Too Much of a Good Thing

by J. J. Murray

  On top of all this, Crystal shows up out of the cold gray sky during an epic lunch rush that is sure to set a record, the lines full of parents and their children, children who can never decide what they want.

  “You have a break coming up?” Crystal asks.

  I look at the throng in line. “Give me about fifteen to twenty minutes,” I say. I point to a booth that a family of four has just vacated. “Want something?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  After twenty-five furious minutes of yelling, flashing my “get-your-booty-in-motion” eyes, and telling children what they want to eat, I pour myself a cup of decaf and join Crystal.

  “Y’all are getting slammed,” she says.

  In many more ways than I could even explain. “What brings you out here today?”

  “I was just in the neighborhood,” she says. “How, um, how is everybody?”

  This is a switch. We haven’t seen Crystal much since she told me she was pregnant. We talk on the phone often enough, but ... “We’re doing fine.” I know I just lost another pound this morning, and Christmas is going to suck, but ... “We’re fine. How are you?”

  Crystal looks away. Oh, Lord, don’t You let this child tell me she’s had an abortion! I’m already having an awful day. Don’t make it my all-time worst!

  “Tony, um, I convinced Tony to do right by me, and he has promised to try.”

  Thank You, Jesus.

  We sit for a spell not speaking. While I’m glad Tony will be around, I sense an unspoken sadness in Crystal.

  “You know, Crystal, there’s a house full of folks who love you.”

  “I know.”

  “They miss you, Crystal. I miss you. You need to come around more often.” Mainly so I can stop cooking so much food! I always cook enough for eight people just in case Crystal drops by, and the fridge is bursting with leftovers by the end of the week.

  “About that,” she says with a wince. “LaTonya has decided to move back home since our lease is up, and though I could pay all the bills since I’ll be working full time over break—doing inventory, yuck. I hate doing inventory.”

  Lord, is she saying what I think she’s saying? Please let it be true.

  “Can I come ... live ... with y’all for a little while?”

  Whoo. I have to hold my tongue a few seconds so I don’t sound too eager. “Of course you can.” But I have to ask her, “How long is ‘a little while’?”

  “Oh, at least until I go off to a real college next year. After the baby’s born, of course.”

  Lord, please don’t have me breaking down crying during my break. If the crew sees it, they won’t respect me. “Um, which college?”

  She smiles. “I was kind of hoping that Virginia Tech would give group discounts.”

  Three kids at once at the same school? Has it ever been done? I’m sure it has. I’ll have to go online to find out how they paid for it all. “Are you sure, Crystal?”

  “About Tech? Sure. It’s a good school.”

  “I mean,” I say, a little waver in my voice that I cannot control, “are you sure about you coming home?”

  “I am, Mama. I’m sure.”

  “I mean, well”—my feet are dancing under this table!—“Toni has gotten right particular about her room.” Toni has WNBA posters everywhere. The child can play her some basketball. “You might not like the décor.”

  “I’ve seen her room, Mama. It’s okay, but I should be rooming with Rose.”

  I blink. Could a piranha and a shark ever share the same room and live together in harmony? Wait. Putting a piranha and a guppy on the verge of becoming a barracuda in the same room can be dangerous as well.

  “Mama?”

  “Just doing some thinking.” I sigh. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, and I am overjoyed you are coming home, but I’m not sure Rose would want you to—”

  “But she does,” Crystal says. “She even suggested it.”

  No way! “Are you and Rose even on speaking terms?”

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  I can think of a few reasons. “I mean, well, she used to be, a freak, remember?”

  Crystal shrugs. “She’s not a freak anymore, Mama. Now that I know her better.”

  “But she called your friends ...”

  “Oh, that.” She rolls her eyes. “We talked about it.”

  “When?” I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen those two speak.

  “A while ago.”

  “How?”

  Crystal pantomimes using a phone. “I told her that I didn’t agree with her choice of words but that I understood her frustration. She apologized to me, I forgave her ... We’re cool, Mama.”

  I have to be sure of this “coolness.” “What if Rose slips and says it?”

  Crystal smiles. “Rose told me, and I believe her, that that was the first time she ever used that word. It embarrassed her, Mama. ‘I wasn’t raised that way,’ she said. She still regrets saying it, wishing she could take it back.”

  “What about your friends?”

  Crystal blinks. “What about them? Once they see me with her and realize she’s my friend and my stepsister, they’ll come around. And if they don’t, they weren’t my friends in the first place.”

  I nod. “Maybe once they get to know her ...”

  “Yeah.”

  I sit back. “So, you and Rose have already talked about you moving back, and behind my back!”

  “Get used to it, Mama,” Crystal says. “Sisters keep secrets.”

  I like the sound of this. “So what does Rose think?”

  “Rose said that Toni should have her own room since she likes it so much, and I agree. Toni’s never had her own room before, and Rose has never had a roommate, so ...”

  Lord, You do move in mysterious ways, even behind my back when I am more than completely exhausted. Thank You.

  “Um, when can you move in?”

  “Is today too soon?”

  Today ... today! I love the sound of that word!

  “What are the boys doing?” she asks.

  I will my eyes to swallow their tears, but they aren’t cooperating. “Whatever it is, Crystal, they’re not doing it now. They are going to help you move.” I want to hug her so bad, but there’s a table between us, and the little chaps inside us might get squished. My stomach rumbles for good measure. “Girl, I am suddenly hungry. I need to get me a couple apple pies. You want some?”

  “No.” She stands. “When will you be home?”

  Lord, she keeps calling it “home.” I don’t deserve Your blessings, Lord, but I sure am going to take them. “I’m getting off at the regular time today.”

  “No overtime?”

  “No.” I smile. “Toni and I will be shopping for the angels today.”

  Crystal smiles. “You’re still doing that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, maybe I can help you do the wrapping when you get back.”

  I nod. “We’ll have lots to wrap. We’re doing six angels this year.”

  “Wow.” Crystal smiles. “So, I’ll see you at home?” There’s that word again. “Yes, Crystal. You’ll see me at home.”

  “Great. Can I borrow the van for all my boxes?”

  We exchange keys, and then it hits me. “You already packed?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if I said you couldn’t move back?” Not that I ever would.

  “I knew you would. You’re still my mama. You can’t stand to be away from me. See you.”

  I float from the dining room to the crew behind the counter, and they scatter in search of something to do, probably because they’ve never before seen me smile so much. I even fix that stuck cash drawer with a tap of my hand.

  And every customer who steps up to that counter for the rest of my shift gets a very nonpolitically correct “Merry Christmas!”

  75

  Joe

  Having Crystal in the house is like having two Shawnas around. The house ha
s never been cleaner, each bedroom neat and orderly, the meals have never been tastier, and the kids have never seemed happier. We are all together now. We are a unit. We are one.

  We also have less hot water, fewer leftovers, a longer wait for church, less room at the table, and more phone calls per hour than any house on earth should. Our MSN mailbox is overflowing with correspondence from folks needing help from LivingWithDeath.com, and every night, long into the night we answer them. We make a mighty powerful team, and I’ve lost count of the number of folks we’ve already helped with their grief.

  All this amazes me, but I’m most amazed by Crystal and Rose. Crystal moves into Rose’s room, and it’s as if they’ve been rooming together all their lives. They share clothes. They do each other’s makeup. They style each other’s hair. They giggle. They stay up late talking. They’re ... sisters. And when we visit Shawna’s family the week before Christmas, they room together there, too. I can’t praise God enough for this unexpected miracle.

  And despite my earlier gloomy prediction for having little money for Christmas, we “find” money—or have money find us—in the strangest of places. Several library books the kids had lost over the years and we had already paid for turn up during a cleaning of all closets. The school refunds the money. Roanoke Gas gave us the option of applying our surplus budget funds for natural gas to next year’s payments, or, the letter read, “We can refund the surplus in time for the holidays.” We had them cut that check. My insurance company has an unusually good year and refunds a sizable chunk of our auto and home premiums. My parents send us a check for six hundred dollars, the note from Mom reading: “The Lord put this amount on my heart.” The more we give, the more we get, and we even sponsor another Angel Tree child as a family.

  The Lord is providing us with a simply awesome Christmas.

  Shawna and I decide to blend our Christmas traditions. On Christmas Eve, my family always opens the gift from the family member who lives farthest away. This year it happens to be a package from my brother, who is back in Irian Jaya for their summer season. It is a pretty big box, and we let Jimmy and Toni open it.

  Jimmy holds up a wooden mask, turning it over. “This is for Rose,” he says.

  He and Toni hand out a different intricately carved mask to each child. I get a woven carry-all only about a foot deep “for the next fish you catch,” according to the note. Very funny, James. As if I’ll catch a fish that small. But we all crack up when Shawna holds her ...

  We have no idea what it is. It looks like a long, skinny shell wrapped around a horse’s tail.

  Toni finds another note at the bottom. “ ‘Greetings from the Dani Tribe,’ ” she reads. “ ‘Thank you for the TP.’ ”

  I laugh. “They got it.” Everyone is looking strangely at me. “I told Dad to send them a care package loaded with toilet paper. It’s like gold to them there.”

  “Uh-huh,” Shawna says. “Keep reading, Toni.”

  “ ‘The masks are made by the Asmats, and each is unique, no two the same,’ ” Toni reads. “ ‘Just like you six are. And the fly swatter’ ”—she looks at Shawna—“you’re holding a fly swatter, Mama. It says it’s made out of a bird’s leg bone and the bird’s feathers.”

  Shawna swats the air. “I’m taking this up to Canada next year.”

  My brother. Every gift has meaning. Our children are different, so he sends each a different mask. Shawna had trouble with the bugs, so he sends a fly swatter. I am a better fisherman than he’ll ever be, so he sends me a joke. It is amazing how carefully selected gifts can bring the givers right into your family room.

  We all attended the Christmas Eve service at Pilgrim, one of Shawna’s traditions, and on Christmas morning we line up on the stairs for a family picture—a Murphy family tradition, since the beginning of photography, I suspect. We first open the stockings. I am surprised the mantel held up under the weight of eight stockings. Then comes breakfast (waffles, eggs, and bacon), and then ...

  “Joe and I have decided to use the Murphy family tradition of opening gifts youngest to oldest,” Shawna says. “Any objections?”

  Of course there aren’t any, and several hours later, we still aren’t through. Shawna and Crystal have enough unisex clothes for several babies. Rose has her prepaid cell phone. Junior has a new web design program for the boys’ computer. Jimmy has his “fierce” new bike. Toni gets new clothes so she won’t have to wear any hand-me-downs. Crystal gets a whole Virginia Tech wardrobe: sweats, hats, T-shirts, and even a coffee cup. I get a few “outfits” picked out by Rose, Shawna, and Crystal that “won’t embarrass us in public,” and Joey gets all the books he’s been putting off reading—and a special box from my dad. I already know what’s in it since I packed it in the van when we were up at Aylen. He opens it ...

  “It’s Great-Grandpa’s typewriter,” Joey says. Of my three, he knows the most about our family’s history, mainly because Cheryl drilled it into him.

  “Joey,” I say, “it’s Grandma and Grandpa’s way of saying they’re proud of your writing, and they hope one day that maybe you’ll write about them—and us, too.”

  “Does it work?” Joey asks.

  “Find out,” Shawna says.

  Joey slides in a piece of wrapping paper and pecks away. “It works.”

  There are six envelopes on the tree left to open. I’d purposely placed them low on the tree behind the presents so no one would notice.

  “I didn’t even know they were there, Joe,” Shawna says. “Who are they from?”

  My kids, who had usually received them from Cheryl, look at me.

  “They’re from me this year,” I say. “Toni, I want you to hand them out.”

  Toni hands them out, and I watch each open his or her letter. Without fail, they each look at the check first, and then they read the letter.

  “What do they say?” Shawna asks.

  “Good things,” I say. “I, um, I got my bonus early.”

  “You did? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

  I had to threaten to quit to get that bonus, and I was almost out the door, too, I was so frustrated. But it turned out that someone somewhere in the company had a heart.

  One by one, the children, my children, all six of my children, come to me, waving their bonus checks, and give me hugs, saying, “Thank you,” and “Merry Christmas, Daddy,” and “Merry Christmas, Joe.”

  Crystal is last. “But, um, Joe, this is way too much.”

  I take her hand. “It’s okay. Buy yourself a car or something.”

  She nods, and a single tear slips down her cheek. “Thank you.” She hugs me.

  That hug was the best Christmas present I ever got.

  76

  Shawna

  I have to read one of these letters, but before I can get to one, Joe takes an envelope from his back pocket with “Honey” written on it and hands it to me.

  “You’re going to make me cry, too, I can feel it,” I say.

  “Open it.”

  I open it and read:

  Honey,

  I love you. I don’t say it as often as I should. I’ll try to say it to you more often. I love you. You have brought me back from sorrow and given me new life. I thank God for you every day. I cannot wait to see the life we have made that is growing inside you. I hope he (or she) has your eyes. I could look into your eyes forever. Please accept this small token of my love and use it for something you really want.

  All my love forever, Joe

  I look at the check. Three hundred dollars? That was some bonus! And that was ...

  That was all we had just a few short weeks ago.

  God is good. God is great.

  “All I want is you,” I whisper, giving him a juicy kiss. I look at the children, who are looking at Joe ... with awe. There’s no other way to describe it. “How much did you give them?” I whisper.

  “I split it all up,” he whispers back.

  What? “You divi
ded up your entire bonus?”

  He nods. “Kids,” he says a little louder, “and Shawna, you are the reason I earned my bonus. You’re the reason I work so hard. Everything ... everything I have is yours.”

  I don’t know if it’s a tradition in this house to gather around for a group hug with the man of the house, but that’s what we do. If only someone could have taken a picture ... Priceless.

  “Oh,” Toni says. “I almost forgot.” She runs upstairs and comes down with a thin present, handing it to Joe. “I got you two something.”

  “Oh, honey,” I say. “You didn’t have to get us anything.”

  Toni’s eyes fill with tears. “I know.”

  Both Joe and I open it, and in the most exquisite jade green frame is a picture Toni drew ... of me and Joe, with her in the middle holding both of our hands.

  All she ever wanted was a mama and a daddy.

  Lord, crying a lot is yet another Christmas tradition around here.

  “You like it?” Toni asks.

  We cradle that child between us, lavishing her with tear-filled kisses.

  “Murphy Christmas, everyone,” Joe says.

  Yeah, it’s silly, even cornball. But “Murphy Christmas” means so much more.

  77

  Joe

  The winter months fly by. The government is very good to us with our tax refund—five digits’ worth—and heaven is practically shining down between what we make and what we owe.

  Well, not exactly.

  We have already sent down payments for three kids to go to college next fall at Virginia Tech, which is not what Cheryl and I had envisioned happening when we planned our family at two-year intervals. It’s probably not what any parent ever envisions. By my calculations, we’ll be paying college bills for the next twelve consecutive years, or until Toni graduates from Yale—or wherever future leaders of America go who love to talk. Then, after a six-year break, we’ll put Shawnjo/Joshawna Kazuby and Crystal’s baby, who she’ll name either Rodney or Shanté, through medical school. All told, for the next, oh, thirty years, Shawna and I will know the ins and outs of every federal student-aid form in the country. We are fortunate that the financial aid folks at Tech have a heart, because they found work-study and some obscure scholarships for all three kids and even waived Crystal’s nonrefundable application fee.