Home For Christmas

by Patricia Potter

  He finished his thirtieth push-up and fell to the floor, his injured shoulder aching. He didn’t want to think about the upcoming heanng. Despite Julie Farrell’s optimism, he didn’t want to hope, not when his chances were slim to none. He called her Julie in his mind, Mrs. Farrell when he was with her He’d tried not to think of her as Julie, tried mentally to formalize her, but it never quite worked

  She said she would be here again before the hearing.

  When?

  Julie stayed away from Reidsville until three days before the parole hearing. The hearing would take place at the prison, as would some twenty others.

  How many times had she read the court transcript when he pleaded guilty? Murphy’s statement? The statements of prison officials, police officers, witnesses at the accident when Murphy had pulled her from the car?

  The most interesting to her was Murphy’s statement at sentencing He had been required in the plea bargain to admit his culpability

  He did it in one sentence. “I’m guilty of the crimes charged.”

  No remorse, which might have gotten him a lesser sentence. No explanation. No mitigating circumstances. No nothing

  The lack of remorse, she knew, was the greatest impediment to a parole. Parole boards liked remorse Heck, they nearly always required it.

  She had considered strategy carefully Though she still had doubts about what happened that Christmas Eve night, she wouldn’t visit the ambiguities of the ten-year-old case She decided to stake everything on his act of heroism in saving her and her boy, and the amnesia which changed him into an entirely different person.

  She already asked two additional doctors—another neurologist and a neuroscientist who was involved in a research project involving amnesia and memory—to testify. After examining Murphy, both were willing to testify they believed he suffered amnesia and that he could receive better treatment outside the prison system than within.

  Dan, after failing to contact Mike Cates’s family, had finally agreed not to oppose the parole. He made it very clear, though, that he would keep a close eye on Murphy if the parole were granted

  She didn’t know if anyone else would oppose the parole. Her main concern was Murphy himself, how he would comport himself, whether he could handle antagonistic questions She had felt the tension in him the last time she’d visited. Each day had to feel like a week, a month, to him

  This time she went alone. He was handcuffed when led in, and she asked for them to be removed. After a pause, the guard did so. “I’ll be right outside,” he said

  She watched as Murphy massaged his wrists for several moments, then he lifted his gaze to look directly at her

  A tremor ran through her. His eyes were so blue, so direct. He looked healthier than he had before. Even with prison food, his body was filling out. His shoulders looked broader than before, and his arms, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up again, looked muscular and capable.

  His dark hair was cropped short but it was thick and had a tendency to curl. Despite the fact that it was early afternoon, a five o’clock shadow was already shading his face Black Irish. Murphy, with his dark hair and dark blue eyes that crinkled as though he was squinting at the sun, suddenly brought the expression to mind.

  She couldn’t find her tongue. Her stomach clenched in a reaction she really didn’t understand, and her heart seemed to beat faster as she met his steady gaze She forced her eyes downward. “How are you?” she asked in what she hoped was a businesslike tone.

  “I don’t really know how to answer that,” he replied and she realized she’d forgotten how lazy and deep his voice sounded.

  “Most people would say ‘fine,’” she said.

  “I don’t think I’m most people.”

  He had a point. A very good point. She looked up, wanting to see at least a brief glimpse of a smile. Maybe, she wondered after being disappointed, he didn’t know how.

  “No,” she agreed. “You’re definitely not most people.”

  She sat down. He didn’t. Instead, he roamed the room like a caged panther She didn’t like the image. “Sit down We have a lot to cover.”

  For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to refuse. Then he sat. “Good,” she said.

  “What’s good?”

  “Doing as you’re told ”

  His lips thinned slightly, and his eyes flared. His hands pressed down on the table and she saw his knuckles turn white.

  “You’ll have to do that, you know, if you get the parole. You will have to observe a number of rules—I’ll tell you what some of those are—and you will have to answer to a parole officer. It won’t be easy.”

  “Do you really believe...?”

  “I don’t know,” she said when he hesitated “I don’t know what your chances are. But I want you to be polite, answer everything calmly. Don’t let any of them get you angry. Several will try ”

  “Why?”

  “To see if you will explode, whether you might be a danger to the community Someone will probably ask whether you regret the crime.”

  “I don’t even remember it.”

  “Regretting plays a big part in their decision,” she said

  “You want me to lie?”

  “No,” she said. “Just say you don’t remember, but that you realize it was a terrible crime and regret any part you had in it.”

  He nodded “Do you think they will believe the amnesia?”

  She shrugged “I had a hard tune with it in the beginning Everyone does We always hear about amnesia, read about it in fiction and watch it on television, but do we really believe it?”

  He was silent, listening

  “Here’s what I’m going to do,” she said, and explained her strategy to him.

  “If they grant a parole.. ?”

  “Let me explain what parole will mean,” she said. “You won’t be able to carry a gun You can’t go in a bar You can’t associate with other ex-convicts. You’ll probably have to take drug tests on a regular basis. You will have to keep a job You can’t get in fights. You will probably have to see your parole officer once a week in the beginning ”

  He nodded, but his eyes were asking questions, questions he wasn’t about to verbalize. Questions, she knew, he was afraid would reveal too much.

  How would he live in a society when so many pieces of his life were missing? He had made giant strides in the past month She knew from the doctors how much he was reading, how quickly he comprehended facts and ideas. Yet it must be intimidating not to recognize any faces, places or names, not to know what skills he might have. She expected, in fact, that that would be one of the questions posed by the parole board. If indeed he did have nearly total amnesia, how could he function?

  Most people couldn’t. But she would bet on Murphy

  She ran him through a number of questions until she was satisfied with his answers. She liked the way he answered. Quietly. Thoughtfully No touch of arrogance He didn’t avoid tough questions.

  After two hours, she felt that she had done as much as she could. The guard had knocked and checked with her after one hour, and again after the second She knew it was time to go, and she had to get back to Atlanta for Nick.

  She finally rose from her seat, and stood with him.

  “I hope you are keeping track of your time,” he said. “I’ll pay you as soon as I can.”

  She swallowed hard. She sensed he had practiced that promise several times. He might have lost the arrogance everyone remembered, but he hadn’t lost the pride.

  “I’ll keep records,” she said, knowing that she wouldn’t. He had already given her far more than she could ever repay.

  He stood “Thank you for the books ”

  “I have several more for you.”

  The sides of his eyes crinkled and one side of his mouth tugged upward. A shadow of a smile. Maybe only a hint. Her heart thumped more rapidly. She ached to lean over and touch him, but she couldn’t. She was his attorney, for Pete’s sake

  Instead her hands
fumbled inside her briefcase for the books. One was a popular suspense novel. The other was a history of Atlanta. She’d added several recent news magazines to the pile, along with two copies of Popular Mechanics.

  He looked at her under hooded eyes.

  She grinned. “I told Mr. O’Donnell you could fix anything ”

  “O’Donnell?”

  “An Irishman,” she said with satisfaction.

  “I’ll see if the library has a book on car repairs.”

  She suspected if the library did, Murphy would well fit Mr. O’Donnell’s needs She’d seldom met anyone with a quicker mind.

  She knocked on the door

  “Mrs. Farrell?” Murphy’s voice was hesitant.

  She turned back and looked at him questioningly.

  “Do you think you could get me a picture of my daughter?”

  The question was a sledgehammer into her chest. “I’ll try.”

  He nodded, then turned as the guard entered, fitted handcuffs back on him.

  His back went a little straighter, but he didn’t turn back to her. Instead, he disappeared out the door, leaving the room very, very empty. It wasn’t until then she realized how much he’d dominated it.

  Julie picked Murphy up at the gates of Reidsville a week following the hearing. After an extremely long and difficult hearing, he had been granted a parole predicated on a number of conditions, including a job and a place to stay. Murphy had handled each question with precision and grace, surprising even her He had kept his voice even, had expressed regret over events ten years earlier. He’d admitted he didn’t know whether he had any skills, but was ready to take any kind of job.

  The decision had produced the euphoria of victory at first, then second thoughts. Had Murphy been too good, too prepared. Were Dan and Jerry right? Had she really thought through the implications of her crusade?

  She especially had doubts about his living arrangements. She had not been able to find a suitable place for him to live, especially since he didn’t have transportation, so she’d offered him her garage apartment. She’d spent the last several days making it habitable. clean sheets and blankets for the bed; towels, food in the old refrigerator left over from the home’s previous owner The space included a bathroom and one large room, one side containing a refrigerator, sink, stove and small table, the other a bed and several comfortable old chairs The bath had an old-fashioned bathtub sitting on metal feet and a rigged shower above.

  The walls needed painting, but she didn’t have time to do that She tried to add some color with a gaily patterned rug and matching curtains. She’d located a bookcase at a garage sale and filled it with some of her own favorite books Finally, she’d purchased an inexpensive color television.

  She had sat down with Nick and explained that someone would be living in the apartment, the man who had helped her and him during the accident. He had been sick, she said, and Nick should respect his privacy

  But Nicholas had been beside himself with excitement at the thought of a new friend, especially the one who had “saved” him. She had worried that Nick would pester Murphy to distraction, that Murphy, a convicted murderer, would be geographically close to her son That thought had struck her anew during the middle of the night after the hearing.

  She felt traitorous even thinking it. Yet it nagged at her. She was a mother, first and foremost. Was she putting her own son in danger? Though she kept pushing the thought away, the possibility haunted her

  She owed Murphy. She owed him more than she could ever repay, but did she owe him enough to endanger her child?

  She didn’t think he was dangerous. If she had, she never would have fought for him as she had, regardless of what he had done for her. But what if she was wrong? She certainly had been wrong before

  All those questions darted through her mind as she waited one hour, then another. She had brought her laptop with her, knowing she might wait. Bureaucracy, particularly prison bureaucracy, never moved quickly. But she had not been able to concentrate. She was too aware of demons in her head, especially a particularly evil one that reminded her how attracted she was to him.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  She would just have to find him a new place to live once the publicity died down and he had held a job several months.

  Several months!

  Jerry had wanted to come with her, but she had demurred. Jerry was openly hostile to Murphy, and particularly to her plan to let him stay on her property. The fact that she had no choice—that he wouldn’t be released without an acceptable place to stay—hadn’t swayed his opposition one bit.

  The gate finally opened Murphy stood still for a moment, his gaze searching the parking lot, the fields beyond. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a light blue denim shirt that she had bought for him, and he held a paper bag. It was small evidence, she thought, of ten years.

  She stood so he could see her. He squinted against the November sun, then walked slowly to the passenger side “Get in,” she said, sensing how awkward, how uncertain, he must feel. She certainly would, if she was going out into a world of which she knew little.

  He opened the door and sat inside, hesitating before closing the door. She wondered what it felt like for him, being free He probably just wanted to stand there, soak in the fresh air without being encircled by bars and fences. It would be a fine feeling to someone who had spent ten years inside, but also to someone who hadn’t known anything else.

  She wished she could stop hurting for him, empathizing with him. She wished there wasn’t this terribly strong connection with him that made it so. She wished he didn’t look so appealing as his eyes swept the horizon

  Finally, he turned to her. His eyes were so damned blue, so damned direct. “I’ll find a way to repay you,” he said.

  She could only nod. She couldn’t force herself to ask him how he felt. He probably didn’t even know how he felt. He was probably assimilating feelings, impressions, as she had seen him do before.

  She started the car. The trip was going to be hell. She had never been more physically, sensually, aware of a man before. Her heart hammered and she felt herself grow warm even though she’d turned on the air-conditioning in her new car.

  Julie reached over and turned on the CD player. She needed something—anything—to distract her. Unfortunately, the music was Ravel’s Bolero, a particularly sensuous piece of music that did nothing to reduce the heat she felt

  What in God’s name had she done?

  The silence stretched as they drove through the piney woods of central Georgia. But after the first few minutes it was not awkward. He was absorbing everything. She suspected his eyes missed nothing.

  Just outside Atlanta, she stopped at a well-known barbecue restaurant. She realized she didn’t know what he liked. Perhaps he didn’t, either. He’d had no choices since his injury. But Nick loved barbecue and this meant she wouldn’t have to cook tonight.

  Murphy—she kept trying to think of him as Murphy rather than the more intimate Ryan—looked at her with those dark questioning eyes.

  “We’ll go in,” she said. “I’ll also buy some to take home. Nick loves barbecue.”

  He unwound his long legs as he left the car, and again she was struck by the athletic grace of his movements. He waited for her to go ahead. Instinctive courtesy? Learned behavior? Would she always question everything he did?

  Once inside, she slid into a booth He was watching every movement, and he followed suit. If he was uncertain, if this was new to him, he showed no sign of it.

  He’s faking. The demons were at work again.

  He carefully studied the menu.

  “The barbecue sandwiches are really good,” she said. “So are the ribs.”

  His eyes lifted from the menu so that she was subjected to their full power. They were almost magnetic. Heck, they were magnetic. She pitied the poor criminals who had once come under them.

  Murphy’s gaze went back to the menu, studying it as she had watched him study the fi
elds they had passed

  A waitress came over, her eyes going automatically to Murphy and lingering on him appreciatively. Julie suddenly saw him as the waitress probably saw him.

  He looked confident. If he had any fear of the future, he didn’t show it. But neither did she see any joy in him, any expectation. Only that infernal watchfulness Physically, he was very attractive He’d rolled up his sleeves and his arms were still tan from months on the road gang. His shoulders were broad, and his long legs, which stretched out from under the table, indicated a height over six feet He had apparently shaved just before leaving because there was no sign of that five o’clock shadow, and his dark hair was mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it His fingers thrummed on the table with that restless energy she’d sensed so often.

  His lips had a crook to them on the left side, giving him a slight perpetual frown. Skin around his eyes crinkled and his heavy dark eyebrows gave him a deceptively lazy look.

  She ordered a sandwich and iced tea and listened as he ordered two sandwiches, french fries and a soft drink

  “And pie?” the waitress said, obviously flirting with him.

  He nodded.

  The waitress turned with a flounce as he studied the interior of the restaurant. It resembled a log cabin, its walls plain as were the tables. Most of the tables, despite the fact it was late afternoon, were filled. Then his gaze settled on their own table, the different kinds of sauces that were offered.

  “Hot sauces,” she explained. “The more x’s, the hotter they are.”

  “Do you like hot?”

  “Yes,” she said, but she didn’t need anything hot. She felt altogether too warm already.

  His gaze bored into her. “I haven’t thanked you properly for everything. I meant what I said I’ll pay you back every cent ”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want”

  “I told Mr O’Donnell you will be in Thursday or Friday. I thought you would.. like a day or two to get settled ”

  “I want to start as soon as possible.” he said.

  “All right. I must warn you, though, my son is very eager to meet you. He’ll probably try to monopolize you. He knows you’re the one that pulled him from the car ”