Chapter 25

Driving out to the Martel’s, I was still debating whether or not to tell Marcus about events at the school. Or at least, how much to tell him. I had already called Russ to check, and he told me that it wouldn’t harm Marcus to give him bad news.

Martha had been hinting that I should make a clean breast of it. The problem was that I had no idea what Martha actually knew. Figuring she had enough on her mind worrying about Marcus, I hadn’t told her anything, and I doubted that Fancy or Hazel would tell her everything. What actually made up my mind was that Otis was just too damn small to keep anything secret. Marcus would hear something. Better that he get the whole story directly from me.

Martha met me outside and gave me a huge hug. “How you holding up?” she asked, “I was so wrapped up in my problems I had no idea what you were going through. You should have told me.”

“Why, Martha? Didn’t you have enough on your hands? What could you have done?”

“Very little,” she admitted, “but I still feel awful that you went through all that alone. Are you going to tell Marcus?”

“I was planning to, everything. Don’t you think I should?”

“Yes, I think it’s important he hears it all from you.”

Marcus was still napping when we entered the living room, so Martha and I chatted for a few minutes. Then finally she woke him up.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth; It seems like I’m becoming an old man,” Marcus apologized. “For some reason, I can’t seem to get enough sleep.” He shook himself, and then looking at me asked, “I hear you are having a bit of trouble at the school. Probably more than I’m aware of. No doubt, one Everett Miller is right in the middle of it.”

“Yes, Marcus, “I replied, “You’re correct on both counts. A great deal more happened at the school than you know about. And yes, I am here to tell you everything that I know.”

Martha interrupted. “Before you get into all that, I think we ought to have dinner. And let’s make a promise, to not discuss anything about school while we eat. If some of this is going to be upsetting, we might as well enjoy a good meal first.”

“I would have to agree; the lady has a point,” laughed Marcus. “Unless you have news that will not keep for a half hour, then I don’t think we should let it keep us from enjoying some mighty fine fried chicken that I smell.”

I assured them both that nothing I had to say was worth spoiling dinner over. Especially because this was only the second home-cooked meal I had enjoyed since arriving in Colorado. So the three of us sat down and made short work of Martha’s wonderful creation. Once again I couldn’t help thinking what a lucky man Marcus was to be married to a woman like Martha. The good thing is that he knew it and showed it by remembering to compliment her cooking, promising to help with the dishes later and taking her hand when she sat next to him on the sofa.

The topic of the school became a huge wooly mammoth, grazing in the living room, that every one was obsessed with, but nobody ever mentioned. The conversation took on a strange form with an obvious gap, like a wartime letter after the censor’s scissors. It was almost a relief to get to a final cup of coffee, with no reasonable excuse for further delay.