I can’t help but feel like onlookers have gathered at the window behind us. I’m surely imagining it.
“One hundred percent,” I say. “How are you doing?”
He looks at the short table in the middle of the furniture for answers. “It was kind of a shock,” he says of his mother. “She was doing better, and then…” He takes a breath in, his shoulders rising. “I’m okay though. Thanks again for being here.” He looks at me appreciatively.
He makes several starts at a sentence, and then sighs. I hold up a hand to gesture a pause.
“Martin,” I say, “I’d like to be here if you need me. I don’t really need to be talked to, which is fine if you want to talk, but if you just want to not talk, I’m your guy.” I attempt a silly smile. “Don’t feel like you owe me a conversation.”
He looks through glossy eyes at me, reaches out a hand and grabs my forearm in a beefy grip. I feel the firmness linger. “Thank you,” he says, letting go and leaning back in his chair with a sigh.
“Dad’s not taking it so well,” he breathes. “None of us know what to say to each other.”
I lean back and decide to just be a listener. Martin seems to fade in and out of conversational consciousness for a while, detailing the events of his mom’s illness, and recovery, and sudden decline. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s usually the “savor the moment” kind of guy, so it’s painful to see him reviewing moments of the past with such sadness. I just listen and hope it’s helping on some level I can’t see.
Before we know it, there’s food being uncovered in the kitchen, and eaten, and covered again and we sit on the patio and ponder life for a while. I finally tell him: “I’m going to just hang out here with you today.”
I eventually wander back into the living room. Martin’s dad is sitting in the single chair, staring at nothing. Several other people come and go from the sofas to the kitchen and back. Nobody speaks.
I lean against a console table running along the wall in front of the stairs. Maggie paces from the hallway to the front door and back before finding a place against the console table next to me. She leans in so she could speak softly.
“Thank you for being here for Martin,” she says.
I look at her and nod.
“You’re Martin’s, um…” She looks at me as if I know the rest of the sentence.
“I am,” I say quietly looking at her, then the floor. I know what she is getting at. I will be anything for Martin right now so I don’t care about the rest of that sentence.
“How long have you known each other?” she asks passively.
“I think it’s been six years. Since I moved to the city.”
She stares across the room. “He’s a great guy, Martin is.”
“The best.” I smile and try to make eye contact.
“This is really hard on him. Hard on all of us really. It’s a bit sudden.” She never looks at me. “Thank you again for being here for Martin,” she repeats. I see her eyes well up with tears, still staring. I just stand there.
Suddenly there is a knock on the front door. It’s a quiet knock, but it’s startling. The room flinches, but nobody makes eye contact with each other. Martin’s dad never blinks. Maggie, beside me, sighs something to the floor that sounds like, “I can’t!” and heads down the hallway to the kitchen. I look for someone in the room to take action. Martin’s dad places his forehead in his hand. There’s no other movement.
I have no words, but I move my arms in a way I hope means “Do you want me to get that?” and I head toward the door, reluctantly.
I open the door to find an older, well-dressed woman with her purse linked over her arm looking up at me. Her stark make-up reminds me of my grandma after she would announce “I’ve got to go put on my face.”
“Hi,” I say meekly.
“Oh, hello, young man,” she whispers. “I don’t mean to be a bother, but I just wanted to stop by and see how Meredith was doing. I heard she had taken a turn.”
My heart sinks. I step forward, motioning kindly to the woman who steps further onto the porch with me, letting the door close behind us. “I’m Liam,” I start. “I’m a friend of the family.” I find myself clearing my throat for courage, perhaps. “I’m sorry, but Meredith passed away this morning.”
The woman gasps, grabbing her short necklace with both hands. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I am so sorry,” she whimpers.
“Thank you for coming by,” I say. “It means a lot to the family.”
“Oh my, please give them my condolences. Mark and the whole family.” She looks into my eyes a long time, searching for something.
“Will you please tell me your name?” I whisper, “So the family can know who stopped by?”
