One for the Murphys (5 page)

Mrs. Murphy’s bent eyebrows and her slightly open, crooked mouth tell me that she wants to do this for me, and I know that, although she’s a flake, I could do a lot worse.

I go into the dressing room and am relieved when she doesn’t follow. I get dressed and look in the mirror. I feel like I’m wearing a Halloween costume. I also notice that my bruises are fading a little.

I come out, and Mrs. Murphy smiles and asks, “Do you like it?”

I don’t know what to say.

“Do you like it, Carley? Are you happy with it?”

I can see that she really needs to hear that I do. Lying when I’ve had to hasn’t been a problem for me before, so I wonder why I can stay quiet, but I can’t make myself tell her that I like it.

W
e buy two bags of clothes and go to a restaurant.

“So, Carley, did you have fun shopping?”

“Thanks. I mean thank you for all the stuff you got me.” I feel really guilty about the money she spent.

She looks up. “You’re very welcome, Carley. Happy to do it.”

I know I should be grateful, but I look at her and she suddenly makes me mad. Why does she pretend that we have some… I don’t know… some
relationship
. My face must give me away, because she has that pity look again.

“Carley, is there anything wrong?”

I want my own mother. I feel like if she could see this she would be completely wrecked. I decide I hate all of those new clothes.

“You seem upset all of a sudden.”

She scares me. I’ve been beaten and abandoned. I’ve been
chased by security guards and managers at casinos. Approached by creeps on the strip in Vegas. But no one scares me like this Mrs. Murphy. I feel like she can see the things I keep hidden. I feel like I can’t protect myself from her.

“Look,” I say. “Stop playing psychologist with me, okay? Maybe I don’t want to talk.”

“Carley, I’m sorry. Did I do something?”

“You know, maybe it’s not about you… ,” I say. She looks hurt, and I’m happy the pity look is gone. “Maybe I just don’t want to talk to you. Why don’t you… go home and iron something?”

Her back straightens. “You have no right to speak to me that way.”

“I only told you to iron something. It’s probably your favorite thing to do, right?” I hate myself.

A busboy, who looks pretty young to be working here, comes by wearing an apron. He places a basket of rolls on the table. “Can I start you off with water?”

I turn to him. “No, but can you bring me my mother?”

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

Mrs. Murphy saves him. “I’m sorry. We’ll need just another minute.”

I look at the kid. “Do you have unlimited rolls here?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good,” I say as I grab the basket of rolls and, one by one, stuff them down the side of the booth, wedging them between the cushion and the wall.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Murphy asks.

“These aren’t warm enough. I want more.” I want to see her reaction, see her go berserk.

I read the kid’s name tag. I say, “Rainer?
That’s
your name? Do you have a brother named Thunder?”

He looks at me like I’m a jerk. He’s probably right. When our waiter comes over to join him, Mrs. Murphy glares. “Carley, do you know what you want?”

My stomach screws into a knot. “I told you… what I want.”

She smooths out the napkin already on her lap. “Well, how about something on the menu?” Mrs. Murphy’s eyes bore through me.

I can’t look at her, so I look over at Rainer. I can say what I want to him without consequences. Things I want to say to her but can’t. “Do you have parents on the menu?”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, annoyed.

“I want my own mother back. What’s so hard to understand?” My body is electric.

“Do you want to order or not?” the waiter asks, also annoyed.

“Did you know that ‘tips’ spelled backwards is ‘spit’? You know, if you bring me a bowl…”

“Carley,” Mrs. Murphy says. “Can we please just end this? What do you want to eat?”

I lean forward and stare her in the eye. “Bread and water. Like in prison.”

Her long drawn-out sigh screams disapproval.

“I’m so very sorry,” Mrs. Murphy says. “We’ll just have two grilled chicken sandwiches and two orders of fries.” The waiter scribbles it down and they both leave.

I have to give Perky Murphy credit for ordering. I figured she would have left with her coat over her head by now. What will it take to get her to just give up? I call to Rainer, who, unbelievably, turns around to look at me. “Oh, Rainer… Don’t forget the rolls, will you.” I wink.

“Carley,” Mrs. Murphy says, and she reaches across the table to me. I study her hand. Freckles. Neat fingernails. Why does she think that I will touch her? What planet has she beamed down from? I mean, reach out to
her
? I’d sooner kick a beehive.

“I want to help you.”

Liar.

I look at her. “Why don’t you just send me back?”

“Is that what you want?”

I feel like if I move, I’m going to totally lose it. Like it would start as a little stream and end up as a raging river. So I don’t move. The sandwiches come. I don’t move. She takes two bites. I don’t move. She asks the waiter for a box, pays the check, and stands, telling me it’s time to go.

She reaches for me. And I jump.

“I’m sorry, Carley.” She sighs and steps back. “Why don’t we get going?”

She’s apologizing to me?

I follow her out. Rainer waves like a doofus, and I blow him a kiss. Mrs. Murphy shakes her head but lets it go.

We get into the car. “Are you okay, Carley?”

“I’m fine.” I watch a movie of myself running.

Running and running and running.

“I don’t think you’re okay,” she replies.

“I told you not to play psychologist with me.” I count things on the dashboard.

“It’s okay to cry, Carley. You have good reasons. I can see you’re filled right up to the top with it.”

How can she see that? “I…
never
cry. What’s the point? It’s just weak.”

“I know things are hard for you, but I think the release would make you feel better. You know, like shaking a Coke bottle. The pressure builds up.”

“Don’t play science professor with me either,” I tell her.

“People are meant to cry,” she says. “It’s human nature and it might do you some good.”

“What about penguins?”

“I don’t think penguins cry.”

I want to laugh at her. “No, but they have wings.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Yeah. Look, penguins have wings but they don’t fly. Nobody gets ticked at them. Hey…” I look her in the eye. “Why don’t we go down to Antarctica and shove some poor unsuspecting penguin into a cannon. Tell him that because nature gave him wings, he’s meant to fly. We’ll launch the sucker, and when he lands in a broken, mangled heap… we’ll ask Mr. Penguin if he’s better off. If it’s done him some good. What do ya say?” I pump two fists. “Are ya
with
me?”

She starts the car.

A
fter getting back from shopping, Mrs. Murphy does not argue when I tell her I’m going to bed. I crawl under the cold covers and think of the warmth of Vegas. How the sky is never dark, even at night. How I used to live there with my mother, and it was my home. How I only have one full day left before I have to go to school.

The next day is Sunday, and I spend most of it with my nose in a book entitled
Samurai Shortstop.
It’s Daniel’s and it’s about baseball, but the twerp refuses to read it. It’s actually pretty good.

Jack Murphy comes home after lunch. He does not say hello to me even though I’m standing right there when he comes in. Mrs. Murphy’s face screws into worry. She puts her dish towel down and follows him upstairs. I figure this is more interesting than TV.

I stand at the bottom of the stairs and hear the deep sandpapery voice of Mr. Murphy—even rougher than usual.

“Julie. I
told
you this would be a mistake.”

“We don’t know that, Jack. We hardly know her at this point.”

Oh my God. They’re fighting about me?

“So are you going to tell me what happened last night?” he asks. “You came to bed crying and wouldn’t tell me why. I know she did something.”

I made her cry?

“And then… then,” he continues, “I open the checkbook this morning to pay the bills, and I see you’ve spent a fortune on her. What were you thinking, Julie?”

She fires back. “It’s important for a girl that age to have the right clothes. I’m sorry, but I thought it was worth it. I won’t spend like that again. Besides, it’s not
all
out of pocket, Jack. The state gives us money.”

“Not enough for this. Let’s look at what’s happened so far. She fought with Daniel…”

“She didn’t fight with him.
He
got upset.”

“Well, you cannot call me at the station to come home because of drama with this girl.”

Mrs. Murphy mumbles something I can’t make out.

Then I hear her coming. I scurry back through the living room, through the back hallway, and into the family room. When she comes back into the kitchen, I am lounging on the couch, but my heart bangs like a drum.

My stomach aches. I feel guilty about the restaurant and I’d like to tell her how sorry I am, but I’m afraid if I stick my hand out, it’ll be lopped off. No doubt that Jack Murphy would happily sharpen the ax for the job.

The younger boys come in from outside. Michael Eric walks over and leans in. “Carley Connors?”

I am surprised he speaks to me. Poor kid doesn’t know any better. “Michael Eric Murphy?”

His eyes get big and he smiles like I’ve said “Abracadabra!”

Michael Eric pats me on the head. “Do you play? I mean,
ever
do you?”

“Play what?”

“Games and just other stuff.”

Mrs. Murphy is at the sink, listening. I have a feeling that I can’t really say no this time. I suppose I owe her.

I ask him, “What kinds of games do you like?”

He jumps into the air and comes down with his feet far apart and his fists up. “Superheroes!” He kicks the air and growls, which is funny because he thinks he’s actually scary.

“Which superhero is your favorite?”

“Super Poopy Man!” He laughs hysterically.

“And I’m Butt Man!” Adam yells, jumping up on the love seat. His flaming red hair bounces with him. “Butt Man farts so bad, he flies!” Then Adam runs in a circle making fart sounds.

“Boys,” Mrs. Murphy says, coming to the edge of the carpet. “That’s enough. Let’s not spiral into oblivion here.”

“Where’s oblivion, Mom?” calls Michael Eric.

“Does Super Poopy Man come from the planet Oblivion?” asks Adam.

Mrs. Murphy glances at me. “I will never understand their love of bathroom humor.”

I get an idea. “Hey, guys, let’s play a different superhero game.
I can be the bad guy.” I lean over and look into Michael Eric’s shimmering eyes. “And you can try to catch me.”

The boys jump around like they’re in the end zone of the big game. I jump up. “First, superheroes need capes!”

“Yeah!” Michael Eric yells.

Mrs. Murphy makes eye contact with me for the first time since the mall. She looks happy that I’m there, and I’d rather see her looking like this than the way she looked at the restaurant. I guess I don’t want her to think helping me is a mistake.

But I can’t believe I made her cry.

I lead the boys upstairs and take some towels out of the closet. I find a sewing kit in the closet and grab some safety pins. “Okay. Time to make capes!”

Adam stares at the pins and looks unhappy. “Real superheroes don’t wear safety pins.”

I want to tell him they don’t wear towels either, but instead I find some towels that are big enough to knot. I laugh to myself about the terror a villain would feel in seeing someone coming after him wearing a Thomas the Tank Engine cape.

“I’m going to be Super Poopy Man again!” Michael Eric proclaims.

“What’s
my
superhero name?” Adam asks.

His red hair is the first thing I think about. “How about Flame Thrower?”

He smiles. Then he frowns. “Daddy wouldn’t like that one, I don’t think.”

“Oh yeah. Well… how about Red Sox Man? He hits home runs every time.”

“Can I also have a wicked fast car and a freeze ray gun?”

“Sure!”

His big smile shows off his missing teeth.

I grab the first thing I see—a big rubber beetle—and proclaim, “I am”—I look down at my shoes—“I am Super High Tops Girl! I’ve captured the magic bug. With a power such as this, soon I will rule the world!” I end with crazy maniacal laughter, stick the bug under my arm, and rush past them.

Adam yells, “Get her! She must not escape! We must get the magic bug or the world will meet its doom!” Clearly, they’ve seen a lot of cartoons. Michael Eric echoes whatever his brother says by repeating his last two words and then yelling, “Yeah!”

“You’ll never conquer me, for I am the most powerful Super High Tops Girl! I will destroy you with the toxic smell of my shoes!”

Adam jumps toward me and points his finger like a gun. “I’ll shoot you with my freeze ray!”

“Freeze ray, yeah!” Michael Eric jumps.

Daniel watches.

I throw up my arms. “No, no! I’ll block you with my heat gun and turn your freeze ray to
steam
!”

“Aw, cool,” Adam mumbles.

We chase each other around until it’s dinnertime. Before bedtime, Michael Eric comes over while I sit on the couch and kisses me good night on the knee.

Mr. Murphy seems surprised. His gaze lingers longer than is comfortable. “I guess you’ve won him over, huh?” he asks.

I shrug. “I guess.”

Soon enough, I go up to bed. I worry about school the next day, but decide I’d better just set my thoughts on playing Super High Tops Girl and how much fun I had. Or how Mrs. Murphy smiled more at dinner than she has in a couple of days. I wonder how I had planned to be a bad guy but ended up with a hero’s name.

From the planet Oblivion.