In the Lone and Level Sands (36 page)

“Fine, I suppose. I’m pretty achy. Hungry
too.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Francine stood up. “Do you
want to go get some breakfast?”

“You don’t have to help me,” Martha said,
flashing her palm. “I’ll be fine.”

“Grandma, it’s okay,” Francine said. “I’m
hungry too.”

They walked toward the tables, where
breakfast had been set out, and served themselves. When they
returned, Emily was standing at Beverly’s cot.

“Look at us, Bev!”

“What, Em?”

“We’ve been friends forever, and now we’re
acting like two bus passengers. We never talk anymore.” Beverly
looked at Emily, eyes watering, and gulped. “You’re my best friend,
and it hurts me so bad to see you in pain. I’m sorry I haven’t been
able to pay attention to you through this… I just want you to know
that I am so sorry about Tylor. I know it’s hard to deal with. But
there’ll be a time when you’ve grieved enough, and then you can
move on.”

Beverly sat for what seemed like an
eternity, appearing to mull over all that Emily had said. Finally,
she spoke up. “You mean like you did with your father?” Her voice
was cold. Emily sighed.

“Beverly, I love my father. He was a great
person on almost all accounts. He did a horrible thing, yes, but
there’s nothing that can undo that. A part of me still doesn’t
forgive him for it. I was too young at the time to make heads or
tails of it, but I’m a grown woman, and I know what it’s like to be
cheated on. Besides, my mother is crushed by his death, and more
than anything, I’m about making her feel better. It doesn’t help
matters that we’re stuck in this Godforsaken football stadium… Bev,
you’re my best friend, and I love you. Please don’t let your
emotions get the best of you. You’re better than that.”

Beverly started to cry. “I just want Tylor
back. I miss him so much!”

Emily leaned into Beverly and hugged her
tightly.

“I’m sorry. It’ll be okay, Bev. It’ll be
okay.” Beverly pulled back after several seconds. She sniffed, and
wiped her face.

“I don’t know,” Beverly said. “I just don’t
think anything will get better.” Emily frowned. “Tylor was my life,
and now I have nothing. Without him, I feel empty inside. It was
something so avoidable.”

“Believe me,” Emily said, “it will get
better. And I’m sure that Tylor wouldn’t want you to keep crying
over him. It’s just not healthy to constantly grieve like this,
either. You should allow yourself to grieve a little each day, and
then get back to life.”

“What life? You mean this?” Beverly gestured
to the stadium around her. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but
lately things are shitty. We’re trapped in a damn football stadium,
and somehow I’m still alone in this fucking rut. This is the first
time you’ve really talked to me since we got here.” Beverly’s voice
was growing louder, and some people were staring.

“Did you listen to a word I said?” Emily
asked. Beverly continued.

“And when you finally do get around to
helping me, you try to tell me I shouldn’t feel my feelings. I
should just bottle them all and put on a big goofy smile like ‘Oh,
I feel great, because today’s a new day!’ Emily, that doesn’t work
here! That doesn’t work!”

“That’s not what I—”

“I know you’re worried about your mom, but
this is ridiculous! I’m still here!”

“I know you’re—”

“Like you said, the schmuck was a horrible
husband anyway. He cheated on her, and how she still cared for him,
I can’t begin to imagine. I know Tylor would have never crossed me
like that, but I guess the seventies were a different time!”

Martha stood with her tray of food, her lips
pursed. Francine looked from Beverly to Martha, and then took
Martha’s tray as well as her own and set them both on one of the
empty cots, then put an arm around her grandmother. A lot of people
stared. Phil and Angela had woken up, and were speechless. Billy
sat up last. Alan was staying out of it by writing in his notebook.
Jesse was playing his PSP, earphones in.

“I should have just gone to Hawaii with
Tylor instead of that bastard’s funeral. We’d be safe, no fucking
zombies.”

“You don’t know—”

“Tylor would be alive, and I wouldn’t be
wasting my breath right now!”

The two remained silent for a moment, and
then Beverly started up again. “I’m going to get something to eat.
Don’t you dare come to me again, Emily!”

Beverly stood up, and as she walked toward
Martha, Martha reared back her hand. It made a sickening slap
against Beverly’s cheek. Beverly grunted in pain, pinching her eyes
shut. When she opened them, Martha’s eyes were the first thing she
saw. Beverly opened her mouth, and a small trickle of blood ran
down her lower lip. She wiped it away with a shaky hand.

“Are you quite finished?” Martha said. “I
can’t believe after all the times Emily has been there for you, all
the things she’s done for you, you would act like that toward her!
You are so ungrateful! You know, I can take the things you said
about my husband, because damn it, I know they’re true! But Emily
doesn’t deserve this! She was just being loyal to her family, so
don’t act like you’re being brushed under the rug. I get what
you’re going through. Look around you! I bet a lot of these people
have lost someone along the way. So I suggest you start realizing
that you’re not alone here, and shut your damn mouth!”

Martha sniffed, tried to hold back the
tears, blinked, sat down on her cot, and began picking at her food.
The others were silent for a moment, and Francine sat next to
Martha, starting on her own food. Beverly sat down, a tear running
down her cheek. Emily looked at her, then her mother, and then
scanned the others in her group. Finally she looked back at her
broken friend.

“You know you’re not alone, Bev,” she said.
“As long as I’m here, you’re not alone. I just hope you know
that.”

“Just leave me alone.”

When the situation felt diffused and people
stopped staring, the others in Martha’s group headed for the
breakfast tables. But Martha had lost her appetite.

****

It was 1975, and they had brought two
children into their lives. Though Charlie and Martha could both
feel things changing, they had Emily and Angela to think about. At
seven and five years old, the girls would never understand what was
happening between their parents. Martha and Charlie didn’t even
understand it.

It was a very warm and dry Saturday in June.
The kids were staying with Martha’s parents for the weekend, so
Martha and Charlie had that time to themselves, except for part of
Saturday. Charlie had told Martha he had to work a few hours in the
morning. Little did she know, he had actually promised time to
Meredith, one of Martha’s good friends.

Charlie got home on time, which made Martha
happy. She smiled and greeted him at the door with a hug. He hugged
her quickly, trying not to seem suspicious; he knew he must smell
like Meredith, and was hoping Martha wouldn’t notice.

“M, let me shower, and I’m yours,” Charlie
said, pulling back from Martha.

“Okay.” Martha gave Charlie a funny look and
cocked her head. “Off with you then. I’ll start lunch. I’m getting
pretty hungry, now that I think about it.” Charlie headed off.

While Charlie was in the shower, Martha went
downstairs to the laundry room. She sorted through the clothes that
rested at the bottom of the chute. On top of the pile were
Charlie’s pants, socks, underwear, and his button-up shirt. Martha
picked them up and noticed they smelled strange, but familiar.
Martha held the clothes to her face and inhaled deeply, wondering
if she had previously used the wrong detergent on them, but that
hope quickly died as Martha recognized the smell as perfume. One
more inspection told Martha that it was not her own, and it didn’t
take long to recognize it as Meredith’s.

Martha was crushed. She guessed Charlie
hadn’t meant to throw his clothes down the chute at all, but old
habits die hard, even when one’s own red hands are on the line.
Sure enough, shortly after the sound of water rushing through the
pipes faded, Charlie rushed into the laundry room. When he saw her,
he slowed to a halt. His eyes were wide with regret.

“M…”

“Oh, Charlie.”

“I’m so sorry,” Charlie said. He walked up
to her, unsure of how she would act.

“I thought you loved me! The vows you spoke,
I guess they meant nothing!”

“It’s… It’s not like that. It’s more
complicated than that. I’m sorry.”

“Then simplify it!”

“I’m sorry. I can’t, but I promise you, it’s
over.”

“Why should I believe you? I trusted you to
be there for me, to
love
me, and look what that’s gotten
me!”

“I do love you. Things have just changed. I
just felt lonely. I don’t know what else to say.”

“You felt lonely? What does that mean? I’m
your wife! Why couldn’t you tell me—God, Charlie, what’ll the girls
think?” Martha began to cry.

Charlie looked down at his feet. Finally, he
spoke. “I don’t know how I can ever make this up to you, M, but you
mark my words, I will. I made a mistake. I’ll fix it.”

Martha didn’t reply for a long time.

“I loved you,” she said. “Hell, even now, I
still do. I don’t know what to do right now, Charlie. I’m going to
go stay with my parents until we can work something out.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to do to regain
your trust,” Charlie said, eyes watering. Martha headed for the
stairs, but stopped at the bottom. She turned back to Charlie, and
a long stream flowed down her cheek.

“I sure hope so,” Martha said. Afterward,
she walked up the stairs and called her father.

****

Martha was sitting on her cot, thinking
about her outburst, and feeling a little guilty. She sneaked peeks
at Beverly, who she could tell was crying. Alan put down his tray
and walked over to Martha’s cot. She motioned for him to sit
down.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Martha
said.

“It’s really all right,” Alan said. “The
girl was out of line.”

“Yes, she was. She’s a good friend of
Emily’s, but Emily comes first. She and Angela mean so much to me.
My children and grandchildren are all I have left.”

“Of course.” Alan smiled, but it was brief.
“I feel like it’d be prying, but…”

“What is it? My husband?”

“I was just wondering why she called him a
schmuck.”

“He cheated on me. Back in the 70s. Nothing
was the same after that. We never divorced, but it was just not the
same.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alan said. “Why did you stay
with him, if I might ask?”

“A lot of little reasons, I guess. I think
mostly, I wanted to see if we could fall in love again.” Martha
began to cry.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” Alan
put an arm around Martha’s shoulder. She looked at him, and
smiled.

“No, don’t worry about it.” Martha looked
away a moment, then looked back. “You must think me such a fool for
still holding on to such feelings for Charlie even though—”

Alan shook his head. “Of course not, it’s
like you said—”

A commotion cut Alan short. Martha saw
people rushing to the front of the stadium. The crowd thickened,
exploding with nervous chatter. Martha and her group joined the
procession.

Martha could see some men standing on the
food tables not far off. They all held guns, pointing them toward
the crowd of confused and frightened stadium refugees. The men
didn’t look like police officers.

“What’s going on?” a teenaged boy asked. He
stood beside a girl who appeared to be close to his age. She was
short, and her hair was barely longer than a buzz-cut.

“What? Are you deaf, kid?” one of the gunmen
said. His lips formed a cruel, cold smirk. He held an assault rifle
tilted toward the ground. “I said we’re the kings of this castle!
You answer to us, or you get the fucking guillotine! That’s what’s
going on!” When he finished, he cranked his arms upward, pointing
the rifle toward the sky. He looked down, and Martha saw a row of
police officers. Bits of wire bound each officer’s hands and feet
as they knelt on the turf. Their mouths were gagged and taped shut.
They looked terrified, with the exception of Francis, who only
looked tired; he stared at the ground, his eyes half open.

The lead gunman looked to the cell not far
from the tables. There were five men inside, and Martha recognized
one as the food thief from the second night in the stadium. Another
was heavy-set man, tall, somewhat menacing. He seemed to be
grinning at someone. The other three men stood near him, like they
were friends of his.

“I wonder what we should do with these
guys,” the lead gunman said.

The man who had blown the whistle on the
food thief stood near the front of the crowd. He spoke up. “You’re
not going to let those dumbasses out just because they’re bad
people, are you? What makes you think they’ll even help you?”

“Shut up!” the food thief said. He looked at
the man with the assault rifle. “I’d be more than willing to help
you guys, if you let me out.” The other four men nodded in
agreement.

“We could always use a few extra helping
hands,” the lead gunman said. “What do you think about it,
boys?”

“I say let ‘em out!” a gunman said.

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

“All right then! Let those fine men out of
there!”

As someone headed to the cell with the keys,
the lead gunman looked at the whistleblower. “I suggest you and
everyone else keep your stupid mouths shut about the decisions we
make in
our
stadium. We run the place now, or weren’t you
fucking listening?”

The gunman opened the cell, and men exited.
They joined forces with the gunmen, smiling as they were given guns
themselves.

“That’s ridiculous!” a woman near the front
of the crowd said. “Those men are creeps, and all you’re doing is
proving that you—”