by Ann McMan
“This is Stevenson.”
“This is Murphy.” There was a pause. “Well, I suppose I should narrow that down for you. This is Miss Murphy.”
Maddie smiled at the sound of Syd’s voice and laid the open journal down across her lap. “Hmmm. I might need you to be even more specific. Would this also be the short Miss Murphy?”
There was an audible sigh. “This would be the short and grateful Miss Murphy, yes.”
Maddie smiled into the phone. “How are you? How was the shopping trip?”
“I’m fine, and my day was apparently nowhere near as eventful as my father’s. Or yours.”
“Yes. It’s safe to say that your father got a real feel for the area today.”
“Thank you for taking care of him. He won’t stop raving about you.” She paused again. “I think he might have a little crush on you. He gets all misty-eyed when he talks about how you fixed him up.” She chuckled. “Of course, that could also be the four double-Scotches talking.”
Maddie laughed.
“I’m not kidding. Michael keeps pouring like a madman. What’s that about?”
“It’s a long story. Suffice it to say that Michael doesn’t do well around blood and gore. He felt guilty about not being able to wait around on your dad while I stitched him up.”
“Ahh. Okay. Now about that other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“You stitching my father back together. How do I repay you for that?”
Maddie slouched down into her chair and dragged the ottoman closer, prepared now for a longer conversation. “Hmmm. The possibilities are endless. Do I have to make a snap decision? I’d hate to waste this opportunity on something fleeting.”
“Against my better judgment, I’ll agree that it doesn’t have to be a time-value offer. You just let me know when you figure something out.”
“Oh, trust me, you’ll be the very first to know.”
Syd laughed. “In the meantime, my mother has some serious doubts about your competence.”
Maddie sat up alarmed. “What do you mean?”
“Calm down, Stretch. Did you forget that she’s actually a nurse? That ostentatious bandage didn’t fool her for two seconds. My poor father was crestfallen that she didn’t collapse weeping into his arms.”
“Oops.”
“Yeah. Now you two are tagged as co-conspirators. It’s not going to be pretty when you see her tomorrow.”
“I’m seeing her tomorrow?”
“Oh, yeah. You’re coming out to the Inn for breakfast to help me see them off.”
“I am?”
“You are.”
Maddie sighed.
“Give it up. It’s pointless to resist.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really. Once you’re caught in her crosshairs, there’s no escape.”
“Spoken like someone resigned to her fate.”
“Tell me about it. You haven’t noticed that I’ve been running around all week with an infrared dot tattooed on the center of my forehead?”
Maddie thought about that. “Well, now that you mention it. I thought maybe it was just some kind of high-tech bindi mark.”
“You’re not half as funny as you think you are.”
“In fact, I think I am.”
Syd sighed.
Maddie pressed her advantage. “Deep down, you think I am, too.”
“Deep down, I think you’re a lunatic. Adorable—but a lunatic, nevertheless.”
“Excuse me. I think there was some static on the line. Did you just call me adorable?”
“Lunatic. I called you an adorable lunatic. It’s not the same thing.”
“It isn’t?”
“Nuh uh.”
It was Maddie’s turn to sigh. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Well, don’t despair. My father will happily drink your Kool-Aid.”
“That’s nice, but maybe he isn’t the only Murphy I want to impress.”
Syd was quiet for a moment. “There are others on your list?”
“Maybe.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“Well, let’s see. There’s the short, grateful one who thinks I’m adorable.”
“Lunatic. The short, grateful one who thinks you’re a lunatic.”
“And adorable?”
“And adorable.”
“Yeah. That one.”
“That one is already impressed.”
“In that case, I’d be happy to join you for breakfast.”
Syd laughed. “Great. Eight-thirty sharp. See you then.”
“It’s a date.” She hung up and sat staring across the room for a few minutes, smiling stupidly, and wishing it really was.
Chapter 10
T’was the week before Christmas.
2:42 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
Now at BWI. Dad sorry u rn’t here 2 take stitches out.
2:45 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
Tell him scissors won’t reach that far.
2:49 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
He says u should improvise.
2:52 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
Never mastered folding space.
2:57 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
He says Southwest does that 4 u.
3:01 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
Is that an invitation?
3:06 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
Yep. www.southwest.com
3:08 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, MH.
Subtle. I’ll think about it. :-)
3:12 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
No pressure. But…
3:14 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, MH.
But?
3:17 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
I’d like it 2
3:21 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
How much?
3:23 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
More than I have left in text minutes 2 tell u.
3:26 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
It would be one helluva house call.
3:29 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
:-)
3:31 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
Can’t promise. Will see what I can do.
3:34 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
Dad happy.
3:37 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
Short Murphy happy 2.
3:39 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
Miss you.
4:01 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
Prove it. Car here. Murphy out.
Two days before Christmas.
8:15 a.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
Have emergency. Not able to get away today. So sorry. Will call later.
8:26 a.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
Sorry 2. Will miss u. Call when u can.
1:22 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
Still at hospital. No progress. Will you be at home tonight?
1:42 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
After 8—r u ok?
1:53 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
Been better.
1:58 p.m. Text message from Murphy, S.
:-( Wish I could hug u.
2:03 p.m. Text message from Stevenson, M.H.
Me, too.
ON NINE-THIRTY IN the evening at the Murphy’s house in Towson Syd heard her cell phone ringing.
Her phone was in her purse on the foyer table, where she had left it after coming in from a late dinner with her aunt and uncle. She ran down the stairs from her old bedroom to try and catch it before it rolled to voice mail.
She skidded to a stop and stared wide-eyed as her brother, Tom, flipped opened the phone.
“Syd Murphy’s Pleasure Palace. Remember to ask about our special Yuletide Smack-Down—two hot babes emasculating you for the price of one. Will you be pay
ing by cash or credit card?” He waved a slice of cold pizza around to dramatize the words.
“Tom, you asshole. I am so going to kill you if you don’t hand that to me right now,” Syd hissed as she danced around her taller brother in frustration. He backed away and held the phone up over her head. As he slowly inched up the steps, he put it to his ear again.
“What’s that?” he asked. “You’re interested in a volume discount? Oh? A doctor? In that case, would you like me to set you up with a house account?”
“I mean it, Tom. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life singing soprano, you’ll hand that to me right now.” Syd grabbed the leg of his faded blue jeans and yanked him down to a sitting position on the stairs. She thought she could hear faint laughter through the earpiece. She finally succeeded in grabbing the cell phone and prepared to unleash another torrent of abuse just as Tom shoved the half-eaten slice of pizza into her mouth. “Motthurphumpks . . . jerksufa!”
Chuckling at her distress, Tom daintily stepped over her and headed back to the kitchen.
On the other end of the line, Maddie’s voice was calm. “Excuse me? Do you think you could repeat that last part? I was trying to find my credit card.”
Syd furiously wiped at her mouth. “I’m going to kill him.”
“You know, I’ve never regretted being an only child—until right now.”
Syd sat back against the stair riser. “You must be joking? If you think his phone manners are bad, you should see his bathroom habits. It’s like living with Cro-Magnon man, incarnate.”
Maddie chuckled. “I doubt it’s as bad as all that. He sounds pretty . . . amusing.”
“Amusing? Yeah . . . Well, you’re just lucky that you can’t see the hair on his palms through the phone.”
“Then again,” Maddie’s voice was thoughtful, “maybe I’m not sorry that I won’t be able to get up there.”
Syd’s heart fell, but she tried to keep her tone light. “What happened?”
Maddie sighed. “I have a young patient named Héctor Sanchez—he’s seven. I saw him about a month ago when he had a strep infection. But now, he’s in the hospital with viral meningitis. It was touch and go for a while. We thought it might be bacterial, and I worried that we’d have to quarantine his entire family. I’m afraid that his older brother has it, too. We’re waiting on his lab results right now.”
“God. I’m so sorry. Will they be okay?”
“Hopefully—if I can figure out how to keep them in the hospital. They don’t have any insurance, and their mother is eight months pregnant. I worry about her ability to manage both of them at home in her condition.”
“So, you’re going to stay around and keep an eye on them?”
“I am. I feel that I have to. They don’t have any other family in the area. Mr. Sanchez works for one of the bigger Christmas tree farms over in Ashe County, and he’s traveling right now, delivering trees to lots near the coast.” She paused. “I’m sorry. I really did want to try to make it up there, just for a night.”
“I know,” Syd said quietly. “It was just a whim. We knew it was an outside chance at best. Dad will be disappointed.” She smiled to herself. “I think he’s rounded up every broken appliance in a three-county radius. He seems to think that you’d look pretty fetching in a tool belt.”
“Oh yeah? Whoever gave him that idea?”
“I simply cannot imagine.”
“You can’t?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe it’s just as well. I actually don’t own a tool belt. Your father would be disappointed.”
“He’s not the only one.”
There was a pause.
“Oh, really?” Maddie said.
“Well . . .”
“You know, I’ve observed that the telephone seems to morph you into some kind of altered state.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember once that you said we should have more conversations in the dark?”
“Yeah?” Syd said, warily.
“Well, I think we should have more conversations on the phone.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re . . . different.”
“I am?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“How am I different?”
“I don’t know—different.” Maddie paused. “Taller maybe?”
Syd let out the breath she had been holding. “You’re such a jerk.”
Maddie chuckled.
“Why do you love to torment me?”
“If I knew the answer to that, I’d be a very wise woman,” Maddie said. Syd couldn’t think of a quick, smart-aleck response to that. “Do I really?”
“Do you really what?”
“Do I torment you?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?”
“Let me see . . . I think I am.”
“Well then, yes. You torment the shit out of me.”
“I do?”
“You do.”
“How?”
“How what?”
“How do I torment you?”
Syd sighed. “Well for starters, there’s your whole ridiculous height advantage.”
“Hold on a minute. I can’t be held responsible because you’re uncommonly short.”
“And then there’s your—hey! I am not uncommonly short.”
“Reeealllly?” Maddie drawled. “Then how come you can’t see anything above my waist?”
“You can’t even imagine how wrong you are about that one, wise guy.”
“Oh, yeah?” Maddie’s tone was challenging. “What color are my eyes?”
“Oh, give me a break.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re seriously delusional.”
“I knew it.”
“What?”
“You can’t answer me because you don’t know.”
“That’s ridiculous. The entire world knows what color your eyes are. I think they’re even listed in Zagat’s Best of Virginia guide.”
“Very funny.”
“So. Where was I? Oh yes. The ways you torment me. Let’s see . . . there’s your complete and unselfish devotion to your patients.”
“Well, I’m hardly Florence Nightingale, but how is that a torment for you?” Maddie sounded confused.
“It means I won’t get to see you tomorrow.”
They were quiet for a moment, and the only sound was the hiss of the miles between them.
“Wrong again. That’s my torment.”
“Mine, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. We’ll . . . I’ll miss you.”
“Same here.”
They were quiet again.
“When are you coming home?”
Syd was surprised by her reaction to the question. She had never really thought of Jericho as home. But something about that characterization now felt comfortable. It seemed to fit—just like her growing relationship with Maddie and her small circle of friends seemed to fit.
“Friday,” she answered. “I’m coming home on Friday.” In truth, she had planned to stay in Maryland until Sunday, but her ticket had an open return, and she decided right then to take advantage of it.
“Really?” Maddie’s tone seemed brighter. “Wanna come over for dinner on Saturday night? We can have a belated celebration.”
Syd smiled. “I’d love that.”
“Great. Will you cook?”
Syd sighed. “If I want something to eat besides pimento cheese spread, I guess I’ll have to.”
Maddie laughed. “Well, think about what you’d like to have, and text me a list. I’ll do the shopping.”
“Good luck with Héctor and his brother. I hope they’re soon on the mend.”
“Thanks. I do, too. Give my best to your folks—apologize for me.”
“I will. Bye.”
“Hey?”
“Yeah?”
“Merry Christmas, Shortie.”
She smiled and held t
he phone just a little tighter against her ear. “Merry Christmas, Stretch.”
She closed her phone and sat quietly for a few moments, staring straight ahead at the big wreath hanging on the inside of her parents’ front door. It flickered with about a hundred tiny white lights. Friday. Three more days.
It felt like a lifetime.
Christmas Eve
Syd and Tom sat with their parents in the living room of the family home in Towson. It had been drizzling most of the day, and the colder, nighttime temperature quickly coated everything outside with a glaze of ice. Syd wished it would snow. She had checked the weather forecast earlier in the evening, and it was snowing in the mountains of Virginia. Snowing on Christmas Eve. In her mind’s eye, she could picture the way the landscape looked there. She imagined the muffled quiet on the deserted street below her apartment, and the sticky, sweet smell of cedar twigs burning in her corner woodstove. She’d sit with her mug of hot tea, wrapped-up in blankets on her sagging sofa, reading Jane Eyre and trying to ignore the cold air that snaked in around the window frames.
Her father got up and added another log to the fire. In the background, Bing Crosby was crooning. Silver bells. Christmastime in the city. She loved her parents. She even loved her obnoxious brother. She was happy to be with them but she didn’t want to be in the city. Not at Christmas. She wanted to go home.
Home. When did Jericho become home? For four years, she had lived in Durham with Jeff, and never once did she call it home. It was confusing. And that confusion joined forces with the rest of what was confounding her—filling up her senses with something unnamed. It disrupted her sleep and kept her on edge, but still it remained formless, just beyond her line of sight. Sometimes, she caught fleeting glimpses of it as it crept closer to her in the predawn hours, before it retreated again into the darkness behind the tree line of her subconscious.
“Want this, Sis?” She looked up. Tom stood in front of her. He was holding a tumbler filled to the rim with eggnog. She could see the hefty floater of rum clinging to the inch of froth at the top of the glass. She gave him a grateful smile.
