The Rules of Survival

  “No, thanks,” said Ben. She left.

  Ben started talking fast again. “I’m thinking of leaving the hospital. I just had an interview with this home care nursing agency. They’re going to offer me a job, and they said that if I wanted to get an advanced nursing degree, become a nurse practitioner, they’d pay for it so long as I agree to work for them once I have it. That’s a really good deal. I could work weekends for them now as an RN—you know, taking care of sick people in their homes. I could go to school during the week. And then, once I’m an NP, I can earn a lot more. That would change everything. It would be a hard year or two while I’m going to school, but after that, I could get a bigger place to live. One with enough room for you guys. Maybe I could even buy a house.”

  I stared at him. What was he saying? That he’d be a rich nurse practitioner—which I knew was almost like a doctor—and we could all live with him? That he wanted to do that?

  Who was this man? What drug had Murdoch given him?

  “What do you think?” said Ben.

  “You might try to get custody of all three of us?” I asked. I stressed the words all three.

  Ben didn’t flinch. “It could work out. I’m hoping it will. Murdoch feels we can assemble enough evidence against Nikki for me to get custody.”

  There was this one whole glorious minute in which I allowed myself to imagine it. I didn’t feel the kind of joy that I felt when I fantasized about Murdoch being our father. But still, I felt something. Something good. The three of us—the four of us—safe. Could it work?

  But I knew better.

  “No,” I said. “It won’t work out. Because Emmy isn’t your daughter, and Nikki would prove it if she had to. And Callie and I won’t leave without Emmy. So, even if she let us go legally—and I guess she’d let me; she hates me now—she would never, ever give Emmy up. Even if she didn’t want her, she wouldn’t give her up.”

  Ben shrugged. “Murdoch thinks that we could force her,” he said.

  34

  CALLIE

  I tried to be extremely good after that, while I waited for something to happen. I began making the best grades of my life; I was on honor roll. I took meticulous care of you, Emmy. Through someone Aunt Bobbie knew, I even got a minimum-wage job on weekends handing out towels at the L Street gym. They let me exercise there for free, and I did, and was pleased at the results. I had muscles, suddenly, and I even saw some of the girls there noticing. Noticing me.

  Maybe someday . . . maybe soon . . . what a luxury it would be, I thought, to be able to focus on flirting with a girl.

  However, Callie wasn’t doing too well. I had always relied on her, but somehow, right then, I could see that she was near to breaking. It was ironic. Salvation had never seemed so close.

  You know how it is, with someone you know well. You don’t really look at them, so you don’t notice things like what they’re wearing or if they have a smudge on their face. You see what you expect to see.

  But I remember really seeing Callie one morning. We were coming down the stairs together, and there was this moment when she stood, her eyes blank, under the exposed fluorescent lightbulb on the second-floor landing.

  Her cheekbones stood out sharply. I’d never seen dark circles under someone’s eyes before, but Callie had them, and somehow, her eyes had gotten larger than I remembered. Also, she’d cut her own hair, and badly. It stood up in little hills and pressed down in little mats all over her head so that it looked darker. It wasn’t hair gel giving it shape, either. Actually, her hair just looked dirty.

  I blurted, “Are you okay?”

  She rolled those big eyes at me in scorn.

  I grabbed her hand. I pulled her downstairs and out onto the street. And there, I poured out everything Ben had said, everything I had learned about the alliance that had formed between Murdoch and Aunt Bobbie and Ben, and their secret plan to somehow force Nikki to give up custody of all of us—plus Ben’s new willingness to take Emmy, and his ideas about becoming a nurse practitioner. She listened to it all without saying a word, and then she just shrugged.

  “Callie?” I said. “Didn’t you hear what I just told you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I didn’t hear a thing. Not a word. And I don’t want to hear it, Matt. I’m so tired of your fantasies and your dreams.” And then she put her hands into the straps of her backpack and turned and ran as fast as she could away from me.

  “Callie!” I shouted after her. “I’m telling the truth!”

  But she didn’t turn back. She kept running, right down the sidewalk.

  35

  A FAMILY CHRISTMAS

  All this time, Nikki continued stalking Murdoch. She followed him in her car, watching whatever he did, and with whom. There were the calls, too—his home phone ringing repeatedly in the middle of the night. He allowed all of this to happen, keeping track in a notebook of three-a.m. calls and empty voice mail messages and of when he saw her or her car behind him. Periodically, he reported it to the police, who would usually give Nikki another warning. “I stopped ignoring her. I started getting these things on the books,” Murdoch said to me later. “One violation after another, all of them small, but each one lengthening her police record. Also, I got pretty friendly with Officer Brooks. We even went out for a beer a few times. He’s a nice guy.”

  At one point, after Nikki had strayed twice—and provably—inside the hundred yards’ distance that she was supposed to keep away from Murdoch, Officers Brooks and Coughlin picked her up and she ended up spending two nights in jail. That was in December, on the weekend before Christmas, which was on a Monday that year.

  Do you remember, Emmy? For us, it was a wonderful weekend. Aunt Bobbie had gone to the hearing and came home Friday afternoon with official permission from the judge—and from Nikki herself—to care for all three of us. The doors of Aunt Bobbie’s apartment, and of ours, were thrown open, and the two floors felt like one big space, one big house. The college kids who rented the first-floor apartment had all left for the holidays, and so we felt completely free in that house in a way we never had before. There was lots of running up and down the stairs, and lots of shouting up and down, too. You were playing some game that involved taking only giant steps; Callie was smiling again, even at me. Then, that evening at seven o’clock, the doorbell rang. I was the one who answered the door.

  It was Ben, hauling a Christmas tree, a five-footer. “Hi, Matt.” He smiled, even though behind the smile he looked a little nervous. “Bobbie told me it was okay to come over.”

  I was pretty stunned, seeing him. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him at our house. “Yeah. Um . . . you need help with that thing?”

  “No, but if you’ll take my car keys, there’s more stuff in the trunk to bring in. Just a few bags. I’m parked right across the street.” He motioned with his chin.

  I took his keys, but helped him first to bring the tree up one flight and into Aunt Bobbie’s living room. As we entered, Callie said “Daddy” in enormous surprise—and then pleasure. And you, Emmy, you stared at Ben, and then clutched desperately at Aunt Bobbie’s leg like a child much younger than you were. Aunt Bobbie heaved you up and held you, while you peeked once or twice at Ben. Finally, Callie broke the spell by saying pragmatically: “Where should we set up the tree?”

  “Who’s that?” you whispered to me, as Ben turned to survey the room. “Callie’s daddy?”

  Silence again. I didn’t know where to look. And then Ben came forward and looked right in your face. “I’m Ben,” he said. “I’m Callie and Matt’s daddy, yes. And your friend.”

  You held out your hand like a princess. Ben took it gently and shook it.

  “Hello, Ben,” you said. And then you added thoughtfully: “Murdoch’s my friend, too.”

  “And mine,” said Ben gravely.

  “Good,” you said.

  It was suddenly too much, too good—I had to leave the room. “I’ll go get that other stuff,” I blurted.

&
nbsp; I ran downstairs to Ben’s car, where I found boxes of ornaments, obviously newly purchased, and another bag full of wrapped presents.

  I wondered where Nikki was at that exact moment. Had she already had dinner at the jail? What kind of food? What would her cell, her bed, be like? Had they made her wear a prison uniform?

  And how would she get along with the other prisoners? Would she get hassled, or could she defend herself? I honestly didn’t know. Just because I found her formidable didn’t mean that she really was. She was slender, pretty. Not physically strong. I’d seen prisons in television shows and movies, but that wasn’t the same as reality. What would it be like for her? What would she be thinking or feeling right then?

  I filled my arms with Ben’s presents and thought, Right now, at this very second, our mother is in jail. And meanwhile, her kids are running around her house, happy, while her ex-husband and her sister plan a family party.

  I thought: I hope she senses it, somehow.

  Balancing the bags in my arms, I elbowed the car’s trunk shut and went back upstairs, laden down with the ornaments and with all of the gifts from Ben.

  We put Christmas carols on and trimmed the tree. We put the presents under it. Among them was a big pink box labeled “Emmy,” which inspired great interest from you. We received the take-out pizza that Aunt Bobbie had ordered, and then ate it while lying around her living room, listening to more carols and playing a very long, very noisy game of war that Callie organized and which required the use of three intermingled decks of cards.

  The card game didn’t need much concentration—except that you were really into it—so we had lots of time to just talk, idly. You sat between Aunt Bobbie’s legs and leaned intently over your cards, refusing help. Callie and I sat on either side of you, and Ben sprawled on the other side of the circle. This put Ben across from you. I saw you steal glances at him from time to time. I wondered if Ben was remembering his talk with me, his comment about maybe being able to take you, too, if things happened the way he and Murdoch and Aunt Bobbie thought they might. The way that this jail term of Nikki’s now seemed to indicate they might. And I watched Aunt Bobbie smooth your hair from time to time.

  All at once there were possibilities in our little world, and they were near enough to smell and touch.

  Of course, I had felt this way before, with Murdoch. Now Murdoch wasn’t there, but it felt as if he was. We would none of us have been there together without him.

  That dumb, sad song “Frosty the Snowman” came on the radio, and Callie threw back her head and began to sing. You joined right in, screeching, and then so did I, and finally, laughing, so did the adults. I had not known Ben could sing, but he had a nice voice. Aunt Bobbie croaked like a frog. We all laughed at her, and she said, “I can’t help it!” and sang even louder, to punish us.

  This was our real family, at Christmastime.

  36

  CHRISTMAS EVE

  The atmosphere in the house altered on the day of Christmas Eve. Nikki was due to return home, but exactly when, we weren’t sure. The whole day felt oppressive with waiting.

  That morning, as if preparing for a siege, Aunt Bobbie closed all the doors, separating the house back into its individual apartments. Around noon, as I paced the second-floor landing restlessly, I encountered Callie coming down the stairs in her coat, with her purse slung over her shoulder.

  “Matt, can you play with Emmy for a couple of hours? Bring her down here to Aunt Bobbie’s, maybe?” The relaxed Callie of the last two days was gone, as if she had never been.

  “Sure,” I said. “Where are you going?”

  “Shopping. I was thinking of getting some decorations for the apartment. Just a little tree or mistletoe. Mom will like it if things are cheerful.” Callie hesitated. “Maybe I should get a welcome home sign?”

  I was silent.

  Callie bit her lip. “Listen, Matt, did you get Mom anything?”

  I shrugged. I had thought seriously about buying Nikki a Christmas present. I had even gone to the jewelry department at Macy’s and spent ten minutes staring at dangly earrings.

  “No,” I said defiantly. “I got stuff for Emmy, plus for you and Aunt Bobbie, and I went out yesterday and got something for Ben, too.”

  “I’m sure Daddy gave you money in his Christmas card,” said Callie. “Just like he did me. So give me ten bucks now. I’ll pick something up for Mom and put your name on it.”

  “She’ll stay mad at me, present or no present.”

  “Just give me the money, Matt.”

  “Callie . . . ”

  “Ten bucks.”

  “Okay, then. Listen, there were earrings over at Macy’s . . . ” I gave her a twenty-dollar bill, because it was all I had.

  She didn’t look at it. She balled the bill up in her fist and literally shoved me out of her way. “Keep an eye on Emmy.”

  I watched her go. I’d felt close to her again these last two days—sure of things changing. But it was clear to me right then that Callie didn’t share my certainty. Buying a welcome home sign to greet Nikki on her return from jail? It was a terrible idea, wasn’t it?

  What did we think Nikki would be like after her time in jail? I can’t answer for anyone but myself. I expected her to be the same. Maybe angrier than usual. It was only two days, and she hadn’t been in some maximum security prison filled with murderers and surrounded by electrified fences. It was only the county jail, which was a nice modern brick building with pillars out front, a building that you wouldn’t look at twice unless you already knew what it was.

  And yet, deeper down, I also hoped for something different. That one last time, I hoped that Nikki would be—well, what are the words for someone who has undergone a transformation? Born again. Saved. Redeemed. I secretly wondered if something like that could happen to Nikki in jail. “I’ve seen the light! I did some bad things and I understand that now. I’m going to change. It’s Christmas.” And then music would play.

  That night, my imagined melodrama faded away from even the back of my mind as soon as the front door opened. Then I heard the distinct stomp of Nikki’s boots on the downstairs landing, and it was not the step of a woman who had decided to walk with God.

  I met Aunt Bobbie’s eyes. We were all in her living room, where she had been playing Christmas carols softly on the radio for the last hour. Aunt Bobbie got up and smoothed her red T-shirt over her hips. She moved heavily to the door and out into the hall. Callie followed her, but you and I didn’t move. We stayed on Aunt Bobbie’s sofa and listened.

  “Nikki! Welcome home,” said Aunt Bobbie.

  “Hi, Mom,” Callie said.

  “We’ve been waiting Christmas dinner for you,” said Aunt Bobbie. There was a pause, in which I imagined Nikki, a few steps below the second floor on the staircase, looking up at her sister and her daughter, with what expression I couldn’t decide. But then Aunt Bobbie spilled all her nervousness into the silence.

  “Nikki, we’re all set to go with dinner in my apartment. We’ve just been waiting for you. There’s a turkey that I cooked, and it’s out of the oven and resting now, and I made my cranberry chutney and my onion stuffing, and there’s baked potatoes and creamed corn and, oh, guess what? Callie made a big salad with some interesting stuff in it. What was it, Callie? Wait, I remember now, honey-glazed walnuts and raisins. And I have rolls all ready to pop into the oven—we were just waiting for you, like I said—so they’ll be warm when we eat. And dessert, there’s dessert. I got a chocolate cake and a mince pie and some cupcakes from the bakery because I knew Emmy would like them. So, it’s a real family Christmas dinner we’ve got planned here.”

  This speech did not actually come out of Aunt Bobbie’s mouth all at once like that. Every sentence or so, she would stop, giving Nikki the chance to say something. When Nikki didn’t, Aunt Bobbie rushed on. But having reached the description of dessert, and run out of breath, she stopped for good.

  Then there was real silence. I couldn’t even
hear anybody moving out there. This went on for an entire minute. Emmy, I discovered that I had taken your hand in mine and was squeezing it. You squeezed back.

  I mouthed to you: “Go out there. Hug Mom.”

  You shook your head. You took hold of one of the sofa pillows with your other arm and clutched it close like a teddy bear.

  Finally, Nikki spoke. “Bobbie, I’m tired. Okay? Do you get that? I’m taking my kids—Callie, where’s Emmy? Matthew!—and I’m going upstairs and I’m having a shower. That’s my only plan for this evening: a long, hot shower and my kids nearby. You are not invited. If you really cared about me, you’d have come to pick me up tonight. You can just eat your big dinner yourself. We both know that’s what you want anyway.”

  The clomping began again; the boots continuing upstairs. There was some kind of shuffle—Aunt Bobbie getting out of the way. And then Callie appeared in the doorway. She held out her hand to you. You clutched the pillow more tightly and shook your head again. Callie’s hand stayed outstretched. You looked at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to you. It came out in a whisper. “We have to go.”

  I expected you to fight. But you sighed and then, moving almost as heavily as Aunt Bobbie, went to Callie, dropping the pillow on the floor.

  I stayed behind for a few minutes. I inhaled the scents from Aunt Bobbie’s elaborate roast turkey. Meanwhile, I could feel and hear the new activity upstairs. Voices, footsteps. The shower came on. I looked at the pillow you’d dropped on the floor. I wondered if there was any food for dinner upstairs at all, besides cereal and some canned soup.

  I found Aunt Bobbie standing just outside the door on the landing, leaning against the stair railing with her arms extended stiffly to support her and her eyes closed. She must have sensed my presence, though, because she opened them and looked at me. She tried to smile.

  “You’re worth two of her,” I said.