barrage of carols—blasé as it was, the moment was happening. She had to focus on that—her unknown future—and not the past.
She glanced at her phone, following the inexorable route of the pulsing blue dot northward, toward Rockport.
Exceller mindset, she instructed herself. Keep moving forward.
“I gotta pee.”
Claire frowned at the glowing map. “You can’t hold it?”
That was when she realized Eileen hadn’t spoken the words.
She and Eileen jerked their gazes together. From the back seat a shadowy figure emerged.
“Holy crap!” shrieked Claire.
While Eileen shouted, “Look-at-the-look-at-the-look-at-the road!”
A semi blared its horn and Claire swerved onto the highway’s right shoulder.
From the back of the Caravan Murphy howled with laughter.
NINE Murphy
It wasn’t funny, but it was.
If Murphy’s biological needs hadn’t forced her to ruin the surprise, it could’ve been even funnier.
She’d meant to wait it out in the back of the van the whole way to wherever her sisters were headed, all furtive, in the middle of the night. Then, once they’d arrived, she’d sneak out and climb onto the roof of the Caravan, sprawl herself on its hood, and begin to sob hysterically. She’d draw their attention and then she’d cry out, “I had to hold on the whole way heeere!”
It was too ridiculous to believe, but that wasn’t the point. The real punch of magic was in the curtain rise—that first glance. Eileen and Claire could think better of it after, could even get angry. In that first instant, though, they’d believe the preposterous, and they would be amazed.
A magical twist with a punch line to boot. The aim of any true magician.
Claire and Eileen would have to pay attention to her then.
Murphy’s grand plan was shot to pieces now. She’d really, really tried to hold it. If only she hadn’t drunk a bottle of Dr Pepper a mere fifteen minutes before sneaking into the van.
She’d been staying up late, taking full advantage of Christmas break and reading through her library copy of The Art of the Con. The plan had only occurred to her after she’d sipped the last dregs of soda. She’d heard Eileen emerge from her bedroom and head to the carport, Claire following immediately after.
She’d snuck after them, leaning into the carport from the kitchen, listening to her sisters argue through the minivan’s open passenger door. At the end of it she’d heard Claire say, “Murphy won’t even notice we’re gone.”
Claire had been wrong about that. She only thought Murphy wouldn’t notice because they wouldn’t notice if she were gone.
Murphy, the spare tire.
All she wanted was a little road time. Claire and Eileen could be going to Medford, to Los Angeles, to Tokyo—that didn’t matter. What mattered was coming along, making them see her, whether they liked it or not.
That’s why, while Claire had been gathering her things, Murphy had devised the ingenious plan. She’d pulled on her coat, stuffing the right pocket with the new rope trick she hadn’t mastered. And of course she’d brought Siegfried’s coffin. She wasn’t letting go of him until she found a proper burial spot. She may have failed Siegfried in life, but she was going to make it up posthumously.
Sneaking into the back of the Caravan as Eileen drank and Claire packed a bag—that had required utmost stealth and concentration. There hadn’t been time to pee.
For the first half hour of the trip Murphy had kept perfectly still, lying on the back floorboard with her arms crossed mummy-style. She was wearing her purple puffer coat, and if she moved an inch, she’d crinkle. So she hadn’t moved.
At first, it was awesome. Murphy was a legit stowaway, and Eileen and Claire’s fight had served her piping fresh info to digest:
I read the letter.
Uncle Patrick.
Inheritance.
This stuff didn’t happen in the real world; not Murphy’s real world, anyway. Murphy’s reality was not like life on TV. There were no FBI investigations or car chases or life-altering secrets. Murphy’s reality was SpaghettiOs that cooked too long on the stove. It was a string of Bs on her report card and Cs, always Cs, in science. Her reality was a turtle dying on her for Christmas.
But this was prime-time TV. From what Murphy had gathered, the facts of her new reality were:
1) She had an uncle
2) Who was dead
3) And whose death involved a house
4) Which Eileen and Claire were going to inherit
5) And maybe she was, too???
Murphy wasn’t sure what points one through five added up to, but she’d figure out the details later. What was important was this: Drama was unfolding, and Murphy was