Under a Purple Moon

Chapter One

I slammed the door closed behind me and ran, my hands over my ears to shut out the angry voices. My mother’s. My father’s. They were fighting again. Not a physical fight but hurling words at each other: hurtful words, ugly words. They argued about me, as usual.

The Old House waited at the outskirts of town, down a narrow dirt road two miles away, hidden from the street by trumpet and wisteria vines, deserted and empty. My sanctuary. I swept into the lane leading to the house. Giant tree branches bowed on either side of the road to form a shelter over me. I raced to a back window, swung the rough, weathered boards to one side and crawled into the house. Peace and quiet greeted me. No raised voices scorched my eardrums. No words reminding me I wasn’t wanted tore through my soul. Just my panting for breath filled the blessed nothingness.

Clutching the ache in my side, I scanned the dusky room, a kitchen before the owners moved on, or died, or whatever happened to them. I hoped he was here. Murphy. I called his name softly to keep from disturbing the serenity.

Light from a flashlight sent particles of dust shimmering in the air.

I’m here, Eden. Footsteps moved toward me. His hand reached out. I clasped it. The flashlight guided us to a large room with a brick fireplace, the former living area now bare. No reminders a family once lived here, laughed here, loved here. A couple of sleeping bags lay along one wall. Flames from three candles arranged in a circle on the floor fluttered as Murphy and I settled down on the bags.

He clicked off the flashlight, pulled a sandwich out of a sack and handed it to me: peanut butter and strawberry jelly. He always brought me the same, along with a can of soda. He cared whether I was hungry or not, which was more than I could say for my parents.

He didn’t talk.

I didn’t talk.

His shoulders relaxed. The tension in my middle eased. We were comfortable together. We met at school last year. He was a freshman, I a sophomore. A couple of boys had cornered Murphy by the lockers and were calling him nasty names. I remember how he ducked between the boys in an attempt to get past them. The bigger guy towered over Murphy by at least a foot. He grabbed Murphy’s arm and slung him against the wall.

By that time, a handful of kids had gathered around. No one tried to help Murphy. They simply stood there gawking. I wasn’t the bravest person in the universe, but I knew what it felt like to be called names and made fun of. Someone had to stand up for the kid. I didn’t even know his name then, but I squeezed between the bullies and stuck my nose in the biggest one’s face.

You have two seconds to get out of my space, I said. (Yeah, what was I thinking?)

Silence filled the hallway. All eyes switched to me. My stomach rolled, and I wanted to slink away to a corner and hide. The kid, his face whiter than a summer cloud, squeezed his eyes together. His lower lip trembled. I remember that quite well. Where my bravery came from I had no idea, even now, a year later.

The giant’s nostrils twitched. His hand reached for my throat. I stood my ground. My knees quivered.

One second. I said the words clear and calm, considering the storm raging inside me.

The giant blinked. Huh?

Half a second.

Our audience scattered until only the kid, the two bullies and I were left. The giant took a step back. He scratched his head. You got guts, girl.

He looked at the kid. Next time, dumbo. He turned and strode away, the other guy jabbering something at him. From that day on, I thought of Murphy as my younger brother. And next time never came. I heard the bully transferred to another school.

Now, while I ate my sandwich, I watched Murphy’s fingers, although stubby and clumsy-looking, twist thin strands of copper-colored wire into a circle. After I finished the last bite and swallowed a drink of soda, he placed the wire in my hand.

In the eerie light cast by the candles, I studied the object: a bracelet. It’s beautiful. I twined the bracelet around my wrist. Delicate wire wings shaped like a butterfly stretched out, as if attempting to fly away. How did you know I love butterflies?

He grinned. A little butterfly told me.

I gave him a playful shove.

Butterflies are more than just insects, you know, he said.

They are?

Yep. Some cultures believe butterflies carry the spirit of dead ancestors to visit people. Others think if you capture a butterfly and whisper a wish to it, the butterfly will tell the Great Spirit. When you release the butterfly, the Great Spirit will grant the wish.

I ran a finger over the delicate butterfly wings. Nice story … if only it were true. You believe in wishes, do you?

He swigged down his soda. I do.

"Maybe one day I’ll believe too.

You will. He held out his fist. Best friends forever.

We knocked knuckles. I repeated, Best friends forever. I wondered how long forever really was.

You want to listen to a CD? he asked.

Sure.

He clicked on the portable CD player his grandma gave him for his fifteenth birthday. I bit my lip to keep from shouting Turn the thing off when Hound Dog ripped through the air. Too bad Grandma didn’t give him a choice of music. I did the next best thing. I turned down the volume.

Remember, Murph, even though the Old House is a long distance from the nearest neighborhood and almost invisible from the road, sound carries.

Gotcha. Murphy jumped to his feet. Dance with me? Ducking his head, he smiled. Quietly, of course.

Why not? I hopped up and we twisted and turned to the music. We giggled in undertones and made silly faces. Murphy sang along with Elvis, keeping his voice a note above a whisper. For the moment, only the present existed, no past and no future, just now. Finally, with drops of sweat beading up on my brow, I fell to the floor, exhausted. Enough, Murph. I gotta rest.

I leaned back against the wall. Are You Lonesome Tonight? rolled through the air.

I don’t like that song much, Murphy said. It’s too sad.

I agree. Play something else.

Done. A lighter, happier tune floated around us. Humming along, Murphy thumped his fingers on his knee. With the warm room, the music, and Murphy close by, my body relaxed. My mind could not relax, however. I remembered every little detail of the past hour. Nora — my mother insisted I call her by her name — told me I put too much salt in the meatloaf. She said I also set the table wrong. According to her, I couldn’t do anything right. The argument started when Dad defended me. So here I am, for the second or third time this week.

Eden, Eden. You okay?

Murphy shook my shoulder gently, dragging me from my thoughts. I’m okay.

You sure? Why are you crying?

Crying? I touched my cheek. Dampness chilled my fingers.

He handed me a napkin. You want to talk about it?

I wiped my eyes and drippy nose. No.

All right. You want to play a game?

What do you have in mind?

A light tapping noise from the direction of the front door interrupted Murphy’s answer. I scooted closer to him and whispered, Murph, did you hear that?

What?

I clicked off the CD player.

The tapping repeated itself.

That. Listen. Someone’s at the door. I snuffed out the candles.

A muffled voice called, Murph, it’s me.

I eyed Murphy. Whoever’s out there knows your name.

Yeah, I better let him in. He flicked on the flashlight and jogged to the door.

I followed on his heels. Him? Who? Murph, what are you talking about?

Instead of answering, he leaned against the door and said, Go around to the back. Climb through the window.

On my way. The footsteps faded.

C’mon, Eden.

We reached the kitchen in time to see a guy tumble through the window. Hey, Murph. The boy gave a thumbs up as he landed on the floor.

Hey, Toby, Murphy said. The boys slapped hands in a high-five.

Toby? I blinked, once, twice. In the hazy beam of the flashlight, Toby Jensen, athlete, honor student, one of the popular, stuck-up kids at school, stood less than six feet in front of me, staring in my direction.

I stared back, speechless. What was a boy like Toby doing at the Old House? I’d known him since sixth grade. We weren’t friends then. We weren’t friends now. I could count on one hand the words we’d spoken to each other in the years we’d been in classes together. The first week into our junior year hadn’t changed a thing. He nodded at me once in theater class, but that was it. He ran with the rich kids. I hid in the shadows. Murphy never mentioned that he knew Toby. Most importantly, we needed to keep our hideaway private. Murphy had some big explaining to do. I tipped my head for him to join me in the corner. Once there, I lit into him. What’s going on?

He frowned. What do you mean?

Why’s he here? I glanced at Toby then back to Murphy.

I invited him to stop by if he had a chance.

How could you do that? This is our secret place.

The house doesn’t belong to us, Murphy said. We’re actually trespassers.

True, but no one’s lived here in years, and we’re not hurting anything. What if Toby tells others and they tell someone else? Soon the whole school will show up.

Nope, Toby’s not a snitch. He just wants a quiet place to go and be with his friends, like you and me.

Friends? I snuck another peek at Toby, who hadn’t budged from the spot. He shifted from foot to foot. He looked down at a baseball cap in his hands. His lips moved. Was he talking to the cap? I leaned into Murphy. Half the kids at school are Toby’s friends, the girls anyhow. Even if he doesn’t tell, they’ll find out.

Murphy patted me on the shoulder. He nodded at Toby and yelled across the room. Eden worries too much. Right?

Umm, right. He smiled. No, he frowned. No, his expression was a mixture, as though he couldn’t make up his mind whether he was happy or sad or somewhere in between.

Up close he didn’t look nearly as intimidating as the boy I saw in the classroom or on the football field. He had two eyes, two ears, two arms, and two legs, like everyone else. Except for his muscled body and gorgeous face, he looked like any high school student. I also noticed the dimple in his chin. I noticed that quite a bit. He shifted feet again and studied the cap.

I forced my thoughts away from his dimple. So you want to hang out here with Murphy and me for a while?

Still staring at the cap, he nodded. If it’s okay with you, Eden, may I?

He asked so softly, so sweetly, how could I refuse? I guess it’s okay.

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Slowly, his eyes lifted and met mine. Thank you.

Chapter Two

Toby’s eyes, brown with specks of gold, held me in a trance. Thank you? My heartbeat sped up. He wasn’t only hot, he was polite too, a rare quality in most of the guys I knew at Saxet High. And stop looking at that dimple. Say something. I did. You’re welcome. I cringed. Very clever. Not.

A huge grin spread across Murphy’s face. Good. We’re all friends now. He plunked down on a sleeping bag. Sit down, Toby.

Thank you. Toby took a seat opposite Murphy.

Candlelight flickered on the boys’ faces, distorting their features. Half of Toby’s face glowed reddish-yellow, hinting at mischief or fun. Darkness obscured the other half, hiding secrets and making him appear mysterious. The same was true for Murphy. Maybe they each were two different people disguised as one, the perfect side they wanted others to see and the side that was really them, with all their faults. I ought to know, since I’d just described myself.

I was about to sit down when Toby nudged Murphy in the ribs. I need a word with you.

Murphy nodded. Excuse us. He trotted over to the corner, Toby right behind him. They huddled together. Toby spoke softly. Murphy answered quietly.

I tapped my toes on the floor. Were they talking about me? If not, why the secrecy? A minute passed then two. I wasn’t a patient person, never had been, never would be, so I moseyed over to join the guys. They stopped talking when I got close. Don’t mind me. I’m just going to play a little music. I snatched a CD from Murphy’s stack on the floor and shoved it into the player.

Suspicious Minds blared out.

Murphy smirked. . Elvis must have written that one for you, Eden.

I reached over and lowered the volume. He wrote it from the grave then ’cause he died before I was born. I don’t have a suspicious mind, either.

Just kidding. Murphy punched me lightly on the shoulder.

I punched him back, a bit harder than necessary.

Murphy laughed. Ow! You got muscles, girl. Take it easy.

Toby laughed.

You’d better remember it too, I said, teasing. I wandered back to the sleeping bags.

Toby smiled down at me. May I sit with you?

Yep, he was polite. If you want to.

How about me? Murphy asked.

Sit, Murph, I said, pretending to be stern, giggling inside.

Thank you, ma’am.

I flung a wadded paper napkin at him. It smacked him on the nose. And don’t ‘ma’am’ me. Got it?

Good shot. Murphy snorted. Hey, Toby, I forgot to mention Eden has a temper.

I noticed.

I bit back a snicker. It came through anyway. The music changed, and Elvis pleaded, Don’t Be Cruel.

Murphy, his face solemn, said, I think Elvis is sending someone a subliminal message.

Who? Me? I arched my eyebrows as if surprised.

Murphy gave me two thumbs up.

You act nice, I said. I’ll act nice.

Deal.

Toby tapped his fingers on his thigh. Man, I haven’t heard Elvis in ages.

You know Elvis? I asked, surprised.

Scratching his chin, Toby concentrated on his cap. Not personally. Like you said earlier, he’s dead.

The guy had a sense of humor. I smiled. Sad, but true.

Toby eyed his cap. His music will live forever.

Forever’s a long time, I said.

Toby’s eyes met mine. Butterfly wings fluttered in my stomach. A long time, he said. For a second we were alone, Toby and I. No one else existed.

Murphy’s voice broke the spell. Do you like Elvis?

Again, Toby studied his cap. He waggled his hand back and forth. Not my favorite singer, but he’ll do.

I breathed in air to clear my head and to erase the image of those brown eyes, now sparkling with laughter. I looked away. What was wrong with me? Toby wasn’t my type. Embarrassed by the way I’d stared at him, I offered my opinion of Elvis, a safe subject to discuss. Yeah, Elvis is okay.

Murphy snorted. You two don’t recognize talent when you hear it. He blew a bubble. It popped, smearing pink gook on his chin.

I ruffled his long hair. Pink looks great on you, Murph. You ought to wear more of it.

Really? You want to borrow my glasses, Miss Rose? He yanked the glasses off his nose.

I put them on. The world blurred before me. How do you see through these things?

I see very well.

I handed the glasses back. Okay, you win. Pink’s not your color.

He grinned and held out his fist. I touched my fist to his. After Murphy gave him a brief nod, Toby added his fist. We knocked knuckles. Friends, no matter what, Murphy said.

As I repeated, friends, an amazing thing happened. I realized I hadn’t thought about my parents the whole evening.

Chapter Three

Outside the Old House, the wind groaned and pushed against the shingled roof. Inside, candlelight flickered. Thin, shadowy figures danced on the wall: Murphy’s, Toby’s and mine.

Elvis sang I Really Don’t Want to Know.

I laughed. I’m the same way. Sometimes it’s better not to know.

Murphy raised an eyebrow. I think it depends on the circumstances. We have to know some things or we’re in trouble, like when a class assignment is due.

Toby fingered his cap, frowned. Uh, y-you both make good points. I-I only want to know if I can change a situation. If not, then it’s b-better l-left alone. His frown deepened.

What did he say? I replayed his words in my mind. I hadn’t heard wrong. He stuttered. Toby Jensen stuttered. Judging by the red splotches on Toby’s cheek bones, he knew it too. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. I raised my hands palms up.

I agree, I said.

Toby and I stared at each other. His face returned to its normal color, a deep tan. Again, I wondered what he had to hide.

Hey, we’re getting too serious here, kids. Let’s drink to not knowing. Murphy passed a can of soda to me and another to Toby. The snap, snap, snap of tabs springing open sang along with Elvis.

What are d-drinks without ch-chocolate? Toby, now all smiles, pulled a bag of dark chocolates out of his shirt pocket.

Oh, my favorite! I held out a hand, and he filled it with candy kisses.

Murphy’s lips puckered in a pout. I thought my sandwiches were your favorite.

They are, I said. They are, but this is dessert.

Minutes later, Toby, a smudge of chocolate in the corner of his mouth, glanced at his wristwatch. It’s g-getting late.

You have to go already? Murphy asked.

Yeah. Toby nodded at me. S-see you at s-school.

I’ll be there. Not that he’d notice. He hadn’t spoken to me since school started a week ago. He was too busy with Deena hanging onto him, like a tick on a dog. I didn’t care. We weren’t a pair. Never would be. Tonight was fun. Tomorrow we’d be ourselves again, him every girl’s dream, me miss nobody.

Murphy nudged an elbow in Toby’s ribs.

Gotcha. Toby studied his cap, again. It’s late, Eden. The streets are dark. May I give you a ride home?

I think my mouth dropped open. I was too stunned to know for sure. Had he offered me a ride in his fancy convertible that every girl in school drooled over? I pictured the convertible cruising along, the top down, the wind blowing my hair. He’d stop at my house, walk me to the door. There the vision turned into a nightmare. My parents would be yelling at each other. I shook my head. No way. Thanks for the offer, but I can’t.

I’m a careful driver, really.

It’s not that. I enjoy walking, smelling the fresh air, the moon and stars shining down.

Toby ran a finger over the rim of his cap. It’s dark.

Even better. The dark is quiet and peaceful.

Toby scratched his head. Y-you have a point. No one can, uh, s-see you unless you l-let them.

My thoughts exactly. The jock and I might have something in common, after all. I smiled. Is it possible we’re vampires?

In the flickering candlelight, he returned my smile. Anything is p-possible. Next t-time, then?

I studied him a minute. He’d stuttered again. Was I so scary he couldn’t even talk to me straight? Or did I enchant him so that he lost control of his vocabulary? Laughing to myself, I said, We’ll see.

Murphy clicked off the CD player, gathered up the scraps, along with empty soda cans, and tossed them into plastic bags. Give me a ride, will you?

You got it. Toby threw me a look, started to say something, but turned away instead.

After the boys left, emptiness closed around me, squeezing so I could scarcely breathe. The walls creaked. A tree branch, or something, scraped against the roof. I shuddered. The dark scared me, after all. Snuffing out all but one candle I carried it to the kitchen and blew out the last light. After replacing the weathered boards at the window, I took off down the dirt driveway at a jog. Behind me, an engine rumbled to life. I glanced over my shoulder as a car pulled out of the barn behind the Old House and followed me, keeping its distance.

The car crept down the street, staying a block behind me, its lights casting a warm glow in the starless night. I laughed. Did the boys really believe I wouldn’t notice them? When I stepped onto my front porch, I peeked at the street. The car pulled to the curb midway down the block. They were so obvious. They’d make horrible detectives. I blew a kiss in the direction of the convertible. I pictured Toby blushing. Who would believe the big, tough football player was actually shy and not as perfect as he seemed? The car still crouched at the curb, headlights glaring, when I entered the dark house that felt as empty as my relationship with my parents.

Chapter Four

I tiptoed down the hallway to keep from waking my mother and father. I wasn’t quiet enough, for Dad heard me as I passed the kitchen. Eden? Come here.

My feet froze to the floor. Caught. I should have been more alert and noticed the faint light seeping under the door to the garage. It was too late now. I sucked in a deep breath and, my mind racing to come up with a good story to explain where I’d been, strode through the kitchen to the workshop. Dad sat on a stool, painting a birdhouse. He built things: furniture, doghouses, bird houses, gazebos, depending on his mood. Sometimes he sold his creations; other times he simply enjoyed working with his hands. He called himself a carpenter. My mother called him a dreamer, along with other unflattering words.

He swiveled the stool around to look at me. Do you realize what time it is, Eden?

I swallowed, hard. His words didn’t frighten me. The expression in his eyes — hurt, pain, disappointment — did. I pulled at a loose string on my shirt. It’s late, I know.

He squinted. Are you all right?

Yes. No. Dad … How’s Nora? I asked to change the subject.

He laid the paintbrush on top of the birdhouse then turned back to me. I knew the answer before he told me. It was the same as always. Nora’s asleep. She’s not feeling well. He massaged a spot between his eyes. Give her time, Eden.

I folded my arms across my chest. Time for what? I wanted to ask. I sealed my lips instead. Time wouldn’t make her love me. Time was simply seconds, minutes, hours in the day. The days,