Page 16 of Caleb
“Miss Murphy?”
She lets out a sigh. “It’s the anniversary of my mother’s death tomorrow.” She looks at me with round, glassy eyes. “Two years.” She smiles a tight smile, but I witness the moment when she decides to reel it all in. She blinks a few times, and the tears I thought were coming never fall.
It’s like she’s been carrying this weight on her shoulders all day, maybe all week, and she’s finally decided to unload the burden. And I’m glad she chose me to do it, at least in this small way. In the only way she seems to have found the courage to do so.
I stay put, fighting the urge to take a step forward and hug her. But I would gladly allow her to cry it out on my chest. It seems like she needs to vent and doesn’t have anyone else to do it with.
“Of course, Miss Murphy,” I reply instead. “Are we going somewhere in particular? You know, so I can let Aaron know. You know he’s nosy.” And now I’m learning I’m nosy too.
She smiles the saddest smile in the world, but at least she’s smiling again.
“Church,” she says. “And then I’d like to buy some flowers. White flowers. It’s just a little ritual I did last year, and I kind of want it to stick.”
“Church and flowers.” I nod. “I’ll let Aaron know.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll create the group chat immediately so you can let us know about that party later tonight, okay?” I’m a bit wary about her wanting to go to a party when she’s feeling like this. I’m not sure if she would even enjoy it, but maybe she’s just trying to get her mind off things. I’m still unsure what she needs, and it’s not like it would make any difference if I did. I’m not going to meddle either way.
She nods. I nod. And that’s my cue to leave.
“What’s your name, Cohen?” she says the moment I head down the steps.
“Cohen, Miss,” I say, turning around.
She snort-laughs as if to herself. “You can tell me your name, Cohen.”
“It’s … Caleb, Miss. What’s yours?” It’s a stupid question to ask when I already know the answer, but it felt rude not to ask her name. Besides, this is my opportunity to listen to her saying it so I can stop playing around with the different versions of it inside my head.
“Caleb.” Her lips are pressed lightly against each other, but she smiles with her eyes. “My name is Guillermina.”
“I’m sorry, Miss. Could you repeat that?” I hope she doesn’t get offended by me asking. But I need to make sure I get it right, and she said it too quickly in a Spanish accent. And this small window that opened for us to talk can evaporate any second now. I’m surprised no one’s come in or out of the Residence.
“Guillermina,” she says, slower this time.
“Guillermina.”
My poor attempt makes her laugh. “That’s right.”
“What do your friends call you?” I immediately regret asking the question. I shouldn’t get chatty, and I know she’s struggling to make friends, but I’m sure she knows what I mean. She’s lived abroad for years now, and her name might not be easy to pronounce for many people.
“Um … Billie, with an i-e.”
Billie. It suits her. She looks like a Billie. The only Billie I’ve ever met, but it’s as if the name was invented especially for her.
A moment of silence dangles between us, but it’s not heavy or uncomfortable but pleasant and almost familiar. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t made myself aware of the fact that I might be overstepping or breaking protocol by chatting too much or too long with her. By having revealed my name, too.
“We’ll be around, Miss Murphy,” I say again, taking a step backward, forcing myself to let her go inside and do her thing. “Let us know if there’s anything else you need.”
“Will do. And you can call me Billie.”
Chuckling under my breath, I scratch my jaw with my fingers. This girl is a little rebel behind that good girl façade. Not that she’s not a good girl, because she most definitely is, but she knows the rules of the game. She knows I’m Cohen, and she’s Miss Murphy. But somehow, she’s looking to bend the rules in this tiny way, just between us, like a secret she wants to share with me.
“Only your friends call you Billie, Miss Murphy.”
She steps into the house, and before shutting the door, she says, “That’s the idea, Caleb.”
Touché.
