Watch How We Walk (16 page)

24

LONG AFTER AGNES HAS GONE
home, Emily's mom wakes her up to tuck her in and say good night. Her breath is terrible, sour and bitter at the same time, and she keeps leaning in too close to Emily's head. She scrunches up her face. Her mom sways over her for a moment, then plunks down on the edge of her bed.

— Agnes seems like a nice girl. Is she going to come over again?

Emily turns toward the far wall and doesn't answer. After a few moments, she shrugs.

— What's wrong? Are you still upset about Lenora? Don't worry, I told her she's not allowed to embarrass you like that again. It wasn't very nice.

She starts to make up a silly song in a silly voice.

— Not nice at all! Not even one bit. Mean old big sister! Not nice—

— Stop it!

— Okay, okay! Jeez. Everyone around here is so sensitive! No fun at all.

— I'm serious.

— I can see that. Very serious. She rearranges the blankets around Emily, pulling them up to her chin.

— Is there something you want to tell your old, boring mom about? A girl talk? We could pretend we're at a slumber party.

— No.

— Come on, Emily, it's okay. You can tell me.

— Go away!

Her mom doesn't leave. She stays on the edge of the bed humming a tune Emily doesn't recognize. Emily sits up and shakes the blankets off.

— I want to know what happened to Dad's brother.

— Your dad's brother? Wow.

Her mom stares at something, or at nothing, on the far wall for a long time before responding.

— Why did you tell me he was an only child? You lied. Dad too.

Her mom says nothing, just presses her lips together and keeps looking at the wall.

— I want to know what happened. All of it.

— There was an accident. A car accident. When they were kids. That's it.

— I mean for real! Tell me the truth!

Her mom stands up and Emily stands on her bed and they face each other.

— That is the truth. There was a car accident, and his little brother died. Your father's fingers got smashed in the metal of the door and they had to amputate them. That's it.

— I think there's more to it. More that you're keeping secret.

— Well, you read too many of those mystery books. It was a terrible accident and your dad's brother died right beside him. He doesn't like to talk about it.

— Are you sure that's all there is? There's nothing else?

— Yes. That's it. Now go back to sleep.

Emily doesn't know why, but she believes Agnes more than her own mother. They're lying to her. Somehow, for some reason, he killed his own brother, like Cain and Abel. She gets back under the covers and turns toward the wall until her mother clicks the door closed behind her.

THE NEXT MORNING, LENORA KEEPS
running to the bathroom and gagging, then flushing the toilet. She isn't coming to the Sunday meeting. No one forces her, but Emily knows she's faking. Lenora never gets sick; she has a stomach of iron, so Emily doesn't know why their parents believe her. It's not fair that Lenora gets to stay home by herself.

Emily strides over to the bathroom door and puts her ear against the wood. Lenora moans and mumbles something she can't quite hear. She's so dramatic. She should be an actress like their mom used to be.

— Jehovah knows when you're faking. It's the same as a lie!

Lenora flushes again and Emily shouts even louder.

— He'll know if you're not at the meeting today! Lying is a sin and sinners will be destroyed at Armageddon!

It's her job to lead Lenora back to the Truth. To show her the right path. To be the way and the light. Not to follow her into wrongdoing. Even though she's too young to be baptized yet, she can still be a shepherd and help the lost sheep, just like the elders. She nods then, up and down, knowing that Jehovah is watching her at that very moment. The more she nods, the more she convinces herself she's right.

— That's enough, Emily. Her mom pulls her away from the bathroom.

— God doesn't take attendance like your teacher at school. Leave your sister alone; she's not feeling well.

Water runs in the sink, drawers open and close, and a few minutes later Lenora creaks the door open and slouches in the bathroom doorway. Her hair is greasy and tangled and she isn't even wearing any makeup. Her hands are unsteady, and she puts them into the pockets of her slouching, yellow bathrobe. Her mom feels her forehead, pauses, then checks it again with the back of her hand.

— I think I have the flu.

— You don't have a fever. Maybe it was something you ate. Sleep it off.

She pushes Lenora toward the stairs. Without looking at them, Lenora plods upstairs, clutching the banister as though she can't walk without it.

— She's faking!

They go back to the kitchen and finish eating their cereal while Lenora's small stereo thrums angry music down through her floor. Their mom frowns as she puts her Bible in her Hall purse.

— Tell your sister I said to turn her music off.

— Okay.

Emily takes the stairs two at a time, planning to tell Lenora that what she's doing is wrong, and that she must repent and not commit any more sins for a while, before it's too late.

At her door, the music drones and she can feel the vibrations through the door against her palms. She stands like that, mesmerized, her hands flat on the door and her forehead resting against it. The singer's voice is slow and deep.
Mournful
, Emily thinks,
like he's lost something
. The low, dark sound of the music matches his vocals. Before the next song begins, a weird sound strains from the room. It's a muffled gasp or a choke.

Emily raises her hand to knock, but puts it back down. She doesn't know what to do. Maybe Lenora has something stuck in her throat and needs help.

— Lenora?

She doesn't answer. Emily puts her ear against the door, but hears nothing except the music. During a quiet part of the song, she hears it again.

Lenora is crying.

She draws back as though burned. Lenora doesn't cry.
Only babies cry. Don't be a crybaby.
Emily sways and leans against the wall in the hallway and closes her eyes.

— Mom says to turn it off! She yells this and runs down the hall, into her own room, and dives onto her bed. She stays there until they call her to leave for the meeting.

AFTER THEY HANG UP THEIR
coats in the cloakroom and find seats, Emily doesn't know what to do with herself. They're twenty-five minutes early for the meeting because Emily's dad is a Ministerial Servant now, and has to work his monthly shift at the Literature Desk, selling back issues of
The Watchtower
and
Awake!
or copies of
You Can Live Forever in Paradise on Earth
and
Your Youth: Getting the Best Out of It
. All the brothers and sisters in the congregation of course already have their own copies of each of the books that the Society publishes, but they buy extras to place with people they meet out in service or to give to worldly people they're studying with.

Without Lenora at the meeting, Emily has no one to talk to, so she walks around the Hall, trying to look purposeful, like she is going somewhere specific. She strides back to the cloakroom and checks her pockets, as though she forgot something. Brother Davies comes in, stomps his boots on the mat, and nods at Emily. She nods back. In the main room, her mom is chatting with some other sisters, and she doesn't want to interrupt. Instead, she shuffles down a short hallway and into the smaller back room where they hold the short Service Talk before going door to door, or where mothers take the babies when they cry during the talks in the main room. It's also where the elders draw the brown tweed curtains across the windows and hold private meetings, like the ones they have with wayward sheep. When this happens, everyone whispers about who is in trouble with the elders and why, and will they be
disfellowshipped
, or
publicly reproved
?

Bookshelves line two of the walls from floor to ceiling, and she runs her fingertips along the dusty spines of the books, breathing in their mustiness. She counts how many across each row, fifty-two, then forty-seven, then twenty-two of the thickest books. She tries to calm down, but can't. How could they let Lenora stay home, how could they actually believe her stomach flu excuse? She just wanted to stay home and talk on the phone to her worldly friends. Or worse, to worldly boys. To Theo. Emily bets if they call right now, the line will be busy. She goes back to the Literature Desk.

— Dad, I need to use the phone.

— What for? Who do you need to call?

— I think we should call Lenora. You know, to make sure she's all right.

— Is that what you mother said?

Emily shrugs.

— She's probably asleep. Don't worry, she'll be fine.

— But—

— What can I get you, Sister Bulchinsky?

As her dad retrieves some
Watchtower
s, Emily stomps down the hall and returns to the back room. She stares at the shelves of books without seeing them. She can't even concentrate to count any more of them. Why can't they see that Lenora is lying? Why don't they pay more attention? Why can't they make her be good before it's too late? What if Armageddon were to start tomorrow?

— All alone in here, Little Sister Morrow?

Brother Wilde bulges in his too-tight green suit, full of niceness he doesn't mean.

Emily smiles a too-tight little smile and turns back to the books, peering closely as though searching for a particular one.

— Interested in those 1950s
Watchtower
volumes, Emily? Times sure were different back then, yessiree.

Emily shrugs.

— I haven't seen your sister yet this morning. Brother Wilde waits for an explanation.

She shrugs again.

She doesn't care that he's an elder; she doesn't answer him. He shakes his head and sighs and it sounds like he's deflating.

— Well, Satan sets all sorts of snares, you know that, don't you, Emily? Keep your faith in Jehovah strong and you will prevail over evil.

Emily digs her fingernails into her palms. She wants badly to shout,
So will my sister
, but she doesn't.

— I'll pray for Lenora, Emily.

Emily nods without turning around.

— I haven't seen your uncle Tyler at the last couple of meetings either. Is he sick too?

Emily starts to count the books again, even though she's already done that row. Why can't he leave her alone? She doesn't know why they aren't at the meeting, she doesn't know why they want to get in trouble, she doesn't know why everything is all wrong lately.

— Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine . . .

Brother Wilde pulls a chair up to the bookshelf next to her, blocking the rest of the row. His aftershave makes her eyes water.

— I understand you and your uncle went out in service together a couple Sundays ago. Did you enjoy that?

— Sure.

She bites the insides of her cheeks rhythmically, first the right one, then the left, back and forth, until she tastes blood.

— Which territory were you in? Do you remember the streets?

— I forget.
Please forgive me for lying, Jehovah, I just don't want to get anyone in trouble, in Jesus' name, Amen.

— Did you two place any magazines that day?

Emily shrugs and looks at her feet. Her black shoes have scuffs on the toes.

— Your uncle hasn't filed his Service Report in a while, that's all.

— A couple back issues, I think.

— Is that right? Great. And you don't remember where? I didn't see you two at the service meeting that day, so we couldn't give you a territory.

— We did back calls.

Brother Wilde smiles and nods.

—That's great. I didn't know Brother Tyler had back calls. Did you help your uncle Witness to them?

Emily cringes, remembering
Pac-Man
and loud music and a table covered in beer bottles.

— A little bit.

— Did they have any kids your age to talk to? Maybe you showed them your favourite part of
My Book of Bible Stories
?

Emily likes “Daniel in the Lions' Pit” best. Even though he is good, the king has Daniel thrown into a dungeon of hungry lions, but God doesn't let any of them hurt him.

— No. It was just two guys.

Brother Wilde shifts in his chair and leans closer to Emily. She looks at him. His face is shiny and his eyes are too small for his head.

— Two men? Were they brothers?

— I don't know. Maybe.

Emily hadn't thought of that. Somehow she knew that Brother Wilde would think that was better.

— Probably they were brothers. I think they had to share a room, so they must be.