The Smart One

Chapter 17





Her mom had said not to tell anyone, but Martha knew that she’d meant not to tell people who knew them, like family friends and neighbors and that kind of thing. It didn’t hurt anyone that Martha told Jaz. She had to. This was the kind of thing you had to talk about, so that you were able to process it.

“Can you believe it?” she’d asked. “Can you believe that in this day and age, someone could be so careless?”

“It happens,” Jaz said. “I believe it.”

“I mean, at colleges these days, people are practically forcing condoms on kids. Well, not at my school they didn’t, but that’s different. It was a Catholic school. Still, you can get them anywhere.” Martha had heard Will say this exact thing the night before, wondering aloud how on earth his son hadn’t been able to find a simple condom.

“It happens every day,” Jaz said. Martha thought Jaz was probably trying to calm her down, but what she was really doing was making it seem like this wasn’t a big deal. When it was. Her brother had gotten someone pregnant. There was going to be a baby. She was going to be an aunt. This was a very big deal.

Martha had been spending more and more time with Jaz in the kitchen. Mr. Cranston was sleeping a lot more and they’d all decided it was a good idea to have the nurses look in on him more often. Now they came in the afternoon as well as at night. Martha was sure that meant her job was gone, but Jaz assured her it wasn’t.

“There’s still no one here in the mornings. Plus, we need you for all the things that nurses don’t do,” she said. She was trying to reassure Martha, but it just made her feel worse. She was a nurse. She should be doing more than buying books and retrieving the TV clicker.

When she asked what was wrong with Mr. Cranston, she always got the same answer: everything. It was the winter, the recovery from the surgery, just general exhaustion. Martha had imagined that she’d come in as the caretaker and nurse Mr. Cranston back to health, then leave when he was better. She never told anyone this, of course. They’d all told her from the beginning it wasn’t going to go like that. It was just harder to see in person.

Jaz asked Martha what Cleo was going to do. She said it very carefully, like she wanted to remove all judgment from her words.

“She’s going to keep it,” Martha said. She tried not to sound like that was a stupid question, but really. If Cleo was going to have an abortion, would Martha even be talking about this? “We’re really happy about it,” she added. Just in case Jaz misunderstood.

MARTHA HAD A LOT ON HER PLATE. In addition to her new job and the Max-and-Cleo family crisis, she was officially house hunting again. She’d called up the Realtor she’d been working with last year and told her she was ready to resume the search. When she’d told Cathy this, she hadn’t gotten the response she was looking for.

“Martha, what are you waiting for? Just do it already,” Cathy said.

Martha was too surprised to talk at first. She was used to Cathy’s blunt way of speaking; it was one of the things that she admired about her actually. But this sounded mean, impatient almost.

“I am,” she said. “I’m going out with the Realtor tomorrow. I’m just waiting for the right place for me. Last year just wasn’t the time to buy.”

Martha hadn’t actually told anyone what had happened last year. The truth was that she’d been sort of fired by her Realtor. And even though she knew that’s not how it worked, it still felt that way. She’d been working with Sarah for almost a year, meeting on Saturdays and driving around to different apartments. Sarah was a few years younger than Martha, and was funny in a predictable and not terribly clever way. She wore her hair in a high ponytail, and always talked in an upbeat manner when describing the places they were going to see, using Realtor short-speak that Martha liked—washer and dryer in unit, en suite bathroom, outdoor area.

She was peppy, which you had to be in realty. There were lots of awful places out there, and you had to be persistent to find the right one. Martha figured that Sarah identified with her, wanted to find her the perfect place in the right neighborhood. It had been fun to meet with her every weekend, sometimes stopping for lunch in the middle of their day, eating pizza and taking a break to go over what they’d seen so far. And then one day, when Sarah dropped her off, she turned off the engine and said, “Martha, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Martha said. She thought maybe Sarah wanted her to rank the places they’d seen that day. But that was not what she wanted.

“Do you really think you’re looking to buy an apartment?” Sarah asked.

“Of course I am,” Martha said. She sniffed.

“Okay, well, I’m happy to help you find a place. And I want you to find a place that you love. But at this point I’m getting worried that you’re not going to be happy with anything we see.”

“I don’t want to compromise,” Martha said. “You’re the one that said I could find my perfect home.”

“I did,” Sarah said. She put her hands on the steering wheel and breathed in and out like she was trying to figure out what to say. “But at some point, there’s going to be something you’re not thrilled with. I’m not saying you have to settle for a place, but there’s trade-offs. A place with a balcony might not have a washer and dryer and you just need to decide which one you want more. Does that make sense?”

“I need a washer and dryer.”

“Right, I know. That’s why we put it on the top of your list.” Sarah tapped the pad of paper and bit her lip. “Martha, I just need you to really think about this. We’ve spent seven of the last ten Saturdays together. And again, I’m happy to take the time if it’s going to end in a sale. But I’m starting to think that this isn’t going to. That you aren’t going to find anything that you feel comfortable buying.”

Martha didn’t know why people said that they were happy to do something and then followed it up by saying they weren’t happy about it. It didn’t make any sense.

“Look,” Sarah was saying, “maybe we just need to take a break for a month or so. Take all the flyers for the places we’ve seen and look them over and think about what you want. Maybe you’re just oversaturated with looking.”

Oversaturated? Martha was pretty sure that didn’t make any sense at all. Sarah was kind of stupid sometimes. She used words wrong all the time, but Martha let it go because she felt bad for her. She just wasn’t book smart, not at all. She’d told Martha where she went to college, but it was nowhere that Martha had ever heard of before. It was probably some online university, the kind that accepted anyone.

“Fine,” Martha said. She started gathering up her papers.

“Martha, please don’t be angry.” Sarah put her hand on Martha’s arm. “I’m not trying to upset you. I just have to be practical here. I hope that you’ll call me in a few weeks and want to look at more places and that we’ll find one. I’ll keep e-mailing you with anything I think you’ll like, okay?”

“Okay,” Martha said.

When Martha got out of the car, she was embarrassed, although she couldn’t say why exactly. She’d told Weezy that night that she was taking a break from looking. “I just think I need to take a step back,” she’d said. Weezy tried to ask more about it, but Martha shut it down. “I’m just not finding what I want.”

When she told Dr. Baer, she said that it was hard to commit to buying something. “It’s a big step. There’s a lot to consider.”

“Maybe you should start smaller then,” Dr. Baer said. “You could rent.”

Rent? Martha had to take a deep breath before she said something rude. Why would she throw her money away, month after month? Money she worked hard for and spent so long saving. It was a buyer’s market. But maybe Dr. Baer didn’t know a lot about real estate. It seemed a little ridiculous to have her try to give Martha financial advice, especially when it was so bad.

“I’ll think about it,” she’d said.

But she hadn’t. She hadn’t thought about it at all. Once she stopped looking, it was easy to forget. And even if she did want to try again, the thought of calling Sarah was too humiliating. But now it had been a year, and she was ready to look again. She thought about finding a new Realtor, but that seemed silly. Sarah knew what she was looking for.

Sarah answered her phone, perky as ever, and for a second Martha considered hanging up. But then she thought better of it.

“Hi, it’s Martha Coffey.”

“Martha! How are you? I’m so glad to hear from you.”

Martha smiled before she could help it. She told Sarah that she was ready to start looking again.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” she said.

“Things are really busy now,” Martha said. “I have a new job, and I’m the maid of honor in my cousin’s wedding. And there’s just a lot of stuff going on with my family at the moment.”

Sarah didn’t ask about specifics, and Martha figured she didn’t want to pry. They made a date for the next weekend.

“I’m really looking forward to it,” Sarah said.

“Me too.”

MARTHA WAS BEYOND EXCITED FOR Cathy’s wedding. Every day, she called or e-mailed Cathy with an idea for the bridesmaid dresses or the ceremony. Cathy told her that she was thinking simple—an outdoor ceremony somewhere.

“Just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it can’t be lovely,” Martha said. She didn’t want her cousin to get married in a campground somewhere with Porta-Potties and hot dogs.

Martha talked about the wedding often at home. She figured the more that she talked about it, the better. She didn’t want Claire to feel awkward about it, to feel strange discussing someone else’s wedding when hers was canceled. Martha thought the more they discussed it, the easier it would be.

Cathy wanted to do it soon. “We’re thinking April,” she said.

“April? That’s not enough time,” Martha said. She was already panicked.

“I think you’re imagining the wedding a little differently than we are,” Cathy said. She said it gently, as though she knew she’d be letting Martha down if she admitted this.

“Different how?”

“We just want it a little more casual than your typical wedding. You know, just a fun party but nothing crazy.”

“Well, okay. Have you thought about what you want the bridesmaids to wear?”

“You can wear whatever you want.”

“You mean, like all wear a black dress or something?” Martha hated this new trend where brides let the bridesmaids pick their own black dresses. If it was your one day to tell people what to wear, wouldn’t you take advantage of that?

“No, it doesn’t even have to be black. Just wear a dress that makes you happy.”

“Makes me happy?” Ever since the engagement, Cathy had talked a lot about letting yourself be happy. Martha figured it was a good sign, but it was still a little annoying.

“Yeah. Just wear something you feel good in. It’s just going to be you, Claire, and my friend Carol anyway. You’ll all look great.”

“Um, okay. Hey, how about this? Why don’t I look into getting the dresses from J.Crew? They have cute bridesmaid dresses, I promise. And I can probably still get my discount, because I’m really good friends with the manager there now. I’ll just get Carol’s measurements and we’ll be all set.”

“I guess that would be okay,” Cathy said. “Whatever you guys want.”

Martha was relieved. She could at least do this for her cousin, who was apparently under the impression that weddings were the same as potluck picnics.

“I’ll pick out something really pretty,” she promised.

“Whatever you want,” Cathy said.

ON WEDNESDAY, MARTHA GOT HOME from the Cranstons’ and found a package waiting for her. “Bets sent something for you,” Weezy said. “I’m not sure what it is.”

Martha tore into the package. It wasn’t even her birthday. What could Bets have sent? Maybe some sort of congratulations present for the new job? Inside was a little statue of a saint and a note. Martha read Bets’s letter a few times, trying to understand.

“What is it?” Weezy asked.

“It’s a statue of Saint Jude. She says to bury him in my closet and that it will help a husband find me. She said that a few of her friends have seen it work for their grandchildren.”

“Oh lord.” Weezy closed her eyes. “Your grandmother is a real piece of work.”

“I thought Saint Jude was the cancer saint. No?” Claire asked.

“There’s no such thing as a cancer saint,” Martha said. “The note said he was the saint of lost causes.”

“Is she kidding?” Claire said. “How rude is that?”

“She’s probably just trying to be helpful,” Martha said. Bets was old, and Martha figured she no longer knew what was insulting and what wasn’t.

“Honestly, girls. Your grandmother doesn’t know what she’s doing or saying half the time.”

“She probably thought it was a nice thing to send,” Claire said. She laughed a little bit.

“I think I’ll put him in my closet anyway,” Martha said. “It can’t hurt, right?”

“Look at it this way,” Claire said. “At least she thinks you’re worth sending it to. She probably thinks I’m past the point of a lost cause.”

Martha took the statue upstairs and wrapped it in an old shirt that she never wore anymore, then stuffed the bundle in the back of her closet. It seemed a little sacrilegious, and she knew this wasn’t how things were supposed to work, but why not? She was surprised that Bets thought such a thing was possible. How did such a religious woman end up thinking that her beliefs basically boiled down to voodoo?

MARTHA DRAGGED CLAIRE TO J.CREW to get fitted for the bridesmaid dress. “I know what my size is,” she kept saying, but Martha insisted.

“It’s better to get measured. I’ve seen it happen a million times that girls think they know their size and then the dress doesn’t fit them properly. Plus, I want your opinion on what style we should get. We can all do the same or do it a little different. Cathy said it was up to me.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever.”

It was strange to walk back into J.Crew. It felt sort of like going back to visit your grade school after you’d been gone for a couple of years. Things looked the same, but also Martha was overwhelmed with the brightness of everything, the sheer amount of stuff that was in the store. She felt dizzy at first.

“Did things move around?” she asked Wally.

“Nope. Same as it’s always been, Squirrel.”

Wally took Claire back to put her in some of the dresses and to measure her. The two of them were fast friends, which irritated Martha just a little bit. She could hear them giggling behind the curtain.

“Everything okay in there?” she called. It was not only a waste of time, but also pretty unprofessional of Wally to be giggling away instead of helping customers.

“We’re fine,” Claire said. She came out in a strapless light gray dress.

“Oh, I love it,” Martha said. “That’s the one I was thinking. Driftwood, right?”

“Yep,” Wally said. “She looks amazing in it.”

Again, Martha felt just a little irritated because first of all, he didn’t say that Martha would also look amazing in it, and that was just rude. He should know that if you were dealing with bridesmaids, you shouldn’t single one of them out. That was Retail 101. And granted, she wasn’t a regular customer, but still …

“Do you like it?” she asked Claire.

“Yeah, it’s cute actually. It’s fine.” She shrugged as if she couldn’t care less.

“Just fine? Do you want to look at some of the others?”

“No, this one’s good.”

“Claire, a little help here would be nice. A little more enthusiasm and effort, please.”

“It’s fine. I’m going to wear this dress once, to a wedding at a yoga retreat that’s probably going to be filled with lesbians, so it’s fine.”

Martha was horrified and turned to Wally to apologize, but he was laughing. “Probably not going to meet a man at this wedding, are you?” he asked, and the two of them laughed and laughed.

On the way home, Martha told Claire, “You know, maybe you’re having trouble with this wedding because of your situation, but I don’t think it’s fair to not put any effort forth as a bridesmaid for Cathy.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, this is Cathy’s day. We need to be there for her, no matter what our feelings are.”

“Are you serious right now?” Claire asked.

Martha hated that people (especially Claire) always asked her that. Did it seem like she was joking? “Yes, I’m serious.”

“Martha, didn’t I just go with you to pick out the bridesmaid dresses? And that wasn’t even something that Cathy wanted—that was something that you wanted. Plus, the only reason I’m a bridesmaid is because you are and Cathy was just being polite.”

“That’s not true,” Martha said. “Don’t think that.”

“Um, I don’t care, so you don’t have to use your voice like you feel bad for me, but of course that’s true. And it’s fine. Cathy and I have never been close. She used to basically torture me when I was little, remember?”

“She had a lot of issues,” Martha said.

“Yes, she did.”

“I’m just saying, maybe you should be a little more enthusiastic about the wedding.”

“And I’m just saying, if you don’t shut up now, I’m going to jump out of the car.”

By that time they were just about home anyway, and they drove up the street in silence. Claire slammed her door shut and was inside the house before Martha even got out of the car. She sat for a moment, then pulled herself together and went up to Claire’s room, where she knocked, but then opened the door right away.

“You know, Dr. Baer said that she once knew two adult sisters that moved back home and had so much trouble, that they went to couples counseling.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s just something to consider.”

“We are not going to couples counseling.”

“You shouldn’t judge therapy so much. You know, you might benefit from it.”

“Martha, seriously. If you don’t get out of here, I’m going to push you out. I mean it.” Claire stood up from her bed, like she was going to come after Martha, like they were going to have a physical fight, which they hadn’t done in about twenty years. Even then, it rarely happened, where they actually pulled each other’s hair or pinched one another. But Claire was moving toward the door, and Martha turned and ran, hearing the door slam behind her.

MR. CRANSTON SLEPT MORE AND MORE. At first Martha thought maybe he was just coming down with something, but he never really seemed to bounce back. Everything exhausted him. He never even read the papers anymore. He would start to, and then get tired or frustrated, and they remained folded up on the table until the next morning, when Martha would throw them in the recycling bin and replace them with the new ones.

Jaz seemed to be around more, like she was nervous to leave. Martha didn’t mind, since it gave them a chance to talk. She told Jaz about the Saint Jude statue, which made her laugh, but then she said, “It can’t hurt, can it?”

“No,” Martha agreed. “It can’t.”

Most mornings, Jaz was there to fix breakfast for Mr. Cranston. Martha noticed that she started giving him bacon every once in a while. “He needs a pick-me-up today,” she said, whenever she fried the bacon slices up in the pan.

All of a sudden, it felt like everyone was waiting. There was no more talk of new doctors, and even Ruby and Billy decided to get over their fight and began spending time at the house together.

“I decided to start looking for a place to buy,” Martha told Jaz one day.

“That’s good,” Jaz said. “You should keep moving forward for as long as you can, until you can’t move forward anymore.”

Martha started to write that one down, but found it was too depressing. She ended up tearing the page out of her notebook and throwing it away.

SHE WAS HAPPY TO BE SPENDING her weekends with Sarah again. She’d been a little nervous, but they fell back into a routine pretty quickly. Sarah would come and pick her up, they’d stop at Starbucks and go over the listings for the day, and then they’d head out.

On the second time they were out, they looked at an old converted loft. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, an open kitchen, and a balcony.

“I know you said you didn’t want a loft space,” Sarah said. “But I think you should look at this one. It’s all brand-new, which I think you’ll like. Brand-new appliances, a washer and dryer, the works. It’s really beautiful.”

Martha was sure she wouldn’t like it, especially when she saw there was still sawdust in the lobby. “They’re still working on most of the units,” Sarah explained.

It wasn’t at all what Martha had pictured as her new home. It had high ceilings and exposed brick and pipes. But there was something about it.

“Do you think it will be loud?” Martha asked.

“There might be some echo,” Sarah said. “That can happen in spaces like these. But I don’t think it will be too bad.”

“Okay,” Martha said. She walked into the smaller bedroom.

“So what do you think?” Sarah asked. “Should we say it’s a maybe?”

“Yeah,” Martha said. “Let’s put it at the top of the list.”

IN MAY, THEY THREW CLEO a baby shower. Weezy kept saying, “It’s the right thing to do. This baby is coming, so let’s get on board.” She pretty much just kept repeating this to herself as the days went on, but Martha figured whatever helped her was okay.

Martha and Claire put together the invitations, rolled-up pieces of paper in actual baby bottles that they mailed out. Martha had seen this on a crafts show once and she’d been dying to try it. Claire had sort of grumbled about the idea, but finally agreed, and the two of them went to Target to buy all the supplies, stocking the cart with baby bottles, ribbon, and confetti shaped like little rattles.

“We should get some streamers,” Martha said.

“Really? Streamers?”

“You don’t think so?”

“That seems more junior high dance than baby shower.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” They continued walking up and down the aisles. “I still can’t believe this is happening. I feel so bad for Mom and Dad.”

“Don’t you feel bad for Max?”

“No. I mean, look what this is doing to Mom and Dad. He’s the one that put himself in this position.”

“Martha, it was an accident. You think he meant to do this?”

“I’m just saying it was irresponsible. And he’s always been that way. I’m just worried about Mom being able to handle this.”

“She’s fine.”

“She’s not fine. Haven’t you noticed? And it’s really affecting the whole family.”

“Have I noticed that she’s being dramatic because that’s how she is? Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“You’re being really insensitive.”

“I’m being insensitive? You’re the one that doesn’t even feel bad for our twenty-one-year-old brother who’s about to be a dad and is scared out of his mind. Stop making this about anyone else. It’s Max that has to deal with this, and he’s the one you should be worried about.”

The two of them pushed the cart down the aisles, sighing and shaking their heads. “Have you thought any more about coming to therapy with me?” Martha finally asked.

“Oh my God, Martha, I’m not going to couples therapy with you. Seriously, what is your problem?”

“It’s not my problem. We’re having trouble communicating.”

“No, we’re not. You’re just looking for something to be wrong. You’re looking for a problem to have. It’s like you like it when you have issues to deal with.”

“That’s not true.”

“Well, it seems like it is. It seems like Max is taking a lot of the attention lately, and you want some disaster of your own to focus on, and so you want to go to couples therapy with your sister, which isn’t just ridiculous—it’s totally weird.”

“People have done it,” Martha said. She sniffed.

“I’m sure they have. But we’re not going to. Look at us—we’re communicating right now. So let’s finish shopping for this baby shower and go home.”

“Fine,” Martha said. Later that afternoon, she sat on her bed and evaluated her behavior. This was something that Dr. Baer had suggested she do. She wasn’t being insensitive to Max, like Claire suggested. That was absurd She just didn’t think that everyone needed to be falling all over themselves feeling bad for Max and Cleo, when really, they were the ones who got themselves into this mess in the first place.

MR. CRANSTON CAME DOWN WITH A COLD, that turned into bronchitis, that turned into pneumonia. When he coughed, his whole body shook, and sometimes it sounded like his chest was going to rip right out of him.

Ruby and Billy agreed that it was probably smart to have nurses there round the clock, at least for a little while. “He’s having so much trouble breathing,” Jaz told Martha. “They just want to make sure that there’s someone here to help.”

Martha wished that she could be the nurse that was there, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t done one thing—not one thing!—to start getting recertified. What had she been doing this whole time? She was ashamed of herself for wasting these months. Sure, there had been family drama that had taken her attention away, but still. That was no excuse. She promised herself that she would start looking into it.

THE BABY SHOWER WAS A SUCCESS, despite the arguments that had taken place. She and Claire strung a clothesline across the living room, and hung little onesies on it. Claire had wanted to make strawberry cupcakes, but Martha thought that made it look like the baby was going to be a girl.

“I think it’s fine,” Claire said. “It’s a girlie cupcake, the kind you would have at a shower.” But Martha was really against it, and eventually Claire gave up and made chocolate chip cupcakes instead, which were delicious.

Martha was dying to meet Cleo’s mom at the shower. Cleo had described her once as “driven,” and Martha wanted to know what that meant exactly. Elizabeth arrived a few minutes after the shower started, as though she were just another guest and not the mother of the mother-to-be. She wore a suit, and stood out among all the other women. Martha wasn’t surprised to see that Elizabeth was a very attractive woman, although she noticed that her beauty was a little different from Cleo’s, more focused and angular. Elizabeth had a firm handshake and she was direct and in command, which Martha admired. When Cleo opened the presents, Elizabeth stood in the very back of the room, like a Secret Service agent watching the crowd.

Cleo got so much gear that Martha couldn’t even imagine where she was going to put it all. People had so much stuff for babies these days. There was a bouncy chair, a vibrating chair, and a swing. There were mats and mobiles and play sets. It was craziness.

But at the end of the day, when Cleo was done unwrapping her presents, sitting among the piles of her loot, she thanked Weezy, Martha, and Claire for the shower, and even started to cry a little bit. Martha felt satisfied, like she’d done a good deed. She wanted to point out to Claire that an insensitive person wouldn’t have felt that way, but she kept it to herself.