Ire & Ice Part 2

January 11, 1986
The Inn at Pirate’s Cove

He was turning into quite the liar. Not.

As Brian stalked across the dining room away from Dan, he inwardly cursed himself. We’re already having guests? How stupid of a response was that? Still, he didn’t want Mart in his apartment. He supposed he should feel guilty for that, but he didn’t. He was still too angry—angry, not only at Mart, but at Dan, too. He put me on the spot. Not to mention he has no idea how bad bulimia can be. None.

“Brian?”

The gentle voice broke through his furious fog. Forcing a smile, he turned to face his girlfriend. Honey looked beautiful in her blue bridesmaid dress. He’d already told her so at least twice, but the third time was the charm. “You look gorgeous,” he said, drinking her in with his eyes and letting her warmth soothe his irritation.

“So you’ve said,” she responded, blushing sweetly. “I’ve been looking for you. The bride and groom have retired for the night, and things are winding down. I don’t suppose you’d like to dance before we call the party over, would you?”

“Dance with the prettiest girl in the room?” he asked, pretending to contemplate the question. “Hmmmm. That would be a no-brainer. Yes.” He held out his hand. She slipped hers into his and, within seconds, was snug in his arms. Brian concentrated on his dance partner, effectively shutting out the rest of the room. If I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist.

His conscience whispered, “Liar.”

Later

“Bri?” Jim asked as he stepped out of the bathroom.

“Yeah?” Brian responded, pulling his thoughts back from his roommate’s sister and into the present.

“Next time you tell people we’re having guests, could you let me know? I was blindsided.”

“Oh. Um…sorry.” Brian leaned back against his pillow. “Dan kind of caught me by surprise, and the words just popped out.” He finished with a lame, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jim said, “I’d just prefer some warning, and maybe an explanation.”

“Explanation?”

“Yeah. Why don’t you want Dan and Mart staying the weekend with us?”

The anger and hurt Honey had soothed away surged again. Taking a deep breath, Brian shoved it down, working on making his voice calm and even. “Well,” he said, “it’s a three-day weekend, and I have a group project due on Tuesday. If Dan and…Mart stay at our place, we’ll end up entertaining them. I need to study and work on my schoolwork. You know I’m trying for that internship again.”

“You could have just told them that,” Jim replied, disappearing back into the bathroom.

Brian waited for him to reappear before answering. “I know,” he said, “but I also know that they would have said we didn’t have to entertain them, and then I would have felt guilty. It was just easier.”

“If you say so,” Jim said, and Brian averted his eyes as the redhead looked at him. “You know, Bri, if you want to talk about anything, I’m right here.”

Brian bit his lip. “Thanks,” he said tightly. “I’m good.”

Jim crawled into his bed, his voice a little strained as he said, “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” Brian muttered, sliding down under the covers. Closing his eyes, he counted to ten and tried to visualize a particular honey-haired angel in blue.

He still didn’t sleep well.

February 12th, 1986

“What do you mean you can’t stay?” Brian winced at the shrill note in his girlfriend’s voice. “It’s a three day-weekend, Brian.”

“I need to study,” he offered, knowing exactly how lame his excuse sounded. “I’ll be there Friday, for the dinner dance at the country club. I’m really looking forward to dancing with the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“But you can’t stay the night.” Honey’s tone was flat and beginning to freeze. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. Saturday is Dan’s birthday, and you know we have a house party planned, but you can’t stay.” The ice reached cracking point. “Maybe you shouldn’t bother coming at all, Brian. I’d hate to inconvenience you with some fun.”

“Honey…”

“I need to go, Brian,” she told him. “I have…” her voice broke a little. “I have things to do. You let me know what you decide. Goodnight.” She disconnected, leaving him staring at the receiver.

Jim wrenched it from his hand and slammed it down on the cradle. “Wha…?” he stammered, looking at the scowl on his friend and roommate’s face.

“We need to talk,” Jim growled. “Sit down.”

Brian folded his arms over his chest and glared. “I’ll stand.”

“Fine. Me, too.” Jim’s fists were clenched. “In fact, I’ll start. Do you remember a conversation we had almost two years ago? The one regarding dating each other’s sisters?”

He did.

Brian collapsed on to the sofa, his irritation fading into guilt. He knew exactly where this conversation was going to lead. “Look,” he started, “Jim, I…”

“Shut. Up.” The edge in Jim’s voice shocked him even more than the words he’d used. Brian’s mouth snapped shut.

“Listen, Brian,” Jim said tersely. “I don’t know what your problem is. I really don’t. I’m sure that whatever issue you’re having with your brother is valid—to you. I was perfectly willing to let you work through it on your own time. But, when my sister calls me in tears because she’s afraid you want to break up with her and don’t know how to tell her, it’s time for me to step in.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he sputtered, “I don’t want to break up with Honey.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! I love her.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” Jim crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “You haven’t been home to Sleepyside since New Year’s Day. You go out of your way to ignore your brother; even my mother noticed. You lied to Dan about us having company and implicated me in that lie. You haven’t seen your girlfriend since the wedding, and now I just heard you tell her that you can take her to the dance, but you’re coming back here after. You know the girls have been planning this party for at least two weeks. We talked about it. We pooled our money for Dan’s present. You can’t back out now. You’re going.”

Guilt burst into anger. “And if I don’t?” he asked.

Jim’s eyes were ice. “If you can’t take your head out of your ass long enough to see how irrational you are right now, know this. If you break my sister’s heart, you can find another place to live at the end of this semester.”

His mouth gaped open.

“We agreed,” Jim continued. “We both said that we could handle the dating as long as we both treated the girls with respect. As long as we didn’t hurt them, we’d be okay. Remember?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re hurting her, Brian. You made her cry.”

“I’m sorry. I never meant…” he broke off. “I don’t want to hurt Honey, Jim, I swear. It’s just really hard for me to be around Mart. I…”

His friend’s face softened. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” That word popped out of his mouth without hesitation.

Jim’s expression hardened again. “Fine. I’m here if you change your mind about talking. As for this weekend, you might want to reconsider what you said to my sister.” He grabbed his jacket of the back of a chair on his way out the door, letting it slam behind him, leaving Brian alone on the couch.

Was Jim serious? Brian chewed on his lip as he pondered his dilemma. He well remembered the sister conversation, and to his chagrin, he could see Jim’s point. He reviewed the past two months in his head. He hadn’t been home at all in 1986; something he knew upset his mother and sister as well as Honey. How would he feel if Jim treated Trixie that way? Still… He let the lame excuses and half-truths he’d spouted over the last few weeks roll through his brain and felt ashamed. How much time will we really have to spend together? Mart’s going to the school dance with Diana, Dan and Tessa. He’ll probably spend the night with Dan. At Manor House, he’ll room with Dan; he always does. It’s one night. One night with six other people to run interference. It’s important to Honey. You can do it. Suck it up. He sighed, steeled himself, and reached for the telephone.

Manor House

“You okay, Cuz?” Tessa poked her head into Honey’s room.

Her cousin looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. “I am now. That was Brian. He changed his mind. He’s going to stay the weekend, but…”

“But?”

“He didn’t sound like it was his idea.” She looked up, her hazel eyes troubled. “Do you think Jim said something to him?”

“I hope so!” He cousin looked surprise at the outburst, so Tessa stepped into the room and explained, “Brian’s got some bug up his butt over what happened with Mart. That’s fine, except he won’t talk about it with anyone. He’s hurting you, he’s hurting Aunt Helen, and his attitude could really hurt Mart’s recovery. In short, he’s being a jerk, and everyone is tiptoeing around him. I hope Jim laid it on the line. Someone needs to!” She took a deep breath. “Sorry,” she said a little sheepishly. “I feel pretty strongly about it.”

That made Honey smile. Then, she started to giggle. “Really?” she asked, “I never would have guessed.”

Tessa had to join in. She dropped cross-legged to the floor at Honey’s feet, and they shared a good laugh. Wiping her eyes, she looked up at her cousin. “So,” she said, “you’re getting him here. That’s half the battle. Now we need to figure a way to fix this.”

February 15, 1986
6:15 p.m.

So far, so good. Brian put a slice of peperoni pizza on Honey’s plate before helping himself to a slice of mushroom and sausage. As he took his seat beside her, he couldn’t keep his eyes from scanning his brother’s plate. Two pieces of pizza, a handful of chips and two mandarin oranges. He felt a surge of hope, but it was quickly met with a cynical we’ll see.

As he ate, he thought about the past thirty hours. Dinner and dancing at the country club had been fun. Honey had worn the dress she had worn as bridesmaid in Kal and Margery’s wedding, and he had matched his tie and the ribbons on her corsage to the robin’s-egg blue of her dress. They’d dined on steak and rice, with cheesecake and chocolate-dipped strawberries for dessert and danced off the calories to a mixture of jazz, swing and classic rock-and-roll music. It had been a relaxing, enjoyable evening topped off with a sweet but passionate goodnight kiss.

He’d slept like a log in his childhood bed. As he’d suspected, Mart had spent the night at Maypenny’s cabin, so Moms’ breakfast of waffles and sausage had been shared with his father, Trixie and Bobby. Full of delicious home cooking, he’d fed the chickens before walking with Trixie to the Manor House stables for a morning ride. Mart had taken Lady out to patrol with Dan, and Tessa had stayed the night with Diana, so it was just Honey, Jim, and Trixie out on the ride with him. They’d laughed and chatted down the trails and made short work of brushing the horses and cleaning the tack before heading up to the house to clean up for the party.

The buffet lunch at the Wheelers’ had been more celebration than he’d expected. Besides Dan’s eighteenth birthday, they ended up celebrating Allegra and Regan’s engagement. Brian found himself able to virtually disappear in the chaos of celebration, standing in the shadow, a silent observer.

Even now, he was still observing, and what he observed was his brother finishing the food on his plate and helping himself to a piece of Dan’s leftover birthday cake. The other seven Bob Whites were laughing and teasing, but Brian just watched. Waiting.

Sure enough, ten minutes after he finished his cake, Mart slipped out of the room. No one seemed to notice, save Brian. He counted to ten. Casually, he set his plate on the coffee table and exited the game room. Picking up his pace, he quick-stepped to the room Mart and Dan were sharing. It was empty, but the bathroom door was closed. He gripped the handle, surprised to find it unlocked, and threw the door open, rushing inside to catch his brother in the act…

…of emptying his bladder.

“Sheesh!” Mart exclaimed, his eyes wide as he hurriedly finished and zipped himself up. “What the heck, Brian?”

“I saw…I thought…” He didn’t have a chance to form the words into a coherent sentence before the door closed behind them. He turned, grabbing the handle and wrenching it. It turned, but the door didn’t open. He swiveled the lock. Nothing. He tugged on the door. It rattled but didn’t budge. “Wha…?”

Mart joined him. “Why isn’t the door opening?”

“I don’t know. It’s locked. Or stuck. Or…something.”

“It locks from the inside,” Mart scoffed. He tried the knob to no avail.

“See?” Brian said.

Mart responded by pounding on the door. “Hey!” he yelled. “We’re stuck! Help!”

Nothing. No sound, and then a folded piece of paper slid under the door. Brian grabbed it. As he unfolded it, he recognized Dan’s handwriting.

Okay, guys,
I know this seems extreme, but you two have got to talk. The girls were in favor of tying you up in the clubhouse, so Jim and I compromised. The door is bolted top and bottom. You are stuck in there. You have water and such, and we left you some things under the sink. We figure you have until five o’clock Monday night to figure this out. We’ll be waiting. The sooner you start talking, the sooner you can earn your release.
I’m supposed to say that we all love both of you, so fix this.

Mart finished reading over his shoulder first. He bent down and opened the cabinet. The rest of the Bob Whites had left them supplied, all right: two cups, two blankets, two inflatable plastic pillows and a box of granola bars. On top of the food was a walkie-talkie. Brian snatched it up and turned it on. “This is really funny, Dan,” he snarled into it. “Open the door!”

There was a pause. The voice that responded did not belong to Dan. It was Honey. She said in a clear and strong voice, “No.”

“Honey?” Brian suddenly lost the ability to form words.

“Talk to your brother, Brian,” she said calmly.

The walkie-talkie went silent. He thumbed it again. “Hello? Hello?”

Silence.

Mart flushed the toilet and lowered the lid. Brian watched in stunned silence as his younger brother washed and dried his hands. Mart rummaged through his toiletry bag and removed a notepad and pen. Sitting down on the closed lid, he began to write.

Brian didn’t know whether he should laugh or scream in frustration. He pounded on the door in vain.

You might as well give it up,” Mart said. “This has ‘Girl Power’ written all over it.”

Brian let his fist rest against the door, followed by his forehead. The Bob White males might joke about the female members’ ‘Girl Power’ antics, but Mart had a point. The girls were relentless. “Great,” he muttered. “Just great.” He sat down on the floor, leaning against the door and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Now what?”

“Well,” Mart said calmly, “we could talk. I’ve been meaning to ask you exactly what I did to piss you off so much.”

Brian snapped his lips shut. No. Just no. He closed his eyes.

He heard his brother sigh, and then the room was silent, save for the scritch-scratch of Mart’s pen on paper.

He didn’t know how long he sat there; it could have been two minutes or twenty. Either way, he couldn’t stand the silence any more. “What are you writing?”

“Therapy,” Mart answered. “This is my food and feeling journal. Well, my traveling one. I have the official ones in my room at home. I write in them to help me assess how I’m doing with my recovery.”

Brian opened his eyes. Stubbornness vied with curiosity, and curiosity won. “Does it help?”

“I think so.” Mart’s face scrunched. “Some days are harder than others, but it seems to help if I can track and review what I’ve eaten and how it made me feel. It’s closing the hole instead of just trying to fill it.”

“What hole?” Brian was confused.

“The hole inside of me,” Mart told him, his voice a tad hesitant. “Dr. Miller calls it a hole in the psyche. It’s kind of like a pit of emotional emptiness.” He shrugged. “I like her. She lets me ask questions, and she’s good at explaining the answers. She gave me stuff to help anxiety, and it works, too.”

“That’s good.” Brian was torn between wanting to hear more and wanting to escape back into his anger. Then, Mart pushed the wrong button.

“Brian,” he said, “I’ve replayed that night in my head a hundred times. I asked Diana. I’ve asked Dan and Tessa. I even asked Honey and Trixie. I honestly can’t figure out what I said or did that made you so angry.”

The rage—familiar, warm and weirdly comforting—rose up inside of him. He leaned forward and let it spew in hot torrents. “You don’t know what you did?” he asked in disbelief. “Really? You were starving yourself! You were making yourself puke, putting your life in danger and lying to everyone all because you didn’t want to be like me! That makes me responsible for that hole you’re trying to fill!” He could feel the heat of his anger, his pain, and for a change, he didn’t try and force it down or cool it off beneath a layer of ice. He let it burst forth like volcanic lava, not even caring if it turned the room to ash.

Mart’s next words, his bewildered tone, dashed against him like a spray of cold water. “What are you talking about, Brian? This has nothing to with you. It’s all me.”

“You said…you said…” Brian took a deep breath. “You said you chose wrestling because the basketball coach kept comparing you to me, and you didn’t want to be me. So you chose a sport that pushed you into insane weight control cycle. All so you wouldn’t be like me.”

“Bullshit!” The expletive shocked him as much as the flat tone of his brother’s voice.

“I know what I heard,” he defended his position. “I know what I saw.”

“And I know what I said. What I meant.” Mart sounded angry, or maybe it was frustration, because he suddenly sighed and ran his hand through his short hair. “I know because I asked. I said I’m never going to be you. Not that I didn’t want to be. That I can’t. I’m me. I’m three inches shorter than you. I’m a little stocky; I’m rarely serious. I’m smart, but not in the same way you are. My life goals are different. And, in essence, I’m a middle child. I’m trying to find my place in the world. I just chose badly.”

“You aren’t the middle child.” Brian felt he needed to point that out. “There are four of us.”

“True,” Mart conceded, “but three of us are close in age, and three of us are male. You’re the first child. You’re the leader. Bobby is very definitely the baby, and Trixie is a girl. No matter how you slice it, I’m in the middle.”

“I suppose…” He still wasn’t convinced.

“Listen,” Mart explained, his left foot tapping as he talked. “I’ve been seeing Dr. Miller for more than a month. At first, I saw her three times each week—a couple of times with Moms or Dad, and now I’m down to once a week—on my own. She’s helped me figure some things out. Do you want to hear about it?”

He did, and he didn’t. Breathe. If Mart stops making sense, you can go back, but if he does make sense, maybe you can stop hating yourself so much. The realization that his anger was self-directed was a sudden epiphany; one he knew was true. “Yeah,” he said weakly. “Yeah, I’d like to hear what you’ve learned.”

“Okay.” Mart slid down to the floor, putting himself on an equal plane with his brother. He carefully placed the notebook on the edge of the bathtub, but kept the pen. As he spoke, he rolled the pen between his fingers. “Most of what she’s said, I already knew at some level. All my life I’ve been trying to make myself stand out—my love of big words; my love of good food; the crewcut; growing things, even criticizing Trixie’s mystery-itis. That was all me, trying to find me. I won’t pretend it’s easy being your brother, Brian. You’re smart, kind, dedicated and handsome. You’re good at everything, and I’ve been compared to you at every step of my life.” Brian started to interject, but Mart’s raised hand stopped him. “No. Let me finish. I don’t blame you for that. It isn’t anything you’ve done to me. It’s just that the standards you set for me, Trixie and Bobby are really high. Other people, outside people are always going to see the name Belden and compare us. It’s hard, but you aren’t to blame. If you’d set low standards, we’d have to fight against those, too.” He gave Brian a wry grin. “Either way, we have to battle, and it isn’t your fault. Just think what Bobby’s going to face.”

“Hopefully, there’ll be enough distance between us and him that the expectations will have faded,” Brian said.

“Or all the teachers will have retired,” Mart joked.

“That’s a definite possibility. Some of them were ancient when I was in seventh grade.” Brian leaned back. “So, you don’t hate me?”

Mart shook his head. “Of course not. Do you hate me? You’re the one who…”

“…avoided you, tried to ignore you?” Brian shook his head. “Sorry about that. I was just so…”

“…scared?” Mart finished for him. Brian nodded. “So was I. I kept telling myself I had it under control, but I didn’t. I still don’t, really, but I’m trying. I’m trying really hard, and I haven’t made myself vomit since January fourth. I came really close after the wedding, but I didn’t do it.”

“Why?” Brian had a good idea, and he dreaded the answer.

“I overheard the end of your conversation with Dan,” Mart admitted, his fists clenching. He looked Brian directly in the eye. “You hurt my feelings, and really made me mad. That’s on you. But I’m the one who held it in and went and ate three more pieces of cake. Well, two and a bite. Di helped me realize what I was doing. She stood by me and helped me throw it away. Then, Dan and I went for a walk. A long, long walk, and it wasn’t warm out there. But, it was a distraction, and by the time we got back, I wasn’t trying to stuff the hole full of junk.”

“A hole I caused,” Brian said sadly, his guilt almost overwhelming.

“No,” Mart shook his head. His hands relaxed, the pen rolling between his fingers once more. “You didn’t cause the hole. You might have helped deepen it a little, but it’s my hole. I’m the one who chooses to make it larger or smaller.”

“Dan’s a better big brother than I’ve been, isn’t he?”

“No. Dan is a great friend, though. I’m not sure I’d have been able to make it this far, this fast without him—without all of them, really. That ‘Girl Power’ is pretty powerful.” Mart smiled. “It helps that I was only in the cycle for a couple of months, too. Dr. Miller says that early intervention can make all the difference in a recovery. Well, that and support and willingness to admit I have a problem.”

“I haven’t been very supportive.”

“Really?” Mart asked, only a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Why did you bust in on me in the bathroom, Brian?”

Brian looked at his hands. “Because I thought you came in here to throw up.”

“Why did you care?”

He looked at his brother in disbelief. “Because you’re my little brother. I love you. I don’t want you to die.”

Mart shrugged, a motion eerily reminiscent of Dan. Even his voice had that ironic tone their friend often used. “Sounds supportive to me.”

Brian had to laugh. “Were you channeling Dan? You sounded just like him.”

“Well, he’s the one graduating with an Associate degree in psychology.”

“Seriously?” Brian frowned. “Wow. I thought he was just going for transfer credits.”

“He changed his mind.” Mart rotated his neck. “So, are we good?”

Brian nodded. “I’m sorry, Mart. Really. I guess I was trying to make it all about me, and I took it out on you. If you can forgive me, I’d like to try and be a supportive big brother.”

“Forgiveness…granted,” his brother said, affecting a haughty air. “Shall we radio the news to our captors?”

He bit his bottom lip. “We can,” he said, “but maybe you can explain a little more of your therapy to me. I’m really interested in you journaling. Would you tell me how it works?”

“Sure,” he said, snatching his notebook from the tub ledge and angling himself closer to Brian. “See, after I eat, I write down what I ate, how much, and how it makes me feel. There’s a scale from one to ten…”

The eagerness in Mart’s voice was well worth the stiffness Brian knew his legs would be feeling when they finally gained their freedom.

Author’s Notes

This is my tenth Jixaversary--and I almost didn’t get anything posted! Time got away from me, and before I knew it, it was the 22nd.
Super-special kudos and thanks need to go to MaryN (Dianafan) and Susan (Susansuth) for exceedingly fast and thorough editing. Seriously, I sent this to them on Wednesday! Today is Friday (barely). Without them, this would be a blank page.

That said, I made a few alterations after they finished the edits. Any mistakes or roaming punctuation marks are only the fault of moi.

Being an official Jixemitri Author is very special to me. I never stop appreciating the place (Jixemitri) that gives me my very safe home-away-from-home, my friends--those I’ve met in real life and those I only cyber-know and a place to share my writing.

I love to write. I would do it, even if no one read it. However, those of you who read “my” stories, comment and encourage me, you have my undying gratitude and appreciation.

Thank you.

Now that I sort of straightened out Brian and Mart, I should tell you that I’ve been tooling around with an Alternative Universe.
I call it What If...? As in, what if Jim’s parents didn’t die? What if Dan’s parents didn’t die? What if they hadn’t ‘lost track’ of Regan? What if? What if? I don’t have the What If...? page up and running very well, yet, but the first story is ready as my 10th Jixaversary bonus.

It’s called Tim. Can you guess who that is?

Ire & Ice 1

Winds of Change

Tim