worry.”
He smiled at me then. “You do seem a lot better these days,” he said.
Alcohol might have been a depressant for most people, but it was having the opposite effect on me, I thought. It took away the ache inside me and let me feel a little bit like myself again.
The next time Jamie came over, I brushed my teeth and gargled with mouthwash. It sent a shiver up my spine to see my own deception. To realize I was drinking enough that I needed to hide it.
I was careful around Sara, too, in case Jamie told her to be on the lookout for my drinking. She’d occasionally bring lunch over, and I had the feeling she and Jamie had worked out some sor
t of schedule for their checking-up-on-Laurel visits.
One balmy November day, Sara suggested we go for a walk on the beach after lunch. “It’s gorgeous out, Laurel,” she said. “Do you feel up to it?”
My first thought was to plead exhaustion, but when I looked out the window, the sand sparkled and the sky and sea were the same rich shade of blue and I suddenly wanted to be walking in the sunshine.
“Sure,” I said. “How chilly is it out?”
She was momentarily speechless at my response. “It’s barefoot weather, believe it or not.” She kicked off her tennis shoes and started tugging off her socks, leaning against the kitchen counter for support.
I took off my slippers and together we walked out on the back deck and down the steps to the beach. I felt a surge of happiness. How much was due to the splendor of the day or to the wine cooler I’d had before lunch, I couldn’t say. I curled my toes deep into the cool sand as we started walking south on the beach.
“Bare feet in November!” Sara said. “I’m never going back to Michigan.”
“Good,” I said. “I’d hate for you to leave.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere, but things are about to change.” She glanced at me, smiling. “I wanted to tell you before it became obvious.” She rested her hand on her stomach.
“You’re pregnant?”
She nodded. “Four months. Due in May.”
“Congratulations!” I tried to get some oomph in my voice, but found myself suddenly consumed by envy. Sara would be a terrific mother—a mother filled with joy at the birth of her baby. “Is Steve excited?”
Sara laughed. “As excited as Steve gets. You know him. Always cool, calm and collected. That’s why the military loves him, and he loves it.”
Actually, I didn’t know Steve very well. He was quiet and reserved and serious, and I sometimes had the feeling Sara liked it better when he was away on temporary duty, but maybe I was only projecting my own recent need to be apart from Jamie onto her.
I had a sudden thought. With a baby on the way, would Sara and Steve still want Jamie and Maggie living with them? I’d only been to their house once, and it was small. I was trying to formulate the question when Sara spoke again.