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Authors: Nancy Werlin

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BOOK: The Rules of Survival
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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.
Then I went upstairs.
Nothing had changed after all.
37
 
MEN ARE IDIOTS
 
The rest of that winter passed. You and Callie and I lived like hostages in enemy territory. Aunt Bobbie and Ben plotted strategy with Murdoch, and kept watch. And Murdoch was literally besieged—followed, watched, and randomly attacked.
Jail had not affected Nikki’s determination or her rage at Murdoch, although she did a better job of staying physically as far away as she was supposed to. But there were still nuisance phone calls and some insulting (but carefully unthreatening) letters. None of these could be proven to be from her. And there were a couple more men like Rob. I heard about that part from Aunt Bobbie.
She called me into her apartment one evening to tell me that Murdoch had gone to the emergency room the previous night. “He’ll be fine,” she said. “He just—well, someone bit him.”
“What?”
“I know it sounds strange. But some guy—someone Nikki found—actually
bit
Murdoch on the arm.” Aunt Bobbie rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask me how it happened, though.”
I made a disbelieving face at her, and she relented, unable to resist just a little gossip. “Well, all I know is that this guy was apparently waiting in the trash alley outside Murdoch’s house. Imagine. It was freezing cold last night.”
“Waiting to bite him? Like a dog? How—?”
“Matt, I really don’t know any more. Can we forget I said anything? Murdoch doesn’t want you to know about these sorts of things. It’s better if you don’t.”
“Why? Why shouldn’t I know what’s going on? And what do you mean by
these sorts of things
? Has something like this happened before? I mean, with someone else besides that guy Rob?”
“We just don’t want you worried, that’s all,” Aunt Bobbie said.
“I worry all the time,” I pointed out. But I couldn’t make her say anything else.
I was furious at being left out of the loop. And of course I had ten thousand questions that I couldn’t get answers to. I tried to put together a misty picture of what had happened on this occasion: This new guy had somehow been recruited by Nikki and had waited outside Murdoch’s house for him. But I wanted details. Had the guy had a weapon with him, like when Rob had brought his baseball bat? Personally, I thought it was crazy to wait for some guy without, well, something in your hands—though I supposed I myself wouldn’t bring an actual gun unless I really meant business. But somehow, this guy had ended up biting Murdoch. That was so extremely weird. How did Murdoch feel about it? Was he freaked out? How could he not be?
My mind kept returning compulsively to the biter. Had he run off after the bite? Been arrested, like Rob? If not, could the police question Nikki; make her tell who he was? Was this going to lead to more jail time for Nikki? For the biter?
Who were these men Nikki found who were willing to wait outside a strange man’s house to hurt him? Was everybody crazy?
I wandered back into Aunt Bobbie’s kitchen, where she was reading the real estate pages in the Sunday newspaper. I sat down opposite her and waited until she turned a page.
BOOK: The Rules of Survival
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