It Happened at Christmas

by Christen Krumm

  “Good morning,” he greeted her, pushing off the wall, a bemused look on his face.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry.” Murphy grabbed the tray with her other hand, dropping Fiona. Hank reached down and grabbed her before she darted away.

  Her stomach dropped. Panic shot through her. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard? But Hank’s face melted into a smile instantly putting her to ease.

  “You’re here awfully early.” Hank stated, amusement coloring his features as he petted Fiona, who as it seemed had finally warmed up to him.

  Murphy shifted the tray and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Why couldn’t it just stay in place? “I just thought Tripp might want a visit from Fiona, so we walked over this morning. Jarvis let me in.”

  Both teens nodded at a nurse, who looked at them, an eyebrow quizzically raised, as she passed into Tripp’s room.

  “You amaze me, Murphy Cain.” Hank bopped his newspaper on her head. “Are you heading out already?” He took the tray from her and handed Fiona back.

  “Oh yes, I need to get back to help Mrs. Potts.” The admission slipped out before Murphy could stop it. She hurried to move down the hall, praying Hank hadn’t heard the admission.

  Hank quirked an eyebrow. “You help the housekeeper?”

  Murphy closed her eyes. She hated living in a lie. It seemed that she just kept getting deeper and deeper under. She pasted a smile on her face before turning to face him. “Yes, I do help the housekeeper every once in a while. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Hank’s grin made her belly do flip flops.

  Stop that. She told herself. She hated her reaction to Hank.

  Hank bit from one of the leftover muffins on the tray. “Not at all, Cain. Not at all.”

  Murphy gave him a curt nod and turned on her heel to escape.

  Murphy chewed on her thumbnail, staring at her computer like it would self-combust at any moment. She paced back and forth in her tiny bedroom. If you could call it pacing. It was more like three steps in one direction, turn on a heel, three steps in the opposite direction.

  She had to call Emmaline.

  They had never gone more than a day without talking to each other. They were going on three days, and Murphy could barely stand it anymore. She still wasn’t sleeping, felt sick to her stomach, and she was having trouble with her daily tasks. Although she wasn’t sure if that was because of the distraction of not having talked with Emmaline, or the distraction over the hill that she kept visiting every free moment she had.

  Looking at the clock and doing time conversion in her head for the hundredth time in the past minute, Murphy turned to Fiona who was perched on the bed cleaning herself.

  “I should just do it, right?”

  Fiona stared back at her mid-lick.

  Murphy threw up her hands. “Great, now I’m talking to a cat! I’m just going to do it.” Before she could second guest herself, Murphy punched the call button.

  She went back to chewing on her nail.

  It rang once, twice, three times.

  “Come on, come on, pick up,” Murphy muttered.

  On the fifth ring, Emmaline’s face appeared.

  Murphy held up her hand in a sort of greeting. “Hey,” she offered a tentative smile.

  Emmaline studied her for a long second more before smiling back. “Hi.”

  “I’m sorry I—”

  “Murphy, I’m sorry—”

  Both girls spoke at the same time.

  “You go first,” Murphy said.

  “No, you.” Emmaline had moved closer to her computer so her face took up practically the entire screen.

  Murphy took a deep breath. “Emmaline, I’m so sorry. I know you were only saying those things because you care that I don’t get hurt. I’ve thought a lot about what you’ve said, and you are right but—”

  “But you still haven’t told the Harringtons the truth,” Emmaline finished for her.

  Murphy shook her head. “I will tell them. Eventually. I promise. It’s just the past week has been so amazing. They don’t pity me. And I actually feel like I belong. I love hanging out with his family.”

  “Murph, you have me and the twins and Mrs. Potts and Mr. Gruber. What about us? We love you just the way you are. We’ve never made you feel less-than have we?”

  “Never! But with them it’s different,” Murphy paused looking for the words to describe it. “I’ve been hanging out with Hank and Eloise and I really like him.”

  “Him?” Emmaline cocked an eyebrow, knowing grin on her face.

  “Them! I like both of them.” Murphy felt her face flush. Did she really just say she liked Hank? Out loud? It was totally just a slip.

  “You seem happy,” Emmaline hugged herself.

  Murphy sighed. “Oh, I am.”

  “Okay, then I’m sorry too. I probably overstepped. It’s really your decision what you do or don’t tell them. I didn’t want you to feel like you have to change who you are to fit in. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

  Murphy touched the screen. “I know you don’t, Ems. I love you.”

  “I love you back,” Emmaline shifted the screen, sitting in a more comfortable position. “Ok. Now. Dish about all the things you’ve been doing this week! I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.”

  “It has been forever,” Murphy jumped up onto her bed and pulled her laptop into her lap, pushing Fiona back to the pillow she had been sleeping on. “Ems, I learned to drive a car!” She squealed.

  “Shut up!” Emmaline hugged a pillow to her, the always there can of Diet Coke in hand.

  “Seriously! Hank decided that I needed to learn, so he took me out to Pack’s Landing parking lot and taught me in a couple hours. On a stick shift!”

  “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing. So, you’re like a real driver and everything now.”

  “Absolutely not! I hated it. Hank’s convinced I should try again, but there’s no way.”

  “Hank again,” Emmaline smiled. “What’s going on there?”

  “With Hank?” Murphy bit the inside of her cheek. “There’s nothing going on with Hank. He thinks I’m Tripp’s girlfriend.”

  “Mmhmm.” Emmaline didn’t sound convinced.

  “Stop it. Seriously. There’s nothing going on. Really. I promise I still crush on Tripp every chance I get.” And if she didn’t admit to her real feelings, maybe they would just go away. Hank was an infatuation since he’d been around so much lately.

  “As long as you aren’t having your movie scene fantasies about him.”

  “Of course not.” And she hadn’t. The realization shocked her a bit. “Tripp is still my leading man.”

  The girls burst into giggles. The giggles died away and Fiona had somehow made her way back to Murphy’s lap. Murphy stroked her grey fur basking in the comfort of chatting with Emmaline.

  “I’ve missed this,” Murphy cut in on a story about some museum that Emmaline and her brother had gotten kicked out of because her brother had a sneezing fit over one of the statues and the guards had been convinced they were casing the place out and the sneezing fit was some kind of distraction.

  “Me too, Murph. Let’s not do it again, okay?” Emmaline touched her screen.

  Murphy touched her screen back. “Agreed.”

  “I gotta go. Jamie is calling that he’s hungry for dinner. I think we’re going to get something from the food cart out on the street.”

  “Jamie’s always hungry,” Murphy laughed.

  “True that.”

  Emmaline signed off. Murphy sighed. She wasn’t sure what the rest of the week was going to bring but having her best friend back in her corner made it feel like at least something was right.

  Notification Center

  Message from Hank Harrington (11:52 PM)

  Hey! I forgot to mention it, but we’re having a little Christmas thing on Christmas. Mom wanted to make sure you could come around 10:30… I’ll pick you up. She didn’t want you spending Christ
mas at Iverson by yourself.

  Message from Murphy Cain (11:53 PM)

  I don’t know…

  Eloise Harrington has entered the chat

  Message from Eloise Harrington (11:53 PM)

  Pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaasssssssssseeeeeeeeee?

  Message from Murphy Cain (11:54 PM)

  Ok. I’ll come.

  Message from Hank Harrington (11:54 PM)

  Great! : )

  Message from Eloise Harrington (11:54 PM)

  Yessssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Chapter Twelve

  Murphy stretched, basking in the mid-morning sun for the first time in a long time. Mercifully, she’d slept past nine, ignoring the birds chirping for her to wake with the sun.

  Since making up with Emmaline, she felt light, like a weight had lifted from her shoulders. She was certain she never wanted to fight with her best friend again. It hurt her heart too much — not to mention her sleep.

  Rolling out of bed, she stuffed her feet into oversized slippers and shuffled into the kitchen. Mrs. Potts and Mr. Gruber would be at church until at least noon. She pushed the button on the coffee maker and drummed her fingers on the counter as she waited for liquid gold to brew.

  Somewhere in the front hall, Murphy heard the tinkling sounds of a piano. She frowned. Who would be playing the piano at this hour? She was sure the twins would be asleep for at least another two hours, and she didn’t think anyone was left at Iverson who could play the piano. Not that the twins would play one even if they could.

  Not waiting for the coffee maker to finish, Murphy poured herself all of what had brewed and tiptoed out of the kitchen. Drawn to the sound, she let it catch her up in its web.

  Swaying around the tables in the mess hall, she stepped into the grand hallway. Thankfully she’d remembered to put on her slippers. The chill bit at her skin. This part of the school wasn’t newly insulated, but old and drafty, reminding her of an English manor. The melodic sounds of Clare d’Lune grew louder causing her chest to tighten. She stopped outside the front room where the piano was housed. The notes causing her eyes to close, lilting and sleepy.

  Her father used to play her that song. For a fleeting moment, she held the ridiculous notion that she would see him when she rounded the corner. She knew it was silly. Pushing the thoughts away, she swallowed the emotion bubbling in the back of her throat and took a step around the corner.

  Hank.

  Her stomach did a flip flop. What was he doing here? And so early in the morning.

  His broad back was straight and proud, his long fingers pressing gently together on the keys, making the too quiet beast stationed there sing. Just watching him she could tell he belonged at the piano.

  Her feet took her across the room, the music a magnet, and she slid into the empty space beside him on the bench. Hank shifted over giving her room she didn’t want. Murphy tucked her legs to her chest and wrapped chilled fingers around the warm cup of coffee. Steam danced upward to the music, tickling her cheeks and eyelashes.

  The song ended and Murphy could feel her heart beating steadily against her chest. Hank’s quick breaths matching the rhythm.

  “Please, don’t stop,” she whispered not wanting to talk, just wanting to be lost in the music. She wanted to remember her father’s face as he’d played. She’d never heard anyone play like him before. Not until today.

  “Please,” she smiled.

  Seeming to understand, Hank started the song again, and she was transported to 721B. Saturday morning pancakes. Trip planning. A large, gentle black man barely pressing the keys, and yet making them sing. A young girl dancing.

  It also brought the sting of loss. Of falling asleep late, trying to stay awake for his arrival home after whatever gig he’d managed to book that week. The panic when he’d collapsed. Not being able to wake him. Shaky fingers dialing 911. Lights. Sirens. A sterile hospital room. Pitying doctors. The funeral day drizzle. Arriving at Iverson at the request of a Grandmother she never met who couldn’t even bother to make it to the court date but sent a lawyer in her place.

  Murphy released a sigh when the music stopped. She wiped her face of tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, hiding behind the coffee mug propped on her knees. Then she leaned against Hank who had pressed his shoulder to her back, hands still on the keys.

  “My dad used to play that song. It was one of the last things he played before …” Murphy trailed off. She shouldn’t say anything more. She tried forcing the words to stop, but choked on them.

  “What happened, Cain?” Hank pressed.

  Her eyes closed. It was easier if she imagined herself alone. She wanted to tell him her story. Other than the bits and pieces she had shared with Emmaline, no one really knew.

  “Every year, for my birthday, my dad would always bake cupcakes. He had to make them from scratch. A recipe my mom had used. She died when I was six months old, so it was just us. He wanted to keep her in my life as much as he could.” Murphy traced the raised pattern on her coffee cup with her thumb. “My birthday is two days after Christmas, and dad never wanted it to get lost in the midst of the holiday craziness. He made it a point to make it special. He’d stop time if he could. He would wake up early to bake those cupcakes, and when I woke up, he would play Elton John’s Your Song on the piano that took up almost the entire living room.”

  Hank, who had stopped playing the keys and turned slightly, rubbed circles in her back as she continued, the warmth of his hand surprisingly comforting. “’This is really your song, Murphy-girl,’ he’d tell me, ‘It was playing over the hospital intercom when you were born, and it was one of your mama’s favorites’.”

  Murphy drew in a shaky breath. Hank’s hand on her back giving her the courage to continue.

  “Every year he’d tell me about how when I was born, I was the only birth in the hospital that day and even though mama had wished for a white Christmas, it didn’t happen. But when I was born, it finally started snowing.” Murphy chuckled. “A ‘Murphy miracle’ he called it. My daddy loved snow.” Murphy used to see the magic in it, but not so much anymore. Not after years of being at Iverson and having to clean up the after-effects from the halls. Now it was just a haunting reminder of what used to be.

  The next part of the story was the hardest to tell.

  Murphy swallowed down the lump and continued, determined the get through without falling apart. “The day before my eleventh birthday Daddy wasn’t feeling so well. He had a morning gig, so he was going to have to get up earlier than normal to make sure everything was perfect for my special day.” Murphy balled a hand into a fist. “I told him not to. I told him we could celebrate on another day, but he insisted. I got up to help him. He had been groggy and lightheaded the night before and so much more so that morning, but he wouldn’t hear about canceling—my birthday celebration or the gig. When he collapsed —” Murphy’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “When he collapsed and I couldn’t wake him, I didn’t know what to do. We didn’t own a phone so I had to bang on three neighbor’s doors before I woke someone up who could help. The ambulance came and took him away. He was in the hospital for three days. He never woke up.”

  Hank’s arm came around the front of Murphy’s knees and he tucked her to him. “I’m so sorry, Cain,” he whispered into her hair.

  Murphy wrapped her fingers around his forearm—meeting the fair hair on his arm where his sleeves were rolled up. She needed to tell him the rest. Had to tell him about Tripp and the platform and the misunderstanding. She didn’t want this secret between them anymore.

  She shifted to face him. “Hank—” she started.

  “Yeah, Cain?” He brushed her hair from her face, letting his hand linger on her shoulder.

  “Hank? Where you at, Dude?”

  The twins came rushing around the corner like a late 204 to New York speeding down the track. Murphy pushed away from the piano bench, gripping her mug in front of her like a shield. She took two steps back, not able to break eye con
tact with Hank. Everything around her hazed away. What had just happened? What had she been about to do? Even if she wanted to tell him the truth, she couldn’t. He would react like everyone else. Why had she told him her story?

  Hank turned to the twins bounding across the room, hollering something about figuring out the challenges for Sir Siegfried’s Quest. Murphy blinked, and the spell was broken. The room came back into focus. She turned and smiled at Floyd and Lloyd.

  “Do you guys need some coffee?” Murphy heard the tremble in her voice and, from the look Hank gave her, he’d heard it too.

  She needed to get out. The room felt like it was closing in around her and she could no longer breathe around Hank.

  “I’m going to see if there is any left,” she escaped to the hallway.

  Using the wall to hold her up she paused, listening to the chatter of the twins and Hank’s calm voice answering them distractedly. She sucked in a deep breath trying to steady her racing heart, and with her head down shuffled back to the kitchen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Christmas Eve officially marked Murphy’s one-week break. She celebrated by sleeping in way too late before having coffee and muffins with the twins. Now, she was busy with dinner preparations. Per tradition, Mrs. Potts always cooked a feast for Murphy, Mr. Gruber, and any remaining students. It normally consisted of the twins and one or two stragglers, but this year it would just be the five of them. Murphy couldn’t help feeling a little twinge that she didn’t invite Hank to their little celebration as well. Hank and Eloise. She would have invited both of them she told herself.

  The gravelly voice of Bing Crosby sang the low notes of Silent Night over the speakers in the mess hall as Murphy padded across the floor in her moccasin slippers, carrying a basket full of rolls hot from the oven. Setting the basket down, she surveyed the table. Going through a mental checklist, she made sure everything was perfect before Mrs. P and Mr. Gruber returned from the Christmas Eve service. They were due back any minute.