The Rules of Survival (7 page)
Read The Rules of Survival Online
Authors: Nancy Werlin
I used to think that if Nikki was a tiger, then Ben was some animal that hides and scavenges; that scuttles about in fear. A giant mouse.
He’d left us, left me and Callie, just because he was told to. He was there one day, and then the next, he was slinking off with one old suitcase and a backpack, leaving behind lots of stuff he cared about, like his Australian work boots and a chess set that had belonged to his father.
I hid the chess set in the basement, so that Nikki wouldn’t throw it out with everything else of his. But in the end it didn’t matter that I’d kept it, because not only did Ben never ask about it—or anything else—but I found out that
I
didn’t want to see it, either.
I
didn’t want to see it, either.
So, I despised Ben, okay? And yet . . .
And yet, Ben sent that money every month, and I knew from some of the kids at school that not all parents did that, even when the court told them to. Lots of divorced fathers got out of it somehow, but Ben sent $1,800 every month—$600 for me, $600 for Callie, and also $600 for you. And you weren’t his child. No court or judge told him to do that.
Ben was not all that well-off, either. Registered nurses are in demand for jobs and make good money, but between what he paid out for the three of us and a lot of credit card debt that I later realized was from when he was married to Nikki, Ben was poor. He rented a single room for himself, in a house that belonged to other people. He said that was why we could never stay there with him, that he just didn’t have room.
Now, he probably sent the money because he was frightened of Nikki. “I told the nurse-boy not even to think of trying to get out of it,” our mother had said way back when. But it might not only have been that. It might also have been because Ben realized that you were a child, and you didn’t ask to be born, but you existed and you needed stuff like any kid would. He might have done it because it was the right thing to do, and because he understood that in taking care of you, he helped take care of Callie and me, too.
That could be why. I would like to think that. That’s the Ben I know today, anyway.
By the way, Emmy, I know what you’re thinking as I talk about Ben. You’re thinking about your own father. You’re only nine years old as I write this, and I don’t know how old you are as you read it. But when you’re ready, I’ll tell you what I know about your father. It isn’t much. I remember his name, in case you want to try to find him. Callie knows it, too, and Aunt Bobbie.
The other thing I know is that he was rich. I still remember what happened the day Nikki realized your father had completely disappeared on her. Empty apartment, no forwarding address. It was pretty scary, and if you had been a physical object outside of her, something separate that could be hurt without hurting her, too—well. Thank God you weren’t, that’s all. And at least Callie and I were there for her to take it out on.
At that time, I didn’t understand what exactly had happened between your father, our mother, and Ben. As I got older and could fit all the pieces together, I decided not to dwell on it. It didn’t matter, I told Callie, if Nikki had thought your father was rich, a better bet than Ben—and more “fun”—and had tried to get him to marry her by becoming pregnant. It didn’t matter. We had you, and we were glad to have you, even if it had worked out that we got you in some kind of weird Nikki-engineered exchange for Ben.
I doubt that Nikki tried to get Ben back after your father disappeared. I’d like to think he would have come back if she had asked him, and not just because he used to always do whatever Nikki said, but because of us kids. I know, however, that Nikki still thought she could do better than Ben. If not one rich guy, then another.
Not that Nikki was really a gold-digger. I actually don’t think that about her. Take Murdoch, for example. Not that he was really rich, but he owned his house and all, and his own business. He was richer than us, richer than Ben. But if Nikki had really been thinking of bagging him, wouldn’t she have controlled herself better?
Except maybe she couldn’t. That’s what I think now. She
couldn’t
control herself.
couldn’t
control herself.
Anyway. I bring Ben up because, on the day after the ride home from Six Flags during which Nikki nearly killed us all, I called him.
I told him I had to see him. Alone.
I had never asked him directly before to take us all away. To keep that $1,800 and use it so we could all be together, away from Nikki. I could help a lot, I thought. It wouldn’t be like I was asking Ben to take care of three small children by himself. Callie and I took care of ourselves, and we would keep on taking care of you. It would be no trouble; it would be the same as ever, but away from Nikki.
We didn’t need Murdoch, I told myself. Ben would do.
14
THINGS USUALLY WORK OUT OKAY
I had arranged to meet Ben on Tuesday afternoon, so at one thirty, coming out of American history class, I headed for the school library as if I were going to spend last period there. But when the bell rang, I slipped outside into the autumn sunlight. I could talk to Ben and still be home at the usual time.
It was only twenty minutes’ walk from my school to the John F. Kennedy library and museum, next to the ocean. I sat down on a bench facing the water, with my back to the museum, and waited.
Ben wasn’t late; I was early. I watched the crowds—tourists, students from UMass-Boston, and the usual runners and power walkers—all enjoying the wide sidewalks and ocean air of Columbia Point. I was just vaguely aware of my own mounting tension, and then I had an unexpected memory flash. A visual: the oncoming headlights of the car that had almost hit us on the highway the other night. The soundtrack:
Tell me you love me best.
Tell me you love me best.
I would make Ben understand how serious this was. He couldn’t know; he didn’t see enough of us, or of her. And also, really, I hadn’t fully understood it myself, before now. Not until we had those weeks with Murdoch had I truly seen how crazy our life was. When you’re used to something, you don’t really see it. But because of Murdoch, I could see now. It was no way to live. Because of Murdoch, I knew it should not go on. Because of Murdoch, it was now intolerable.
I would explain this so that Ben understood.
Then he was there, instantly recognizable in his faded green scrub pants, sneakers, and old denim jacket. I found myself on my feet, waving. And when Ben saw me and lifted his own arm in response, I was filled with a sudden wash of relief, almost of happiness.
“Hey,” I said to him.
“Hey,” Ben said. There was a little pause, and then he reached out, tentatively, and I found myself being hugged. I didn’t hug back; I was too tense, and it only lasted a second.
“It’s good to see you, Ben,” I said.
He ducked his head a little and his pale yellow hair flopped onto his equally pale brow. “Yeah, me too. Listen, I’m sorry it’s been a while. I’ve been working a lot of overtime. Doesn’t mean I don’t think about you guys.”
I nodded. “Callie says hi,” I said. It was a lie. Callie didn’t know I’d called Ben or what I was going to ask him.
“How is she?” Ben asked.
“Okay. And Emmy’s good, too—she’s talking now. She’s talking fine, when she wants to, and she’s doing well in first grade, although she hates having to sit still so long every day. There’s nothing wrong with Emmy.”
“That’s great,” said Ben. Had his face stiffened when I mentioned you?
“She’s a good kid,” I said.
Ben nodded. He looked away, down at his feet.
For a few minutes we stood by the water, shifting from leg to leg, not speaking. I wished Ben would prompt me; ask me why I’d insisted on seeing him. Finally he gestured in the direction of the walkway. “Want to walk?”
“Sure.”
It was better being in motion. I found a stone, a little chunk of mottled pink and gray granite, and began to kick it before me. “Listen, Ben,” I said to the stone, “I need to tell you something.” When he didn’t say
“Go ahead” or something like that, I looked over at his face, and after a second he looked back at me. That was when I saw that he was as afraid of this talk as I was.
And I knew then that he knew. Oh, not exactly what I was going to say, and not what Nikki had done in the Jeep the other night. But he knew we weren’t safe. He already knew that.
“Okay,” he said carefully. “What is it?”
I went ahead anyway and told him about the incident in the car. Just the facts. What she’d said; what she’d done. That I thought it had been close. The whole time, I kicked my stone ahead of me.
When I finished, I reached down and picked up the stone and tossed it in one hand. That was when I dared look him in the face. He was crying. Hope pushed up again in me. He did care.
“We need to be somewhere safe, Ben,” I said. “We need to be with you, not her. That would be better.”
A pause. Then my father said, “It’s complicated, Matt.”
I stopped walking. “You know we shouldn’t be there with her,” I said. “You know it’s not right.
She’s
not right. She’s sort of crazy, Ben.”
She’s
not right. She’s sort of crazy, Ben.”
It took him a few steps to realize I had stopped walking. He turned in the path, but he didn’t move back toward me. Across two yards of concrete, his eyes fell from mine.
“It’s complicated.” His hands were plunged into the pockets of his jean jacket; his shoulders were raised and rigid. “Your mother has legal custody. I never fought her on that.”
“You could now.”
“It would be expensive . . . lawyers, you know. She’d fight back.” He turned so he could pretend he was looking out over the water. He had stopped crying, but made no attempt to wipe away the wetness. “And it would be difficult. Probably impossible. It would take months in court, maybe years. And even if it did work, which it probably wouldn’t, she’d be angry the whole time. Angry at you guys. Angry at me. You know what that’s like, when she’s angry. There’d be more times like that one in the car.”
I watched his profile as he talked to the Atlantic Ocean.
“I’ve thought about it before, Matt.” Was that pleading in his voice? “For weeks after I moved out, I thought about whether I could get you and Callie. But there’s nothing I can do. The courts favor the mother. And if she knew I wanted you, and that you wanted to come, that would make her even more determined to keep you. She wouldn’t let go. Right?”
I didn’t answer. I was listening again to what he’d just said.
Whether I could get you and Callie.
Whether I could get you and Callie.
“Emmy is littler than me and Callie,” I said. “She can’t take care of herself like we can. She’s the one who really needs to be out of there.”
“I could never get Emmy,” Ben said. And now he did look at me, just for a second. “Even if somehow I could get legal custody of you and Callie, I would never be allowed to have Emmy. Nikki’d never let that happen. She’d make me take a blood test and show—well, you know. I don’t have any right to Emmy.”
“There’s got to be a way,” I said.
Ben just shook his head.
“What do we do, then?” The words burst out of me. “Hope for the best? Is that what you expect us to do? You think that’s good enough?”
Ben said, “Maybe you’re being a little dramatic. It’ll work out. You’ll be okay. She does love you. Things usually work out okay, if you just let them be.”
I stared at him.
“She loves her kids.” Ben’s voice was stronger as he convinced himself. “In her own way. Our best bet is to let things be. You have to admit, she’s a lot of fun sometimes. It’s not all bad. Your aunt Bobbie’s right downstairs. And I’m a phone call away. You can call me anytime, Matt. Just like you did this time. Do you have my work phone number?”
In my hand I could feel the stone. I threw it right at Ben’s chest.
“Matt!”
I turned and walked away. Only after I had gone some distance did I realize that I had assumed he wouldn’t actually let me go off like that. That he would follow me. Continue to talk.
But he hadn’t. And when I finally turned to look back, he wasn’t even there.
15
THE RULES OF SURVIVAL
After that, I stayed angry at Ben, but the feeling of desperation that I’d had after the car ride began to fade. My certainty that something horrible would happen if we continued living with Nikki started to seem silly as autumn drew on toward winter and nothing too out of the ordinary occurred. Nikki was Nikki, unpredictable, temperamental, and vicious, with weird little moments of generosity and laughter mixed in. But she always had been that way. We could cope, and we
would
cope, because we always had.
would
cope, because we always had.
And also . . .
“Of course we have to stay with Emmy,” Callie said, when eventually I told her about my talk with Ben. “If Daddy couldn’t take her, too, then what good would it be if he took us? She needs us. So, it’s better this way. And he’s right. We’ll be okay. We’ll absolutely be okay.”
After a moment in which I fought two opposing impulses—the desire to agree with Callie, and the desire to scream at her to wake up, she added: “It’s not Daddy’s fault. He’s doing what he can. And he’s right that Mom probably wouldn’t let us go, anyway. She’d fight and it would be awful, Matt.”
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