One for the Murphys (17 page)

I know I look different. I feel different too.

“Do you remember the first day of kindergarten?” she asks me.

This catches me off guard.

“You were so cute that day, thinking you were all grown up. Your teacher had that wild red hair. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I liked her. She had a huge stash of Play-Doh.”

“You told her that her hair was nutso but it looked good on her.”

“
I
said that?”

“Yeah, you did. Full of fire from the very beginning.”

I think she is describing herself more than me. I remember the end of that day—when my mother wasn’t at the front of the apartment building to meet the bus, and they wouldn’t let me get off. I had to ride the whole route back to the school, and then they couldn’t get my mother to answer the phone. One of the secretaries stayed late.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks me.

“Kindergarten.”

“What about it?”

“The secretary was nice.”

“What about what you said to your third-grade teacher? Do you remember that?”

“Oh, how I said he looked like the butt of a wombat? Yeah, he didn’t like that much.” In the past, I would have laughed, and she would have told me more. Instead, I think how I probably wouldn’t do that now. Make a teacher mad just to make my mother laugh.

“So, anyway… ,” she says, “what’s this couple like that have you? Are they being good to my baby girl? Do you like them?”

“Yeah, I really do. The mother is wicked nice.”

My mother’s eyes get squinty and I know this look. The clouds are rolling in. There’s a storm coming. But she surprises me instead. She smiles in a way I haven’t seen before. “But you’re
my
Carley Cake, right?”

I think back to when I was. Then I remember Dennis. My mouth spits out, “Don’t call me Carley Cake anymore.”

Her smile fades. “I have the right to do anything I want. You are
my
daughter.”

“Well, it would be nice if maybe you acted like I was.”

“I’ve been plenty good to you. But sometimes you’re just a brat who expects too much.”

“Yeah. Like not landing in a hospital. Or a foster home? But that’s all right—if this had never happened, I would never have known what I was missing.”

“What do you mean? Missing what?”

“I know what a happy family is like now. I know what it’s like not to worry all the time. And I don’t shop for clothes in Dumpsters.”

“Oh, so you’re all high-class now? It’s all about money?”

“No, it’s not. It’s about feeling like someone cares if I’m okay.”

“Can you see me in this bed? Nothing like kicking a person when she’s down.”

“Better than holding a
foot
.” As soon as it comes out, I wish I had not said this. “Sorry,” I say, and I am. Yet I do want her to know that what she did was awful. I want her to know so much—that I love her anyway and hate her at the same time. I want her to know that I want to live with the Murphys forever, but that I’d die without her.

There’s a lump in my throat.

She’s angry. “You crying now, Carley? They turned you into a sucker, didn’t they?”

I think about how Mrs. Murphy cries, and she’s one of the strongest people I know.

There’s a welling up inside of me like a glass that’s filled too
much. I have to ask. “Why did you do that? With Dennis, I mean. Why did you… hold me like that? Didn’t you know what he would do?”

“No, I didn’t. At first I was just thinking I’m his wife. I swore to be loyal, for better or worse. But I didn’t know—”

“Are you
kidding
me?” I interrupt. “That’s the best you can come up with?” I feel like I’m going to puke.

“Look, Carley. Life is complicated.” She straightens the sheet across her lap. “But
fine
. I love you. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Heartwarming.”

“Well, maybe instead of coming here to the hospital and upsetting me while I’m in pain, you could keep quiet long enough for me to explain what happened.”

How I wish she could. But how could she possibly explain holding me down?

“Carley, when I met Dennis—”

I interrupt. Yelling. “No! I don’t want to hear about Dennis or your dumb excuses! You
said
he would take care of us. You promised. You
said
he’d be my dad.”

I step toward her, remembering the disappointment of finding out who he really was, and knowing she was going to marry him anyway. “I knew what he was like. I tried to tell you!”

“Carley, I don’t have to answer to you. I’m the mother here. Besides, I tried to help you.”

“Help me? Are you kidding?” My nails dig into my palms. “Do you know what a mother is?” I blurt out. “A mother is Julie Murphy. Her kids don’t sleep in the bathtub when her friends are
staying over for a party, and they’re not the only kid who can’t sign up for anything because they can’t get a ride home. Julie Murphy is a better mother than you could ever hope…”

A shade comes down over my mother’s face. “Visiting hours are over,” she says coldly. “Why don’t you run along with your…
new mother
.” She waves me out.

But I can’t leave yet. I think of
The Little Mermaid
. I think of how my mother made mustaches for me out of whipped cream. How we’d eat frozen pizza and watch reruns. How, when I was much younger, she’d talk in funny cartoon voices when I was scared of the dark. I remember that in good times, she could make my stomach ache from laughing.

“I don’t want a new mother,” I say. “I just want you to…” I can’t say any more. I want to ask why she didn’t love me enough, but I’m afraid of her answer.

“Well, isn’t it a shame that I’m just not good enough for you, Carley.”

I’m angry and confused. I think only of running. So I do. I run. While my mother pounds in the final nail. “That family can
have
you!”

M
r. Murphy sits on the couch watching the Red Sox, wearing his Dropkick Murphys T-shirt. I know that to disturb him in the eighth inning is a sin and I would, undoubtedly upon my death, be sent to that great dugout underground. But I probably have a ticket in that direction anyway.

“Mr. Murphy?” I ask.

“Yes, Carley?”

“Do you ever have to leave some people behind? You know, in a fire?”

His face darkens, and he glances back at the game. I know that I shouldn’t have asked. But something inside me just has to know.

“One child, two women, one man.”

“Huh?”

“That’s who I’ve had to leave behind.”

Four people. “Oh.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

I feel courageous and continue. “Well, how do you decide? I mean, how do you decide who to save and who to leave?”

He glances at me but answers while watching the TV. “Well, Carley, I don’t really decide. The fire does. She always wins when she wants to. The first rule is that your own safety is paramount. I try to remember that I’m no good to anyone dead.”

“Do you think of your family when you’re in a fire?”

“Will you get the pitcher out of there!” he yells at the TV. He looks at me. “You know, you’d think for eight million a year, he could throw a ball over a plate.”

The doorbell rings, so I get up. I am almost out of the room when he says, “I don’t think of the boys in the middle of a fire because I’m trying to save lives—including my own.” He clears his throat. “But on every trip, you know, as we’re on the engine going to the call, when I’m suited up and everything, I pull out a picture of Julie and the boys, and I remember why I need to come home.”

I don’t expect this answer that makes my stomach roll.

I hear Mrs. Murphy open the front door and Toni comes in. “Hey, Connors.”

“Hey.”

“The Red Sox again? You know,” she says to Mr. Murphy, “I hear there’s an exhibition game—the Sox versus a bunch of blindfolded kindergarteners in body casts. The Sox may actually have a chance.”

“Can someone please tell me why,” Mr. Murphy begins, “I
have to put up with this in my own house? It’s an injustice, you know that?” He reaches under the couch and pulls out a white bag. “Good thing I’m such a good sport! Come here, girls! I got you each a little something.” He pulls out two baseball hats. First, he hands Toni a pink Yankees hat.

“Pink? You got me pink?”

“Yeah. I thought it would be nice on a pretty girl like you.”

Wow. I didn’t think anything could stop Toni from talking, but that does. Miracle.

Then he hands me a green Boston hat with a cream-colored shamrock on the brim. “I thought I’d get you the Irish one, ye young lass, Carley Connors!” he says. It makes me smile. I really like how it’s Irish. The bright green reminds me of the trees. And besides that, I feel like I’m a part of something special.

As I put on the hat, I think about my conversation with Mr. Murphy. I think how he really does need to come home. How his family needs him.

I also think that maybe I’m not supposed to be able to save my mother. Maybe I’m supposed to save myself first.

M
rs. MacAvoy waits outside for me. I go to her car and get into the backseat.

“Hello, Carley.”

“Hey.”

We pull away from the curb. “So, you know why I’ve come to take you to see your mom today?”

“Because I’m her one and only? The love of her life? The light in her days?”

She sounds kind of sad. “Well, I guess you’re still angry.”

And I think how I’m not, really. Not like I used to be. The Murphys calm me, I guess. “Sorry.”

“Why did you run from your mother’s room?” she asks.

“Training for a marathon.” I don’t know what it is about this woman that keeps me from giving her a straight answer.

She sighs, long and deep. “Well, she wants to see you. There is something that she really needs to tell you.”

Well, I guess it’s my lucky day.

I march into my mother’s room and ask, “What’s going on?”

“So, that’s the way it’s going to be, then?” my mother says, never taking her eyes from the TV.

“Hey, last I heard, you were done with me.”

“Carley, you’re not the smartypants you think you are. If it weren’t for me—”

“Yeah, I know,” I interrupt. “All those things you did for me? Cooking dinner for me. Giving up all those parties and dates.” I point at her and slap my knee. “Oh, wait. You didn’t give up any of that stuff. Not once.”

“You’re hopeless. Just hopeless.”

My mother calls me hopeless a lot when I’m not what she wants me to be—more like her. I have always curled up inside when I’ve heard it, but now I know that she’s wrong.

“Carley, it’s not that I don’t love you,” she continues. “You do know I love you, right? I know I made mistakes. But I… I love my girl so much.” She starts to cry. “Please. Please remember that always.”

There’s something about her voice I’ve never heard before, and it worries me. Almost like she is pleading with me. Pleading with me to never forget that she loves me. It sounds like good-bye.

“Maybe you belong with these Murphys,” she says.

And I thought I did until I hear her say it. I do love them. So
much. But… “Mom. What are you talking about? You’re just going to put me out with the trash?”

Her voice is never quiet but it is now. “There’s a difference between putting out the trash and letting a bird out of its cage.”

“What cage?” I panic because I know when my mother means business. “Mom. Remember how you’d hold Oreos over your eyes and they’d leave brown circles and you’d look like a raccoon? Remember how funny that was?”

Her whole face softens. Her body relaxes. Then I see everything stiffen in her and her eyes almost close. “Did you ever think that raising a kid is hard? That maybe I just can’t anymore?”

“You can’t mean that!”

She stares into my eyes like she’ll never look away. “Listen, Carley. I wanted you to come because…”

“What?”

“Never mind that. You’ll have… They’ll be…” Then she looks away quick. Her tone becomes cutting. “Listen here, Carley. I have a life of my own in Vegas. One that doesn’t involve a kid following me around. I’m all ready to sign the papers.”

I run again. Down the stairs and through the lobby, right by Mrs. MacAvoy, and out the doors of the facility. Me running and her trying to keep up. Out of breath, she asks, “Carley, what happened?”

We get into the car. “Nothing. I want to get back to the house.”

She stares at me for a while. Trying to figure if she can get it out of me, I guess. Finally, she turns and starts the car.

When we arrive at the Murphys’ house, I jump out of the car
and burst through the front door and into the kitchen. Mrs. Murphy spins around and panic falls onto her face. “Are you okay?”

“No. No, I’m not okay!” I scream because I know she’ll let me. “My mother. She’s signing me away to foster care. Forever.”

“What?” Mrs. MacAvoy asks, coming into the kitchen.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Mrs. Murphy says.

“You’ve met me. Of course it makes sense. You can’t wait to get rid of me too.”

She tears up. “You
know
that isn’t true.”

“Carley, I don’t know what just happened with your mother,” Mrs. MacAvoy says, “but I do know she wants you back. You know she was beaten so badly that they weren’t sure she’d even live, never mind walk. I mean, it’s a miracle that she’s doing as well as she is.”

“Let’s put her face on Mount Rushmore, then.”

“Listen, Carley. She risked her life for you. From what I understand, the charges against her were dropped because they got Dennis to admit that she hadn’t helped him. When your mom realized that he was going to seriously hurt you, she tried to stop him, and so he beat her too.”

And then I remembered. Finally, I remembered.

“Mom! No!” I screamed as I looked back over my shoulder. Dennis charged me and my mother’s grasp on my ankle tightened. Dennis kicked me and the room spun.

My mother stood, but stumbled. She shrieked, “No! No! You monster! You leave her alone!” I heard scuffling around the room. My
mother hit Dennis with a vase. He yelled and swore and my mother cried. Then he really hurt her.