While my relationship with Martha LeBlanc, nee Rossi, dated back to our play pen years and kindergarten days, lately we've hiked different paths, reducing our contact to Christmas cards and once a month phone calls.
Martha is a trauma nurse in a large Boston hospital.
Martha inherited the property from her grandfather.
Never the less he and Martha have four married years under their belts and are expecting their first child.
While Martha is my kindred spirit, Quinn and I always got along fairly well the few times we're all gotten together.
Martha commutes weekends a hundred miles from their home.
Martha wants to work until she has the baby.
For all of Quinn LeBlanc's intellectual abilities, I not sure Martha isn't the main bread winner while Quinn tinkers in the theoretical world of the intellectual elite.
Martha shouted, throwing her arms around my neck and kissing me on the lips while I still clung on to my steering wheel.
"Come on up and see the place," Martha called as she strolled up the path to the cabin.
That Martha LeBlanc is drop dead gorgeous; that's what!
My Betsy is fine looking woman, beautiful in my mind and in the eyes of most, but even I have to admit she lacks the room-stopping allure of Martha LeBlanc.
"I guess you could say Martha is pretty good looking," I answered.
I'd known Martha for all my remembered life.
I've kissed Martha exactly twice.
Martha and I know each other far too well to ever be lovers.
Martha stopped to grab Betsy's hand, leading the way toward the cabin while Quinn and I unloaded the car.
Grandpa, my mother's father, originally built this place in the nineteen-thirties and wired it for electricity years later.
"He's just pulling your leg," Martha answered.
"This was originally an extra bedroom when I was a kid," Martha said, pointing out a converted bathroom with a metal walk-in shower.
Martha smiled at us.
Pregnant Martha abstained, content with an iced tea.
Everyone back in high school figured you and Martha we're the pair.
I know; I'm not jelouss, but you and Martha have this thing between you that goes so far back I get dizzy thinking about it.
You know Martha; she doesn't do no very well.
We'll let Martha and Betsy alone to get acquainted.
Rose remarried; some guy named Ronnie that Martha thinks is an asshole.
Betsy was alone on the porch but as we approached, Martha opened the screen door, her arm around a frail looking man, about five-seven, who wore an off-center toupee and a fragile smile.
"You're not getting away with that excuse every time you want to get out of something," Martha said.
Martha turned the openness up a notch.
I'd known Martha far too long.
Martha kept up a steady stream of reminiscences; I'm sure for Howie's benefit.
Martha lugged out a tattered game of Monopoly.
He had moved to receptors and enkephalins before Martha covered her ears and yelled, You're turn!
Betsy and Martha, now practically best friends, conspired together against the rest of us until they owned most of the board.
Martha turned to sleeping arrangements.
"I'm pleased you got along with Martha well enough "I feel sorry Howie, for getting stuck with the lab room, but in general he seems in good humor, considering his condition."
I'm sure neither Quinn nor Martha is surprised and Howie is probably asleep.
Martha was mixing batter while Quinn stood at the stove, heating a frying pan.
"Did you two get a good night's sleep," Martha asked as she poured me a cup.
I was using the bathroom after Betsy and heard her tell Martha she'd slept like winter bear.
"He's sleeping in late," Martha said.
Martha was already on the stairs when I returned to the room.
Quinn was flipping the pancakes when Martha hurried down the stairs.
"Well, he's not in the house," Martha said.
"You'd better look around outside," Martha said.
Martha called after us.
Martha had a plate full of pancakes ready so we all sat around the large table.
Martha asked as she passed around butter and syrup.
Martha stopped me upstairs a little later as I was coming out of my room.
Martha caught my eye and winked.
"Go on," Martha prompted.
Martha broke the pause.
"No one is saying anything as outlandish as that," Martha said.
"Then," Martha added with a sigh.
"Of course not," Martha said.
Martha jumped into the fray.
The bed Martha described as queen size was squeezed against the far wall.
"Oh, Howie," Martha said, "you don't have to go to that much trouble just to convince us."
Martha yelled from below.
Martha rolled her eyes, beginning to share her husband's opinion of our little trial.
"It's no wonder," Martha said.
Quinn peeked over the edge of his magazine as Martha brought a pen and pad from the kitchen.
Martha wrote on her pad as he continued.
Martha Washington understood my signs, and I seldom had any difficulty in making her do just as I wished.
The sheds where the corn was stored, the stable where the horses were kept, and the yard where the cows were milked morning and evening were unfailing sources of interest to Martha and me.
Of course I did not know what it was all about, but I enjoyed the pleasant odours that filled the house and the tidbits that were given to Martha Washington and me to keep us quiet.
The younger child was blind--that was I--and the other was Martha Washington.