When she saw the edge of the manila envelope, something in her just knew. She glanced immediately behind her, then stepped out onto the stoop, cold metal chilling the soles of her feet. She closed the door behind her, shimmying the fat packet out from the junk mail and the bills.
She ran her fingernail under the gummy lip of the envelope, her heart pounding. She squeezed the top open, not pulling the paper out, but instead peeking inside, reading the top sheet. When she saw the top few words, she crumbled inside. She felt the way she’d felt when her cat Perko had died. Like she had lost something she could never get back. She felt surprising, out-of-nowhere grief. She closed the envelope back up again.
The McGowens had a recycling bin that sat under the overhang of the stoop. Murphy had made her mom get one. Now she took the junk mail and the packet and stuffed them in. She put the coupon flyers on top, obscuring the envelope.
She walked back into the house past Rex and leaned over the kitchen counter, pouring out two bowls of Pops, even though she knew Rex thought they were nasty. Rex looked at her. “What’s wrong?”
Murphy’s mom was just emerging from her bedroom, her hair all sideways, her red Victoria’s Secret robe all akimbo. She had a hand to the side of her face, like she was trying to pat herself awake, but she too looked at Murphy, perplexed.
Murphy rubbed her neck and stared up at her ceiling fan. “I didn’t get in.”
She didn’t look at either of them to catch their expressions. She knew her mom would be relieved, but she didn’t know if Rex would be crushed or happy or somewhere in between. She didn’t want to know.
And anyway, she couldn’t lie and look him in the eye at the same time.
Thirty-six
“The invoices go in the invoice files, which are alphabetical,” Jodee explained, running a red nail along the red tabs in the metal filing cabinet. “The mail goes by person into this filing cabinet here.” She flicked her fingers along another set of tabs, which encased tiny little names.
The radio was playing some insipid pop song, and Murphy kept glancing over at the dial, tempted to change it. But her mom was so serious about training her that Murphy thought looking distracted might let the wind out of her sails.
“The best part is you can look through magazines when you’re done with the mail. And then you just have to answer the phones.” Jodee had already explained the ins and outs of the phone system. Murphy had a headset, like the women on those adult education ads she’d seen on TV. It made her feel ten years older just having it on her head.
She must have looked as dismal as she felt because Jodee pinched her cheek. “It’s not so bad, baby. The people are great. And it’s only temporary.”
“I know.” It had taken all of two weeks to get Murphy situated. She had applied at Ganax two days after she’d found out about NYU and now here she was working after school and sometimes on weekends. She was going to apply to schools close to home for the spring semester. And then, eventually, she said she’d try to transfer to NYU. In the meantime, she’d be at Laurens Community College with Birdie. Birdie had taken the news with tears in her eyes for Murphy, her hands over her mouth. And then she’d gotten ecstatic that they were going to spend at least the fall together. Murphy had tried to act less deflated by the idea of LCC than she was.
“You got it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, and don’t change the radio station. Mr. Carter wants easy listening for when customers come in.” Jodee kissed her, shimmying out the door in her knee-length maroon skirt. “See you tonight.”
Murphy sat at the reception desk bathed in fluorescent light, feeling like an exhibit at the circus, and stared out the double glass doors at the outside. She couldn’t believe the same town that harbored the Darlington Orchard could harbor Ganax Heating.
The four hours went by like five million years. She opened all the invoices and used her staple remover on the ones that were stapled. One particular company liked to staple their invoices—several sheets thick—in the very middle, and Murphy spent ten minutes digging under each staple with her fingernails before she realized there was a staple remover to do that. When she was done with the invoices, mail, and filing, she stared up at the fluorescent bulbs overhead, rocking back on her chair. She peered toward accounts payable, but everyone was facing their computers.
Murphy stared at the phone and at everyone’s names. She made little paper clip animals to be in the circus with her and lined them up beside the nameplate that said Receptionist. She thought it was darkly funny that her name had become Receptionist. She thumbed through magazines, took her scissors, cut out the photos, and used them to make little collage scenes on the desk. When she got bored, she dug out a blank sheet of paper and addressed it to the company that stapled their invoices in the middle. Dear Sir or Madam, I want to let you know that it makes no sense to staple your invoices like you do. It takes me ten times longer to open one of your invoices than anyone else’s.
She walked up to the double doors every half hour or so to look outside at the free world. The grassy parking lot medians were soggy. The whole world looked like it was finally in bloom.
When Rex came to pick her up at seven, Murphy had been staring at the minute hand of the clock for five minutes. She threw herself on him like he had untied her from railroad tracks.
“Let’s go out to celebrate your first day.”
They went to Applebee’s, which was the only restaurant Murphy hadn’t been kicked out of besides Kuntry Kitchen. She stared around at the lights, at the servers, as if she’d just landed in Bridgewater on a spaceship and was getting used to her new surroundings. Because staying was new. Not escaping was new. Every time she looked at Rex, she bravely gave him a smile.
“So have you looked at other schools in New York yet?” he asked.
Murphy shrugged.
“Murphy.” He leaned forward on the table. “Can I ask you something?”
Murphy played with her napkin and then moved her fork to the other side of her knife. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you apply to any other schools?”
Murphy moved the fork back to where it had been originally. “Because NYU is the only…”
Rex shook his head and held up his hand. “I know what you told me. Now tell me something new. Why not?”
Murphy could feel her bottom lip start to tremble. She met Rex’s gaze directly, but she didn’t say anything back. She didn’t know why not. She didn’t want to say it was because of him. But she guessed maybe it had been. Maybe.
“Shorts.” He moved to her side of the table and put his arm around her. He kissed the top of her head. And even though everything around them seemed superficial, and dull, and so much less than she wanted, he felt real and true.
Before they left, Murphy made her way to the bathroom. After she’d finished washing her hands, she stood in front of the sink and looked at herself. She looked smaller than she remembered.
Through April, Murphy, Leeda, and Birdie drifted in and out of the orchard like cosmic forces. Birdie and Murphy as twin stars, orbiting around each other. And Leeda, off at the edges of the galaxy, like a black hole.
On April 11, though nobody realized it, a pecan tree on the Darlington property crooked noticeably to the left. On April 19, a beaver took most of a Barbie that lay on the side of Orchard Road to use as dam fodder. And on April 19, as she stood on the porch unwrapping a stick of cinnamon gum, Murphy looked up and saw the strangest cloud floating by. It was in the vague shape of an arrow. It looked exactly like a one-way street sign. Murphy was so taken aback she swallowed her gum, the balled-up wrapper falling from her fingers.
Thirty-seven
Birdie watched the orchard wake up the way she had every spring of her life. Things began to grow so fast she could almost see them move. Like every year, the peach flowers began to blossom, draping the orchard like a filmy pink dress. Thousands of tiny pink petals fluttered in the breeze. And as quickly as they came, they disappeared. T
he blossoms withered to leave only shucks, and tiny, hard peaches broke through the shucks and began to grow.
For the first half of April, Birdie was so caught up in spraying, and getting things ready for the workers to arrive, and in the buzz and hum and color of the life waking up around her that she didn’t think of Enrico for long stretches at a time. For weeks he’d called and sent letters, asking at first if she was avoiding him and then, later, when the answer was obvious, if he had done something wrong. But what could she tell him? That together they were bad luck? That they couldn’t keep wreaking karmic havoc on the people around her? Eventually he’d stopped calling and writing. She still hadn’t told Murphy and Leeda.
Birdie had expected cleaning out the cider house to be the hardest, but it was amazing how easy it was to put certain things out of her mind. She was back to being the old Birdie, doing the same things she did every year. She could see her life, her springs, stretching out in front of her like a book she’d already read. And it was nice to have such a long, clear view.
She wasn’t nervous the day the workers were supposed to arrive. She was as calm as the breeze. If Enrico was on the bus, she could handle it. And if he wasn’t on the bus, she could handle that too. That morning, she moved her stuff into the dorms, into the room next to Leeda’s, with excitement. Now that spring was here, things would go back right. That was just how the universe worked. She neglected to remind herself that according to her definition of the universe, some third disaster—disaster Z—was waiting in the wings. It was easier to believe the good stuff.
Leeda stayed in bed when Birdie and Murphy went out to the head of the driveway to greet the bus. It lumbered up the white gravel like a slow black beetle, expiring just a few feet in front of them, its door whuffing open. As soon as the workers came climbing down the stairs, Birdie and Murphy were wrapped up in hugs and kisses. And when the last person had hugged her and the crowd cleared enough for her to see who was missing, Birdie felt only a small moment of hurt. Like the hurt of a memory.
That night, they sat around the fire, feasting on southern Mexican cooking—corn on the cob, fresh tortillas, chilies, white fish dipped in spices—and catching up on the year. Even Leeda came out and sat for a while, her skinny arms crossed loosely like ribbons, elbows on her knees, smiling softly. Everyone commented on how good Birdie’s Spanish had gotten. Murphy used the little Spanish she knew. Emma, one of the workers who came every year, offered the girls beers, something she hadn’t done last summer, and they squeezed lime wedges into them and sipped happily.
Poopie disappeared from the scene early. Birdie, who’d been sitting on the far side of the fire from her all night, watched her back as she walked toward the house.
Emma wrapped her arm around Birdie’s waist absently as they all talked, and the whole evening felt like it had happened a thousand times before and that it was simply cycling back again.
Soon it was only Birdie and Emma and Murphy, staring at the fire and sipping their beers.
“What are you thinking, Avelita?” Emma asked her, leaning on her shoulder.
Birdie ran her fingers through her hair, smiling thoughtfully. “Just that everything’s the same.”
“Yes.” Emma stared over her shoulder, back toward the peach rows they couldn’t see in the dark, sipping her beer. “Nothing ever changes at this place.” She studied Birdie’s face. “The only thing changed around here is you.”
“I haven’t changed at all,” Birdie said.
“Oh, Avelita, you need to take a look in the mirror sometime.”
Birdie had forgotten to bring her warm flannely pajamas to the dorm, so after everyone had gone to bed and she’d kicked dirt on the fire, she walked across the dark lawn toward the house. The smell of the night and the sound of the crickets reminded her of Enrico. Inside, Billie Holiday was drifting through the air from somewhere upstairs.
She looked in the laundry room for her pajamas, where she’d left them after folding them, but they were gone. She headed upstairs and looked in her room, but they weren’t on her bed.
Birdie padded down the hall, standing in front of Poopie’s door. She raised her hand to knock, but then she realized the music wasn’t coming from there. It was coming from her dad’s room. She heard a chair moving.
Birdie knew before she knew. The hairs tickled the back of her neck.
She turned to look at her dad’s door, biting her lip hard, the blood rushing to her feet. She heard footsteps inside and moved to walk back down the hall, but the door opened too soon.
When Poopie came into the hall, they were a still life: Birdie, frozen. Surprised Poopie. And a hot pink nightgown.
Thirty-eight
It came back to Leeda quickly—the rhythmic motion of knocking the buds off the trees, the creak and swish of the branches, the thud thud of the buds falling past her ankles—as they cleared the excess buds to make room for the peaches that would grow. She remembered the rolling motion under her feet and the vague smell of peaches not nearly ripe. It wasn’t a sweet smell, but a green one. Her arms moved like spaghetti as she swatted at the branches. It was the first day of clearing, and she’d come out to help not because she felt obligated, but because she was tired of staring at the dorm ceiling. She felt like she had spent the last few months watching the world as a movie going on outside her window. It got old.
She looked for Birdie and Murphy through the trees. She could see them, flashes of color among leaves and crooked branches. Murphy’s blue jeans, Birdie’s pink T-shirt, Majestic, appearing in patches of shade here and there, looking intently for fire ants and running away when she found them. Leeda wanted to keep track of Birdie and Murphy even if she wasn’t really talking to them. It was a habit.
By noon, it felt like two days had gone by since eight a.m. Leeda dragged an arm across her forehead and slumped toward the nearest tree, still cradled in her picking harness. The tree was too small and thin to lean on, but she closed her eyes and let the tiny leaves enshroud her face. They tickled. She draped her arms gently along the branches, which bowed under the weight of her hands.
Leeda felt a pair of hands against the small of her back, propping her up. “Let’s take a break,” Birdie said.
“Um.” Leeda stiffened. “No thanks. I’m…”
Whoosh. Birdie yanked her downward. Leeda looked at her in bewilderment, then followed her eyes. Poopie had just appeared a couple of rows beyond them, her powerful hands moving quickly over the branches.
“What?” Leeda whispered.
“Shhh.”
Birdie took her arm with a vise-like grip and pulled her down the rows, looking down each one like she was looking down aisles at the supermarket, until she spotted Murphy in a navy blue baseball cap, knocking at the peach buds like a heavyweight champ. Murphy sensed them and looked over mid-punch. Birdie made an exaggerated gesture to come over.
A few minutes later, they were bursting from the woods on the far edge of the rows onto the shores of the lake. Murphy lurched up to the water’s edge like a mummy, discarding layers of clothes as she went, and simply collapsed in. Birdie crept to the edge to dip a toe in, and Murphy lunged forward and tugged on her ankle. Birdie let herself be pulled down into the water. Leeda stood with her arms crossed instinctively, several feet away. In another minute, they were running onto the grass, arms wrapped around themselves and shivering.
“Oh God, first dip.” Murphy sighed, her chest heaving. Leeda didn’t say anything. She felt a sort of pride that the first dip had really been hers. They sank onto the grass, so soft it felt like a bearskin rug. Leeda pulled her knees up to her chest. Birdie wrapped her goose-bumped arms around her legs and rocked, bowing her head and breathing into the space between her legs and her stomach to warm her face with her breath.
“So what’s up, Birdie?” Murphy asked.
Birdie rocked once, twice. “I have something big,” she said to her belly. Then her face popped up, looking at Murphy.
“You’re eloping,” Mu
rphy said.
“No.”
“Enrico bought you a house in Mexico and that’s why he’s not here bec—”
“Murphy…” Birdie looked so flustered—her brown eyes swimming—that Murphy clapped her mouth shut immediately. Leeda wasn’t sure why Enrico hadn’t come back to thin the trees this year. Birdie had mumbled something about school when Murphy asked.
“I…saw something…last night.” Her face went cherry red in a wave, beginning with the apples of her cheeks, fanning outward to engulf even her temples.
“Poopie and my dad. Um. Poopie…in my dad’s…They’re…Oh.” Birdie ducked her chin against her neck. “I caught them. Together.” She looked up and nodded. “Together.”
The words nearly knocked the wind out of Leeda. Murphy became the face of what she felt inside, her mouth dropping open in slow motion. “You’re not serious.”
Birdie dropped her forehead back against her knees and shook her head.
“Bird, how do you feel about that? I mean, besides having the willies, because I do. I can’t stand to think of your dad naked, and—” Murphy closed her lips tight because Birdie was looking at her like she wanted to die.
“Are you mad?” Leeda asked.
Birdie plucked some clover from the patch she was sitting on and threw it over her shoulder: left shoulder, right shoulder, left shoulder. She finally shrugged.
Leeda knew Birdie had never really gotten the hang of being mad at anyone. At least, on the surface. Usually she kept it deep inside until it blew like a volcano.
They just sat there for a while. Finally Birdie said very quietly, “Do you think Poopie wanted my mom to leave?” Her bottom lip trembled.
The Secrets of Peaches Page 18