Bright Lights, Big Christmas(61)

“Hurry,” she called. “Queenie and I need to pee.”

Ten minutes later, he was back. She heard a clicking noise and a moment later, the door opened as shards of ice fell to the ground.

Murphy held up a small butane lighter and offered a grim smile. “Come on out. Vic should be here soon. I’m gonna change, then I’ll walk Queenie and we’ll get ready to roll.”

He climbed into the trailer and quickly started to strip out of his date-night finery. “Be careful. The sidewalk’s like a skating rink. And bring me back some coffee.”



* * *



She raced, breathless, into the bodega, and saw that the clerk was the grandmother to whom she’d sold the two-dollar Christmas tree. “Can I please use your bathroom?”

The woman smiled and pointed to a door on the opposite wall, marked PRIVATE, KEEP OUT.

“Thanks,” Kerry said, when she emerged. “Two large coffees, please.”

The woman fixed her order and smiled as she handed them over. “On the house. From me and Babydoll.”

When she got back to the trailer, Murphy was squatted down on the pavement next to Jock’s truck. He stood up and wiped his hands on the back of his jeans. “Those sons of bitches. They slashed all four tires. On Spammy too.”

“You think it was the brothers?” Kerry hadn’t looked at the truck in at least two days, since the last time Murphy had moved it.

“Who else?”

“What do we do now?”

“I’ll get new tires for Dad’s truck, but it ain’t worth spending the money on Spammy. At this point, just about the only thing holding her together is duct tape and prayers. Guess I’ll have her hauled off to sell for scrap. In the meantime, Claudia just called. She’s watching the Weather Channel, says the roads are iced over bad. No way we can leave today, even if the tires were okay. You can’t be towing a trailer in these kinds of weather conditions.”

Kerry didn’t know whether to cheer or cry.

Murphy must have read her mind. “Looks like you get your wish. We stay another day. Claudia wants to fix us breakfast at her place. You in?”

Kerry’s stomach rumbled on cue. “All the way in.”

As they scurried across the street Kerry shot a sidelong glance at her brother. “How was last night?” And then she couldn’t resist. “And this morning?”

His answer was a typical grunt. “Good.”

“What did Claudia say about all your manscaping? And the new wardrobe? Did she approve?”

He shrugged. “She didn’t have any complaints.”

And that, she knew, was about as much as she would get from her uncommunicative big brother.



* * *



Claudia’s apartment was in the same building as the restaurant, two floors up.

Her nest was small but undeniably feminine with pale Tiffany-blue walls, a rose velvet sofa, and floral chintz curtains at the windows overlooking the park. Bookshelves stuffed with romance novels, historical fiction, and cookbooks flanked the windows, and silver-framed family photos covered every flat surface. Murphy’s head almost brushed the low ceiling, and he looked distinctly out of place as he ushered Queenie inside.

“Sorry, but we couldn’t leave her in the trailer,” he said, gesturing at the setter.

“It’s okay. I locked the cat in my bedroom,” Claudia said, waving them into the tiny kitchen, where they were greeted with the scent of bacon and frying onions. She was dressed in a blue velour tracksuit, and as always, her hair and makeup were freshly done. She’d set plates at a table in an alcove with bay windows. She glanced over at Kerry. “Wanna invite Patrick to join us? There’s more than enough.”

Kerry hesitated. “I guess I could ask.”

She retreated to the living room and stared at her phone for a moment. She wanted to see him again, desperately, but hated the way she’d run out on him the night before. She was a loser, a chicken-shit, a coward, and worse. It would serve her right if he ghosted her the way she’d ghosted him.

He answered on the first ring. “Kerry? Where are you? I’m looking down at the tree stand from my window, but it doesn’t look like anybody’s around.”

Kerry told him about the slashed tires and the bad roads and the resulting change of plans. “Claudia wants to know if you’d like to join us for breakfast at her place. And Austin too, of course.”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Is that what you want? After last night, I got the impression that you’d just as soon make a clean break and blow town.”

She winced. “Guess I deserve that. Yes, I’d love it if you and Austin could come over for breakfast, and no, I don’t want a clean break. I can’t tell you what I do want. Because I’m that screwed up.”



* * *



The five of them sat elbow-to-elbow around the breakfast table, passing platters of omelets, home fries, bacon, and slices of thick-sliced grilled country bread. The grown-ups had Bloody Marys, and Austin had coffee with milk.

“Miss Claudia,” Austin said, heaping strawberry jam onto his toast, “can I come to your house for breakfast every day?”

Claudia winked at the child. “Well, honey, I mostly just have coffee in the morning, but the next time I do cook breakfast, I’ll be sure and invite you over.”