Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.
Sonn of Mann Chapter 8 - Mary meets Martin
Mary POV
Early Sunday morning
I'm in the kitchen, hair wet, almost dressed. Norah has been changed, fed and changed again after spewing her oatmeal and pears over her shirt, and mine. Sundays used to be the day I could sleep in. Providing the witnesses behaved themselves. Today I managed to get up before Norah and sneak into the shower before she began wailing.
As I'm lifting Norah out of the high chair, my phone starts its vibrating dance across the counter. Plunking Norah back into her seat, I hold her with one hand and grab my phone with the other.
A text from Marshall? He hasn't sent me a text since we were working together.
Lobby of the Hotel Andaluz ASAP. Text when you're on your way.
What the hell? My phone dings again.
Text from Marshall: This is not a joke.
Okay, okay so it's not a joke. After all the times Marshall came when I needed him, it's my turn. Before Norah I wouldn't have been up at this hour. Thanks to my fat little alarm clock terrorist I'm up and even awake way too early.
Boots, jeans and a shirt that doesn't smell of baby vomit – much. When I pick up Norah to put her in the car seat, she's wet. I change her, wrestle her into her fuzzy jacket and load the entire contents of Norah's room into my minivan with the 'I Used to Be Cool' bumper sticker.
The Andaluz isn't a long ride. I keep one eye on the road and one on the rear view mirror and Norah. Parking near the hotel is a bitch. I hand the keys to the valet – Marshall is so going to pay for this. I release my tiny prisoner from her restraints and muscle her home away from home over my shoulder. Why do they call them diaper bags when that's the least of their contents?
The last time I was here I only saw the coffee shop. The lobby is a huge cavernous space. The tile is dark, the ceiling high. Leather chairs and foot stools are scattered around the fountain in the middle. Splayed on one of those ridiculous mushroom hassocks is my former partner.
"Marshall?" Normally I would say "What the hell?" but that's not something I want to hear coming from Norah's rose petal lips, so I stifle.
Marshall looks like hell. His hair is mussed and there are dark circles under his eyes His shirt collar is sticking up on one side, and his boots haven't been polished. "Is this your new look? Cowboy grunge? I gotta say it doesn't do much for you." I swivel my head looking for his better half. "Isn't it too early for the ghost tour?"
He glares at me but there's no heat in it. There is sadness. His mouth is in a thin unhappy line.
"Mare," Oh it's Mare now is it? My eyebrow goes up as I cock my head. Then I remember all the wedding crap he blew off for me when James - not Daddy - invaded my life.
"You brought Norah?" He drags me down here on Sunday, my day off, and that's all he's got to say?
I adjust the slipping diaper bag and re-position Norah higher on my shoulder. "Duh. It's Sunday. Like God, Joanna rests on the seventh day. You said to come ASAP, so I did."
Marshall looks appropriately chagrined. He slowly lifts himself off the hassock. "Here, let me take that." He sags under the unexpected weight of the diaper bag. He straightens and starts walking. "Thanks for coming. There's someone I want you to meet."
"Why now Mr. Bedraggled? Couldn't it wait till a decent hour?" I follow him across the lobby wondering about the mystery person. "Are you hiding them under your trench coat?"And where is Abigail? Does she know you slipped your leash?
"They're leaving this afternoon." Marshall gets to the elevator, pushes the button and then stands behind me so he can talk to Norah.
They? Who are they? His parents? Before I consider turning him down, which I wouldn't, he says "Please," in a raspy tired voice. Marshall is/was my best friend. I want him to be happy. I 'released' him to be with his southern fried Avon lady because she makes him happy. Something I could never do. It's not a sacrifice to do what he asks.
I roll my eyes as he gives Norah one final coochey coo and moves to the open elevator. I'm not sure he's going to stay standing and with my arms full of Norah I can't catch him. He continues to defy gravity and motions us in. My eyebrows rise when the elevator stops at the floor with the expensive suites. Who is the moneybags he wants me to meet? Never thought his folks had money. Ah, probably checking things out for the wedding.
Norah fusses at the change in altitude. She hasn't been in many elevators. The plush hall carpeting masks our footsteps as we parade down the hall. Norah eyes the wall lights, turning and blinking as a new one comes into view. Marshall stops at a door and knocks lightly. The door is opened by a woman I don't recognize.
Marshall whispers, "Hi Carolyn. Are we too early?" Why is he whispering?
The woman replies in a normal voice. "No. We just finished breakfast."
From behind Carolyn comes a dark haired woman who says. "Marshall, Mary. So good to see you."
"Yeah, hi." I fake smile. "Marshall told me you were in town and I . . .." I shrug. I know this woman, Dana. Marshall's former teacher. I don't know her in the same carnal way my partner knew her. Who knew two lanky people could fit lying down in my old Probe?
The years haven't been kind to Dana, but she brightens when she spots Norah. "Oooo, look at that cutie." She smiles broadly at Norah. "Hi sweetie. Want to get that jacket off? There are toys here and my little boy can't wait to meet you."
Little boy? Dana has a little boy? Where is the ankle biter? Ah, there. I spot him behind the other woman, the one Marshall called Carolyn.
"Come in, come in. Sit down and make yourselves comfortable." Why does my partner want me to meet his former lover and her child?
I sit on the couch with Norah on my lap, firmly in my grasp. The little boy peers around the other woman's leg. He looks familiar. Must be the cowboy boots. Years ago Marshall showed me his childhood photo album. I studied it to gather black mail possibilities. My eyes widen when I remember the photo of little Marshall, cowboy boots, hat, and gold star on his plaid shirt. I look up as the memory registers and find Marshall watching me.
There's a resemblance there. Could this be his nephew? If that's the case what does Dana have to do with it? I'm confused, and it's too late to blame it on pregnant brain.
"Martin," Dana whispers as she bends down to the little boy, taking his hand. "I want you to meet Mr. Marshall's friends. This is Mary." Then she points to Norah. "And this little cutie is her little girl, Norah." She looks at me to check if she got the name right. Aha, Marshall had filled her in.
Martin? Why does he want me to meet him? This can't be Dana and Marshall's kid, can it? The indulgent fatherly smile he gives Martin seems to confirm my conclusion. Shit! How had he managed to keep THAT a secret? The mini Mann toddles near and points at Norah. He smiles and squeals, "Babee!"
I'm not surprised that Martin is likes babies. Like father like son. "You got that right." I tell him kindly, faking the cheery tone adults use with young children. "Norah is a baby. I'm her mom. Norah and I are friends" - well we used to be friends - "of Marshall's. It's nice to meet you Martin." Marshall looks impressed. I can do manners Doofus. Not everyone deserves them, but this mother and this child get my best behavior.
Martin stands a foot away from Norah, eyes bright, a delighted smile on his face. He tilts his head to the right and then the left, trying to decide if she's animal, vegetable or mineral. Marshall is talking, and I hear him but I keep my focus on Martin and Norah. Never can tell what runs through those incompletely formed brains. He or she might try to poke the other in the eye.
I wrestle Norah out of her fuzzy hat and jacket. Martin holds out his hand, takes them and lays them on the other chair. He comes back, leans down hands on his knees so his face is right next to hers and says quietly "Hi Norah." He checks with me to see if what he's doing is okay. "That's right. Her name is Norah, and yours" I point to him and smile, "is Martin."
Completing his examination of Norah, Martin turns and grabs a board book. When he gets close to Norah she reaches trying to grab the book. Martin shows it to her and recites his version of the story as he flips through page after page. He's pretty close with the wording, but then he would be. Figures he would have Marshall's prodigious memory. Another trivia trap is born.
Softly Martin says "Hi Norah, hi." He looks at me then gently pats her hand. Norah chirps and manages to grab his hair. He stands patiently while Marshall and I extricate him. He doesn't even cry and given the grip Norah has on his hair it must hurt.
"Hey buddy," Marshall croaks. He sounds like a two pack a day smoker. "How about we show Norah some of your toys?" He folds himself down to the floor and pulls the small toy box near.
Martin nods enthusiastically and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the floor. Dana stays on the couch. "Woah, hold on there Martin. She and I are a set and I need to move slow so I don't drop her."
Without getting up Marshall leans his lanky frame and grabs my elbow. In no time I'm down where blocks and books cohabit. God, is it just me or is the floor a lot further down than it used to be? Norah makes herself comfortable in my lap and turns her attention to the other little person in the room.
Martin picks up a book and brings it over to Norah. "Do you have books Norah? I have lots of books. Mr. Marshall gave me this one."
He holds the book out to Marshall. "Read please."
Marshall points to himself and uses a high squeaky voice and flaps his hands. "Me? You want me to read this?" Marshall makes a goofy face.
Martin smiles, nods and says "Yeah." Then he adds "Pwease." He's a natural born Mr. Manners.
Marshall takes the book, flaps the pages, holds it upside down and starts to read backwards. Martin giggles and puts the book right side up. Norah takes in the entire silly performance. Finally Marshall starts to read. By the third book, Norah is dozing. I've got to record this to play the next time I have trouble getting to sleep – or getting Norah to sleep.
Dana is watching us and smiling. God she looks awful. I lean back and tell her quietly, "Baby whisperer." She nods in agreement.
I tap Marshall on the knee, asking for a hand up. "Time for me to go partner." While he gets his feet under him, I watch Martin.
Martin looks devastated, and takes Norah's hand but looks at me. "Go bye bye?"
"Yup buddy. She needs to nap in her own bed. It was nice meeting you, Martin."
Before I can get up, he slowly leans in and gives Norah a soft kiss on the cheek. Norah squawks and grabs his shirt. Dana has a good laugh while Marshall and I loosen her grip. I'm glad Norah made her smile.
Once in the hallway, I can't hold back. "Where have you been hiding them?"
Marshall grimaces and his raspy voice rumbles. "I just met Martin Thursday. Dana never told me about him. She left Albuquerque before she was even sure she was pregnant. She wasn't sure he was mine, but as he grew it became . . . ."
"Even a blind man could see he's yours!"The elevator disgorges us into the lobby. I'm still catching my breath from hustling down the hall to catch the elevator. "Dana's sick?"
"Ovarian cancer." God what a terrible horrible no good way to die. Poor Marshall. He finds he has a son, and then learns his son's mother is dying.
I manage to ignore the fact that Dana kept Martin's existence from Marshall. I didn't want to tell Mark about Norah, so I kinda get it. "So Dana wants you to take the boy?" Seems like the right thing to do. Why else would she be here?
"She wants to put my name on his birth certificate. I'm the one who wants Martin."
"And Abigail?"
Marshall shakes his head in despair. "I wish Abigail was here. When she came Martin reacted badly. It was my fault. I mentioned that I was his father and introduced Abigail as like his mom."
"You said that?" I may be an insensitive bitch, but even I know you don't remind a four year old that his mother is dying and another woman will try to take her place. Especially not Marshall's son, who must be as sensitive as his father. Martin would be as devoted to Dana as Marshall is to his mom.
"Yeah, Stupid, huh?" He hangs his head.
"No one can ever replace his mother." Which is ironic considering I might have been better off without Jinx.
"I know, I know. The more Abigail talked the more agitated he got. He cried, sobbed 'no, no,' grabbed his knees and rocked."
"He's grieving," I conclude.
"That's what I think." Marshall agrees. "He knows Dana is going away. What Abigail and I hammered home is that he isn't going with her. He may be only four, but he gets it."
"Of course he does. He's your son." Marshall gets a strange look. He's not used to me saying anything nice about him. But this really wasn't about him. This is about Martin. Gotta love a four year old who adores my daughter. But when he's fourteen, all bets are off.
"Thanks for coming Mare."
"Wait. Don't you want to talk about this? We could hit the coffee shop and . . . "
"No," he protests.
"C'mon." I grab the strap on the diaper bag he's carrying.
"Besides," I grin. "There's no time limit on the valet parking."
"That I'm paying. Yeah yeah."
We sit and I try to get Marshall to talk about this sudden turn in his life. He's talked to his mother, which is good. He's afraid of what his father will say. I try to get him to appeal to Abigail, but he's still nursing his wounds from their last fight. I try putting myself in Abigail's shoes, but can't. Martin is Marshall. If she loves Marshall she should love Martin. I don't get it.
After a half hour, Norah starts fussing. That wasn't a long enough nap upstairs.
"Marshall?"
He looks up, smiling sadly. "You know you can call," I assure him. "Anytime. I may not have any answers, but I'll listen."
When he goes to take the diaper bag, I tell him, "No, I've got it. I need the bag to balance the baby."
Once the valet brings the car I realize Marshall hadn't given me the money for parking. I look back and there he comes, coat flapping, hair flopping.
"I got this Mare." He pays the valet while I secure Norah. Before I can get in the car he grabs my arm. "Thanks for coming Mary." He looks down. "Sorry to disturb your Sunday."
I'm at the wheel when I wave my hand dismissively. "De nada."
A/N: Martin is three, almost four years old.
