Novel: Filling the Cracks—Chapter Three

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Welcome to the third 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 Three

Marg Jones poured boiling water from the electric kettle over the orange pekoe bags in the porcelain teapot. While the brew steeped, she plated assorted cookies, set the teapot, cream and sugar, lemon wedges, and plate on a wooden serving tray, and carried it into her dining room. Seated at the dark oak table was one of her neighbors, one she’d never had over for tea before but, regretting that, had called an hour back and asked her to come over. Marg had the day off from the Coverville Secondary School, where she worked part-time as a secretary. Virgie Clark worked evenings at the Coverville Hotel restaurant, so they were both available for a tete-a-tete.

Meaty fingers stopped picking at the delicate lace detail of the tablecloth when Virgie looked up and accepted a teacup and saucer from Marg. Her plump digits boasted long, natural nails stained yellow from nicotine. They trembled, causing the cup to rattle against its saucer before she set it down. Marg was curious about what made Virgie so nervous—being at a neighbor’s home for the first time or something pricking her conscience.

“I realize how remiss I’d been, so that’s why I called,” Marg told her guest; she poured the tea. “Our daughters have been in the same class since Kindergarten, but we’ve never sat down and talked.”

“We don’t have a lot in common, do we?” Virgie asked, spooning sugar into her drink. “I’m just a waitress. You work at a school.”

“I’m not a teacher, though,” Marg said, bypassing the sugar and squeezing a little lemon into her tea. “I’m a secretary. We both assist other people for a living.”

“Suppose so,” Virgie agreed, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite, chewing with her mouth open. “Nice house, by the way.”

Marg surveyed the room and smiled. “Thank you. We like it. I’ve been wondering how you’re managing now that Dave left. I don’t mean to be rude to bring it up, but it must be difficult for you to keep up with one income. I admit, I’ve been concerned for you.”

Dave was Virgie’s husband. As far as anyone in Coverville knew, the couple was still married, and neither had filed for divorce. After work one day about three years prior, Dave had come straight home from work without stopping at the tavern first, a rarity, and had packed a suitcase. Marg, along with the rest of the neighbors on the block, overheard the vicious argument between Virgie and him as he walked out of the house. She’d peered out the window in time to view Beth run after her father, pulling on his suitcase to stop him, hysterical. Dave stopped long enough to kiss the top of his daughter’s head before throwing his suitcase into the box of his work truck with the bundles of shingles and driving off.

That night, without a phone call to warn them, Beth brought Otto to the Jones house and asked if they could spend the night. There was no explanation for why, but Marg hadn’t needed one. Virgie had likely raged over Dave’s abandonment, and the children had felt safer with Marg’s family. That had been the first warning sign to her. There must have been others she’d overlooked between then and now.

Virgie squinted one brown eye at her. “We’re doin’ okay, especially since Gary came to live with us. He helps with the bills.”

“Is Gary your brother or Dave’s?”

“Mine. Younger.”

“He’s a mechanic at Grover’s Auto, isn’t he?” Marg asked, already knowing the answer.

Virgie nodded and continued to inspect the house. “You’re a neat freak.”

“I like a tidy home,” Marg agreed. “Thank goodness I have two girls who help me with the chores.”

That brought a nod from her guest. “Oh, I believe in putting your kids to work. Keeps them from lazing about doing nothing but watching TV. I keep my Beth busy.”

“Lisa hates to wash the dishes,” Marg admitted, chuckling. “And our foster daughter, Aurora, hates vacuuming. But since they rotate chores from week to week, I find they’re more willing to do what they don’t like so long as they don’t have to do it all the time.”

“I don’t care if Beth likes it or not. She does the dishes and vacuums and does the laundry too. If something needs to be done and I tell her to do it, she knows she better do it.” Virgie slurped her hot tea.

Marg held her cup and saucer but didn’t drink. “Or else what?”

Virgie glanced up from her cup, her brows lifting. “Or else what, what?”

“What happens if Beth doesn’t do her chores?”

A shrug preceded the answer. “She gets a lickin’. I have a spanking board with her name on it. My kids know better than to disobey or lip. I keep them in line.”

Marg nodded, setting her cup down, not thirsty. Or hungry, for that matter. “So you’re strict with your kids, then?”

“Sure,” Virgie said. “Aren’t you? How else do you get them to keep your house so clean?” She grabbed another cookie.

Marg sighed, “I give them incentives. They get an allowance each week if they complete their chores. If they miss a chore one day, ten cents are deducted. They don’t like losing their full allowance, so they do their assigned chore.”

“Chore?” Virgie echoed. “You mean, they only got one chore a day? Who does the rest of the work?”

“Why, Frank and I do,” Marg answered. “We all contribute. That’s what a family does.”

Virgie nodded, thinking about that for a moment. She opened her mouth to say something but thought better, munching on her cookie instead.

To break the uncomfortable silence, Marg asked another question, choosing her words. “Does Gary… um, does he help you discipline your children? Keep them in line?”

“He gives them a slap if they get mouthy,” Virgie said, “but usually it’s me. Why all these questions about how I discipline my kids?”

Marg picked up a cookie and dipped it in her tea for something to do with her hands. Her anxiety rose. She had to tiptoe and not sound accusatory despite wanting to interrogate her neighbor about several things. “I’m always interested in how other people deal with daily parenting. That’s all. So does Otto help with chores?”

“Not much,” Virgie admitted. “He’s a boy. Housework’s for women, no matter what the feminists say. It’s always been so. He sometimes mows the lawn.”

Marg bit back the comment that he hadn’t mowed it in weeks, and the grass in the Clark yard stood a foot tall, filled with weeds. “It’s good for boys to learn domestic skills like cooking and cleaning. Eventually, they grow up, move out, and need to know those skills.”

Virgie sniffed. “If you say so. Like you said, I don’t want to be rude, but I got a feeling you didn’t ask me over here to exchange parenting tips. There’s something on your mind, so you might as well say it.”

Marg set her cup and saucer down and wrung her hands. She didn’t know how to broach the topic diplomatically, so she decided that the direct approach might be best. “Virgie, Beth had bruises and cuts when she stopped by my house this morning before school with Lisa. Many were all over her neck, front and back, and arms. I’m concerned about what happened to her.”

Virgie swallowed her cookie, studied Marg’s face, and forced a laugh. “Oh, that? Why didn’t you say so? The girl, she, uh, fell down the basement steps. All the way to the bottom. Slippery socks. Her feet went out from under her, and whoop! Down she went. Poor thing. We were lucky she didn’t break her neck.” She finished by nodding, her fingers toying with the lace again.

Marg tried to picture the kind of fall to leave bruises in the places she saw on Beth, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “That was a serious fall. You took her to the doctor, right?”

Virgie snorted. “What for? She wasn’t hurt bad—a couple of bruises.”

“A couple of—Virgie, she’s covered in them. And some older scars, too. Ones that are already healed from past… falls.”

“She’s fine,” was the reply. Virgie pushed her cup away from her and rose from the table. Her t-shirt, being too small for her, had ridden up, and she pulled it down over the small pot she had for a belly. “Thanks for the tea, but I gotta be gettin’ back home. I work tonight, and I’ve got stuff to do.”

Marg jumped up. “Virgie, I’m sorry, but a fall down the stairs doesn’t account for all of Beth’s injuries. Is it possible that… maybe somebody lost their temper and took it a little too rough on Beth while… disciplining her?”

Virgie’s eyes narrowed again, and she cocked her head to the side, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. “Are you suggesting that I beat my kid?”

That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. “No… uh, not exactly. I know how frustrating kids can sometimes be, and when we’re under stress with finances and broken relationships, sometimes it’s easy to lose control, isn’t it?”

“I don’t lose control.” Virgie formed each consonant and syllable. “I’m a good parent. Just because I don’t have the money you have doesn’t make me a bad one.”

“Of course not. I just thought—“

“Maybe,” Virgie cut her off, her face growing pink, “you think too much. Have a good day, Mrs. Jones. I’ll find my way out.”

Virgie marched out the front door and closed it hard. Marg wrung her hands some more. That had not gone as well as she had hoped. Of course, what did she expect? She had called the woman over to accuse her, in not so many words, of abusing her daughter or allowing her brother to do so. How well could one expect a confrontation like that to go?

She tidied up the dishes from the visit, ruminating over the conversation while she worked.

#

“Frank, I’m convinced those kids are being abused,” Marg said, smearing nighttime moisturizer over her cleansed face. She glanced over her shoulder at her husband, where he lay in bed, reading before going to sleep.

He looked up from his book. “And you talked to the mother?”

She rose from her vanity table and went to the light switch on his bedside lamp before turning off the light switch for the ceiling light. “Of course. Had her over for tea.”

“As you do.”

She ignored the comment, crawling into bed beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist. Frank closed his novel and set it on his bedside table before wrapping an arm around her.

“She talked about Beth like she was her slave. It was awful. She said she gives her kids a ‘lickin’ when they don’t do what she orders them to, but her focus was on Beth, not Otto. I’m sure he’s being mistreated, too, though.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Marg considered it a moment. “I’ll make an anonymous call to Social Services with my suspicion. I don’t have any proof of abuse, so that’s all I can do.”

“Hm.”

“I’d like to invite Beth and Otto to come camping with us on the May long weekend. Those kids need a break and some fresh air.”

“And you’re hoping Beth will open up and tell you what’s happening,” Frank said.

Marg nodded, slipping her hand under the hem of her husband’s sleep shirt, rubbing circles in the soft hair on his abdomen. “Maybe if she’s in a safe, relaxed environment, she’ll open up. Ever since Dave left that house, I’ve worried about them.”

“I know. Me, too.” Frank rolled on his side to face his wife and kissed her. Marg melted into his touch. “So, lights on or lights off?”

She chuckled deep in her throat. “Lights on tonight.”

“Ooo,” Frank smiled, wagging his eyebrows. “The lady is spicy.” He nuzzled her neck, leaving little bites and kisses.

Marg giggled, putting worries for the neighbor kids out of her mind for a little while.

#

Marg made the call to the Clark house the next morning, not surprised when Beth answered the phone and asked if she could take a message because she didn’t want to wake Virgie to take the call. Her mother worked until midnight most nights, so it was understandable that she might not be up at seven forty-five the following day. Still, in Marg's estimation, Beth was young to make breakfast for Otto and herself and get them both off to school. She left a message for Virgie with her before wishing her a good day at school.

Around eleven, Marg was operating the photocopier when she chose an outside line and called Virgie from the phone extension in the workroom to simultaneously supervise the unpredictable Xerox machine.

“I know we left our conversation yesterday on less than a good note,” Marg told her. “I apologize if I sounded accusatory. That wasn’t my intention. I was concerned about Beth and Otto, but I came across as rude. I apologize.”

“Okay. No problem,” Virgie said. “What else do you want?”

Marg bit her lip and crossed her fingers. “This Victoria Day weekend, Frank and I are camping with our family at Sylvan Lake. We’re leaving early Friday after school and coming home Monday night around seven. Lisa and Aurora would love it if Beth and Otto joined us for our trip. We’d cover all their expenses. All they’ll need are clothes and toiletries. We’d enjoy having them along, giving you free ‘me’ time, too. Would that be all right?”

There was a long pause during which Marg’s teeth gnawed on her lower lip. She wished she knew what went through Virgie’s mind. After several seconds, the answer came. “I suppose that’d be all right. It’s not going to cost me anything?”

“Not a penny,” Marg assured her, hopeful. “It’s our pleasure. Our kids would love to have company on the trip.”

Another pause, though shorter. “Well, okay. They can go.”

Marg exhaled, relaxing and giving her lip a break. “That’s wonderful, Virgie. Thank you. The children need clothes to play at the lake, hike, and sit around the campfire. It’d be great if they were at our house right after school on Friday. And… thank you.”

Virgie sniffed. “No problem.” She hung up without a parting pleasantry, but Marg didn’t care. That went much easier than she’d anticipated. Was that a good sign? Perhaps she’d misjudged Virgie—she wasn’t as harsh a parent as Marg suspected?

Marg hung up the phone, gathered the photocopies from the machine, and set to work collating them. It’d be nice if the school board invested in machines that did that work for her. Oh well, they paid her the same either way.

At lunch, she’d make another call to Alberta Social Services. There was no harm in making an anonymous call with the suspicions she had. The worst that could happen was a worker would be sent to visit the Clark home and children—after the camping trip, so Virgie didn’t become paranoid and change her mind about it.

#

Thanks for reading! Chapter Four 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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