It Happened at Christmas

by Christen Krumm

  Emmaline snapped her fingers in front of her camera. “Murphy, focus. What happened to Tripp?”

  “He slipped.”

  “He slipped?” Emmaline’s eyebrows rose.

  “Yep. He grabbed Claire's bag, turned, and slipped. Hit his head on a bench, or maybe it was just the platform, but he was bleeding. I’m not sure I’ll ever get the blood out of my jeans. Mrs. P told me to soak them in cold water.” She was rambling and trying desperately to avoid the memory of blood on her hands.

  “How did you get his blood on you?”

  “I couldn’t just leave him there. I had to do something,” Murphy shrugged. “I was with him until the paramedics came.”

  Emmaline took another swig of her drink. “And Claire didn’t scream or anything? I mean, when it happened. That seems like the overly dramatic thing she’d do.”

  “That’s the thing. She was so busy on her phone I don’t think she saw it happen.”

  “Which would explain why she told me to ‘shove off’ when I texted her.” Emmaline rolled her eyes. “She has no clue."

  Murphy stifled a yawn and fought to keep her eyes open. “Seriously. Didn’t she worry when she couldn’t get a hold of him? I mean no text or anything? Her leash on him is shorter than that.”

  “Who knows. My cousin is postal.” Emmaline popped open another can of soda. “So, have you been at the hospital all day?”

  “Mostly. Mr. G followed the ambulance, and when he left I waited around with Mrs. P until his family got there.”

  “Oh my sweet goodness. You met his family? Claire hasn’t even met them yet. You’re so lucky Mrs. P was there and not Mistress Hyde.”

  Suddenly Murphy wasn’t so tired. The Harringtons. Hank. Brunch. She groaned. “Oh, Ems. I have so screwed myself!”

  Her friend barked a laugh. “How did you manage that?”

  “The Harringtons somehow, kind of, think I’m the ‘new girl in Tripp’s life’.” Murphy air quoted.

  Emmaline reached to pound the volume, a dinging sound ringing through the speakers. “Say what now? I swear you just said something about being the new girl in Tripp’s life.”

  “Well, I mean it doesn’t necessarily have to mean girlfriend. It could mean… I don’t know.” Murphy gave her friend a quick rundown of meeting Hank and his comment at the elevator. “What do you think? The twins think it’s hilarious.”

  “Oh, I definitely think it means girlfriend, and please don’t be asking the twins for advice while I’m gone. Their judgement is so impaired,” Emmaline picked up her computer and moved to sit on a seat by the window, the background blurring as she moved. “You aren’t thinking about going over there tomorrow as his girlfriend, are you?”

  Murphy’s pause was all the answer Emmaline needed. “Murphy!”

  “Why not? It’s not any worse than the pranks the twins pull.” The excuse sounded lame even to Murphy’s ears. “And I wouldn’t be hurting anyone. I’ll never see them again. Besides it’d be fun to see how the other side lives.”

  Emmaline pinned Murphy with a look. “It’s not that great.”

  “They wanted to thank me. For saving Tripp’s life. It’s just brunch.” Murphy said it as if stating it out loud would diffuse the argument. “Plus, it’s a chance to get out of Iverson for a day. I’m here all the time. Mrs. P already gave me permission to go.”

  “If you need a day away, have the twins take you to the movies! This isn’t a harmless prank, Murph. You can’t escape by lying — to yourself or the Harringtons. I mean I know that Tripp’s a little bit of a player, but come on, Murph, you aren’t exactly his type. I think they would catch on. And when he wakes up they are going to expect you to be there.”

  Murphy hid behind her pillows wishing she could hide from the truth of her friend’s words and the sting they left in their wake. “They’re sending a car for me tomorrow.” Her confession was almost a whisper from behind her pillow fort. “I’ll tell them the truth as soon as I get there.”

  “You’d better.”

  “I will,” Murphy promised, ending the call with a pit in her stomach.

  Reality was sinking in and Murphy felt sick. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t a prankster. It was going to be an awkward morning. Nice to meet you, but there’s been a huge misunderstanding and I’m not actually who you think I am. Oh, yes, this was going to go over like Claire finding no coffee in the mess hall at breakfast. What had Murphy been thinking agreeing to go to their house? She should have stopped the elevator from closing and told Hank the truth then. Emmaline was right. There were other ways to get away from Iverson. It didn’t matter if she just wanted a little taste of what it could be like to be Tripp’s girlfriend. To see how the other side lived.

  She should have stopped it before it even started. She should have said no. But she hadn’t.

  Murphy thought through the next day. She’d have to get up early to prep breakfast for the few students staying through the break. She also had to get a head start on the laundry. Mrs. Potts asked that she be home by noon — she probably wouldn’t even need that much time. It was just brunch anyway.

  Maybe she’d wait until after the meal to tell them. What could that hurt? They were going through all the trouble of putting on brunch for her, and she had saved Tripp. She could at least stay and eat. Then she’d tell them.

  The icky feeling in her stomach lifted a little at the new plan. Mind made up, she opened her dresser. What would one wear to a brunch with your fake boyfriend’s family?

  Murphy stood on the front step of Iverson, feeling very self-conscious about her current thread bare, oversized coat. In truth, it had been her father’s coat, and one of her favorite pieces that she owned. His smell of him had long worn off, but she refused to part with. She tucked her hands inside the too-long sleeves almost feeling like her dad was with her. Looking down the tree-lined lane, she watched for the Harrington car as her breath danced in front of her.

  The pavement on the drive, clear of the snow that had yet to fall, looked like a black snake slithering between bare trees. They stood like soldiers guarding either side of the drive, stretching across the front of the school’s lawn until meeting with an almost-crumbling rock wall that wound its way around the rest of the grounds. At one point, Murphy was sure those walls had been taller, grander. But now they stood only waist high, their only use to mark the boundaries for Iverson students.

  Her toes were starting to freeze. This was such a bad idea. There were a thousand and one ways things could go wrong. And Murphy had been up half the night thinking through every ridiculous possibility. They would know as soon as she opened her mouth that she wasn’t the prim and proper girl they expected. She always said the wrong thing and was forever putting her foot in her mouth. Murphy wrapped her arms around her middle. She hadn’t been able to stomach anything more than a cup of black coffee for breakfast.

  It was inching toward nine. Hank had said a little before nine, but what did that even mean? Murphy knew the Harrington House was in Ash Hollow, although she presumed it would be one of the estates further out that bordered the town limits since Tripp was a full-time boarder. She was about to go back inside. Her hands were numb, and she couldn’t feel her nose. Maybe Tripp had woken up sometime last night and the Harringtons had forgotten about brunch. Oh please, please let them have forgotten. Murphy had almost persuaded herself to abandon waiting when a black Land Rover growled its way up the drive, Hank behind the wheel.

  Murphy blinked. Hank. Hank was picking her up? When he had said they’d send a car around, she never expected that he would be the one in the car picking her up. Didn’t their level of wealth warrant them to drivers?

  “Good morning! So sorry I’m late,” Hank sing-songed as he jogged around the front of the car to open the passenger side door. He had on dark jeans and a pullover sweater layered over a plaid button up. His hair was just as mused as the night before. Murphy felt her nerves go into overtime when he flashed her his perfect smile and did a pretend bo
w.

  The last step was icier than Murphy expected, and she slipped forward.

  Hank reached out, grabbing her elbow he steadied her. “Whoa, there. You okay?”

  “Other than feeling like an idiot, yep.” Murphy could feel her skin growing hot. Why was she so clumsy whenever he was around? She steadied herself on the car door, sliding into the warm car. Seat warmers. Oh, the luxury.

  Maybe I should just tell him now. Before Brunch. Did she really want to put herself through the awkwardness of eating with people who thought she was someone else?

  “So, hey.” Hank slid back into the car, popping the radio on.

  “You didn’t have to come pick me up. I thought you would just send a driver—”

  “Nonsense,” Hank batted away her concern. “You’re Tripp’s girlfriend. Which, in my book, basically makes you family.”

  Murphy’s mouth went dry. “Yeah, about that—,” Murphy tried.

  “Oh! This is the best song!” Hank turned up the radio, cutting off Murphy’s admission, a smile lighting his face.

  Murphy watched as he kept a beat on the steering wheel. She’d tell him after this song. Hank’s unabashed joy made her blink in shock. Tripp was nowhere near this happy. Or maybe he is. It’s not like you really know him. She reminded herself.

  “Come on! Sing with me!”

  Murphy shook her head, clamping her lips shut. He’s got to be kidding.

  “Nope, you gotta.” Hank shook his head right back, blue eyes twinkling. “Come on. Your part is coming up.”

  “No, I can’t sing. Seriously. I sound like a coyote stuck in a trash compactor.”

  Hank threw his head back and let out the deepest, loudest laugh Murphy had ever heard — and that was saying something. Her best friend was Emmaline Harris, and her laugh could be heard across the green.

  “Here it is. Here it is. This is all you, Cain!”

  The excitement in his request was contagious and, without warning, she found herself belting out the song. How was she singing in front of a complete stranger? She didn’t even sing karaoke with Emmaline on spirit days at school. How did she even know the words to this song? Regardless, Murphy sang the duet until the very last note.

  Hank slammed on the breaks in the middle of the deserted road and turned to look at her. Pure amazement shone on his face. Murphy wanted to crawl into her coat and never come out. Why had she sung?

  “Miss Cain,” he said in a very fake southern accent. “Never say you sound like a coyote in a trash compactor. My dear, that was the most beautiful dying coyote I ever did hear.”

  Before she could stop it, a laugh that did resemble that of a coyote shot out. She slapped her hand over her mouth. With one look at Hank, they both burst out laughing.

  Murphy felt herself relax. She hadn’t known what to expect of a car ride with the wealthy Hank Harrington—maybe awkward silence? But this? There was something so genuinely easy going about Hank. It felt like they went from strangers to best friends over the course of one song. He was so … different.

  “Why did you stop?” Murphy finally gasped out, wiping tears from her eyes. Hank shifted in his seat before turning into a hidden driveway.

  “Because we’re here.”

  Murphy’s heart sank. “Wait.” Should I tell him now or after? Now or after? Her brain screamed at her to make a choice.

  “What is it?”

  Murphy bit her lip. She had every intention of telling the truth but what would it hurt if she pretended, just for a day, to be one of them? She would get a break from Iverson. It’d just be one day. No one else would never have to know.

  He pulled to a stop. “Come on.”

  Murphy stepped out of the car, her eyes drawn to the Harrington house rising up like a castle.

  “Holy cow. You live here?” Murphy stared open-mouthed.

  It was said that a man’s house was his castle, but in the Harrington’s case, it was literal. The Harrington House put Iverson to shame — or maybe it was the fact the Harrington House wasn’t worn. Adorned in Christmas wreaths hanging from the windows—Murphy lost count after twenty-seven—it was downright fairytale-ish.

  “Technically, my family lives here. I’m just visiting for the holiday.” Hank shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve actually been away at school in Glasgow since I was eight.”

  “As in Glasgow, Scotland?” Murphy couldn’t keep the amazement from her voice. That would explain the accent.

  “The one and only.”

  “That must be all kind of amazing. I’d love to study abroad.” She crossed her arms, her breath danced on the cold air.

  “You should look into Glasgow. They have great transfer programs.” Hank tossed his keys in the air before shoving them in the back pocket of his jeans.

  “Maybe one day.” Murphy sighed. One day she would travel, it would just have to wait until after graduation.

  “No time like the present, Cain.” Hank chuckled and offered Murphy his arm. He leaned over conspiratorially. “Don’t want you slipping again.”

  Murphy swatted at him but tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, ignoring the warmth pooling in her midsection. She looked up, up, up to the high towers of the Harrington Castle — it was no longer the Harrington house in Murphy’s mind. It definitely needed to be called what it was. The Harrington Castle probably had a library that could put the Beast’s to shame. She couldn’t wait to find out. Emmaline was going to die when she told her …

  Murphy silently chided herself. An Iverson elite wouldn’t gawk at the size of a house. “How’s Tripp doing?”

  “About the same.” Hank led her up the steps. The impossibly large door opened before they reached the top, cutting off any more questions.

  A butler in a three-pieced suit stood inside the door waiting to usher them in. What?

  Of course, the Harrington castle would be armed with a butler. Please let his name be Alfred.

  “Jarvis!” Hank clapped a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Meet Murphy Cain. Cain, this here is Jarvis.”

  “Hello, Ms. Cain. Master Hank.” The butler actually bowed a little to her. Bowed! Would he be bowing to her if he knew the truth? If he knew only an hour ago she’d been scrubbing floors on her own castle on the hill.

  “Please, just call me Murphy.” Murphy shrugged out of her coat and handed it to Jarvis—a far better name for the butler.

  “Thank you, Jarvis.” Hank handed his coat over, and Jarvis turned to deposit them into the coat closet.

  “Here we go, Cain. Into the lion’s den.” Hank motioned for Murphy to follow him. “Oh, wait, that’s the wrong story,” he chortled at his own joke.

  The door clicked closed behind her. Into the lion’s den — if only he knew.

  Chapter Five

  Hank ushered Murphy into a large dining hall, which looked more suited to a dinner party than a brunch with only five people. The table took up the length of the room with enough red velvet tufted chairs for at least thirty guests, another dozen chairs lining the wall. Only five places at the table were set — three of them already occupied by Mr. Harrington, Mrs. Harrington, and the young girl who had been dressed in sequins.

  The walls were wood paneled all the way to the vaulted ceilings where two large, circle chandeliers glittered in the sunlight. It took everything she had to keep her mouth from dropping open. Windows spanned the top length of the room, letting in enough natural light so it didn’t seem like they were in a cave, but still providing full privacy. Four different flags hung from poles. They didn’t look like any country flags Murphy knew. There was one that looked like it might be a family flag. Was it Tripp’s family crest? She made a mental note to look them up later.

  Under the row of flags and windows perched four moose and two deer heads — one of which sported a Santa hat. Murphy almost laughed, but a quick shake of Hank’s head and she held it in. She sank into the chair that Hank held out for her next to the young girl.

  “Murphy, my parents, Richard and Tabith
a, and my little sister Wheezy.” He leaned over and placed a kiss on top of his sister’s head before skirting the table and sliding into the seat across from Murphy.

  “Hank Harrington,” his mother pinned him with a look.

  Hank chuckled. “Eloise,” he amended. “My sister Eloise.”

  Taking a cue from Eloise, Murphy placed her napkin in her lap. The patriarch of the family typed away on his phone, lost in his own world. Tabitha cleared her throat and he slipped his phone under the table, fingers still flying over the face. The room fell into uncomfortable silence.

  Smells of breakfast drifted into the room causing Murphy’s stomach to clench. She was fairly certain, thanks to her nerves, she wasn’t going to be able to eat anything — no matter how good it smelled. She hoped her uncertainty wasn’t written all over her face. Hank kicked her foot under the table and gave her a reassuring smile. Maybe it was. She smiled back, taking a drink from her coffee.

  “I hope you don’t mind eating in the banquet hall,” Tabitha said. With a lift of her hand, steaming plates appeared in front of the family. “Generally, we’d eat in the breakfast room, but I felt as if today warranted a special exception.”

  Breakfast room? Banquet hall? Of course there were multiple rooms to eat breakfast. This was too much. “This is perfect, Mrs. Harrington,” she barely got out around the lump in her throat.

  Murphy turned to the server and thanked him, trying not to blush at the raised eyebrows of Tabitha. Chants of you don’t belong pounded out in Murphy’s head to the beat of her heart.

  A patty, which looked like it was actually made of some form of tater tots, was topped with fluffy cream and a thin, pink meat—salmon, Murphy thought. Little black, squishy seeds were sprinkled on top. Murphy was perfectly fine not knowing what they were. She quickly scraped the meat and black goo off to the side of her plate and bit into the tater tot waffle. Amazing.

  “Do you not like the salmon and caviar, Murphy?” Tabitha’s question came from the other side of the table.