After dinner that night, the smile on Nola’'s face was unmistakable. It was the smile of victory, of pride, of unbridled delight. Martin sat at the dinner table taking his last couple of bites, and she approached him with an offering in her hand.
“"I wanted to give this to you on our anniversary,”" she explained almost humbly. “"But I wanted to make sure I got the quotes in the speech bubbles right.”"
She stretched both arms out and presented him with the masterpiece she had been slaving over every night, every lunch hour for the last week: the photo album.
Martin smiled immediately, and thought it was very sweet of her to decorate the front of a book that way, with both of their names applied in sparkly paint. He never had expressed a need to see his name embellished with glitter, but if that’'s the way she wanted to interpret her artistic side, he was willing to sparkle a little. She had made a good dinner.
“"Open it,”" Nola urged.
Martin lifted the front cover, and the second he did, something hit him—--this album was familiar, he knew it. The photos on the first page, however, were not the photos that had been there when he’'d shoved the album into the darkness of the bottom shelf of the bookcase when he’'d been sorting Lucy’'s things a year before. These were photos of him and Nola on their first camping trip taken not too long ago. Suddenly, the crumpled-up photos in the side table made sense; he knew where they had come from. He quickly flipped from one page to the next and saw him and Nola, him and Nola, him and Nola, and then nothing, empty pages all the way until the end.
“"Don’'t go so fast!”" Nola chided him. “"You need to read all the captions and the stickers I put on the pictures, Martin! Look, in that one, you’'re a tomato at the Grand Canyon! You’'re a tomato riding a burro! Ha, ha, ha!”"
Martin shut the book and looked at her.
“"This is my album, right? These had my pictures in it. Am I right about that?”" he asked.
“"Well, I thought …... it would be nice if…...”" Nola hesitated, her face completely drooping. “"I wanted to make an album for us. For you and me.”"
“"Then, why didn’'t you get a new one? Why use this one? Why did you use this one?”" he asked, his voice rigid.
“"It was full of …... the other pictures, and I wanted to make it mine. I wanted to make it ours. You know, so we would have memories, too,”" she tried to explain.
“"You should have bought a new one, Nola,”" he said angrily. “"You had no business touching this one. I found the smashed photos in the side table. I would like to have the other ones, please.”"
Nola didn’'t know what to say. She couldn’'t say anything. She stood there, hoping that in any second he would change his mind and realize how much work she had put into this album and how some of the captions were really funny and how now they had something that was theirs and it was full of good times that they could laugh about and look at over and over again.
“"Nola. I want my pictures,”" he said again. “"Please.”"
Nola shook her head, like a child who has suddenly realized exactly just how deeply she is in trouble.
“"I don’'t have them,”" she said quietly.
“"Then, get them,”" he told her.
“"I mean, I don’'t have them anymore,”" she replied. “"They’'re gone. I got rid of them.”"
Martin stopped looking at her. He had to look down at the table, where he could still see the “"tin”" of his name spelled out in gleaming blue letters.
“"You had no right,”" he finally said, shaking his head slowly. “"Those were mine. How could you do that? How could you think that was right?”"
Nola shook her head quickly, almost frantically. Didn’'t he see?
“"She’'s gone! Lucy is gone, Martin! It is time to start over, because it’'s my turn now,”" she said, her voice rising. “"I don’'t understand why you would ever want pictures of her. Why would you want pictures of someone that had done something so bad to you?”"
“"Because they were mine!”" he said, one octave below yelling. “"You had no right to touch anything of mine. They didn’'t belong to you.”"
No matter how much she should have stopped there, Nola could not control herself. She was like a train shooting downhill, warning lights flashing but no way to stop.
“"You are seeing Lucy again, aren’'t you?”" she said as she burst into a flood of angry and desperate tears. “"I knew it! She’'s sneaking in here when I’'m gone and you’'re seeing her behind my back!”"
“"That’'s ridiculous,”" Martin scoffed. “"I haven’'t heard from her in nearly a year.”"
“"Then why would you want those pictures?”" Nola sobbed. “"Why would you want those pictures if you still didn’'t have feelings for her? If you still didn’'t love her?”"
From across the table, where she had been sitting the entire night, Lucy looked at Martin. She had been whispering to him during the entire meal that Tulip needed his help, Tulip was sick, and that she needed to go to the vet, but there was no sign or acknowledgment that he’'d heard her. Now she studied his face, watched his eyes, the eyes that would not look at Nola. He looked confused, furious, unsure. His hands were clenched together in front of him, gripping each other tightly. She hadn’'t seen Martin look this way since they’'d had the fight about chicken skin.
Without even thinking, she reached out and gently touched his hands, offering a reassuring pat. She meant it to be gentle and kind. Instead, his reaction was sudden and quick, jerking his hands and body backward and away in a reactive move.
“"What’'s the matter?”" Nola asked. “"Are you all right?”"
“"Yeah, yes,”" he said, unsure himself, shuddering. “"I felt a chill; a shiver went through me. I don’'t know how to explain it.”"
“"I hope you’'re not coming down with something,”" Nola said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “"I’'m sorry I upset you. I thought you would be surprised.”"
Martin nodded, wanting to understand why she’'d done it, but not able to. “"I have copies of some of the photos on my computer,”" he said quietly. “"And I have not seen Lucy. I don’'t know where she is. You’'re just going to have to take my word for that.”"
Nola agreed. It didn’'t appear as if she really had a choice. “"All right,”" she finally said. “"I will.”"
The next morning, after Martin had had his coffee, read the paper, and closed the bathroom door after going in for a shower, Lucy put her plan into action. She knew that if there was one thing that Martin loved more than a hot cup of coffee in the morning and reading his paper, it was phase two of Martin’'s morning routine: taking a hot, and she meant HOT, shower. Oftentimes when Martin had finished his steam bath of sorts, there wouldn’'t be enough hot water left for the duration of Lucy’'s shower. And with that nugget of information in her invisible ghost hand, she marched her way through the bathroom door and waited.
Martin was in the shower, and the steam was billowing over the shower curtain. Lucy grabbed his electric razor and held it tightly on its stand, and when that was drained, she went for the twin electric toothbrushes, until she felt she had enough energy built up to send a message from beyond. She had no idea if her plan was even feasible, but she couldn’'t risk not trying; she didn’'t know if he had heard her last night or not, and she wasn’'t willing to bet on it. She needed a sure thing, and she thought this was the only way to get it.
She put her finger up to the mirror, thinking it was a little nuts that her most important lesson in ghost school thus far had been learned by watching a Demi Moore movie.
“"MARTIN,”" she wrote in the steam gathering on the mirror, “"Tulip is sick. Take her to vet asap. PLEASE.”"
Lucy waited to make sure her message wasn’'t going to get fogged over, then slipped out of the bathroom.
She nearly fell into Nola, who was waiting on the other side of the door with the digital frame in her hand. She had found it, and was gripping it so tightly her knuckles looked like they were glo
wing white.
Naunie was removing herself from the line of fire by staying safely in the living room, and she motioned to Lucy to join her. They heard the water turn off and the clatter of the shower curtain being drawn back.
Then the silence of the house was sliced with the shrill ringing of the phone, and it suddenly occurred to Lucy that during the whole time she had been there, she had not heard it before.
Nola remained in the darkened hallway, unmoving, her fingers still clutching the frame.
The phone rang again.
“"Nola!”" Martin called out as if she was on the other side of the house. “"Get it, will you?”"
She didn’'t budge.
Another ring choked the interim quiet.
Martin emerged from the bathroom quickly in the plaid robe Lucy had given him, his hair completely wet, not yet tousled with a towel, and his face flushed with the heat of the shower. He, too, nearly ran right into Nola, who remained as still as a garden statue. Martin got to the kitchen phone just as the fourth ring erupted, and he answered it gruffly.
“"Hello. Yeah. Yeah,”" his muffled voice said. “"No, not today, he’'s not scheduled till ten. That sounds like a mess. No, don’'t do anything until I get there. Give me ten minutes.”"
Nola had moved. Instead of standing in the hall, she was now standing in the bathroom doorway, frozen.
Lucy suddenly realized that she was staring at the mirror. Lucy held her theoretical breath.
Martin hung up the phone and headed down the hall toward the bedroom.
Nola turned and began to slowly walk toward him.
“"Martin,”" she called out—--not angrily, not agitated, but simply, plainly. She walked down the hall until she was out of Lucy’'s sight.
“"I gotta go, Nola,”" Martin huffed, and Lucy heard him scurrying around the bedroom, trying to get dressed quickly.
“"Martin,”" she called again. “"Why did you take away my pictures?”"
“"I don’'t—--”" he began, and then sighed. “"I can’'t now. I have to go. The delivery is a mess. They got everything screwed up and we have a sale starting today.”"
“"My pictures are gone,”" she said quietly. “"Why did you do that? Are you trying to teach me a lesson—--I take your pictures, you take mine?”"
“"Can we talk about this later?”" he said. Lucy heard pounding, and imagined him hopping on one foot to get his other shoe on. She had known Martin to do that.
“"No,”" Nola insisted, her voice harsher. “"You erased my pictures to get back at me, but I know the truth. She’'s been in this house. I know it. I just saw it. Just tell me the truth!”"
“"I didn’'t do anything to get back at you. That’'s ridiculous,”" Martin replied, his voice growing louder. “"I didn’'t take any pictures. I told you once that I have not seen her, and I will tell you again. I have not seen Lucy. I do not know where she is. Now I have to get to work. There are big problems and they need me.”"
“"Look,”" Nola demanded, and Lucy heard some scuffling. “"Look. I will prove it. I will prove it to you.”"
“"Nola, stop it,”" Martin demanded as Nola pulled him toward the bathroom. “"Let me go. Nola, let go.”"
From the hallway, Lucy heard hurried footsteps, and Nola appeared first, pulling Martin by his wrist.
“"I will show you,”" she insisted. “"Because I saw it. I saw it, Martin! She was just in here, wasn’'t she?”"
She had just reached the bathroom doorway, when Tulip, who had gotten spooked by the yelling and the footsteps, made the wrong decision and tried to run to the bathroom to hide from the commotion. Tulip collided with Nola, who’'d been pulling Martin and walking backward down the hall. Tulip dashed under her feet, and Nola lost her grip on Martin. There was no way that Nola could have stopped as she toppled backward and, trying to regain her balance, fell forward, smacking her face against the bathroom doorjamb as the digital picture frame slipped from her other hand and tumbled to the floor.
Red was everywhere instantly, as if a paintball had popped. It was smudged on the doorjamb, and smeared on Nola’'s lip and chin. It was not a lot of blood, Lucy realized, but the appearance and color of it was vibrant and striking.
“"That dog,”" Nola said as she grimaced, holding her lip. “"Get rid of that dog, Martin. That dog is the reason she keeps coming back! It’'s her dog, and if she’'s not going to take care of it, I’'m not taking care of it, either!”"
“"Tulip just got scared, Nola,”" Martin said, gathering a towel and pressing it on Nola’'s split lip. “"It was an accident, just an accident.”"
“"Really?”" Nola quickly snarled and pointed to the bathroom mirror. “"Is that an accident?”"
The mirror was clear, steam-free. Lucy’'s message had evaporated with every last drop of moisture.
Martin exhaled deeply and shrugged out of frustration.
“"This has got to stop,”" he said, shaking his head. “"I don’'t know where this is coming from. I know you’'ve had your issues with Lucy, but I have nothing to do with that. These accusations are getting a little nuts.”"
“"You’'re telling me you didn’'t see that?”" Nola cried. “"You didn’'t see it? Right in front of your face and you didn’'t see the writing on the mirror? Come on, Martin, now who’'s a little nuts? It was right there. I saw it! She was just here!”"
“"I don’'t know what you saw,”" he replied. “"But I do know I am getting tired of this. There was no one in the bathroom with me, especially not Lucy Fisher. I think I probably would have seen her.”"
“"She has been in this house. The mailman even saw her!”" Nola yelled. “"Lucy stickers were everywhere. They were on my Coffee-mate!”"
“"I think maybe it’'s time you talked to somebody you know?”" Martin said, handing the bloodied towel to Nola and walking out of the bathroom. “"We’'re going to have to talk about this later, because I have to go to work now. But I will tell you that this situation is getting out of control. You need to figure it out, Nola. Figure it out.”"
And with that, Martin picked his truck keys from the side table in the living room and walked out the door.
From the couch where she was sitting, trying to calm a terrified Tulip, Lucy saw Nola press the towel to her lip and walk out into the hallway, where her domestic partnership present was on the floor, the front of it shattered like a spiderwebbed windshield.
Nola picked up the frame and walked into the living room, where, through the window, she saw Martin climbing into his truck and driving away.
“"I am not crazy, Martin,”" she said, looking at the broken frame in her hand. “"I am not crazy! Lucy Fisher is destroying my life!”"
Then Nola reared back her arm like a World Series pitcher and threw the frame across the room with all her might. It shot between the side tables and flew over the couch, where it would have completely shattered on the floor. That is, if Naunie had not been there to catch it nimbly and, without a slice of hesitation, rear her own arm back and, with every bit as much force, throw it right back at Nola.
chapter seventeen Give It to the Kid
That Saturday, when the chime of the doorbell sounded and Martin answered it, Lucy did not expect to see Jilly standing on the other side.
“"Hi, Jilly,”" he said calmly.
“"Martin,”" she said as she nodded once.
“"Come on in,”" he added, stepping aside. “"How’'ve you been?”" he queried as she stepped past him and stopped just inside the living room.
“"No complaints,”" she answered simply.
“"And Warren?”"
“"Same,”" she said.
Martin nodded politely. “"Good to hear, good to hear,”" he replied.
He closed the door, and then stood there for a moment.
“"You know, this whole thing,”" he began, not sure where he was going. “"It’'s—--You know, I just think that it’'s a better place for her now, until things settle down. I don’'t want you to think that I …... I’'d be
doing this if it wasn’'t for …... Well, it’'s just for right now. Just right now, and I am appreciative that you—--”"
“"It’'s all right, Martin,”" Jilly interrupted. “"Of course I’'ll do it. There’'s no question.”"
“"Thank you,”" he said humbly. “"I appreciate it.”"
“"Holy crap!”" Lucy spat, almost choking. “"Did you hear that? Is Nola moving in with Jilly? Martin is kicking her out? I haven’'t seen her pack anything, have you?”"
Naunie shook her head and shrugged. “"I’'ll be glad to get rid of her,”" she offered, “"but I will miss pinching that doughy behind.”"
“"Does this mean our job is done?”" Lucy cried, nearly ecstatic.
“"We could be in The State by tonight, kid.”" Naunie cackled. “"Whaddya think about that?”"
Jilly took a deep breath and just stood there, looking at Martin.
“"Have you heard from her,”" she finally asked. “"At all?”"
“"Nope,”" Martin said. “"Just got one letter, but nothing since then.”"
“"What did the letter say?”" Jilly wanted to know. She had never asked Martin any of this before—--it wasn’'t really her business, there had never been a good opportunity—--but the truth was that she had never had the guts to bring it up. She didn’'t know what she might be opening up here. But now, here, just her and him, had to be the right time, and it might be the only time. “"What did Lucy say?”"
Martin took a deep breath and ran his hand over his short, cropped hair. “"You know, Jilly, it may sound silly now, but at the time, I couldn’'t bring myself to open it. There wasn’'t anything she could say to fix what had happened, and I just didn’'t want to hear her try to. So I …... didn’'t. Didn’'t read it. I threw it away, probably to get back at her. I don’'t know.”"
“"I wish you had read it,”" Jilly said. “"I’'d like to know anything about what happened after she left here.”"
“"So you haven’'t talked to her, either?”" Martin asked.
“"Not a word since the day she pulled out of my driveway,”" she said. “"I sure would like to know what happened that day, when she found all of her stuff thrown out on the lawn, Martin.”"