The Summer Is Ended and We Are Not Yet Saved Read Free Page A

dicks downstairs like it for once.”
    Everyone sang and laughed at the same time, and someone turned the music up. Martin’s mother took another drink. She stomped again. She stomped her boot one more time, and the table broke under her weight.
Crack
.
    Martin’s heart closed for that half second while his mother’s eyes were white and her arms were thrown up in the air. He lost track of the wine. He lost track of her friends. All Martin could see was the startled look on her face.
    She landed on the broken table and slid to the side, rolling when she hit the floor. Martin held his breath. She sat stunned on the floor, and he held his breath for as long as she wasn’t moving.
    Everyone seemed to be waiting. The music had gone quiet, and the whole room was frozen with her.
    Then she smiled and came alive.
    “Fucking bullshit!” She scrambled to wipe up the red wine with the bottom of her shirt and with the tablecloth. “Fucking dog garbage,” she said. She was ruining her shirt and the tablecloth, and she was laughing.
    She wasn’t hurt. Martin couldn’t help it, he laughed, too. It was a cheap table they’d bought at a yard sale to replace the last one. Next time they were going to have to buy something that could support her weight.
    “Dog garbage” was something she said all the time. Martin had started saying it, too. Not on purpose, but he caught himself saying it every once in a while. When people spend all their time together, they start to talk the same.
    “Your shirt is filthy,” said Tom, one of his mother’s friends—the skinny one. “I advise you to take it off immediately.”
    Laughter. They were all crowded around, and Martin couldn’t see.
    After a second, Tom said, “That’s what I’m talking about!”
    Martin went to the sink, and tore a square of the paper towel off the roll. He carefully folded it twice into perfect quarters. He tore another square off and folded it twice. This would be good to start. Then he could come back for more. She had to clean that wine up properly. If she took too long, the wine would have more time to stain.
    “If you don’t mind my saying so,” Tom said, “You have spectacular tits.”
    Martin elbowed through the group of them all crowded around his mother. She was in her bra now, shirt in hand. The whole room got quiet when Martin pushed through to give her the paper towel.
    “Shit,” his mother said.
    “Well, this is awkward,” Tom said.
    Martin could feel everyone looking at him, but he didn’t care. If she didn’t get that shirt dealt with, it would stain. The wine would stain the floor, too. It always had to be red wine for some reason.
    Tom laughed nervously, but Martin ignored him and crouched beside his mother. He offered her the folded paper towels.
    “It’s red wine,” Martin said.
    It was a stupid thing to say. She knew it was red wine.
    Martin waited longer this time, trying to hear through the door, afraid to open it. All he could hear were murmurs from the kitchen and occasional laughter. His cheek and ear were pressed against the cool surface of the door. When the phone rang, he gave in to temptation. He was too curious. Who would be calling this late? So he opened his door. He didn’t leave his room though. He just sat on the floor in his doorway and listened.
    “That was my sister,” his mother was saying in the kitchen. “They won’t take him.”
    “Why the fuck not?” It was Tom again.
    “They’re going away themselves,” his mother said. “Fuck me. And I can’t afford to have someone babysit him for weeks at a time.”
    “Can’t he stay by himself?” Tom said.
    “Jesus Christ, no, he can’t stay by himself. He’s eleven years old,” she said. “He needs someone to take care of him. I don’t know what to do. The producer needs to know for sure by the end of the week. If I don’t find something soon, I’ll have to say no. I’ll have to turn the job down. Fuck it. I knew what I was getting into when I had