Missing Marbles's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Missing Marbles counted the forks on the banquet table for the third time because the noise in the hall would not stop climbing. Forty-two forks. Six candles per candelabra. If he held the numbers in his head, the laughter and clatter could not push him under. He had come to his cousin's engagement feast because his mother said a strong man showed his face. Strong, to her, meant quiet and steady. She did not know he counted forks to keep from bolting. A hand landed on his shoulder. He flinched hard enough to rattle a glass. His uncle laughed and called him jumpy, then steered him toward a circle of men near the hearth. Someone asked a question about his work at the stone castle where he clerked. Missing Marbles answered plainly, in order, with the facts. The men waited for a joke that never came. One of them clapped him on the back and moved on. His aunt whispered that he had been rude again. He had not meant to be. He never meant to be. He stepped out through the kitchen door for air. The courtyard smelled of wet stone and roasting meat. A tall shape rose from beside the water trough. The dog was his father's old Great Dane, chest as high as his ribs, coat the color of rust. The Dane had followed him since he was ten. She pushed her heavy head under his hand before he could ask. He sat on the step. She lay across his boots, pinning him gently. The weight helped. His breathing slowed to match the slow rise of her flank. Inside, someone dropped a plate and the guests roared. He did not flinch this time, because the dog did not flinch. His mother found him there. She said he was embarrassing her. She said he should come inside and try harder. Missing Marbles looked up at her and, for the first time, did not stand. "I try hard every minute I am in that room," he said. "You only see the part where I fail." Her mouth opened and closed. He kept his voice level. He told her the noise hurt. He told her the fast talk hurt. He told her he was not broken and not rude, and that the dog knew it before anyone in the hall did. He said he would go home now, and he would come back tomorrow, on his own terms, in daylight, one guest at a time. She stared. Then she nodded once, small and stiff, and went back inside. Missing Marbles walked to the gate with his hand on the Dane's shoulder. He had spent years trying to pass as the son his family expected. Tonight he had stopped. The circle he needed was already walking beside him, four-legged and quiet, and that was enough to build the rest on.