“I told him to mark all the trees half off,” Murphy said.
“And I told him we’ll sell them at full price. You’re the one who’s been laying it on thick about how we need to make enough money on this trip to get the farm out of the red.”
“We more than made our goal. You did great, Kerry. But our selling season is over. I don’t wanna have to load up these last few trees tomorrow and haul ’em back home.”
Kerry dug her hands in her jacket pockets to keep from smacking her brother in the nose. She had no intention of telling Murphy she wasn’t ready to leave the city—and Patrick—yet. A lifetime of experience with the men of the Tolliver family had taught her that the best way to deal with them was passive resistance.
Instead she favored him with a sweet smile. “Don’t you have a hair appointment to get to?”
* * *
Patrick dropped by shortly before five. The temperature had continued to drop, and she’d bundled herself in virtually every warm article of clothing she owned.
“Any news about Heinz?” he asked, dropping a casual kiss on her cheek that warmed Kerry from the inside out.
“None. I’ve asked everywhere. Nobody’s seen him, and nobody can tell me where he lives. Should I maybe file a missing person report? Or call hospitals around here?”
“You could try,” Patrick said. “But since you’re not family, and the only thing we can tell anyone is his name, I doubt the police would take you seriously. Give it another day.”
“I may not have another day,” Kerry said, feeling even more dejected. “Murphy is dead set on heading for home tomorrow.”
“But Christmas isn’t until Monday. I thought … I mean, I hoped, you and I would have a couple more days to spend together.”
“Me too. I’ve been doing everything I can to sabotage his plan, but if you know Murphy, you know once he gets his mind set on something, neither hell nor high water will stop him.”
Patrick kicked at the fire barrel with the toe of his boot. “Just because Murphy’s leaving tomorrow, that doesn’t mean you have to. Right?”
She pointed at Spammy. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t just keep camping out here, with no plumbing and no kitchen. For one thing, your neighborhood association won’t let me. So yeah, I guess that means I’ll be heading home too.”
Patrick took a deep breath. “You said if you wanted to—do you? Do you want to stay here in the city? Or are you dead set on going back home to North Carolina?”
Kerry felt her cheeks go hot. Leaving here, going back to the small town where she’d always felt like an outsider, was the last thing she wanted. But what other options did she have?
Before she could try to answer Patrick’s question, her brother pedaled up on his bike. At least, she thought it was Murphy.
chapter 41
Murphy Tolliver was almost unrecognizable. The mullet was gone. His dark, unruly hair had been tamed, conditioned, and styled—combed back in waves from his broad forehead, with sharply razored sideburns. The bushy mountain-man beard was neatly trimmed, and for the first time since she could remember, Kerry could actually see the lower half of her brother’s face, which, she had to admit, was pretty damn handsome. Without a droopy mustache obscuring his mouth, Murphy’s broad smile was surprisingly warm. The resemblance to their father, down to his clear blue eyes and the touches of silver at his temples, was remarkable.
His ruddy, weather-beaten skin was now smooth, even glowing. Kerry couldn’t help herself. She reached out and touched his face. “Bro? What all did they do to you at that salon?”
He batted her hand away. “After the guy cut my hair and trimmed my beard and my freaking eyebrows, they made me go into another room where they had candles burning and tinkly music playing and some lady dressed like a doctor came in and worked me over.”
“That must have been Ninette,” said Patrick. “She’s the best esthetician in the city.”
“She rubbed some kind of flowery-smelling lotion all over my cheeks and my forehead, and before I could stop her, she took kind of a belt sander to me. I dog-cussed her and told her I wasn’t paying to have all the skin on my face blasted off, but she just laughed and said it was part of what she called ‘the Salon Stephanè experience,’ and I should just sit back and enjoy. Then she put a hot towel over my face, and I guess I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I knew, she was shaking me awake and telling me it was time to pay up and go.”
“Whatever they did, and whatever it cost, it was worth it,” Kerry assured him. “You’ve been completely transformed. It’s like ‘My Fair Laddie.’”
“Shut up,” Murphy growled, looking secretly pleased with himself. He glanced around the stand and abruptly changed the subject. “Doesn’t look like you sold too many more trees while I was gone.”
“It got super cold,” Kerry protested. “And tomorrow’s Saturday. According to your notebook, that should be our last, busiest day. Why not have a sell-out and then plan to leave Sunday? It’d be a Christmas gift to Dad.”
“We leave tomorrow,” Murphy said firmly. He chained and locked his bike to the light pole. “I gotta get dressed for dinner. In the meantime, if you want to give Dad a great Christmas gift, get busy and sell the rest of these trees tonight. I’ve got Vic lined up to help me knock down the stand first thing in the morning.”
* * *
Patrick threw a couple logs on the fire. “So that’s it? You’re leaving town two days before Christmas? Austin is already upset about Heinz. He’s going to be heartbroken when he finds out you’re going home.”
“What about Austin’s dad?” Kerry asked softly.
Patrick gazed directly into her eyes. “Same. Only more so.” He took her hand in his. “Is it selfish of me to ask you not to go?”
She let out a long sigh. “Be practical. What’s here for me in the city?”
Instead of answering her question, he posed one of his own. “What’s waiting for you back in North Carolina? You don’t have a job, you’ve been living with your mom. I get that family ties mean a lot to you, but maybe those ties are more like that chain on Murphy’s bike?”
“Are you suggesting I should up and move here? And live where? Patrick, it’s sweet that you want me to stay, but do you know what graphic artists earn? I can’t afford to live in New York.” She gestured around at the manicured park and the distinguished-looking brownstones surrounding it. “Not this New York, anyway.”
“Don’t undersell yourself,” Patrick said stubbornly. “I’ve seen your work, Kerry. You’re an amazing creative force.”
“Miss?” a woman’s voice called out. Kerry turned to see the night cashier at Happy Days, the bodega across the street. She was hatless and wearing a lightweight jacket, blue jeans, and threadbare sneakers and was accompanied by a little girl of maybe four or five. The child wore jeans, a too-small pink puffy jacket, and Mary Jane shoes that had long ago lost most of their pink sparkle coating. She had a halo of tightly wrapped braids, each fastened with a tiny pink bead. The woman was pointing to the last tabletop tree in the stand.