“You look amazing,” I said, changing the subject again as I took a quick peek at Murphy in tight jeans and an untucked long-sleeve button-down white shirt. The buttons were open at the top and the sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. “I see you have your boots on.”
“Quite perceptive, Doc,” she said, grinning. “You look pretty good yourself.”
“I had to run in and x-ray one of the kids from down the road today. Poor guy took a topple on his two-wheeler and banged up his ankle. Luckily, it was just a sprain, so I wrapped it and set him up with crutches.”
I didn’t mention that I’d slept with the kid’s single mom a few times and she was a nice woman. In fact, she’d pawed all over me when I told her it was only a sprain, and I had to run home and take a quick shower. It was probably my imagination that I had her smell all over me, but I didn’t like the way any of it felt.
Murphy shifted in her seat. “Neighbors must love having you on the street. Their own personal doc in a box.”
Like I said, she was better off not knowing. Ryan’s mom didn’t mean much of anything to me. For a while, we’d just had a mutually good time.
“It has its perks, and I don’t mind.”
“Zara said you were amazing with Nicole. Dave said you have big-city training and a small-town bedside manner.”
I burst out laughing. “Okay, enough. I just do my job.”
“So, Vivaldi?” Murphy asked, glancing at the stereo.
“Yes, Four Seasons. Probably something no one around here listens to very much, but it calms my soul.”
“I love the jumpiness of it. That’s probably not the right word to describe it. It’s just so peppy in parts that I can’t help but feel good. But, why do you need calming?”
As I pushed my hand through my hair, I stole a quick look at Murphy, her bright red hair blowing in the wind, her cheeks and lips lifted in a smile. “You. Because of you. Sitting next to you, being intimate with you, chatting with you there in the seat next to me. All of it. I need to calm myself from letting my mind get carried away with what could be.”
“Will you stop already?” She brushed off my admission with a wave of her hand, and I worried I shouldn’t have been so transparent.
“Only when we get to my parents’ house and you see how crazy my mom goes for you, and then you’ll need calming too,” I said, joking back as we turned onto my parents’ long driveway.
“Murphy, come in,” my mom practically shrieked as she opened the door and pulled Murphy in for a hug. Obviously, my earlier message had gone in one ear and out the other.
When I saw Mom had Murphy’s face smushed into the shoulder of her flannel shirt, I started to panic. “Mom, let Murphy breathe, okay?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry, dear. I got so carried away.” Mom loosened her grip on Murphy but still held on, observing her at arm’s length. “We’ve heard so much about you over the years, and then Branson here . . .”
She finally let go of Murphy and moved toward Branson, pulling him to her side. Quickly deducing Mom needed to have something to do with her hands, I put my arm around Murphy, saving her from another bout of my mom’s affection.
“Branson said he met you already,” Mom said, “and you all spent the night at Scott’s? You know he’s always had a thing for Brenna.”
“Nana, please.” Branson wriggled out of her embrace.
Dad joined us, and I gave him a desperate look, silently pleading with him to take control of this already high-speed runaway train.
“Nice to meet you, Murphy.” My dad extended a hand to Murphy, and of course, my society girl knew what to do with that.
“Nice to meet you too,” she said, politely shaking my father’s hand. “Oh, I brought dessert. We left it in the car.”
Turning, Murphy looked toward me. I was trying to figure out if she meant for me to go get it, or was silently begging me not to leave her, when my mom spoke.
“You didn’t have to bring a thing, sweetie.” My mom clasped her hands delightedly in front of her like an evil gangster planning his next move, except that move was probably my wedding.
Deciding to escape, I said, “I’ll go get it. Branson, where’s your mom? Maybe she can get Murphy something to drink while I run out to the car.”
Just then, the front door banged open, and a frazzled Brenna hurried in.
“Sorry I’m late.” Barely out of her coat, Brenna looked up and got the same half-crazed, far-off, dreamy look as my mom. “So, you’re Murphy?”
Oh no. I could practically see her wheels turning as she took up where Mom left off, planning my wedding in her mind.
Although Murphy was used to nonstop cocktail parties and blue-blood fundraisers, now she looked like she’d swallowed a fly when faced with my overbearing family.
Deciding we’d gotten the introductions out of the way, I took charge. “I’ll be right back. Bren, can you take Murphy to the kitchen and get her something to drink?”
As I made a beeline for the door, I heard my sister saying to Murphy, “Oh, sure. Do you like wine?”
When the fresh air hit my face, I wasn’t so certain I should even go back inside.
28
Murphy
Ben found me after delivering the cupcakes in the kitchen amongst a rainfall of hushed whispers.
Glass of wine in hand, I tried to look comfortable perusing the photos lining the wall of the staircase. Little Ben climbing a tree, medium-sized Ben eating a stack of pancakes drizzled with syrup, Brenna with her arm around Ben in his Pee Wee football uniform, and a distinguished Ben at his Harvard graduation.
“I see you found the wall of memories.” Ben came up behind me, pulling back my hair to place
