The Secrets of Peaches (10 page)

B
ecause she didn't want to wake Rex's dad, Murphy pulled up by Pearly Gates Cemetery and got out of the car, shivering in the breeze. Pearly Gates was actually gated only by a rubberized chain-link fence, tied together with a bit of rope. It looked especially morbid in the cold.

She walked along the white gravel that lined the side of the road and into Rex's yard—a one-level tan house with brown-lined windows and a bluebird painted on the black mailbox. Murphy's feet swished through the grass as she walked around back, where there was still an old swing set in the shadows. She knocked on the window, her heart in her throat.

When Murphy had looked for Leeda after the parade, she'd found her car missing. She'd figured Leeda wanted to be alone—or maybe she was giving it to her mom—so Murphy put her phone on vibrate and slid it into her pocket to make sure she felt it if she called. All day, every time it vibrated, it was Rex. Her thumb hovered over the Accept button but didn't get farther than that. Instead she'd ended up at the fifty-cent movie theater, watching
The Wizard of Oz
, which the Bridgewater Picture Show
always showed on Thanksgiving. And then she'd headed home for Thanksgiving dinner with her mom. She'd put her cell phone under her pillow in her room. They had snuggled up on the couch and watched
Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas
, which they'd recorded about twelve years ago on VHS. Finally Jodee had gone to bed, and Murphy—stuck with herself and out of distractions—had gotten in her car.

Now, after a few moments, there was the click of the latch and the window slid upward. Rex, shirtless, stood for a moment, trying to get oriented and squinting at her in the dark. Then he ducked and leaned out the window and put his arms around Murphy's waist and kissed her cheek. His skin was as warm as a chimney. Murphy felt her voice disappear.

“Come in.”

“Um.” Murphy looked over his shoulder into the warm air of his bedroom. “Can we go for a walk?” She needed to be in motion.

Rex was quiet for a moment, surprised, and then: “Sure. Hold on.” He disappeared inside and then reappeared a few moments later wearing sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a jacket, pulling on his shoes.

They walked down the street and around a curve that rose to the right. Murphy felt like if she kept her feet moving she could stay ahead of whatever it was she was afraid of.

“I know what you're here for.” The way he said it, so low, made her worry.

“I want to tell you something first before you say anything.”

“Yeah.” Rex stopped and gave her his complete attention, pulling her back toward him. Murphy's heart ached over the
big, wide space of Rex. Murphy shifted on her feet, back and forth. She put her whole face against his arm and slurred into it, flatly, “I lurr you.”

Rex laughed and pulled her curls back from her face. “What?”

“Don't make me say it again.” Murphy felt naked, stretched out on a post.

Rex put his forehead against hers. “I know you do.”

Murphy relaxed into his hands and rolled her eyes.

“I need to know if you're in or out, Rex.”

Murphy waited for him to say more. When he didn't, she pulled away, stuck her hands in her pockets, looked up and around and at the side of him. “Here's the thing. I feel like I'm…that if we're going to do this. You know, if I'm going to show you all my yucky stuff…you know, all this stuff about me and everything that's really scary, I need to know you're with me.”

“I'm
with
you, Shorts.”

“The whole way.” It was much more than Murphy wanted to say. She looked off and didn't make eye contact.

Rex reached out and pulled her close. She leaned into him, finally.
Thank God.

He put his hand on her hair. “I just don't think New York is for me, Murphy.”

Suddenly Murphy went stiff. She pulled back and looked him in the eye. He looked back at her solidly, focused, like he was being careful, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“My dad's here,” he went on. “And…I don't feel that thing you do. I don't need to get away.”

Murphy was reeling inside. She could feel him slipping and
sliding out of her fingers. She steeled her chin and went on. Maybe she wasn't saying it right or he wasn't quite hearing her right. “I can't stay here. I'll shrivel up and blow away if I stay here.”

Rex stood back. “I know.”

Murphy let her arms dangle at her sides. What could she say to that? She felt jealous suddenly of Rex's dad. She let the silence drift between them for a long time, hoping for Rex to cave or to give her something to go on. But he didn't.

“So if you stay here, Rex, what…what are you picturing for us?”

“I don't know. I guess…” Rex looked like he was aware he was stepping into a trap. “I guess I just thought we could enjoy each other while we can.”

It hit her like a brick. Murphy composed her face carefully. The trust she'd felt in Rex a moment before vanished. She disappeared behind herself.

“That's very Zen of you.”

“Murphy, I don't want to hold you back. You're going to have this amazing time, and I don't want you to spend it wishing you were somewhere else or with someone else. That would just kill me to know I caused that or took that away from you.”

“You're right,” Murphy said. “I don't want to be held back.” She leaned against the chain-link fence behind her. She wondered how long forever was in Rex's world. She didn't want to love him anymore. It was like the flick of a switch. She wanted to backpedal and take back all the things she'd said. She wanted to be back on top of her heart instead of being buried somewhere underneath it.

Murphy was good at many things, but the thing she had always been best at was walking away. She shrugged casually. “Actually, I think it's better we start now. I don't think we should see each other anymore.”

He shifted slightly, looking surprised. “Yeah,” he said, as if he was trying to agree. “If that's how you feel, okay.”

“You don't care about how I feel,” Murphy croaked, looking away.

Rex didn't say anything back, which was worse than anything. He just stared at her calmly. Murphy fought the urge to kick him in the shins.

“Good night.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Then he turned and walked back toward his house.

Murphy didn't watch him go. That would be pathetic. She turned and walked, not to her car, but to the tiny bridge nearby. Rex would have to watch
her
. He would come after her.

The bridge was the lone place in Bridgewater where you had anything approaching a view of town. The water that went under it had slowed to a muddy trickle. The orange town lights made a patch in front of her that looked like a Lite Brite board. If you were passing it for the first time, it would have looked almost pretty. But for Murphy, the view held her disappointments, her letdowns, the times she'd been reined in, held back, judged. Just stuck, as if life were something you had to run in place.

Murphy waited for Rex to come back. She stood against the wall looking down at the trickle under the bridge and waited forever.

T
he smell of smoky leaves drifted into the cider house, and a few came skittering across the concrete floor. Enrico picked one up and tore it apart at the veins and Birdie watched, smiling. They'd brought out a candle, and the leaf in his hands made shadows on the wall.

They caught up fast. Enrico had been torn between telling her he was coming and surprising her. He'd taken the bus all night and then a cab from the bus stop.

“I go back tomorrow,” he told her. It would take him over twenty-four hours to get back. He had gone through all that trouble just for
hours
with her. It made Birdie dizzy. “But I'll see you at New Year's. And I'll be back in April for spring break, for spraying.” He played with her fingers shyly. “If you want me to.”

“
If
I want you to,” Birdie said, rolling her eyes.

Something about the way the orchard smelled in November, and especially the cider house, and especially when turkey smells were coming out of the main house, made her remember things vividly. She ran her hands through his hair. Now that he
was in front of her, Enrico didn't feel unknown or fuzzy. He felt as familiar to her as any one of those things.

His hand held the remnants of the leaf he'd torn apart, and Birdie took the fingers and put them against her forehead, then against her shoulder. She felt like there was a hole in her heart a mile wide for saying good-bye again tomorrow. And Enrico seemed to sense this because he put his hand right there, over her heart.

For some reason, just that gesture made her feel perfectly intact again. She felt everything in rhythm—heartbeat, breath, legs, arms. All because Enrico had come when she needed him, like her guardian angel. And maybe because of more superficial reasons too. He was stunningly beautiful.

She took the bottom edges of his sweater and lifted it up over his head. His hair went into a spike and he looked at her, surprised. Birdie grinned back at him and kissed his neck, and he squirmed and laughed.

“I'm ticklish.” He smiled, his low voice rumbling against Birdie's ear where she still rested on his neck. She sat up and looked at him and then, looking at the cider press, began to unbutton her mashed-potato-streaked shirt. When she looked back at Enrico, he'd stopped smiling and was frowning, seriously and thoughtfully.

“Please don't say no,” Birdie said.

He leaned forward and gave her a deep, tight hug. And Birdie, mesmerized by the difference in their skin, the look of his head against her shoulder, the things she knew were in his head like books and peaches and Mexico and herself, was unafraid.

 

Birdie sat up, pulling Enrico's blue sweater over her bare torso, as if Enrico hadn't seen and touched every part of her. Running his fingers along the underside of her wrist, he looked at her like she was a cider house goddess. She pretended not to notice and stood up as gracefully as she could, tugging down the edges of the sweater.

“You okay, Birdie?”

“Yeah.” She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe what they had done. She felt like she might float through the roof. Or hide under the covers to hide herself from him and all that he knew about her now. “I gotta pee,” she said finally.

Enrico laughed. Birdie burst into giddy laughter too, embarrassed and happy. She tossed her hair dramatically. “I'll be right back.”

She could just duck out the cider house door and around the corner. Birdie squeaked the door open and hopped outside, doing a bit of a ballet move to make Enrico laugh again. She dipped around the corner and peed in the grass, then came back around, the sweater pulled down off one shoulder and up over one bare hip.

Poopie was standing at the door of the cider house, staring in and looking dumbfounded. Then she sensed Birdie and turned. The moment lasted forever.

“I was looking for the dogs,” Poopie muttered, her eyes darting finally to the magnolia near the door.

Birdie blinked at her. She had gone mute. All sorts of words popped into her head that had somehow disappeared in the cider shed. Words like
don't
. And
we should wait
.

“Have you seen them?” Poopie asked. She still couldn't look
at her. They couldn't look at each other. Birdie shook her head at the magnolia too. As if it were their ambassador.

Poopie nodded stiffly, then turned on her heel and walked toward the house in tight, quick steps, like she couldn't get away fast enough.

T
he doorbell woke Birdie up. She pulled the pillow from her face and looked toward her bedroom window. It was just after dawn. She sat up, feeling a deep nagging weight that she quickly sorted into the events of the night before. And then it dawned on her that nobody ever rang their doorbell this early. She was instantly alert.

She sat and listened, afraid to go out into the hall, instinctively fearing that something bad had happened. Maybe Poopie had called the cops. Was it illegal for her and Enrico to have had sex? She didn't even know. She heard Poopie's feet creaking down the stairs and then the crack of the door opening. This was followed by a moment of whispered talking, and then Poopie let out a muffled cry. Birdie's stomach turned.

She tiptoed to her bedroom door and opened it, then doubled back in shock, a deep blush spreading up her cheeks. On the floor just outside her door stood a cadre of santos of every shape and size: short female saints, tall bearded male saints, patron saints of the sick and war, and God knew what else. They might as well have been twelve feet tall for how small they
made Birdie feel. Poopie had already passed judgment on her.

Birdie tiptoed past them, carrying her guilt around her like a cloak that they could see, and moved slowly down the stairs.

Poopie was standing on the threshold of the kitchen. Tears streaked her cheeks. Her bottom lip was trembling. Birdie looked around the room, hot and cold flashes of confusion and guilt racing through her. “What…?”

Poopie shook her head and nodded to the front porch. Birdie swallowed and walked up to the doorway, the sunrise hitting her right in the face. It took her a moment to put the image together. It was Leeda sitting on the porch with her back to Birdie, staring out at the lines of empty trees. A tiny tan lump was lying cradled in her arms, its two front legs in casts. The moment Majestic saw Birdie, she howled mournfully. Leeda's face was marked with tears.

“I didn't see them; I'm so sorry.”

“Didn't see them?” Birdie didn't quite understand what
she
was seeing.

“I rushed them to the vet. The emergency clinic…? In Laurens…? But…”

Birdie looked around for Honey Babe. Her hand flew to the bottom of her rib cage. She felt a twirling sick sadness.

“I'm so sorry,” Leeda cried, fat tears running all over her face. “My mom and I got in a fight….”

“Oh, Lee.”

Birdie melted down beside Leeda. Leeda buried her face in Birdie's shoulder, sobbing until she had calmed down to sniffling.

Her face flaming, Birdie couldn't think of anything else to
say. It sorted out quickly in her mind. The cause and effect. The
a
leading to
b
leading to
c
. She'd been the one to let the dogs out and forgot to bring them back in…
because
…

Birdie reached a loose arm around Leeda. She watched as Majestic hobbled her way onto her lap. Leeda sniffed against her shoulder. “Can I move in?”

It was more than logic. It was the same reason the saints stood outside Birdie's door. In Birdie's mind, Leeda's accident wasn't really
Leeda's
accident. It had happened because Birdie had gone the wrong way.