The Smart One (36 page)

WHEN CLAIRE GOT BACK HOME,
she didn’t even bother going inside before she called Fran. He was sleeping, but he answered the phone. “Come over,” he said. And so she ran there, all six blocks to his house, like she was in a race. She stopped when she got to his driveway, and rested for a minute, putting her hands on her knees.

She walked down the stairs on the side of the house, and turned the doorknob carefully. Fran never locked the door, which usually bugged her, but tonight she was grateful. The room was dark, and she stood in the doorway for a minute, letting her eyes adjust, so that she could see enough not to crash into anything.

She walked to the side of the bed and looked down at Fran, who had fallen back asleep. He was so handsome, but when she looked at him, she thought what her high school self would have thought:
He’s so hot
. She touched his head and he opened his eyes and gave her a sleepy smile.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re a nice surprise.”

She bent down over him, putting her face in his neck and smelling him, all cinnamon and smoke, and for one scary second, she thought she was going to start crying. Fran pulled sleepily at her shirt and then her pants.

“Off,” he said. “Take these off.”

And so she unbuttoned her jeans, fumbling with the zipper, like she couldn’t make her fingers move fast enough. She slid out of them quickly, tripping a little as she pulled them off her feet. Then she took off her shirt with one movement and finished the rest before getting into bed, sliding in between the sheets and moving over next to him so that her skin was touching his. “Come here,” he said, and so she did. She would have done anything he told her to at that moment, would have listened to anything he said.

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.”