One for the Murphys (11 page)

“Aye-aye, Captain!” Rainer says to Mr. Ruben. Always the suck-up.

The bus driver pulls out of the driveway. Mr. Ruben is holding sheet music, thinking that we’ll all sing sea shanties. He has a better chance of getting this bus to land on Mars.

Once on the road, Toni asks, “So, that’s some lunch you’ve got there. You carrying a full Thanksgiving meal or what?”

I think about how nice Thanksgiving would be at the Murphy house. I shrug.

“How can you not know what’s in your own lunch?” she asks.

“I didn’t pack it.”

“Seriously, Connors? Your mother still makes your lunch?”

Change the subject. “Where is your lunch?”

She pats her pocket. “Right here. Two Andrew Jacksons will take me through lunch and to the gift shop.”

My mother used to quiz me on which presidents are on money. “You’ve got forty bucks for lunch?”

“Sure, Connors,” she says. She leans over and looks at the writing on my bag. Here comes the teasing. “So open the bag. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I guess she must be hungry. I open the bag and pull out a turkey sandwich, red grapes, banana bread, Fruit Roll-Up, and two juice boxes at the bottom. There is a note too. “Have fun. Be safe. Love, Mrs. M.”

“Mrs. M?” she asks.

“That stands for Mrs. Mom. A joke we have.” I pause. “I know. It’s dumb.”

“Does she write notes like that a lot?” Toni asks.

“Yeah. She likes notes. She leaves sticky notes over the sink and stuff. Kind of sappy stuff.”

Toni is quiet, turning to stare out the window.

“So, have you been to Mystic before?” I ask.

“Yeah. Lots of boats. Thrill a minute. Lunch counter isn’t bad, though. Burgers and fries.”

“Really?”

She turns toward me. “Soda too. Listen, Connors. I’ll do you a favor. How about I buy your lunch off of you for twenty bucks? Then you’ll have money for the lunch counter and gift shop.”

“Are you kidding me? Sure!” I take the note out and hand her the bag.

“No. You have to leave the note.”

“But why would you want that?”

“It’s part of the lunch, Connors. That’s why.”

I stare at it. I really want it. But twenty bucks is so much money.

“Okay, deal!”

She starts digging through the bag. Eating grapes. Reading the note. “You’re all right, Connors,” she says.

S
o,” Mrs. Murphy asks, “do you have any plans for the weekend?”

“Yeah. Running with the bulls in Spain, maybe… photographing polar bears. Same old boring stuff.”

She chuckles. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” I say.

She points at me with a spatula and a slight smile. “Watch it there, kid.”

“Why? You going to flip me?” I say, pointing at her weapon.

She shakes her head. “What a clip.”

There’s another one.

“So, do you like that Toni girl? Would you say… that you’re yourself around her? I always think that’s the true measure of how good a friend is.”

I think that I am comfortable around her now—except that
she doesn’t know who I really am. I’ve been thinking I should tell her. But I’m afraid she’ll change her mind about me. I’m not sure how to answer Mrs. Murphy.

“She’s… not into stuff you shouldn’t be into, right?”

“Actually, she is.”

Mrs. Murphy looks concerned.

“Broadway musicals. A sickness.”

Mrs. Murphy laughs and turns back toward the sink. “Why don’t you invite her over for dinner tomorrow. Would you want to do that?”

“Uh, I can ask her, I guess.”

“You sound nervous.”

Funny how she does that. Knowing what I’m thinking. “Maybe a little.” I shrug.

“Can’t hurt to ask!” she says.

I’m not so sure…

Toni steps into the kitchen with a plate of brownies. “Here you go,” she says to Mrs. Murphy. “My mom sent these.”

“Brownies!” Michael Eric and Adam yell.

“After dinner. Not before,” Mrs. Murphy says, holding the plate out of their reach.

Michael Eric looks at me but points at Toni. “Which superhero is she?”

Toni laughs. “You guys have high expectations here.”

I bend over and look Michael Eric in the eye. “No superheroes now. Maybe later, though. Okay?” He goes back to a pile of blocks with Adam.

“So,” Mrs. Murphy begins. “You two can hang out upstairs or watch TV since Jack is at the station tonight. Whatever you’d like!”

I know we’ll get no peace down here. “You want to hang out in my room?”

“Sure,” she says, and we head upstairs. “I’d forgotten this nice room, Connors!” Toni says when we walk into the fireman room.

I guess this would be a good time to tell her the truth, but I’m not in the mood to answer questions. The questions about why I’m here. What harm can it do to just pretend a little longer? “Well, my mom said I could have a bigger room, so I’m staying in Michael Eric’s while it’s being painted.” I feel bad about the lie.

“I say you fight to keep this one, Connors.” She laughs as she falls back on my bed.

“So what’s Rainer’s story, anyway?” I ask.

She bolts up. “Rainer? Oh my God! We’ve known each other forever. I mean forever. Our mothers are both totally caught up in the Junior Women’s League. Total do-gooders… on the outside, anyway.”

“What’s a junior woman?” I ask.

She cracks up. “Very funny, Connors.”

Except I was serious.

“So, what’s the deal? Why is he always giving you a hard time? Like calling you Oliver? And what’s a roll stuffer?”

“Who knows,” I lie.

“Maybe he stands too close to the ovens at his parents’ restaurant. They have him working there all the time. I mean, all. The. Time.” She laughs, retying her shoe. “He’s such an idiot! And he
talks tough but you can put him in his place pretty easily. I even beat him up in the third grade.”

“You did?”

“And the fifth.”

“Really?” I crack up.

“Yeah, and he’s still nervous I’m going to hit him. I can tell.” Toni bounces on my bed. “So, enough about that twit, Connors! Ask me anything!”

“Uh… why do you always call me Connors?” I ask.

“I said you can ask me anything. I mean anything on the planet. And that’s the best you can come up with?”

“I’ll try to do better.”

She seems amused. “Well, speaking of names, here’s something interesting, Connors. Actually… I gotta tell you. My name isn’t Toni. Not really, anyway.”

“Huh? What is it then?”

“If I tell you, you swear on a thousand souls you won’t tell anyone?”

“It depends on the souls.”

“I’m not telling you then.”

“Okay, fine. A thousand souls.”

She looks toward the ceiling and attempts an angelic face. “Charity.”

“
Charity
? That’s your name? Charity Byars? Oh my God. No wonder you changed it!”

She sits up straight and her whole face lights up. “I’ve gotta tell you, Connors, when Idina Menzel won the Tony Award for Elphaba, I swore that someday I’d have a Tony Award with my
name etched on the front. But I can’t have ‘Charity Byars’ etched on anything!”

“Charity? Really?” I ask.

“At least your last name isn’t
Case.
”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She laughs. “Anyway, my mother, the perfect one, had this idea that I would grow up to be her Mini-Me. She just about keeled over when I told her she could keep the name Charity. That I was going to be called Toni in honor of my future award. Not only that, I’m going to make millions on Broadway and keep every penny.”

“Somehow, I have a feeling you
will
make millions on Broadway.”

“Then split it with my best friend? Is that the next thing out of your mouth, Connors? Because you can forget it. I’m not giving you a dime!”

I guess she’ll think that I’m upset about not getting a cut of the millions when I’m really trying to believe that she called me her best friend.

I
plop down on the couch. “So,” I say to Mr. Murphy. “The Sox are down by two points?”

“Yeah, but you say
runs
, not
points
.” He frowns at the TV.

“Oh.” I am nervous now. He sounds angry.

I’ve been wondering about him and the adoption book. I figure that if Mrs. Murphy took out the book, she must be okay with the idea, but I wonder if he will go for it. If he likes me at all.

He is sitting on the edge of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. The Yankees have the bases loaded with no outs. The guy at bat has a “2” on his jersey; how intimidating can he be with a number like that?

Number two hits the ball and ends up with a double. Mr. Murphy slaps his leg. “You’re kidding me!” he yells. I’d like to ask what the attraction is of watching it if it makes him miserable.

The doorbell rings. Mrs. Murphy answers it, and Toni comes around the corner. I meet her in the kitchen.

“Hey, Connors! What’s up?” Toni asks, smiling.

“Ceiling,” I say.

Mrs. Murphy laughs.

“You think you’re pretty funny, don’t ya, Connors? Don’t get a swelled head ’cause your mother laughs. She probably thought what you left in your diapers was a masterpiece.”

With the word
mother
, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy look questioningly at me. It’s bothering me that I haven’t told Toni the truth. The more I like her, the more my silence feels like a lie.

Toni’s attention turns toward the TV. She walks in that direction, stepping just inside the family room. “Yup,” Toni says. “There is nothing better than baseball on a Sunday afternoon. My dad and I watch it whenever he’s home.”

Mr. Murphy looks like he’s ready to adopt her. Maybe she’ll win me some brownie points if she’s sitting around talking about the wonders of the blessed Red Sox.

“And there’s nothing better,” she continues, “than watching the Red Sox get pummeled into dust by the Yanks. Don’t you love a team that goes eighty-six years without winning a Series and, when they finally do, they act like they own baseball?”

Okay. In my mind, I see this whole thing as a car teetering on a cliff. Rocking back and forth.

“Losers,” she says. “Sox fans are nothing but losers.”

And the car goes over. Falling and falling.

Mr. Murphy’s head turns… slowly… and he glares up at her as if she has just pulled out a gun. She finally gets around to
looking at him. Noticing his Red Sox hat and the Dropkick Murphys shirt. “Oh,” she says. “Sorry.”

I have never imagined Toni retreating from anyone, but she is out of there in a shot. Back in the kitchen with me and Mrs. Murphy.

“I have a few things to say about Yankees fans,” he yells at us.

“Now, Jack.” Mrs. Murphy is amused. “Remember you’re the adult here.”

“You really have a way with people,” I say to Toni.

“Well, I won you over, didn’t I, Connors? And you were pretty rough stuff that first day we met. Downright terrifying, I’d say.” She laughs. “Actually, you looked more like you were going to pee your pants.”

She’s right, and I hate thinking of myself as a coward. It bothers me how even though I act brave, things still scare me on the inside. “Listen, Byars,” I say. “I could take you any day of the week. And if I think back to the way things really happened, I did. Terrifying is right. You better believe it.”

“God, Connors. You’re beginning to sound like me.”

“I hear there are psychiatrists for that kind of thing.”

“Nice, Connors. Real nice.” Toni smirks.

Mrs. Murphy is at the sink now; sometimes I think she’s chained to it. Daniel comes in, dribbling his basketball, and his mother asks him to stop.

While Daniel goes to the fridge for a Gatorade, Michael Eric and Adam drag a bag of cars into the kitchen.

“Boys, can’t you find another place? I’m working here,” Mrs. Murphy says, cutting up green peppers.

“But Mom,” Michael Eric says, “you’re always working, and we need the lines for roads.”

At first I don’t know what he means and then I see Adam setting up Matchbox cars on the grout lines of the tile.

She sighs but lets it go.

“So, Connors,” Toni says. “Will your mom let you go for a walk or something before dinner?”

Mom? I panic. I have to cut this off before…

Michael Eric looks up. “Is Carley’s mommy here?”

Toni looks like she feels sorry for Michael Eric. Like he has oatmeal for brains.

“C’mon,” I say. “Let’s shoot hoops.” I turn to go, praying that she will follow.

“Well? Is she?” Michael Eric stands. “Is she here to take Carley away?”

Hearing him say that and looking at his big, blinking eyes gets to me, but I shake it off. “Michael Eric, you’re such a joker.” I look toward Mrs. Murphy. “So is it okay if I go?” I ask her.

She turns toward me and looks sad, and I want to be able to freeze everyone else in time and ask her why. Because I’m a liar? Or because she’d like me to be her daughter? Or because the thought is so terrible that it makes her cry?

“Don’t go far,” she says. And for her, that’s a perfect answer. It says
yes, but I’m worried about you.

I turn to go and Toni does, too. I can tell she thinks something is weird, but what really shocks me is that Daniel hasn’t outed me.

I hear Michael Eric running, coming up behind me. Before I can say anything, he’s wrapped his arms around my leg and is
laughing. “Carley! Carley! Your mom is my mom? And your dad is my dad, too? And you’re gonna stay here with us for always?”

Daniel finally lets out a small burst of laughter. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell her.”

“Daniel. Not your business,” Mrs. Murphy says. She is already coming toward us.

“Wait,” Toni says, with one eye practically closed. “She’s not your mother? Is she an aunt or something?”

Daniel folds his arms and laughs again, and his mother shoots him a glare that shuts him off.

“No!” Michael Eric says. “Carley is from the Fosters!”

“No, Michael Eric,” a red-faced Mrs. Murphy says. “Not from the Fosters.” She puts her hand on the side of his face and bends over to look him in the eye. “Go back to your cars now. Okay, pal?”

Toni’s face is red now, too, as if she’s been the victim of a practical joke.