Novel: Filling the Cracks—Chapter Five

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Welcome to the fifth installment of my novel, Filling the Cracks, posted exclusively here every Wednesday! Check in every week for a new chapter. (Access previously posted chapters from the tab on the menu bar above labeled “Filling the Cracks.”)

Trigger warning: The following story contains topics that may disturb some readers, including child physical and sexual abuse, domestic abuse, substance abuse, violence, and suicide. Although there is no explicit sexuality or language, this is written for an adult audience and may not be suitable for children.

Chapter Five

The rest of the weekend was spent at the lakefront, hiking, sitting at the campsite, playing card games, or visiting around the campfire. No one forced Beth to wear a bathing suit at the beach. She rolled up the pant legs of her jeans, waded, and splashed in the water with Lisa and her family. She relaxed on a blanket on the beach with everyone in her t-shirt and long pants, overheated but happy. No one brought up the abuse she’d described Saturday night, and Beth found she could let her guard down and relax. While she enjoyed those hours with the Joneses, she dreaded each second that ticked away and brought her closer to Monday, when they’d return to Coverville, and Beth would have to go home.

The sound of a single-engine boat motor in the distance reminded Beth of the fishing trips her father took her family on before he left them. Dave was an alcoholic but hadn’t always been wasted and violent. There had been good times, like when he took the family to Lake Amisk; the fishing for Northern Pike and perch was so good there, and Dave was an avid fisherman. They loaded up the car and mounted the aluminum boat and motor on top of a trailer, driving two hours to their family cabin meters from the shore where Dave docked their small vessel, and they went fishing every morning starting at the crack of dawn. Virgie stayed at the log cabin, sleeping in before preparing breakfast. At the same time, Dave, Beth, and Otto took the boat out to the deepest parts of the lake and silently sat, hooks baited with earthworms and fish eyes, holding their rods over the side of the twelve-footer and waited for the fish to bite.

Beth remained silent and still on those fishing excursions so as not to scare away the fish. She moved only to swat the occasional mosquito or shoo away a horsefly. It was peaceful and quiet out on the water. The boat rocked with the light waves created by the morning breeze and the sound of bugs buzzing past her ears or the call of an odd loon or duck soothed, lulling her to sleep until a strong jerk on her line would bring her back to alertness. 

Often, the fish on the other end of the filament was too strong for Beth to reel in on her own. Still, Dave would allow her to try; her efforts succeeded in tiring out the fish before Dave placed his stronger hands over hers and helped her turn the crank on the reel until it was within range of being scooped up by the net. Dave allowed the catch to exhaust itself further, flopping around the bottom of the boat before taking his pliers, removing the hook from the pike’s mouth, and determining if it was big enough to keep. If it was, Beth got the privilege of throwing the fish into the cooler of dry ice kept at the stern near the small motor. If it was too small, Beth got to throw it back over the side to grow up and be caught by another angler someday. 

Beth felt pride at being praised by her father. He helped her put more bait on her hook and try again. They spent several hours repeating that process until the time came when Virgie expected their return. The motor propelled the boat back to shore, and the threesome trolled for more fish, catching two or three more. By the time they reached the dock, their cooler was full of fish needing to be cleaned. Breakfast at the cabin came first—bacon and eggs cooked on the wood stove or pancakes on the butane Coleman stove. 

After Beth helped Virgie clean breakfast, she followed her father to the lakefront, where he’d set up a folding table and cleaned the fish they’d caught. Dave had shown Beth how to scale, gut, and fillet the fish to remove all the flesh from the bones before storing them in plastic bags and freezing them in chests of dry ice to take home and enjoy the rest of the year. Those had been good days when her parents had managed to get along, and Beth had experienced some peace and bonding with them. At least she had a few good memories of her life with her father.

Otto, she, and the Joneses packed their campsite in preparation for leaving Sylvan Lake; Beth couldn’t stop the tears. Instead of running away to hide them, she relaxed enough around the Joneses to let them flow. Before they all climbed into the van for the drive back, Mrs. Jones gave Beth a careful but tender hug.

“I promise. I’ll make the abuse stop, Beth.”

“I know you’ll try,” was all Beth said. She believed that. She also thought the Joneses would fail.

She and Otto were quiet on the drive, and when they arrived at the Jones home, Beth grabbed her duffel bag to walk down the sidewalk toward her house, and Otto followed her.

“No, come back,” Mrs. Jones said; she hurried after them, wrapped her wings around the Clark children like a protective hen, and hustled them into the house, telling them to stay inside while she and Mr. Jones unpacked the van and trailer. There was such a seriousness in Mrs. Jones’s tone that Beth didn’t think to argue. The children went to Lisa’s room, listened to music, and talked for a good hour until Mrs. Jones came to the door.

“Beth, Otto,” she said, “there’s a police officer in our living room. He’s here to talk to you about… your home life. You must tell him the truth so we can protect you. Will you do that for me?”

Beth glanced at Otto, and he shrugged, prepared to follow her lead, whatever it was. She turned to Lisa, moaning with worry. Her friend nodded.

“Do it. It’s time.”

The girl returned her attention to Mrs. Jones; her stomach tightened into knots. After a long moment, she nodded. The four children followed Mrs. Jones to the living room. Seated in his recliner was Mr. Jones, and across the room from him, on the sofa, sat a uniformed constable from the RCMP.

As soon as Beth saw who it was, her heart dropped.

“Hello, Beth,” said Constable Derek Hughes. He smiled at her. She knew him.  He wouldn’t help.

#

In the month between the time Dave left the family and Gary joined them, Virgie brought home several men, but only one of them came home with her more than once. One particular man was the closest thing to Virgie’s actual boyfriend. He was married with two boys of his own. Beth knew them from school. His name was Constable Derek Hughes.

Constable Hughes was one of three RCMP staff assigned to patrol the village of Coverville. He was stationed out of the Spruce Grove detachment. Coverville was too small to have a detachment and Spruce Grove was at least twenty minutes away. If someone called 9-1-1 for the police and one of the three constables wasn’t in Coverville or was otherwise engaged with duty, it could be a long time before help arrived. Usually, the criminal was long gone before anyone from law enforcement responded.

Hughes was the laziest and least reliable of the three constables to patrol the village. He often slept in his parked service car behind the post office or had coffee with locals in the hotel’s Chinese restaurant, where Virgie worked, instead of watching out for crime or responding to complaints made by businesses and residents. During one of his extended coffee breaks at the restaurant, he met Beth’s mom, and they immediately hit it off. It didn’t seem to bother either of them that they were still married, though Virgie was separated from her spouse.

Hughes had a loving family anticipating his return home after every shift, knowing that for the average RCMP constable, there was always the distinct danger that any call might be their last. Instead of going home after his shifts, Hughes spent a few hours of overtime with Virgie at the Clark home.

He came by once or twice a week after his shift, right before Beth and Otto left for school. Virgie dragged herself out of bed to greet him on the days that he stopped by. He only came when he was off at six or seven a.m. and stayed for at least two or three hours. Beth was made aware of that when she forgot an important assignment, and her teacher allowed her to run home to get it instead of receiving a zero for a grade. Beth walked in on her mother and the cop having sex in the living room. The clock in the kitchen had read ten-ten. The adults stopped their gyrations and stared at Beth; she ran past them to her bedroom, grabbed her assignment, and raced past them again out of the house.

Sometimes, Hughes arrived early enough to have breakfast with Beth and Otto. Virgie made pancakes or French toast for her lover, and Beth and Otto got to eat, too. Hughes tried to make friends with the kids. Otto took little convincing. They talked about cars or baseball, Otto’s favorite subjects. Hughes had more difficulty connecting with Beth. Not trusting him, she kept him at arm’s distance.

She had good reason. There had been one middle-of-the-night visit from Gary when her uncle brought a drunk Hughes in to observe. The inebriated cop sat on the end of Beth’s bed, watching Gary’s technique before staggering out with her uncle afterward. Hughes hadn’t touched her, though he’d appeared like he’d wanted to.

Virgie once sent Beth to the corner store to buy her a pack of cigarettes (the clerk at the corner store sold them to her with no problem, but the cashiers at Gordon’s grocery store expected a written note from Virgie every time Beth went there to buy them). While at the store, she encountered Constable Hughes, dressed in street clothes, at the check-out paying for a two-liter of Coke.

Beth walked up to him, smiling, “Hi, Derek!”

He gazed down at her, his face emotionless, before he returned his attention to the clerk as if he had no idea who she was. Hughes paid for his pop and walked out of the store. Beth watched him climb into a station wagon through the storefront window. Inside was a pretty brunette lady Hughes’s age and his two sons whom Beth recognized from school. The car drove away. He hadn’t acknowledged her because he hadn’t wanted his wife to ask him how he came to be on a first-name basis with the strange little girl.

The following day, Beth woke up to find Hughes seated at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee and reading the local newspaper. He glanced away from his reading to greet her.

“Good morning, Beth. Ready for school?”

Beth said nothing to him; she skipped breakfast and hurried to Lisa’s house early to wait until it was time to leave.

Adults were liars and couldn’t be trusted—even the ones who wore uniforms.

#

“Beth and Otto sit,” Mrs. Jones encouraged them, leading them to the loveseat. “Constable Hughes has a few questions for you.”

“Will you stay?” Beth asked, her heart pounding hard. She took a seat, and Otto plopped beside her. He chewed on a hangnail until it bled. Mrs. Jones sat in the armchair beside Beth.

“Of course.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones told me you kids were having difficulties at home,” Hughes said, taking a notebook and pen out of the pocket of his uniform shirt. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help.”

Otto stared at his hands; he showed no intention of speaking. Beth saw through Hughes’s smile that he intended to be sincere. “There’s nothing to say about home. Everything’s fine.”

Mrs. Jones’s tentative smile faded, and the inner ends of her eyebrows peaked. “That’s not what you told us. You can trust the constable and tell him the truth.”

Beth glared at Mrs. Jones and gave her a micro-shake of her head. She wanted to tell her that she knew Derek Hughes, that he was one of Virgie’s boyfriends, that he couldn’t be trusted any more than Virgie or Gary, but she’d been sworn to secrecy concerning the constable. Virgie had threatened to cut Beth’s tongue out with the butcher knife if she told anyone about Hughes’s visits to their home.

“Beth,” Lisa stage-whispered from the doorway to the living room, where she and Aurora stood observing. “Tell him!”

Hughes asked with a straight face, “Are you and Otto being abused at home?”

Beth’s fingers picked at the trim on her seat cushion. All she wanted to do was run, like she had on Saturday. But there was no escaping this situation with ease. She resorted to what she always did in a tough spot.

“No, sir,” she whispered, staring at the coral-colored carpeting on the floor. “I fell down the stairs.”

Lisa groaned and rolled her eyes. Aurora nodded, frowning.

Hughes raised an eyebrow and pointed at her with his pen. “How do you explain the other bruises on your arms and neck?”

“I hit a lot of stairs on my way down,” Beth said, her voice monotone, rote. The practiced, memorized answer came out without her thinking about it. “Can we go home now? I want to go home.” Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t really want to go home but wanted to be interrogated even less. Every word she spoke meant another nail in her coffin—and Otto’s.

“Yes,” the officer said with a shrug to the Joneses. He put his notebook away. “You can go home any time you want.”

Beth nodded. She took Otto’s hand, guiding him to follow her. She ignored Lisa and Aurora's confused and hurt glares to get to Lisa’s room, where they’d left their duffel bags. Grabbing them, the Clark children headed for the front door, remembering to stop long enough to mutter thank yous to the Joneses before they hurried outside and the half-block to her their house.

Virgie waited for them in the kitchen, much like the day Beth confessed to Mrs. Nestor. Beth braced for another attack, but Virgie crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at them.

“Otto, go watch TV.”

He obeyed his mother without a word, hurrying to the living room. Beth stood before her alone.

“What’s the cop car doing over there? You telling people more lies?” Virgie asked.

Beth dropped her bag, preparing to flee if necessary. She would run outside this time instead of trapping herself in the house. “I don’t know, Mommy. He came by to talk to the grown-ups. I was in the bedroom with Lisa, Aurora, and Otto. We didn’t say anything to anyone. I swear.”

Virgie’s eyes searched Beth’s face as if looking for clues. “Is that Derek over there?”

The hollowness returned to Beth’s chest. She wasn’t sure what to say, not knowing how Virgie would react. To lie, however, was not the right choice. All her mom had to do was ask Hughes the next time he stopped by.

“Yes. It’s him. But I left quickly, Mommy. I never told anyone I knew him.”

Virgie appraised Beth again, then stepped aside so the girl could walk past her to her bedroom, appearing satisfied with the answers she received. “Unpack and get busy on the dishes. There’s a sink full of them.”

“Yes, Mommy.” A wave of relief washed over her. Beth hurried past her mother to the relative safety of her bedroom. She tossed her dirty clothes into her laundry hamper, put the duffel away in her closet, and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes, which hadn’t been done since before she left for the weekend.

To earn extra points with Virgie, Beth tidied the living room and dusted before getting ready for bed. Her mother said nothing about the extra work, but she’d see it, and a mark would be made in the plus column for her.

#

Thanks for reading! Chapter Six will be posted next Wednesday here on my blog, so be sure to return next week. Refer to the menu bar at the top of the page to access past chapters posted on the “Filling the Cracks” page. If you have any comments or questions, please leave them in the comment section below. Also, remember to subscribe to my newsletter and share this blog with your family and friends. Check out my other blog posts, also found here at paulinejgrabia.com. God bless, and have a great week!

Pauline

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