The Rules of Survival

  Okay. Emmy, this is what I think: Demons are real. Since I’m not religious, I think of them as metaphors for the evil desires and impulses all humans have. A religious person can think of them as separate evil beings that can possess you. Either way, I believe they exist, lurking patiently around and in us, whispering their twisted points of view, ever alert for an opportunity. The sudden chink in your armor when you’re tired, frightened, or angry. The invitation you issue in that moment of vulnerability.

  Come inside me. Tell me what to do.

  I believe that I could and should have known about the demons that were on the borderline of ruling our mother. I had actually seen something in her eyes and felt some force in the air around her for many years. The demons are unmistakable even when you don’t have a name for them. So, I knew. And yet, I didn’t.

  My mistake was that I thought the demons already ruled her. I thought they were already in control. But I know now that, in her own strange way, she had been doing her best all those years, the years before Murdoch, to hold them at bay. They had her ear, but not her soul.

  Now, I am not saying that she fought her demons in the years before Murdoch. Nikki played with them before. But she was not ruled by them before Murdoch and they did not own her.

  And then—at some point, right around this time, maybe even the very night I promised Callie that I would try to forget Murdoch—at some point right around that very night, our mother invited the demons into her soul. I really believe that this was what happened. The lock was opened. The key was thrown away.

  Come inside me. Tell me how to get what I want.

  I believe that she thought the demons would help her win back the love and dependence of her children from the thief who had stolen them. I believe she chose this route on the night that you prayed for Murdoch in order to spite her.

  One more thing. On that night I, too, was trying to think of some way to restabilize our lives. Callie had her own idea, as I’ve already described. And my idea involving Ben had already been shot down.

  Despite my promise, my mind kept turning back to Murdoch. The man I’d seen in the Cumberland Farms, and the man we’d gotten to know since. That man wouldn’t feel right, abandoning kids in trouble. Real trouble. He was trying to do just that, of course, but what if . . .

  What if I put some pressure on him?

  20

  CHURCH

  Nikki didn’t come home that night, and by the next morning, when she did, she had a new man with her. He was the first man she’d brought home since Murdoch. She herded him into the kitchen, where we were sitting around the table pretending to eat cereal.

  A half hour before, Callie and I had begun trying to have our talk with you, Emmy. We wanted you to agree to a new family rule: Never, ever mention Murdoch’s name, at least not in front of Nikki, but preferably never.

  You had not wanted to promise. You folded your arms and stuck out your lower lip. “You can’t make me!” You were the defiant, powerful, and self-confident Emmy of the previous night, praying for Murdoch, defying Nikki.

  Callie wheedled. I pleaded. Callie threatened. I bribed. I was thinking we were making progress—you sighed and lowered your head—when we heard the front door and footsteps on the stairs. Nikki’s laughter. A man’s voice.

  We barely had time to throw together a just-the-kids-having-breakfast scene. You cooperated with that, at least. You were in your booster seat at the table, chomping on Froot Loops, when Nikki came in, pulling a large man behind her by the hand. The man was balding and ponytailed and very, very big. He wore an old leather jacket and frayed jeans, and had a big collection of keys clinking at his side. He could barely tear his hopeful, avid eyes away from Nikki.

  “This is Rob,” Nikki said carelessly to us. “My kids,” she said to him. She didn’t bother telling him our names. He wouldn’t know it, but that meant he wasn’t going to be around for long. I was relieved.

  “Hi, Mom,” said Callie. She threw me a quick look, but I didn’t need her reminder.

  “Hi,” I said. I couldn’t quite manage to smile at Nikki, but I said, “Want me to make coffee?”

  “Sure,” said Nikki. “Thanks, hon.” Then she looked at you, Emmy.

  You picked up a yellow Froot Loop, stuck out your tongue, delicately placed the Froot Loop on it, and waggled it. With your other hand, you picked up your Minnie Mouse mug. I saw Nikki’s gaze travel to it, and I remembered Murdoch had bought it for you.

  It would have to be thrown out. You were too old for it anyway, really.

  “Say hi, Emmy,” said Callie. I could feel her tension.

  You took your time chewing and swallowing the Froot Loop. Then: “Hi, Emmy,” you parroted.

  Nikki decided to laugh, but it was a short bark that might possibly have convinced Rob she was amused, but would fool no one else, including you. “Tell me when the coffee’s ready,” Nikki said to me. She took Rob’s hand and guided him out of the room. We heard her bedroom door close, but not before we also heard Rob say: I just can’t believe my luck.

  I turned on the radio and punched the tune button at random. Church music came on—an organ. It was deep and sonorous and filled the room.

  I got busy making Nikki’s coffee at the counter. She liked it weak, with milk. I didn’t know how Rob liked his coffee. So, what was I supposed to do, go knock on the door and ask? Would I have done that six months or a year ago, before Murdoch? What exactly did it mean to act normal, the way Callie thought we should?

  The organ music from the radio swelled in the background.

  You were now crunching Froot Loops with vigor, using your hands to eat. Murdoch would have insisted on you using a spoon. Defiantly, I found one and handed it to you. You looked at it, at me, and then condescended to use it.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, what should we do today?” I asked my sisters. “Go on over to Castle Island? Emmy, you can go on the swings. I don’t think it’ll be too cold if we keep moving.”

  Callie didn’t look up from her own cereal. She was stirring it intently, but it didn’t look like she’d actually eaten any. She replied immediately. “I think we should get dressed and go to church. Like, right now. How about that one over on East Broadway? I’m pretty sure they have a Mass at nine o’clock or nine thirty or something like that.”

  “What?” We hardly ever went to church.

  Callie stirred her cereal faster. “The music made me think of it. Why not, Matt?” She stopped stirring and shrugged. “It’ll get us out of the house. They’re open on Sunday morning. And Emmy likes praying. Well, she can pray at church.”

  If there was an edge to Callie’s voice, you didn’t pick up on it. You looked interested. “I can pray at church?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You can. That would be okay.”

  Callie looked up at last and our eyes met. I nodded at her. She bit her lip. “I’ll go get stuff we can wear,” she said. “I don’t want Emmy having to change back there in our bedroom . . . with—with him here. We can take her downstairs and change in the hall outside Aunt Bobbie’s.”

  I nodded again.

  Callie disappeared.

  The organ music came to an end. The radio announced: “That was Cantata 147, ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,’ by Johann Sebastian Bach, played by the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, conducted by David Willcocks. This is National Public Radio. Here at WBUR, our new fiscal year begins in just ten days . . . ”

  I finished making the coffee. I had decided to prepare Rob’s just the same as Nikki’s. I squared my shoulders. I would take the two mugs to her door. I would do it now.

  I turned with the mugs just as Callie reappeared in the doorway, her arms filled with clothes that she had gathered rapidly, too rapidly. In the pile, I could see your blue summer dress with the yellow ducks on it, and a white dress shirt for me that I was pretty sure no longer fit. Callie took one step into the kitchen and dumped the stuff onto the table, the sleeve of my dress shirt flying perilously close to her
abandoned cereal bowl. Her cheeks were red, as if she’d been running.

  And then Nikki appeared in the doorway right behind Callie. She was dressed, but barely, in her green and red silk robe with the dragon on the back. At least I didn’t have to go into her bedroom. I managed to smile at her. I walked across the kitchen so I could hand her the mugs.

  “ . . . that’s why we count on the support of loyal listeners like you . . .”

  “Your coffee, Mom,” I said, and then I saw the tiny bit of leftover white powder just beside her right nostril. I don’t think my face changed, but somehow my gaze tangled with hers and she read my mind as easily as a monkey peels a banana. She put her right hand up to her nose, captured the bit of powder on her fingertip, put it to her nostril, and sniffed. She stared into my eyes the whole time.

  “ . . . and for every donation of a hundred and twenty dollars that you make in the next hour, your money will be matched . . . ”

  I turned back to the counter, put one mug down very precisely, and snapped the radio off. Then I picked the mug back up. “Coffee?” I said.

  Nikki waved away the mugs with one hand. She gestured at the pile of clothes on the kitchen table. “What’s all this?”

  “Well,” said Callie brightly, “we’re getting dressed to go to church this morning.”

  “To pray,” you said, smiling a sly smile.

  Nikki narrowed her eyes at you. Then her gaze traveled to Callie and me in turn.

  And then she threw back her head and laughed. The laugh came out full and long and generous.

  “Rob!” Nikki called. “Hey, Rob, get this! My kids are getting ready for church!”

  There was no reply from the bedroom, but that didn’t appear to bother Nikki. She was looking at the clothes again, and then from the pile back to me. A serious look of assessment came over her face. “Matt, you’ll need a different shirt. This one won’t fit you anymore. You should throw it out.”

  “I will.” I took the shirt from her.

  “Good,” she said briskly. “Try the left side of your closet. I think there’s a long-sleeved blue button-down that will fit. I bought it for you at Marshalls last year, and it was big then. Wear it with chinos, not jeans.” Her gaze moved on. “Callie, honey, you shouldn’t wear pants to church. It’s not right. Why don’t you just wear your plaid school skirt? With a cardigan.” She had fished Callie’s green jeans and black sweater off of the table. “Put these back.”

  Callie took them. “Okay. Great. Thanks.” She didn’t look at me, or me at her, but we didn’t need to do that to share our relief.

  Nikki had now picked up your summery dress, the last thing on the table, and was shaking her head.

  “I’ll find something else for Emmy, too, Mom,” I said. “I know she can’t wear that. It’s not warm enough.”

  “Oh, no,” said Nikki easily. She handed the dress to me. “Just put it away. You don’t need to find another one. You two are going, but not Emmy. She’s been bad, so I’ll just keep her with me and Rob today. After all, she’s already shown us that she can pray perfectly well without church.”

  While we gaped at her, she turned back to the table and picked up your Minnie Mouse mug. “Wash this for me, Matt, and put my coffee in it.”

  21

  RIGHT AFTERWARD

  “It’s not so bad,” I said uncertainly to Callie, as we lingered on the sidewalk in front of our house. With the front door of the house shut behind us, we could no longer hear your furious screams. I wanna go to church! Matt, take me! Callie! I want to go pray for Murdoch! You said I could! “Maybe it’ll teach Emmy not to—not to . . . ”

  Callie gave me a look. “You want her taught things?”

  I had a sudden vision of our mother, upstairs in her dragon robe, and of that huge man she’d brought home. “Shut up,” I said sharply. “Shut up. This was your idea—your stupid idea. I thought we were going to pretend things were the way they were before. Well, huh? Huh? We don’t usually go to church.”

  She did shut up. I crossed my arms and hunched my shoulders. Callie had her coat, but I hadn’t remembered my jacket, and it was a chilly, damp autumn day. We didn’t move from our chosen spot in front of the house, looking up at it from time to time even though we were too close to even see the third-floor bay window of our apartment. We certainly could not see inside.

  There had barely been time to scramble into the clothes Nikki had picked out for us before we felt her hands at our backs, literally pushing. And then the apartment door slammed behind us, the dead bolt clicked audibly into place on the other side, and we were left on the inner stairs, with nothing to do but step down, down, down. Past Aunt Bobbie’s second-floor apartment, where the television blared. Past the first-floor apartment, where the college students probably still slept. With each step, your cries faded, until we closed the front door behind us.

  “How long is church?” I asked eventually.

  “I don’t know. An hour?”

  “That’s not long.”

  “No.”

  Still, we didn’t move. Across the street, tiny old Mrs. Hennigan was kneeling on her stoop, completely absorbed with stuffing rags into a pair of jeans and a shirt. Eventually, she sat the headless scarecrow carefully on a child’s plastic chair, positioned a large pumpkin head on its lap, and competently hammered the scarecrow’s gloved hands to the pumpkin head.

  “I forgot my jacket,” I said to Callie.

  “Do you want to go back for it?”

  “Should I?”

  “You could. She’ll be mad. But you could.”

  We stood there. I was so cold.

  “Well?” Callie said.

  “I’ll live without it,” I said. “Let’s go to church. We can come back right after and see if she’ll let us in then. It’s only an hour.”

  “Yes.” Callie didn’t move, though. “I wonder—maybe we could go back in and ask Aunt Bobbie . . .”

  “Ask her what?”

  “Just to keep an eye out.”

  I sneered. “We’ll do better praying.”

  Callie nodded. Listen, Emmy: Aunt Bobbie wasn’t Aunt Bobbie then, like she is now. We didn’t think she would help us. Actually, then, I don’t think she would have.

  And so we went to church, the big Catholic one on Broadway, and when we came back, Nikki had taken you and—with that guy Rob, too, for all we knew—disappeared.

  And then we did go to see Aunt Bobbie, who was indeed no real help. “Well, you know how Nikki is. She’ll be back tonight. Or, worst case, in a day or two. I suppose you could have dinner here. Yes! Why don’t we plan on that? I’ll get us one of those big buckets of chicken, with the biscuits and everything.” She paused, thoughtful, and then added, “Maybe two buckets.”

  22

  AUNT BOBBIE

  On the rare occasions when I have had to tell a version of my life story to outsiders, I move Aunt Bobbie up front and center. “My little sister Emmy and I live with our aunt, Roberta O’Grady. We have for years now. She’s our legal guardian.”

  And if one day I meet a girl, I will take her home to meet Aunt Bobbie. I will explain how Aunt Bobbie took us in and sort of saved our lives. And Aunt Bobbie will glow, the way she does when you introduce her casually to your friends from school: Aunt Bobbie’s my aunt, but she’s also my mother. I’ve heard you say just that, Emmy.

  Sometimes, I look at this new Aunt Bobbie, the one who plans college applications with me, who cheers herself hoarse at Callie’s field hockey games, and who reviews your homework and braids your hair. She looks the same as ever—a plainer, inflated version of Nikki. But that other Aunt Bobbie heard just about everything her sister said and did, ten feet above her head, and she never said a word to interfere or even to offer us comfort. Then she became this new person. Just like that.

  What Murdoch says about Aunt Bobbie’s change is: “Remember that quote: ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.’”

  “Uh,
but Aunt Bobbie had motherhood thrust upon her.”

  “No. Greatness. Bobbie didn’t know she was strong—stronger than her sister.” He never uses Nikki’s name nowadays. Just “your mother” or “her sister.” “She didn’t know she had ideals and principles, because she’d buried them so deep.”

  “But she ignored so much, for so long. How come suddenly—”

  “One day, she took that first step to get involved. It felt right to her, so that led to more. It’s simple.”

  This is what Aunt Bobbie says about the change—I’ve heard her, when she talks to a few friends of hers:

  “Well, maybe I should have seen my sister’s life more clearly earlier. Seen that she was out of control and it wasn’t good for the kids. I look back, and I should have known. I guess I didn’t let myself. But, well, there’s no sense crying over it now. What’s done is done. And once I fully understood the situation, I acted. I give myself credit for that. And I have to say, I have never had a moment of regret.

  “No, it’s really not such a big responsibility as all that. Matt was already almost grown up, and Emmy, well, it’s just not a burden. I thought I was going to spend my whole life alone, and look: I’m a mother! And they’re great kids, no trouble at all, nothing like Nikki. And their father’s around, too. He helps a lot these days. Callie—that’s the older sister—she decided to live with him. The way I see it, I have a lot to be grateful for.

  “So, listen, my Em is going to be in the Christmas pageant at St. Anne’s. She’s one of the three wise men. They’re selling tickets here at the grocery next week, if you’re interested in bringing your niece. One tip, though. They’ve been using the same costumes for the last twenty years. I don’t think they’ve ever been washed, so don’t sit in the first few rows.”

  That’s Aunt Bobbie. A mystery.

  23

  FIRST BLOOD