January 11, 1986
The party was winding down. As Dan refilled his cup from the punch bowl, he watched the bride and groom slipping from the room. Off on their honeymoon, he thought a little wistfully. In the few weeks he had known Tessa’s Hawaiian uncle, he had come to the realization that he liked and respected Kalihiki Kaneohe. It had been pleasure to watch him join his life to that of Margery Trask—a woman Dan also respected and admired. Dan wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d had to blink a little harder than usual during the ceremony. It had been beautiful and touching to watch those two people become one. It was the kind of thing that could give a guy some ideas—especially if the guy in question was already thinking along those lines.
He took a sip of the citrus punch. It was every bit as good as he remembered. Chef Gaston certainly still had his touch. Dan’s eyes lit on the object of his personal desire. She was dancing with her cousin, Mart, and he had a smile on his face—something that had been rare in the last few weeks.
“He ate tonight, and he didn’t run off after.” Brian’s voice startled Dan with its total lack of emotion; his comment as flat as if he were observing an insect crawling across the floor.
“He’s doing really well,” he informed Mart’s brother. “Dr. Guthrie set him up with Dr. Miller; she specializes in eating disorders. He’s already seen her three times. The wrestling coach is gone, and we have baseball tryouts in three weeks.”
Brian tried to disguise his disdainful snort with a cough. Dan wasn’t fooled but chose to ignore it. It was harder to ignore his next words. “It hasn’t been two weeks yet. Hardly enough time to declare him cured.”
I didn’t say he was cured; I said he’s doing well. Not wanting to mar the night, Dan swallowed his automatic retort and changed the subject. “I have a meeting in the City next weekend,” he said. “I was thinking we’d come in on Saturday night, meet with Lana on Sunday, and head back to Sleepyside on Monday.”
“That’s right. It’s a three-day weekend. So, you want a place to crash?”
“Yeah. So can we flop with you and Jim?”
“We?” Lines formed on Brian’s forehead. “Isn’t Tessa going to stay at her apartment? Our fold-out couch isn’t that comfortable, and that would only leave the floor for you.”
Dan grinned. “Tess isn’t coming with me. Mart is. We’ve shared the fold-out before, and the mattress isn’t bad if you put it on the floor.”
“Oh.” Brian’s expression changed. His dark eyes darted from Dan to the floor and back again. “Wait. That’s the eighteenth through the twentieth, right?” When Dan nodded, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. That won’t work. We’re already having guests. I’d forgotten. Sorry.” He turned abruptly and stalked away.
“You know you can stay at my place.” For the second time in less than ten minutes, Dan was startled by a voice from behind him. This time, it was his girlfriend, and the tone of her voice was deceptively sweet. If he hadn’t known her so well, he might not have realized that she had witnessed the whole exchange and was disguising her anger with a healthy dose of syrup. “Besides,” she continued as he turned toward her, realizing that Mart, too, had overheard the conversation, “if you’re going to see Lana, my place is closer. Not to mention that we have great beds and a big screen television.”
He didn’t have to force his smile. She always made him smile, even when indignation simmered beneath her oh-so-calm demeanor. “Thanks, babe. You do have all the amenities, plus Luigi’s on speed-dial. I just didn’t want to impose.”
“It’s never an imposition,” she admonished. “I’ll get you a key when we get home tomorrow, and you two can go have a boy-bonding weekend.” She grinned at him and rose up on tiptoe to brush a kiss across his bottom lip. “One last fling before you settle down for your senior spring.”
“I like that,” Dan agreed, returning the kiss with a little better aim. “After all, we did manage to get our college applications sent off well in advance of the deadlines. We deserve a break before we have to start worrying about acceptance letters—or lack thereof.”
Mart lost his silent stance at that, his voice cheery, although his smile seemed a little forced, “Speak for yourself, buddy,” he said, waving his left hand airily. “I fully expect to be accepted at all six institutes of higher education to which I applied. No worries. None whatsoever.”
“Well, then, oh confident one,” Dan said, wrapping one arm around Tessa and flinging the other across Mart’s shoulders, “you can worry for me, and save me an ulcer. Shall we?”
Together, they journeyed back into the heart of the celebration.
January 19, 1986
It was too cold to snow. Of course, it had already snowed near-record amounts before the temperature had nose-dived. Mart wrapped his deep blue wool scarf around his face and used his breath to help keep his face from freezing. Stuffing his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his down coat, he trudged behind his best friend.
Dan moved swiftly across the frozen terrain. Evidently, his years in Sleepyside had not hampered his familiarity with the streets of New York City, for he navigated his way with smooth confidence. Mart sighed, feeling the hairs inside his nostrils freeze. “Hey, Dan!” he called, his voice carrying despite being muffled by the scarf.
Dan stopped, turning his head. “What?”
“Why is it you pick the coldest day on record to do this particular errand?” Mart asked. “We couldn’t even get a taxi.”
“You know why,” Dan explained, “Lana’s leaving tomorrow. It was either today, or wait until she gets back. I don’t want to wait. I want to see what she’s come up with, and I need to pick up something I left with her.” He grinned over the edge of his own scarf. “Besides, the temperature dropping means we have a nice, crust to walk on, right? No sinking.”
“This had better be worth it,” Mart grumbled, as he once again fell into step. “I could be snuggled up in front of the fireplace with a good book and a steaming hot cup of hot chocolate.”
“It will be,” Dan assured him. “Lana’s a genius, and I can almost guarantee there will be some sort of hot beverage and pastry when we get there, so stop whining and pick up the pace.”
Mart closed his mouth and walked a little faster, trying to stomp the numbness out of his toes. Finally, just as he was beginning to think that Dan was leading them into the coldest pit of Hell, Dan stopped so abruptly that Mart nearly ran up his back.
“We’re here,” Dan said, unnecessarily.
Mart looked at the rather unassuming gray brick storefront. It was three stories, sandwiched between two taller stone buildings. The door and windows on the street level were barred, and a small but precisely etched sign hung over the door, proclaiming:
Maxim’s
Est. 1972
Dan rang the bell, and Mart stood shivering and stomping his feet, waiting to be let in. Counting in his head, he reached an agonizing forty-five seconds of waiting before the door opened and a blast of warm air came whooshing past.
“Come in. Come in. You look like you’re freezing!” A familiar looking, petite blonde woman stood aside to allow them entrance. Inside the store was warm and well lit. Mart was surprised at the elegance of the interior, as it was in direct contrast to the exterior. The walls were painted a pale gold, which highlighted the touches of gold in the plush Persian area rug that covered the gleaming, polished hardwood floor. Dark velvet draped glass cabinets lined the two sidewalls. Two overstuffed burgundy velvet chairs sat at the end of each cabinet, a small round table of burnished cherry sitting between each set. Against the far wall stood a matching buffet chest. Atop it sat a brass samovar and a matching tray holding Russian teacups—small clear glasses set in intricate metal holders.
Mart followed Dan’s lead, wiping his feet before taking off his coat. The woman took both coats, and disappeared briefly through the door at the back of the store. When she returned, Dan enveloped her in a huge hug, and she kissed him on both cheeks.
“Mart,” Dan said, making the introductions. “You remember my dear friend and pseudo cousin, Lana.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you again, Mart,” Lana said easily. “It has been a few years, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Mart took her hand in his. “It was Dan’s adoption party, wasn’t it?”
“I believe so.” Lana shook his hand. “Come. Have a seat, and I will get you some tea and baklava. You look half-frozen.”
Mart gratefully followed Lana to one of the chairs. Dan grinned wryly and trailed after them, pouring the tea while Lana went into the back for the treats. The baklava was incredible. Rich and flakey, it teased the taste buds and melted on the tongue. As Mart closed his eyes, savoring the flavor, Dan snickered. “Aunt Roza’s baklava. Nobody but Yaya does it better.”
“I’ll tell her you said that,” Lana said with a soft laugh. “Although, Mama might disagree.”
“Aunt Sonya makes the best knydli.” Dan defended his opinion. Turning to Mart, he explained, “Potato doughnuts with a whole plum inside. To. Die. For. Believe me.”
“I do,” Mart said, taking another small bite of baklava. “And that is the only way to die, in my humble opinion. Death by pastry.”
Lana laughed again, soft and tinkling. “If that is your ideal, I think you would enjoy Easter with my family.”
Dan snorted. “Any Sunday with your family would do him in, Lana. The Aunties know how to put on a spread.”
“You were no slouch in the eating department, as I remember,” Lana reminded him. “You and Joey were bottomless pits.”
“So much good food; so little time.” Dan grinned at the memory.
“Sit down, Dan. Drink your tea, while I get the pieces.” Lana waited until Dan sat, before she once again vanished into the back.
Mart watched her leave and popped the last bite of baklava in his mouth. Definitely a five on the satisfying side, he thought, mentally assessing the snack. Raise it to a six if I count the tea. He’d need to record it in his food journal when they returned to the apartment.
Finishing his strong, black tea, he set the cup on the table, on a white lace doily, and wandered over to one of the display cases. They were empty. Confused, he turned to question Dan, only to have the returning Lana explain. “We are closed on Sundays and Thursdays. The jewelry is safely locked away. I can show you some pieces, if you would like.”
Mart felt his face reddening. “That’s okay. I mean, I’d love to see some of your stuff, because Dan has told me so much about it, but I doubt I could afford any of it.” He realized that he was rambling, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “Not that I wouldn’t want to, but I’m...I mean...” Mart swallowed. “I’m going to stop now.”
Lana laughed again. “Don’t worry, Mart. I’d be happy to show you a few pieces, and if you should decide to purchase something, I’ll give you the family discount.” She pulled a stool up next to Dan and sat down, opening up the wooden box she held. “I came up with three different sketches, Dan, based on what we discussed. Papa and I worked on them together, because we wanted you to be able to see them in three dimensions. Here.” She held the box out toward him, and Mart hurried over to see.
Nestled on blue velvet, three rings glittered and gleamed under the lights. Beautiful rings: Unusual and intricate rings. Engagement rings. Whoa!, he thought.
Dan breathed out audibly, his fingers not quite touching the jewelry. “Lana, they’re beautiful, but I didn’t mean for you to actually make them, yet.”
“Don’t be silly,” Lana admonished gently. “These are samples. If you see one design that you like, then we will make it out of good quality materials, and these will be melted down and reused.” She sat down in the chair Mart had vacated. “I have my favorite, but I am more interested in your opinion. Look.”
Mart perched on the arm of Dan’s chair, watching as his friend lifted each ring and inspected it. The three rings were similar in color, but that was all. The first was a traditional Irish claddagh. The band, shaped as two hands, held an amethyst heart between them, with a gold crown set above. The second was a flower. Mart thought it was either a hibiscus or an orchid. Each petal was intricately carved and a diamond stamen curved upwards, while the band was delicately twisted into trinity knots. Finally, the third ring was the simplest. Three five-petal flowers sat atop a simple gold band. The middle flower was slightly larger, and in the center of each was a small and shining diamond.
“Lana, these are incredible.” Dan spoke in awed tones, examining each detail. “I love this one.” He held up the claddagh and showed it to Mart, explaining, “The claddagh is Irish. It stands for friendship, love and loyalty--the hands of friendship, the heart for love, and the crown for loyalty.”
“Why is the heart purple?” Mart asked.
“It’s an amethyst,” Dan told him with a knowing grin. “It’s my birthstone, so I think it represents my heart.” He looked to Lana for confirmation.
“That is correct.” Lana beamed at him. “I patterned it after the one you brought in. So, which one would you choose?”
Dan hesitated. “Like I said, I love this one.” He held up the claddagh. “But I think that it might be a little...busy?” He set it down in the box, and picked up the third ring. “These are plumeria, right?”
“Yes. Very simple lines, yet beautiful little blossoms.”
“This is the one.” Dan held the ring up, and Mart took it, his eyes taking in each detail.
“Hah! I win.” Lana laughed triumphantly. “I told Devan you would choose that one.”
“Who is Devan?” Mart asked absently, admiring the subtle tints of color in the ring.
“Devan is our cutter,” Lana explained. “He cuts the gems for the pieces. He was convinced that Dan would go for the amethyst.”
“If it weren’t a ring, Devan would have been right,” Dan admitted. “That is a beautiful piece; it just isn’t the right one for Tessa.”
“It would be too much for her hand,” Lana agreed. “It is too ornate for her taste.”
“Exactly! I knew you would get it right, Lana. I just knew it.” Dan reached out and took her hands. “Thank you.”
“It was a pleasure,” she told him, her gray-green eyes glowing. “I won’t be able to work on the final product until we return, but I think I can have it done by graduation.”
“That will be fine,” Dan told her. “I don’t need it until we leave for Hawaii. When will you be back?”
“April tenth. If I ever manage to get packed.” Lana rolled her eyes.
“Where exactly are you going?” asked Mart. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Lana told him with a smile. “I will be traveling with my parents on a buying trip through Europe, Asia, and into the Soviet Union.”
“Wow! That’s some trip.” Mart felt a twinge of jealousy. “I’ve always liked to travel, but that is way beyond anything I’ve ever thought about.”
“Believe me,” Lana assured him, “It’s not easy to get into the USSR. Papa is looking forward to seeing the homeland of his parents. But even with President Gorbachev’s new directions of perestroika and glasnost, the communist regime is still a little frightening.”
“How does Yaya feel about your trip?” Dan asked.
“Mixed, I’d say.” Lana ran a hand through her blond hair. “She has unpleasant memories of the government, but she still has two brothers and their families in Minsk, and my grandfather’s sister lives in Kiev. We’ll be able to visit all of them on this trip. Yaya hasn’t had much communication with them for years, so she is excited.
“I hope you take lots of pictures,” Mart interjected. “Most of what we see from the USSR is…well…”
“Propaganda?” Lana finished with a knowing smile. She nudged Dan. “Smart one, your friend.”
“Yep,” Dan lowered his voice. “He’s very smart. But we try not to tell him. We don’t want him to get a swelled head.”
“He’s standing in front of you,” Mart said, pulling a sour face. “And not only is he smart, he is blessed with perfect hearing.” The grin that broke on his face belied his tone.
Dan returned the grin and took Lana’s hands in his, drawing them to his lips. “Thank you, cousin,” he said. “Once again, you exceed all of my expectations.”
Lana blushed prettily and, pulling her hands free, smacked Dan gently on the shoulder. “Keep your charm for someone else, cousin. I have something for you to take home.” She gave Mart a smile. “I’ll pack up the rest of the baklava for you, Mart. Yaya would say you are much too skinny.”
It was Mart’s turn to flush; he could feel the blood rushing up to stain his neck and cheeks. Dan reacted to the comment by assuming an offended air and drawing her attention. “And I’m not?” he asked plaintively. “Are you calling me fat, Lana?”
She smacked him again, not so gently. “You are perfect, and you know it, Mister Ego, so don’t go fishing for compliments,” she said, rolling her eyes again. “But I’ll pack some up for you, too. We leave tomorrow, and it won’t keep.”
“Lana?” Dan let his hand rest gently on her arm. “Do you think the claddagh could be made into a necklace or a pin? I really love the design.”
“Just not for a ring.” Lana finished his thought. She nodded. “I’ll think on it while we’re gone. I’m sure I can come up with something for you to spend your hard-earned money on.”
“There’s no one I’d rather give my money to than you,” Dan told her with a grin. “You’re a freakin’ genius.”
She blushed again. “You are too kind. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” She walked quickly from the room.
“You okay?” Dan asked Mart. “Lana didn’t mean anything. She doesn’t know, and I was just…”
“I know.” Mart leaned against the empty glass case. “I guess you can’t drop twenty pounds without people noticing. Besides, I’m not the one who thought I was fat. That was my outside influence,” He made air quotes around his last two words. “I know where I’m supposed to be. I know where I want to be. I’m working on it.” He sighed loudly and ran a hand across his crew cut. “I’m okay,” he said, dropping out of therapy mode and back into normal. “And the baklava was divine, so I guess I should just be grateful to be taking some home, right?”
“Right.” Dan reached out, giving Mart a solid thump on the shoulder. “If you need me,” he said, “I’m right here. Okay?”
“I appreciate that.”
Lana stepped back into the room, their coats draped over her arm and a paper bag in one hand, a white plastic bag in the other. She handed the coats over first, waiting until both young men shrugged them on before handing Mart the paper sack. “I trust you will share with Daniel,” she said. “If you don’t, I fear his whining will be overwhelming.”
“Hey!” Dan protested, the gleam in his eye showing he was simply playing along.
“Hush, you!” Lana admonished playfully, handing him the plastic drawstring bag. “I’m trusting you with this. Now go! I need to pack.”
Dan leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Lana,” he said. “You have a safe and fun trip, and I’ll see you in May.”
Mart added his thanks, and with a hug and a wave, the two Bob White boys found themselves back on the street in the breath-stealing cold.
“What’s in the bag?” Mart asked, as they trudged toward Central Park.
Dan hesitated. Mart backtracked. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said quickly. “I mean I figured out that you were choosing a ring because you’re going to ask Tessa to marry you. That’s a big ‘duh’. I just wondered what Lana gave you.”
He wasn’t sure if the color on his friend’s face was from the cold, or from him blushing, but Dan’s cheeks were definitely pink. “It’s a family heirloom I had Lana restore for Liam,” he said. “I’d show it to you, but it’s his, not mine, so…”
“Oh.” Mart got it. They moved onward through the cold. “But you are going to propose to Tess, right?”
“Yup. But not for a while.” Dan stopped suddenly, turning to face him. “I know you tell Diana everything, but I’d appreciate it if you would keep this between us. At least for now. I still have some details to work out…before.”
“My lips are sealed,” Mart assured his friend, “and not because they’re about to freeze shut. Just let me know if you need my help in setting things up.”
Dan smiled wide. “Thanks. I may just take you up on that. Now let’s get back to the apartment. I hear hot chocolate calling my name.”
“Ah, the siren song,” Mart joked, shifting the bag of baklava from one hand to the other. “Seductive witch, that chocolate.”
They plodded onward.
Reaching the apartment building, they were greeted by the doorman. “Mr. Maypenny. Mr. Belden. Miss Hart told us you would be staying another day. It’s a cold one, isn’t it?”
“Very, Mr. Theo,” Dan answered genially. “We’re looking forward to getting upstairs and having something warm. Do you think the city will be up and running again tomorrow?”
Theo nodded. “The weather is supposed to break later today. We should be back to a balmy twenty-eight degrees tomorrow.”
“Good to know. My friends are supposed to leave on a trans-Atlantic trip tomorrow. I’d hate for them to be delayed.”
“Well, if the weathermen can be trusted, things should be back to normal tomorrow,” the man told him. “It might only take a little to slow things down to an inconvenience, but it takes a lot to shut the City down completely. I suppose we’ll just have to keep the faith.”
“I’ll make sure to do that.” Dan gave the man a smile as he and Mart headed for the elevator.
Once upstairs, he opened up the apartment, kicking off his shoes, and shrugging out of his coat, gloves and scarf. Mart followed suit, and the two moved in the easy unison developed from their years of friendship and teamwork, hanging the outdoor wear in the appropriate closets, and heading into the kitchen area for beverages. After Dan made a quick trip to put away his merchandise, the two young men settled in to watch television.
“This is nice,” Mart mused. “Where else can we watch a 45-inch-projection screen television while drinking Mexican chocolate and munching on baklava? Beats the heck out of cold pizza and sharing a hide-a-bed.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Dan asked.
“About what?” Mart asked, his tone unconvincingly nonchalant.
“Mart.”
“Oh.” He sighed. “I assume you mean the fact that my brother declined to have us stay at his and Jim’s apartment. Not to mention he didn’t even try to fabricate a believable excuse when you asked him about it at the wedding.” Mart’s eyes were bleak. “Or were you talking about how he was fine with the idea until you mentioned I would be along?”
“For what it’s worth,” Dan ventured, “the rest of us think Brian’s being a real ass. The girls have just been too busy to react, what with the wedding and all. Tess was about ten seconds from letting him have it while we were cleaning up after the reception.”
“That might have been fun,” Mart admitted with a faint grin. It was fleeting, though, fading as he continued, “He won’t talk to me. He barely acknowledges my existence. I swear the temperature drops twelve degrees each time he looks at me. He’s…” He looked at Dan, his eyes serious. “I don’t remember much of that night. Did I do something, or say something, to make him so angry? So cold?”
“I don’t think so,” Dan told him. “But I’m a little hazy on that night, too. I remember that Trixie was frantic; Diana was stronger than I ever realized she could be, and Brian was angrier than I can ever remember him getting. Jim was…Jim, and Honey was the only one who could manage to calm down Brian—especially after Tess told him he was making things worse.” He shrugged. “I don’t recall you being mean or insulting. He manhandled you a little, but you were…you were…”
“Hysterically out of my gourd?” Mart finished with a wry grin. “Yeah. That part I remember. That, and you and Diana holding on to me. Thank you for that, by the way. Your support was really important to me.”
“You’re my best friend; my brother from another mother. You’ve never given up on me, and I almost let you drown.” He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry about that, Mart. I should have seen it earlier—said something to you sooner. I didn’t, and I’m really sorry.”
“I wouldn’t have copped to it, even if you had. In fact,” Mart shook his head and reached for his mug. “I probably would have been mad at you for suggesting I had a problem. My mind was all screwed up. I thought I had it under control, but I didn’t; it had me.”
“I still feel guilty,” Dan said. “I keep thinking I really let you down. I should have been a better friend.”
“No.” Mart shook his head again. “You’re my best friend. You held me up, took me where I needed to go to get help, and you’ve never once criticized me for what happened, for what I did. You were more my brother than Brian.” A thought struck him. “Do you think that’s what he’s so mad about? That he wasn’t there to save me from myself?”
“You might be right about that,” Dan said. “I can’t make sense of big brother issues, having never been one.” He chuckled. “I know one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re eight days past the wedding, and a good four months from Kal and Margery’s baby with no mystery in sight; Brian’s going to be better off if he starts talking to you before the girls set their sights on him.”
Mart laughed. He couldn’t help the note of sadness, but a laugh was a laugh, and Dan seemed willing to take it as such. To Mart’s relief, he dropped the subject and reached for the TV Guide he’d picked up upon their arrival the day before, thumbing through it. “We’ve got leftover Luigi lasagna for dinner,” he said, “and an evening of sports. What sounds better: Pistons at the Lakers, or Devils versus Sabres?”
Mart pondered the question. “Well, considering that Hell seems to have relocated to New York City after freezing over, let’s go icy.”
“Hockey, it is.” Dan used the remote to turn on the television and locate the correct channel. “ Besides, the basketball game is probably half over. The Devils and Sabres don’t face off for another twenty minutes. Who do you want?”
“Considering the Devils haven’t beat Buffalo since they moved to Jersey? I’ll take the Sabres.”
“Works for me. After all, I did live—however briefly—in Jersey.” Dan leaned back against the sofa cushions, his eyes focused on the car commercial showing on the huge screen. “We can reheat dinner at the half. That work for you?”
“Yeah.” Mart shifted his position slightly. “Yeah, Dan. That works for me.”
Dan snuck a glance at his best friend as if reassuring himself that Mart was okay. Mart did his best to appear relaxed and content. Evidently, he succeeded, for Dan’s response was, “Good. Works for me, too.” They both turned their attention to the screen, watching in companionable silence.
He was dressed in a Devils jersey—in full hockey gear, actually, which was odd, since he had never seriously played ice hockey. Standing at the line for faceoff, he shifted his gloved hands on the stick and raised his eyes to his opponent.
Brian.
His brother stood stiffly, dark eyes inscrutable and colder than ever, his face wearing an all-too-familiar sneer, gloved hands holding his hockey stick almost as if it were a club. He was wearing a Sabres jersey, and suddenly, the two-inch difference in the brothers’ heights expanded to five, and Mart felt his weight loss more than ever before. He felt as if he were shrinking, melting into the ice with his brother looming over him.
The puck dropped from an unseen source, spinning as it hit the ice.
Mart tried for the puck but hit Brian’s skate blade instead. With a growl, Brian swung his stick at Mart’s ankles, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Then, the gloves came off.
Brian’s gloves hit the ice a full ten seconds before Mart stripped his, and his bare fist caught Mart mid-chest. He didn’t feel any pain, oddly enough, just anger and frustration. He hit back, his left fist making contact with his brother’s jaw.
Brian kept coming. Mart kept swinging, even in retreat, feeling himself shrink under the ballooning figure of his brother. Brian shoved him hard with both hands, sending him careening into the net. His back hit, knocking the net off of his moorings and sending him sprawling to the ice…
…and he woke with a start and a small gasp.
He was in his cousin’s apartment, on the top bunk in what had been Tessa’s brother’s bedroom. Slowly, he forced his hands to unclench, calming his rapid breathing, willing his churning stomach to calm. Below, he could hear Dan’s even breathing and was relieved he hadn’t awakened his friend while in the throes of his nightmare.
The origin of the nightmare was easy. Just over two minutes into what had become a 6-3 slaughter of Dan’s Devils by Mart’s Sabres, a fight had broken out between Jersey’s Alan Stewart and Buffalo’s Larry Playfair. It had escalated into a small brawl and ended with the ironically named Playfair shoving Stewart through Buffalo’s net. His bad dream had just been a replay of an otherwise entertaining fight, albeit with different cast.
He sighed. It had been difficult asking Dan for his impressions of that fateful night, but he needed to know what—if anything—he’d done to antagonize his older brother. Still, it was good to know that Dan’s memories of that night supported his own. He took comfort in his friend’s support.
It didn’t help the overall problem, though. With another sigh, Mart rolled onto his side and punched his pillow. Brian. What was he going to do about Brian? Everyone else had been supportive so far. Brian was the fly in his ointment, and Mart didn’t know what he could do to fix the problem, since he didn’t even know what the problem was. All he knew was that his brother’s ice-cold derision hurt. It hurt, and it fanned the flames of his own anger against the unfairness of Brian’s ire.
Let it go. Control what you can control. Yourself. What you put into your mouth. Let the rest go. Dr. Miller’s words echoed in his head. He ran her words through his mind, over and over again. Control what is yours to control. He couldn’t control Brian. Neither could he let his brother’s icy hostility interfere with his recovery from the insidious bulimia that had nearly consumed him and already stolen several weeks of his life.
“I can only control myself, my own actions,” he whispered to himself. “Brian is just going to have to get over it—whatever it is.”
Below, Dan murmured something in his sleep. Mart couldn’t make out the words. They didn’t have any ring of distress, but it reminded him that he wasn’t the only one with demons to fight: His were just newer. His stomach no longer rolled, the nausea subdued to a dull ache. Dan’s on my side, Mart reminded himself silently, Dan, Jim, Trixie, Honey, Tessa and Diana; Beautiful, deceptively strong Diana. Who needs Brian?
Closing his eyes, he searched for sleep—ignoring the little voice in the back of his brain that whispered, “You do.”
Author Notes:
This is my submission for the Month of Mart tribute for Mary Carey. When we lost Mary, just shortly after she collaborated on the Mississippi rewrite, it was a blow. Life is fragile: Life is not guaranteed. Love. Live. Let go the grudges. Hang on to the joy. Enjoy the moments.
The extremely cold temperature really occurred on Jan 21,1985. I changed it for the purpose of this story. It reached -4 in Brooklyn. Trains were late. Subway lines backed up. Several busses didn’t run, and “cars” ended up with frozen gas lines. Did the City shut down? Not really, but call it artistic license. :p
If you haven’t heard about Mart’s encounter with Bulimia, you can find it in The Naked Truth, a challenge story hosted in my Miscellaneous section. It is also referenced in another challenge/prompt store titled Empty. The short version is that he was wrestling. The coach wanted him to drop weight and wrestle in the lighter class. He took extreme measures. It wasn’t enough. At Thanksgiving, he accidentally made himself vomit, and thought he’d found a solution. He got away with it for about 33 days. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence, and it wasn’t because he thought he was fat. But he missed eating, and purging seemed like it was the best way to do what he loved and still do what the coach required. He lost control of it. Intervention got him into therapy. Statistically speaking, teen boys with EDNOS who receive early intervention therapy have a 45-75% chance at full recovery. Every encounter with an eating disorder is different. I have based this one on the struggle of a friend and former youth group student.
There was a hockey game between New Jersey and Buffalo on Jan 19, 1986. Buffalo won 6-3, and Alan Stewart and Larry Playfair did have a fight at the face-off at the 2:29 minute mark. Playfair had five inches and 25 lbs on Stewart, and did shove him into the Buffalo net, knocking it off its moorings. Research. Gotta love it.
The day of reckoning for Brian is coming soon. He really is being an ass. Some of it is understandable, but he’s being particularly over-the-top by Bob-White standards.
