by Kaela Coble
“What happened?” I demand. I don’t usually push like this, I wait until Danny’s ready to talk, but tonight something is off. (1) He didn’t wake me up. (2) He was hiding in my backyard, not sitting on the glider like usual. (3) He said he “didn’t want to bring me into it,” but he’s been bringing me into it for years, so why is tonight any different?
The eye that can still open looks around wildly before settling on my face. “I think you should call Murphy.”
• • •
We don’t always call Murphy when Danny gets a beating. It’s only when Roger is so fired up that he screams at Danny to “never show your rotten face here again” as he (literally) kicks him out on the street that we call Murphy, because those are the times that Danny needs a place to stay. Danny always comes to my house first, because he knows I’ll tend to his wounds and let him cry if he wants to. After that, we assess whether it’s worth waiting it out, giving Roger some time to cool off before Danny sneaks back in, or if we need to give Murphy the warning call that Danny’s on his way and he’ll need to be snuck into the basement again.
The first time we called Murphy for help, his terrifying mother screamed at us in French and hung up before even asking who was calling. Since then, Murphy has learned to keep the portable next to his bed. So I’m not surprised when he answers on the first ring.
“Yeah, I’ll wait for him on the side porch,” Murphy says groggily before I even speak.
“No, Murph,” I say. “He wants you to come here this time.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know. He’s acting really weird. Just get the hell over here!” I whisper yell into the phone.
While we wait for Murphy to arrive, I hold Danny’s hand and use my feet to keep the glider rocking back and forth. I hope the motion will soothe him, but I get no sign either way. He is silent, staring down at the pool like he’s thinking of jumping in and never resurfacing. It seems like hours we wait for Murphy, but it can’t be that long because he only lives three blocks away. None of us lives more than three blocks away from at least one other member of our crew except for Danny, who is ten blocks.
Finally, Murphy climbs the back steps and joins us on the deck, wearing the same shorts and T-shirt he wears to swim in to cover up the baby fat he hasn’t shed yet. He looks at our clasped hands, confused. I realize he probably thinks he’s been called here so Danny and I can announce we’ve become a couple. Or maybe ask permission, since Murphy and I were boyfriend and girlfriend for like a week last year before we realized we can’t stand each other when no one else is around. He would think that’s what this was about, despite all the times Danny has been our mutual crisis. What an idiot.
Then, without looking at Murphy or me, Danny just starts talking. “It was just like always,” he says. “I was sleeping, and then suddenly Roger busted open my door and yanked me out of bed. He lifted me by my shirt”—he grabs the top of his shirt at this, twisting it into a knot—“so I was looking right in his eyes, and he had that look, and I knew I was in for it. He asked me what the hell was wrong with me, and when I didn’t say anything, he dragged me into the living room and pointed at the Sega. I forgot to put the controller away. I said I was sorry and went to wrap the cord up and put it in the drawer under the TV, but he smacked it out of my hand and picked it up and started hitting me over the head with it. Hard.
“My mom woke up from the noise. I always try to be quiet, to keep her out of it, but when he hit me this time, it felt like my skull was cracked open. When she yelled at him to stop, Roger turned on her and started shaking her. ‘This little bastard has no discipline! I take you into my home, and this is the thanks I get? I gotta live in this fucking pigsty?’ Same stuff as usual. When she begged him to leave me alone, he slammed her head into the wall.
“He went to do it again, and then suddenly he stopped. Roger never stops hitting until someone’s on the floor crying, so right away I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t see his face, but his back kinda stiffened up, and then he bent over, grabbing his arm. When he dropped to the floor, I could finally see his face, and it was redder than I’ve ever seen it. Including the time I called him a dickhead and he broke two of my fingers.
“My mom called out his name and kneeled next to him, crying. She told me to call 911, that Roger was having a heart attack, but I didn’t move. She asked me again, but I just stood there and waited for her to look at me. Roger was rolling around on the floor, begging us to help him, but I just looked at my mother and told her to go back to bed. She shook her head at first, saying we had to do something, and I yelled at her to get back in her room and to not come out until I told her to. I sounded just like Roger does when he yells at her to stay out of our fights.”
Danny stops talking for a minute, seeming to be surprised at what he’s just said.
“Anyway, she listened,” he continues. “She got up, went back to her room, and closed the door.”
My hand is over my mouth now. I know how the story is going to end, but Murphy either doesn’t know, or just needs to hear Danny say the words, because he asks, “Dan, what happened to Roger?”
Danny looks at Murphy like it’s the first time he’s really seeing him, and then he answers. “After a few minutes, he stopped rolling around. He just looked at me, mad as hell but scared too. And I sat down on the couch and just looked right back at him. Until he stopped moving.”
I wait a beat before I ask, “And then you left?”
Danny nods. “I knocked on my mom’s bedroom door and told her she should call 911. I knew it would…look funny if she didn’t.”
Murphy and I look at each other. We both know this is way over our heads. My hand is still on top of Danny’s, and the squeeze I give him is like the flip of a switch. His face crumples, and he starts to cry. He cries so hard I’m worried he’s going to choke.
“Breathe, Danny, breathe,” I say, rubbing his back.
“I just wanted it to stop,” he says between moans. He repeats it over and over, and I pull him to me. Finally, he lets me. He feels so small. He sounds like he did in kindergarten, when Emmett used to steal his lunch, and I realize the part of Danny that is still in any way a child is making its final appearance tonight. And the parts of Murphy and I that are supposed to be children—supposed to be worrying about whether we’re going to make the baseball team or who we’re going to take to the dance—they’re gone now too. We can’t ever unknow what we know.
We’re not paying attention to how loud Danny is being, so we all jump when the back porch light flicks on. My mom is standing in the doorway. “What on earth is going on out here?” she screeches.
Murphy and I look at each other again. He shrugs. It’s up to me to decide how this all moves forward.
“Mr. Deuso had a heart attack,” I say, looking not at my mom but at Murphy. “Danny’s mom found him, and Danny was upset so he came here.”
I look at Murphy again. I’ve learned from watching Danny make excuses for his cuts and bruises that the trick is to stay as close to the truth as possible, and that’s as much as I can say without cracking.
Murphy nods and takes over. “Danny’s really worried,” he says. “Can you call Mrs. Deuso and see if Mr. Deuso is okay? They’re probably at the hospital.”
3
STEPH
NOW
Well, this is awkward. First time I meet Charlene, I’m sitting here listening to her dead son’s murder confession. First day I meet Ruby, she’s reading it. Her words—well, Danny’s—hang in the air like when church bells stop ringing but you swear you can still hear them. The echo survives Ally’s gasp, and Charlene’s too. I suppress mine so I won’t get another lecture from Ally about how I can’t possibly understand the pain of losing Danny like she and the rest of the crew who’ve “been there since the beginning.” Honestly, if she knew the real reason I lost it at the funeral, I bet she wouldn’t ha
ve given me such crap. I won’t have time to bet, though; they’re all about to find out. They have to. It’s the only thing I can say to distract them from what’s really inside Emmett’s envelope.
Charlene shakes her head, saying no over and over again. Of course she doesn’t want to believe it. That her son killed her husband? That’s like something straight out of a Greek play. And hasn’t Charlene been through enough? She shouldn’t beat herself up. I hate to think this about anybody, but the more I learn about Danny, the more I think maybe he really was beyond help.
Charlene stands up, and Ruby puts her hands on Charlene’s shoulders and tells her it’s okay, that it’s going to be okay. I’ve only met Ruby today, but I already like her way more than I thought I would. Way more than I planned to, anyway. Emmett has always put her on such a pedestal, and from what Ally tells me about her, I was expecting her to be a little stuck-up. I mean, she’s lived in New York and London and God knows where else, and she hasn’t talked to any of them since high school.
And then there’s poor Krystal. Ally straight up told her that she could forget about Murphy paying any attention to her once Ruby St. James blew into town, that whether or not Murphy went to the funeral, he would wind up spending as much time with Ruby as he could before she blows back out. I don’t think Ally meant to make Krystal jealous, but she could have been a little more sensitive in her phrasing. Krystal’s been sleeping with Murphy for months, and even though she follows Murphy’s lead in pretending there’s nothing official going on between them, I know she’s hoping he’ll change his mind. I’ve known the girl since we were babies; I can read her mind like it’s my own. I bet if I check my phone, I’ll already have at least two text messages from her asking if I’ve met Ruby and what I think of her.
I was hoping I could report back to Krystal that Ruby acted like she was better than everyone, or that she looked anorexic and had no boobs, or at least that she weighed like four hundred pounds. Imagine my surprise when at the funeral Ally introduced me to a pretty but not over-groomed or over-perfumed, average-sized girl in unlabeled clothing, who smiled and hugged me as if I were one of her long-lost friends. She seems…down to earth. Sweet even.
Ruby is the one from the stories—All. The. Stories.—who is decidedly fearless: the first girl to leap from the fifty-foot jump at the quarry (since Danny was always the first first), the girl who stole her parents’ car when she was thirteen, the one who’s traveled and moved to big cities on her own. And yet when she entered the church, she looked like every step was a difficult decision to move herself toward us.
When she got closer, I could see the quiver in her smile, and something told me it wasn’t just the anxiety of grief. She was nervous to be among people she’s known since preschool. And yet now, in the tensest of moments, she is in complete control. Maybe Ally was wrong when she said Ruby thinks she’s better than all of us, but she might have been right in her description of her as an odd cluck, if what she really meant was odd duck. (Ally has a tendency to mess up all those old sayings. I don’t have the heart to tell her.)
Perhaps that’s how I can summarize this girl to Krystal, who was dumped by her high school sweetheart not six months ago and whose ego is fragile as a fresh egg. “She’s okay,” I’ll say, even though I think she’s kind of wonderful. “She’s a bit odd,” I’ll add.
“Guys, it ain’t what you think,” Charlene pleads, as if we were walking out the door in disgust. But none of us has moved. We’re frozen to our seats. I look over at Ally. Her face has been white as a sheet ever since the envelopes were handed out, which, of course, makes me wonder what hers says. I know what Emmett’s says. Or at least, nothing in that envelope could be worse than what I already know.
Charlene tells the story of the night Danny’s stepfather died. Apparently, Roger was abusive, and one night when he was hitting both of them, he had a heart attack. Instead of calling an ambulance right away, they waited until…well, you know. So Danny didn’t exactly kill Roger, but he didn’t exactly not kill him either.
“It sounds like maybe he was just scared,” Ally says quietly. “Like he was just in shock and didn’t know what to do.”
Aaron shoots her a look, which makes Ally cry out, “What?” Aaron just shakes his head and shrugs.
“Ally, don’t be so simple,” Emmett says. “He meant for Roger to die. It’s pretty obvious.”
Geez, Em, don’t hold back or anything.
“Watch how you’re talking to my wife, Emmett,” Aaron says.
“Well, come on,” Emmett says. “Why confess in a suicide note if it isn’t true?”
“Maybe he just feels guilty because he couldn’t save him,” Ally says. I notice everyone is still talking about Danny in the present tense.
“Stop being such a Pollyanna, Ally. You know that’s not what he means.” Emmett’s ears are getting red now, which always happens when he’s about to blow his top and storm out. This isn’t the place for that, and it’s really important Emmett doesn’t get too stressed, especially now. So I hook my arm through his, our little sign he needs to calm down. I feel his muscles relax a bit. He nods at Charlene. “Not that I’m saying what happened was right or wrong,” he says to her.
Charlene dissolves into tears. “Excuse me,” she says, and flees up the stairs.
“Jesus, Emmett,” Ruby says when she hears the door to the basement close. “Why don’t you just punch her in the face?”
Emmett shoots her a look.
Ally says, “Well, I don’t care what happened that night. If Danny let Roger die, then Roger deserved it. As far as I’m concerned, Danny acted in self-defense. I didn’t want to say it when Charlene was here”—she lowers her voice to a hiss—“but if Roger was hitting them, someone had to stop him, and it obviously wasn’t going to be her.”
Aaron chimes in. “Now that I think about it, as long as I’ve known him, Danny’s always been pretty protective of the people he cares about. Remember when he got in a fight with that carny at the Maple Festival for grabbing Ally’s ass? I bet the whole thing with Roger was more about protecting his mom than himself.” Aaron has hereby redeemed himself to Ally for the skeptical look he gave her earlier, no doubt avoiding a blowup at home later.
Meanwhile, I’m silent. It’s not my place to speak. Maybe it’s the Catholic guilt in me, but I can’t help but think being responsible for someone’s death, in whatever way and for whatever reason, is still called murder. I didn’t know Roger, and it sounds like he was an awful man, but it wasn’t up to Danny to decide whether he lived or died. Besides, only half of me is keeping up with the conversation. The other half is trying to find my opening.
I think Emmett is speaking to me when he says, “You’ve been awfully quiet,” but when I look at him, he’s glaring back and forth between Ruby and Murphy. “What do you two think about all of this?”
They look at each other, like they’re trying to decide something. Murphy nods, then Ruby says, “We knew.”
Another round of gasps ensues. “Since when?” Ally says.
Ruby is quiet, making more decisions about how much truth to tell. Her shoulders fall, and she says, “Since the night it happened.”
“You’ve known since we were twelve years old that Roger was beating Danny and his mom, and you didn’t tell anyone?” Ally cries.
The first crack in Ruby’s poise is in her voice when she says, “Actually, I’ve known about the abuse pretty much from when it started, and that wasn’t long after Roger and Charlene got married.”
All eyes grow wide.
“We were in second grade when they got married!” Ally is all but screeching now. “That’s four years before Roger died!” Aaron folds his hand over hers. Their little sign.
Ruby looks at each of us. The tears forming in her eyes make them seem bluer. They have the same deep sadness as Charlene’s when she looked at us, pleading for understanding. For forgi
veness.
“Unbelievable,” Emmett says, and I know he’s about to put words to the accusation formulating in all our minds. I squeeze his arm hard now, hoping he will back off. “Ruby, do you realize if someone had stopped Roger, maybe Danny wouldn’t have been put in that situation in the first place? That maybe he wouldn’t have tried to drown his guilt in drugs? That maybe—”
“Okay that’s enough!” Murphy roars as he jumps out of his seat. “I get it. We’re all upset. Keep in mind when all this started, we were eight years old. In case you don’t remember, Emmett, when you were eight, you were playing with Hot Wheels and collecting Pogs. Not exactly old enough to know what to do when your friend is getting beat up by an adult. You do not get to pin this all on Ruby. No. Way.”
Ruby looks at Murphy with gratitude and a little hint of something else that piques my interest. I probably shouldn’t tell Krystal about it. Or should I?
“Who should I pin it on, then? You? What did you have to do with this?” Emmett and Murphy are now practically toe-to-toe.
“It wasn’t always safe for him to go back home right away, so Danny would crash on my couch for the night to give Roger time to cool off. He never wanted to talk about it, but I knew anyway. It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist,” he says and looks pointedly at Emmett, then at Ally. “The night Roger died, Ruby told me to come over instead, and he told us what happened.”
“And you didn’t think to tell the rest of us? So we didn’t look so stupid when we were all telling Danny how sorry we were that Roger died?”
I want to smack my forehead. We’re talking about some of the heaviest stuff you can talk about—child abuse, murder, suicide—and Ally is concerned she reacted inappropriately to a situation that happened over sixteen years ago.
Ruby gracefully ignores Ally’s point of focus. “We talked about it afterward and decided the fewer people who knew the truth, the better. We didn’t want Danny getting in trouble, when all he was doing was protecting himself.”
