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chapter fourteen
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blind times, thought we were matching weight
we pulled, sometimes it was you and sometimes it was me
but where are we
you say, "don't take it all so hard for now --
there's so much space
and there will always be later for that"
-Trespassers William, "Matching Weight"
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"Oh! Oh! Okay, I've gone one!"
Martin tilted his neck and laughed bemusedly as his cousin Allison tried to chew and speak at the same time. While she held up a hand and made motions as though she had nearly finished swallowing, Uncle Roger patted her on the back and said in his best fatherly voice, "Easy there, Al. Don't choke."
"Thanks, Dad," Allison rolled her eyes sarcastically and took a long drink from her glass of water. Setting her glass back down on the table, she pursed her lips together before beginning her story. "Remember how each New Year's she'd buy us all journals and tell us how each day, we were going to write down one goal and one thing we were thankful for..."
"Oh, yeah," Jamie smiled, putting her fork down on her now-empty plate. "We hated it. In hindsight it was a nice idea, but I don't think we ever made it past January 5th. We'd always get too busy." There was a far-away look in Jamie's eyes as she fiddled absent-mindedly with the napkin that lay in front of her. "I kind of wish we still had them now; it would be kind of nice to see what Mom was thinking all those years ago," she said wistfully.
The room went silent with the exception of an occasional noise from the next room where four year old Ava was watching a movie; Aunt Bonnie's ghost loomed on the horizon of all of their minds. It was a Thursday night, and though it was unusual for Martin to drive out to the Toland's on a weeknight, tonight it had been necessary. It was Bonnie's birthday, and he did not want to be alone.
Bonnie's death left a gaping hole in his heart from which he may never fully recover, and still a few years later, he could not talk about her openly without choking up.
So while Jamie began to relay the story of the time Bonnie chaperoned her eighth grade class trip, he crossed his arms and shifted his upper body forward to lean his elbows against the table. Unable to properly verbalize his own lingering grief, he opted to remain silent instead.
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His fingers began to shrivel up, taking on a prune-like appearance as he continued to hold the dinner plates under the running tap in the kitchen sink, scrubbing furiously. He worked the last remnants of dinner from the plate in his hand and, without looking, reached to one side where the dish towel was resting on the counter top.
His fingertips came in contact unexpectedly with cool wood instead and, turning his body quizzically, Jamie's lopsided smile greeted him in return, holding up the dish towel in question.
Taking the plate from his hand, his cousin began to rub the plate down to dry it and, putting it down on the drying rack emphatically, said, "If you are going to ignore Dad and do the dishes anyway, I figure I might as well help you."
Martin picked up a few pieces of silverware and lifted them under the stream of water. He inhaled and replied dryly, "Admit it: you just don't want to look bad."
Jamie tapped his shoulder lightly, laughing and holding up her hands in mock defeat. "Guilty as charged." Her hands fell to his forearm, tugging lightly and forcing him to drop the silverware into the sink. Her voice grew hushed and intense as she said, "You know, Marty, we know how important Mom was to you, too. Just because you're her nephew and not her son doesn't mean you weren't any less important to her, or make your feelings any less real."
He looked at her with sad eyes, as though he wanted to say 'What do you mean?' but couldn't find the words.
"You were pretty quiet at dinner." Jamie dropped both of her hands down to her sides and idly wiped them against the legs of her pants.
Martin worked his tongue against the side of his cheek, biting down slightly with his teeth. He lowered his eyes and quietly said, "Did I ever tell you that she was the main reason I got up the courage to tell my dad I wanted to work for the Bureau?"
Jamie dropped the dish towel back down on the countertop, her hands on her hips and confusion etched across her forehead, as he began to explain.
As was the case on any Friday night, Mr. Bartley's Burger Cottage was alive and jam-packed full of students ready for a night off from studies and school work. Aunt Bonnie had called him up two weeks ago, saying that Uncle Roger was going to take the girls out of town for the weekend on a father-daughters trip before Jamie graduated from high school and would he be up for a visit, and this was the first place he had thought to take her when she arrived in Cambridge. His parents had only come to visit once in his three years of college, and they had insisted on taking him out to one of the fanciest restaurants in Boston. But when Aunt Bonnie came to visit, he wanted her to see all of the things he loved most about college, and from the political cartoons on the walls to the ridiculous burger toppings to the juke box in the corner, Bonnie already seemed to be as fond of the burger joint as he was.
Martin bit off the end of an onion ring, chewing pensively. "I promise I won't tell Dad that you ordered the Michael Dukakis burger."
Bonnie laughed heartily and took a sip of her black and white frappe. "Good. I'd hate for my annoying little brother to have a heart attack at my foreseen political allegiances based only on my dinner choices. He already lectures me enough on politics as it is." She paused, turning her eyes to the door as another large crowd of students filed in. "Speaking of which, have you thought any more on that Senate internship for this summer?"
Martin exhaled audibly and ran his hand over his chin. "He keeps trying to talk me into it, but I'm not sure..."
"What aren't you sure about, Marty?" Bonnie reached across the table, running her hand soothingly along the side of his wrist.
"Well, I had already planned to go backpacking in Europe this summer with Mike and Charlie," he said, his jaw clicking as he ground his teeth together in silent frustration. "I know Mom and Dad think it would be a great way to make connections and start my career off 'on the right foot,' but I really don't see myself in politics. Especially not long term." Bonnie looked up at him encouragingly, and taking a deep breath, he finally decided to verbalize what he had been thinking for several months now. "I've been thinking that I might like to work for the FBI one day... Not the way dad does, the political schmoozing and paper pushing, but really get a chance to help people and change their lives. Not just sit in Washington and make pointless policies that don't actually get anything done."
Bonnie took a bite from her burger, chewing quietly for a moment, then smiled. "It sounds like you've given this a lot of thought."
"I have," he nodded.
"Then that's what you want, that's what I think you should do. Don't let your father try to talk you out of it. It's your life, and the most important thing is that you're happy. The other stuff is just secondary." She took hold of his hand once again, squeezing it affectionately and beaming at him. "And no matter what, Marty, I will always be proud of you."
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When he finished talking his story, both he and Jamie had tears running freely down their faces. The remaining dishes long forgotten, they sat down at the kitchen table with a box of Kleenex situated between them.
"That's Mom for you," Jamie said, her voice shaky and uneven between her tears. She sniffled and coughed, trying to clear her throat although failing miserably. And when she closed her eyes and leaned her head back tensely, Martin reached over to rub her shoulder soothingly. "I'm so sorry, Marty," Jamie cried harder. "I'm so sorry."
Martin dried his own tears on his shirt sleeve and attempted to swallow the mucous lodged at the base of his throat. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Jamie."
"Yes, I do." She turned her head to study a spot by the kitchen window intently, her shoulders sagging forward and her voice tinged with guilt. Breathing in heavily, she said, "I promised Mom I would look out for you. She was really worried about you, thought you internalized too much." Jamie paused, silent tears still streaming down her face, as she struggled not to choke on her own words. "After you were shot, I should have been there for you... I should have watched out for you the way Mom would have."
Martin closed his eyes and pursed his lips together. "Jamie," he began softly. "You can't possibly blame yourself for everything that happened to me last year. I made my own decisions, and I probably wouldn't have accepted your help anyway at that point."
"I guess I should just be grateful that you were finally able to listen to Samantha, then," Jamie said, wiping tears away from her eyes. "How is she doing, by the way? You haven't said much about her lately."
"She's fine," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "She was actually took some time off a couple of weeks ago because she donated bone marrow." He stopped abruptly, not feeling up to explaining about Sam's sister and the nephew she never knew she had.
"And there's no hope of you two sorting out your differences and trying again anytime soon?" She teased, still wiping tears from her eyes and not hiding how much she had liked Sam on the two occasions they had met.
"We're friends now, and it's taken us long enough to get back to that point," he said, shaking his head a little too forcefully. "Besides, I just started seeing someone else." Jamie arched an eyebrow suspiciously, and he sighed. "Her name is Christine, and we met a couple of months ago when I was rock climbing. We've only been out a couple of times, but we're going to see where things go." He folded his hands in his lap nervously as he finished, trying to read the expression on her face.
"Well, that's good then," she said finally. "If you and Samantha are really over, then I guess it's good that you are finally moving on."
Martin looked away deliberately and worked his tongue in his cheek, afraid he would see something in her eyes that he was not ready to see. Or worse, that she would see the uncertainty painted in his.
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