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Authors: Nancy Werlin

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BOOK: The Rules of Survival
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Nikki was already turning away. She was practically running. We looked after her. She didn’t look back.
We watched Murdoch watch her go. One long second passed. Two. Three.
Then: “You guys had better come in,” he said, and we did. But it wasn’t the same in his place, as we stayed there Friday night, and Saturday night, and Sunday night, and Monday night, too, with no word from our mother. This time, we had not been invited. This time, we were not wanted. And the days passed, and our mother did not come back, and did not call, and did not come back, and did not call. And Murdoch was kind to us. Even loving. But distant and detached and wary, and—and gone from us.
On Sunday morning, after Murdoch had told us he was going to call the police—he’d already called all the area hospitals and they’d all denied that our mother’s friend Rebekah was there—I told him she’d done this before. Disappeared for days. I told him that she’d just be angry if anybody made a fuss. I told him she’d be back when she was ready, and not before.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish she’d just left us at home. Not bothered you. We could go back there now. We’ll be fine. Aunt Bobbie’s away this weekend, but we’ve stayed alone before when she wasn’t right downstairs. Aunt Bobbie doesn’t really matter even when she’s there.”
“No,” said Murdoch, after a long moment. “You should stay here. It’s okay.”
I knew it wasn’t okay. But I couldn’t say anything else. I couldn’t even look him in the eye. I slunk away.
Ironically, we did all the things that weekend, the four of us, that I had hoped we would. Barbecued in his backyard, while waving across the fence to his neighbor, a woman called Julie. Squeezed into Murdoch’s truck and went to the beach in Duxbury. Watched movies together at night, ones Murdoch picked.
Shrek. Mulan.
A very old one called
Swiss Family Robinson,
which you, Emmy, wanted to watch twice.
Murdoch was like a robot. It was unspeakably horrible.
On Wednesday evening, Nikki came back for us. And I watched Murdoch look at her as she trotted into his kitchen wearing the exact same clothes she’d had on five days before. Her arms were covered with bruises, and the first thing she did was come up to Murdoch and throw her arms around him and kiss him, like he was her property.
And now, this will surprise you. It surprised me what I felt as I looked at Murdoch, who stood like a statue in her embrace, before he reached down and simply forced her away from himself, pried her off as if she were a piece of garbage, and stepped decisively away.
It felt as if he was treating us—you, me, and Callie—like garbage, too.
12
 
FUN, FUN, FUN
 
In the weeks after Murdoch broke up with our mother, Callie and you and I were involved in a frantic round of enforced family fun. You might remember a little of it, Emmy.
Before, there had been times when Nikki kept us going-going-going from early morning until late at night. But never had it lasted so long or been so intense. I thanked God that at least summer was over and we had the relief of school on the weekdays. Even you were in school—first grade, Emmy. Anyway, I was thinking that surely our mother’s merry-go-round would wind down soon. It always had before, when she got tired of us, when she got distracted by something new in life.
This time, though, it seemed to take forever. One crazy Sunday, I remember, we started out at seven a.m. at the pancake house. Waving away the menus, our mother announced to the waitress, “We’ll just take a big stack of every kind of pancake you make. We want buttermilk, chocolate chip, banana, blueberry, and pecan—oh, and also a plate of those little silver dollar pancakes, too, just for fun. And then we’d like separate dishes of strawberries and whipped cream—actually, a can of whipped cream if you have it that way—and butter. Oh, and do you have chocolate sauce as well as maple syrup?” She turned to us. “You guys, listen. What we’re going to do is put all this stuff in the middle of the table. We’ll get plates for all of us, and then we’ll make sort of pancake sundaes. Isn’t that a great idea? I thought of it last night. Fun, huh?”
“Yes,” Callie said, instantly. “Great idea. Wow.”
I nodded. “Lots of fun.”
There was a little silence. Our mother was now looking at you.
My stomach clenched. “Fun, Emmy,” I prompted. “Fun!”
There was a long silence.
Then: “Fun,” you said, and you were smiling for real. Despite my own tension, I realized with a shock that it was possible that this
would
be fun for you. After all, once upon a time, this sort of thing had been fun for me.
Callie and I exchanged a glance. Ever so slightly, she shrugged.
“I’m brilliant,” said our mother. And then, to the waitress, in a rapid stream of words, she continued: “We’ll need more maple syrup, because this little pitcher is only half full. Big glasses of milk for all my kids because I want them to grow up strong. Calcium is very important for growing bones. Oh, so is vitamin C, so we need orange juice, big glasses of that. Coffee for me, though, because I’m bad.” She giggled. “That’s all. Thanks!”
The waitress left. Nikki lifted her arms and twisted her hair up behind her head, smiling brightly at us. “Isn’t this the best idea? And this is only the beginning. Wait until you find out what else I have planned for today. You won’t believe how much fun we’re going to have.”
At the end of the next hour, we had made probably the biggest mess the pancake house had ever seen. I had eaten so much, and it had been so awful after the first two pancakes, that I felt as if I might spew. I blamed Callie. She had eaten a single pancake with only a modest amount of syrup, and simply refused to eat more, causing me to worry that we were going to have a big nasty scene. But instead, Nikki had shrugged and said lightly, “Oh well, I suppose you’re dieting. It’s not like I never do that.” And the tension had passed. But I had felt obligated to eat double to make up for Callie, and to show that I was having a good time, and that this was a great idea. Meanwhile, you, Emmy, got sticky syrup and pancake bits all over yourself, the table, and the floor, and had a simply glorious time. And that made it all better, except—
Except that the day was far from over, and next on Nikki’s agenda was picking up a rental car so that we could spend the day at Six Flags amusement park, which was a two-and-a-half-hour drive away. Fifteen minutes down the highway in our rented canvas-topped Jeep, I actually did spew—luckily, Nikki pulled the Jeep over in time—and that set the tone for the rest of my day.
Tilt-A-Whirl. Bumper cars. Three separate roller coasters. Octopus. The Giant Drop. Nikki wanted to go on them all, but most of the time I was able to sit it out with you, because you were too small to go on any of the adult rides. Callie was a trouper and went with Nikki.
“You owe me,” she whispered.
“No,
you
owe
me,
for every single pancake I ate this morning.”
Also, I was forced to “taste, you have to at least take a taste, aren’t you having fun?” cotton candy, a giant hot dog, and nachos.
And then it was necessary for all four of us to go together, as a family, on the rides that you were big enough for. Teacups. The little Ferris wheel. These little boats that went round and round on a rail. Some old-fashioned toy cars that went around a track. And, finally, the carousel, where I climbed onto a silvery blue seahorse that went up and down, up and down, while we went round and round, round and round, until I upchucked the cotton candy, hot dog, and nachos on the seahorse’s head. You laughed at me, Emmy.
The worst part of the day was still ahead, though, and it came toward the end of the drive home. It was nearly ten o’clock at night by then, and you were asleep in the backseat of the Jeep with your seat belt undone and your head on Callie’s lap. Traffic on the highway was light but steady, and thanks to my touchy stomach, I was up front with Nikki. And so I was the one to whom she said, conversationally, as we drove down the highway, “Tell me how much fun you had today, Matt.”
“It was fun.”
Even I could hear how dull my voice sounded. I hoped she would let it go. It was late, and she had to be tired, too—she’d driven for hours today in the rented Jeep.
“That sounds convincing.”
“It was fun, Mom.”
Her voice got harsher. “I know you were sick, but that’s just the price you pay for eating like a pig.”
“Yeah, that’s right. It was my fault.”
Callie, from the backseat, said, “We did have fun, Mom.” She too sounded more exhausted than happy.
“Really?” Nikki said. “Isn’t it strange, then, that I haven’t heard a single thank you?”
“Oh—thank you—sorry—thank you—” we both sputtered.
“It’s a little late now.” Nikki was looking straight ahead as she drove. The road we were on was a major road, almost a highway, but was not divided by any kind of barrier.
Suddenly, Nikki jerked the wheel of the Jeep and took us into the next lane of traffic, the fast one.
“I go to a lot of trouble for you kids,” she said. “I love you to death, but this is one of those times when I think I’m not appreciated. Or maybe it’s that you think somebody else would be more fun?”
“No,” I said. “Of course not.”
“Oh, really?” She drew out the word in a drawl. Then, harshly: “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know you kids are mooning around missing Murdoch? Like he’s so special! Like he’s any fun at all! Like he could even compare to me. He knows nothing about parenting, not in the real world. He just has fantasy ideas about what it ought to be like.”
“I never said anything about him and—”
She wasn’t listening to me. “Or maybe you don’t want fun at all!” She jerked the wheel to the left again.
And all at once, we were on the wrong side of the road, heading directly into oncoming traffic. Headlights glared straight into my eyes.
“Tell me you love me best,” our mother said. Her voice was once more calm, and her hands on the wheel of the car were steady. “Convince me, Matthew.”
I wanted to. I wanted to! But my throat had closed up. I couldn’t speak—couldn’t say what she wanted—couldn’t—
The oncoming car swerved out of our way, honking madly, missing us by inches.
“Mom!” Callie yelled. “Mom, of course we love you—”
A horn blared, long and hard. Another oncoming car swerved out of our path, but there was another behind it—coming straight on—too close—
“I love you!” I screamed. “You’re the best mother in the world!”
Our mother swerved back into our own lane, and laughed.
It took me a few seconds to realize we were safe again. Then I was vaguely amazed that I hadn’t peed my pants. I put a hand on my seat belt.
Our mother said, breathlessly, “Oh, now
that
was fun. Wasn’t that fun, guys? Sort of like a roller coaster.” She laughed again. “Hey, for a second there, you know what? I really did think about it. I wondered what it would be like. Did you? Matt, how about you? Just for a sec? Didn’t you want me to? What a way to go, too, in this great car. I love Jeeps, did you know?”
I didn’t know. I didn’t care. And no, I hadn’t wanted to die.
It was important to respond to her, though. “We’ll all know what it’s like to die, one day,” I said. “I can wait.”
Nikki thought that was funny. “Right.” Then she fell silent, thoughtful, for the remainder of the drive—during which she drove as carefully as if there were a police car on our tail.
I sat in the silence, in the passenger seat of the rented Jeep, my mouth dry and my hands shaking. I could feel Callie’s terror from the backseat, but she said nothing either. There was nothing to say. At least you had slept through it all, Emmy.
I need to do something,
I thought
. I need to get us out of this.
13
 
FATHERS
 
It was then I remembered my father. My father and Callie’s, Benjamin Walsh.
We didn’t usually see much of him—not since he’d left Nikki. Emmy, that was way back when Nikki was (briefly) with your father. But Ben hadn’t completely abandoned us. He sent a child-support check every month without fail, and he always included money for you, too.
In front of us, Nikki always called him “the nurse-boy,” because he was a registered nurse and she thought that was a ridiculous job for a man. I called him Ben. Even when he was with us, I never said “Dad” or “Daddy,” though Callie did. I’m not sure why. Maybe somewhere in me, even when I was small, I knew he couldn’t be trusted when it mattered. He always deferred to Nikki.
Emmy, at that time, you had never even met Ben once, and I’m not sure you even knew who we were talking about when we mentioned him, or even that Ben and Daddy and the nurse-boy were all the same person. I figured that it didn’t matter what you thought about Ben. It just made me sad, that you didn’t even have the idea of him—or of someone—as a father. Sometimes, when Callie said “Daddy,” her voice lingered on the word. It’s like a part of her forgot, or refused to believe, how little he mattered. How little he could do for us. How little he
was
.
BOOK: The Rules of Survival
3.68Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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