“Well, that’s fine. Perfect really, because I have to go out. I’ve got to go to the bank, to close Grandma’s account, then it’s off downtown. The life insurance company requires the executor to get the papers notarized with a stamp of authentication before they can be submitted.” With her purse over her shoulder, Rachel searched the kitchen for her keys. “It’s a ridiculously cumbersome protocol really. I’ve never seen anything like it. So, I’ll be going there afterwards, to the insurance agency.” Where were they? On the table? No. On the counter? Maybe somewhere at the bottom of her purse.
“And then, on the way home, I’ll swing by the caterers to order the food for the reception here, after the service. And then there’s booze. We’ll need a few bottles of wine, naturally. And beer. Maybe some rum or rye. I wonder if I can get it delivered.” Rachel stopped searching her purse and put it back on her shoulder.
“Oh, and we’ll have to figure out the sleeping arrangements. We’ll need to be economical with space in case anyone drinks too much and needs to stay over, which is likely. Sheets will need to be washed. And something else. I forget now. It’s all on the list though.” She stood in the middle of the kitchen and made a three-hundred-and-sixty degree turn. Scanning all surfaces.
“Wow,” Sam laughed.
“What?” Rachel looked at him.
“I mean wow, slow down. Seriously. It’s great that you’ve taken all this on. Thanks. But wow. You’ve got to chill a bit, Rach. There’s time for all that. Don’t stress yourself. We can help. You’re not alone here. We’re in this together, remember?”
Rachel felt her eyes inexplicably well up. Not now, for God’s sakes, she was wearing mascara. She needed to go out into the world. She turned to the closet, and got her coat. The keys were in the pocket.
“Oh no, it’s fine. Really. You know me. I like – I need to be busy. It’s good for me.” She headed to the door. Sam followed. “And if the workmen knock again while I’m gone, tell them to look at the walkway.” She stood at the door.
Sam shook his head. “Rach, I’ll be sleeping.”
“Right, you’ll be sleeping.” Rachel stepped over the threshold. “Oh, and Lester’s here. You know. Emma’s friend?”
“Your friend, too, if I remember correctly,” Sam said.
Rachel turned and left the house, stumbling on her way down the front steps. She grabbed the banister and stopped. She took a breath, then continued to her car. She didn’t look to see if Sam was still in the doorway. She didn’t say goodbye.
25.
RACHEL WAS DETERMINED to not let Turtle Girl ruin her life. Most of the kids at Garden Avenue Public School already thought Emma was a nutcase. Rachel heard some of them making fun of her, especially when they’d see her wandering around the schoolyard alone or sitting under that damned tree, looking up into the branches, and muttering away to herself. It wasn’t like Emma didn’t have any friends. There was a Chinese girl named Ling Ma that she had started to hang around with, as well as that Indian girl Ina Banerjee, who lived at the corner and smelled like curry. The three of them huddled together at recess. It made sense. Safety in numbers.
Why was it any of her business what Emma did, anyway? It wasn’t Rachel’s job to be her best friend. It’s not like it was her idea to go get Emma from Vancouver so she could come and wreck everything. Why should she have to look after her? Rachel had her own survival to worry about. Just being related to Emma was hard enough. Word had gotten around that they lived in the same house. The word sister had even been thrown around. Marcia Miller had a big mouth.
Nobody else asked Rachel about Emma. Most of them were too scared, because Marcia Miller was the most popular girl at school. Rachel was in the in-crowd, so she was protected. For a while, all she had to deal with were whispers by some of the stupid wanna-be girls in Emma’s grade. No problem. She could ignore them. But just when it was starting to look like the rumours were going to die down and fade away, the worst happened. At the start of morning recess, she overheard a couple of fifth graders talking about a big fight planned for after school.
“Did you hear?” Marcia asked, when they were standing together at the monkey bars. “It’s about Emma. She snitched on Maggie West for killing a Blue Jay with her sling shot, and now Maggie’s pissed and telling everyone that she’s gonna give Emma what’s coming to her.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Rachel pretended to be watching the group of boys on the other side of the playground.
Marcia followed Rachel’s gaze. “I’ve got some nylons you know. I bought them myself at Becker’s when my mom wasn’t looking. I’m going to wear them tomorrow. It’s going to seal the deal for me.”
Rachel turned to her, relieved that the subject had changed. “Seal what deal?”
“It’ll seal the deal of officially making me the sexiest girl at school.” Marcia stuck out her boobs for emphasis.
“Oh, yeah. That. Sure. It’ll seal the deal all right.”
Marcia kept talking, but Rachel wasn’t listening anymore. Instead she was watching a movie in her head, starring Emma and Maggie West. She knew Maggie from around the halls. She was almost as big as Rachel, and had the reputation of being a scrapper. The scene unfolded: Emma and Maggie standing in the middle of the football field. Maggie, pulling out a pair of brass knuckles. No. Rewind. Where the hell would she get a pair of brass knuckles? No. Maggie, pulling out a knife she stole from her mom’s kitchen. Yes. Pulling out a knife and driving it into Emma’s stomach. Emma, falling to the ground. Maggie leaving, and Emma alone in a puddle of blood. No, not really alone. Rachel, hiding in the bushes watching. Emma, about to die. Rachel, running over and hearing her whisper her final words: I’m sorry. Rachel, deciding she doesn’t want Emma to die after all, going to go get help, but then, Emma’s eyes rolling into the back of her head. Emma, dead. And Rachel was the only one who could have saved her.
Standing there in the schoolyard, with Marcia Miller going blah, blah, blah about nylons and Mark Gooding’s ass, all Rachel could think of was what she’d tell Wanda if Emma didn’t make it home. What she’d tell her grandmother.
By the end of the school day, everyone knew about the impending fight. Luckily, Rachel saw Emma in the halls before Maggie did.
“Psst, hey Emma. Come here a second,” Rachel said, once she was sure that no one else was within earshot.
Emma brightened, and Rachel almost changed her mind.
“What’s the matter?” Emma may have been a dough-head, but she was smart enough to know something was up if Rachel was talking to her at school.
“I heard you snitched on Maggie West. That was stupid. She’s almost twice as big as you and now she’s pissed,” Rachel said. “If I was you, I’d go home out the front doors of the school. And take the long way home, okay? Cause if Maggie finds you, she’s going to beat you to a pulp.”
“I don’t care what Maggie does. It was wrong. That bird didn’t do a thing to her.” Emma’s eyes were cold, her mouth resolute. “Maggie’s a bitch. She killed that Blue Jay for nothing.”
Rachel was stunned for a moment. A bitch. Wow. She’d never heard Emma call anyone a name, never mind the biggest bully in Emma’s grade. But whatever, whether or not Maggie should have killed the bird wasn’t the point. The point was that Maggie West was going to beat the crap out of Emma regardless.
“Are you listening?” Rachel asked. “I said that you need to sneak out today if you want to get home in once piece. You get it?”
Emma eyes started to fill up. “But it was wrong! I don’t see why I should have to sneak off. Maybe she doesn’t understand. Maybe she just thought it was like a rock or a piece of wood. But it was alive. And she killed it. She needs to understand.”
“Jesus, Emma! Are you an idiot or something? Maggie’s not going to listen to you! She’s going to beat the shit out of you is what’s going to happen.”
Emma looked down, her voi
ce softer now. “I’m not running away. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
It was true, but it didn’t matter. Rachel’s movie played again in her head: the knife wounds, the blood.
“Well if you aren’t going to run, then you better try to go for her eyes,” Rachel said.
“What?” Emma looked appalled. “I’m not going to fight her! I’m a pacifist – like the Buddha or Jesus.”
“Oh for fuck’s sakes!” Now Rachel was yelling. “Pacifists get their asses kicked. The Buddha? I bet he got his ass kicked all the time. And look at Jesus – all that turning the other cheek didn’t work out too well for him did it? Is that what you want? A permanently kicked ass?”
Emma was adamant. “I’m not running. I’m going to go home the same way I always go. And if I see Maggie, I’ll tell her she’s a murderer, and she’s the one who should be sorry. Anyway, I’ve got protection. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.” Emma held on to her turtle pendant, and headed down the hall toward the school’s back doors.
Shit, this is going to be bad, Rachel thought, following Emma a distance behind. She didn’t want to get involved, that was for sure. As Emma stepped out the back doors, a small crowd gathered on the playground. Maggie was standing in the middle of the group with her hands on her hips.
Once Emma was outside, all the attention was on her. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath as she walked toward them, everyone except Maggie, who didn’t take her eyes off Emma for an instant. Rachel walked out the door a moment later, and hung back from the fray. She wanted to be close enough to see the action, but still able to get back inside the school fast if she needed to get someone to call Emma an ambulance.
“Hey you!” Maggie West yelled. “You sneaky little snitch! Come over here so I can tell you about how we deal with big mouths in this country.”
Emma walked through the crowd, right to where Maggie stood. Rachel was impressed with Turtle Girl despite herself. Huh, maybe Emma was her sister after all.
As Emma walked toward Maggie, one of Mark Gooding’s friends started chanting: “Fight, fight, a nigger and a white!”
Emma’s eyes were red and she looked like she was going to cry again. But she kept walking. Once she reached Maggie, she started in. “Maggie, I’m not sorry, because it was wrong. I don’t think you understand…”
Maggie didn’t let her finish. While Emma was starting to launch into her plea of innocence, Maggie balled up her fist and landed a blow full force in the middle of Emma’s face. Everyone gasped. Then the playground was silent. Emma just stood there with her hands up around her nose. A flock of geese flew by overhead, and as Emma looked up, blood began to drip down onto her shirt. At the sight of it, some of the girls left the circle whispering. Emma still didn’t speak, but she didn’t run away either. She just stood there holding her bloody nose. She wasn’t even crying.
“See!” Maggie looked at Emma’s face, then down at her necklace.
“No!” Emma yelled, too late.
Maggie grabbed hold of Emma’s turtle pendant and yanked it off her neck.
Now, finally, Emma looked frightened.
Everyone was so focused on what Emma or Maggie would do next that only a few of them saw Rachel push her way through the crowd. Within seconds she was standing in front of Maggie, looking down at the pendant in the girl’s hand.
“Give me that,” Rachel said.
“What?”
“I said give that to me you stupid bitch.”
Maggie looked at Rachel, then over at Emma. She took a breath and handed the pendant over as she exhaled. Rachel snatched it, turned, grabbed Emma’s arm and began to lead her away.
Maggie yelled at their backs as the two left the circle of onlookers who remained. “Everyone knows your mother is a crazy nigger-lover. Everyone laughs behind your back.”
Rachel wheeled around again, dropping Emma’s arm for a moment, before returning to stand in front of Maggie. Then Rachel reached out fast, before Maggie could see what was coming. She slapped Maggie across the face so hard the sound echoed off the portables, and the force of it left a bright red mark on Maggie’s cheek.
“Listen, you little shit,” Rachel leaned in closer. “You ever say a word about our mother again, I swear I’ll bash your head in, you hear?”
Maggie stood silent, looking small and inconsequential next to Rachel. “I asked you if you heard me.” Rachel began to raise her hand again.
“Okay, okay. Yes, I heard you.”
“Good. And that goes for the rest of you too.” Rachel turned to the crowd. “Anybody bad-mouths my family or messes with Emma is going to have to deal with me.” Rachel walked back to Emma, grabbed her arm again, and led her away from the schoolyard.
It wasn’t until they were off school property that Rachel let go.
“You’re not going to tell Wanda, are you?” There was blood on Emma’s shirt, on her hands and around her nose. Her eyes were puffy and red.
Rachel suddenly wanted to fall down. Just fall down on the spot and cry, long and loud. “No Emma, I won’t tell. Don’t worry. We’ll get you cleaned up before Wanda gets home. Just hope Grandma doesn’t see us. I’ll try to distract her while you wash your face. Change your shirt and give it to me.”
“Okay,” Emma sniffled. “Thanks, Rachel.”
“Yeah, okay. Now stop blubbering. And next time, you do what I tell you, all right?”
“Yep. For sure. Sorry. You were right. Just one more thing I want to ask.”
“What?” Rachel sighed.
Emma held out her hand. “Could I get my necklace back?”
Rachel looked into her balled up fist. She forgot she was holding it.
“Yeah, sure.” She handed the turtle back to Emma, who held it in her own fist, then pressed it close against her chest.
It was too quiet when Emma and Rachel got home. As soon as Rachel opened the door, they looked at each other. Grandma was in the kitchen, making dinner as usual, but there was no singing. The hi-fi was silent.
Still in the doorway, Rachel put her finger up to her lips and the two began tiptoeing slowly up the stairs.
“Emma? Rachel?” Grandma called out.
“Yeah, it’s us, Grandma,” Rachel called back from the staircase, leading the way quickly up to the second floor.
Rachel pointed to the bathroom and whispered, “Clean yourself up.”
Emma nodded.
When she was gone, Rachel stood in the hallway for a moment, flicking the light switch on and off, then headed slowly toward Wanda’s bedroom. The door was open, and it was as if Rachel could smell it before she could see it: the evidence of her mother’s escape. It was a smell like milk gone sour.
The drawers of the dresser were hanging open like hungry mouths. Rachel went to the closet. Most of the clothes were gone from the hangers. Two big suitcases were gone, too, as well as the shoes. The bed was unmade, sheets tumbled around each other. Rachel walked toward it and lied down. Just for a moment, she thought, breathing in her mother’s sleeping smell. “Off,” she muttered into the sheets. “Everything’s off now. Mom’s off now. Out. Gone.”
“What are you doing?” It was Emma, standing over the bed, her eyes wide.
Rachel pushed the sheets away from her face and jumped up. “I’m doing nothing, Emma. For God’s sakes, can a person be alone around here for a moment or what?”
“I just – I just thought I heard you in here, and the door was open, and Wanda’s car’s gone so I knew it wasn’t her.” Emma looked around her now at the empty closet. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Where’d our – where’d Wanda go?”
“How the hell should I know, Emma, what do I look like, a mind reader? I was at school all day with you, remember?” Rachel turned her face away.
“Was it me? She didn’t find out about the fight did she?”
“You know what,
Emma, maybe she did. Maybe Wanda decided she’d had it with you and all your trouble, because I know I have,” Rachel said, scratching at the sheet, absentmindedly.
“Girls, can you come down here.” Grandma’s voice called out from the bottom of the stairs. Rachel wiped her face with her sleeve, and walked out of the room, passing Emma without a word.
Once they were in the kitchen, Grandma told them to sit down. It was too early for dinner. Rachel knew what was coming. She sat in the chair staring at the fridge, remembering how small it had looked next to the policemen that day they had come to tell her about Dad. Bad news always happened in the kitchen in this house. Rachel remembered how she had imagined stealing the cop’s gun and shooting a bullet into the floor. She wished they were here to tell her instead of Grandma. At least then she’d have someone to be mad at.
“I’m sorry, but…” Grandma began, then stopped abruptly. “Jesus God, Emma, what happened to your face?”
“She…” Rachel scrambled for a cover story.
“I got punched in the face by Maggie West. It wasn’t my fault. She killed a Blue Jay. For nothing. But Rachel saved me,” Emma blurted.
“Always everything at once.” Grandma sighed, before she started up again. “So girls. Wanda – your mother. She’s gone away for a while.”
“Where did she go?” Emma asked, with both hands palms down flat on the table, as if she were holding it in place.
“She’s not coming back this time, is she?” Rachel asked at the same time, snapping Emma a look that said that she’d be the one asking the questions.
“I don’t know where she went this time, and I’m not sure when she’s coming back.” Grandma replied. “Really, I wish I could tell you. Rachel, you know how your mother gets sometimes.”
“You had another fight, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Rachel, we argued. You know I wouldn’t just let your mother leave you two like this.” Grandma’s eyes filled up. It was the first time Rachel had seen her like that, and it made her feel bad for giving her a hard time. For a minute she thought about going upstairs to get her dad’s tie. But no, that was stupid. She needed to be strong now, to not fall apart.
Over Our Heads Page 16