Free The Rules of Survival by Nancy Werlin Page B

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,