Novel: Filling the Cracks—Chapter Three

Pauline J. Grabia participates in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program, and earns from qualifying purchases from links in this post.

Please subscribe to my email newsletter for updates on my website and blog and exclusive access to the Prologue of my novel, Filling the Cracks. You can do so in the form found in the footer of this page. Thank you!

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 an assortment of cookies, arranged the teapot, cream and sugar, lemon wedges, and a plate on a wooden serving tray, then carried it into her dining room.

One of her neighbors was seated at the dark oak table, someone she had never invited for tea before but, regretting that oversight, had called an hour earlier to ask her over. Marg had the day off from 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 tête-à-tête.

Meaty fingers ceased picking at the delicate lace detail of the tablecloth when Virgie looked up and accepted a teacup and saucer from Marg. Her plump digits displayed 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—whether it was being at a neighbor’s home for the first time or something pricking her conscience.

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

“We don’t have much 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, skipping the sugar and squeezing a bit of lemon into her tea. “I’m a secretary. We both support others 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 has left. I don’t mean to be rude by bringing it up, but it must be difficult for you to manage on one income. I admit, I’ve been concerned about you.”

Dave was Virgie’s husband. As far as anyone in Coverville knew, the couple was still married, and neither had filed for divorce. One day, about three years ago, Dave came straight home from work without stopping at the tavern first—a rarity—and 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 peered out the window just in time to see Beth run after her father, pulling on his suitcase in a desperate attempt to stop him, hysterical. Dave paused just long enough to kiss the top of his daughter’s head before tossing his suitcase into the bed of his work truck alongside 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. This had been the first warning sign for her. There must have been other signs 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, right?” Marg asked, already knowing the answer.

Virgie nodded and kept inspecting the house. “You’re a neat freak.”

“I appreciate a tidy home,” Marg agreed. “Thank goodness I have two daughters who assist me with the chores.”

That elicited 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 washing the dishes,” Marg admitted with a chuckle. “And our foster daughter, Aurora, dislikes vacuuming. However, since they rotate chores weekly, I find they’re more willing to tackle what they don’t enjoy as 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, 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 take a sip. “Or else what?”

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

“What will happen 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 down her cup; she was neither thirsty nor hungry. “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 reached for another cookie.

Marg sighed, “I offer them incentives. They receive an allowance each week if they complete their chores. If they miss a chore one day, ten cents are deducted. They dislike losing their full allowance, so they perform their assigned chores.”

“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 replied. “We all contribute. That’s what families do.”

Virgie nodded, contemplating for a moment. She opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it, opting instead to munch on her cookie.

To break the uncomfortable silence, Marg asked another question, carefully 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 into her tea to occupy her hands. Her anxiety increased. She needed to tiptoe and avoid sounding accusatory, even though she wanted to interrogate her neighbor about several matters. “I’m always curious about how others handle daily parenting. That’s all. So, does Otto assist 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 held back the comment that he hadn’t mowed it in weeks, and the grass in the Clark yard stood a foot tall, overrun 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 of them were all over her neck, both front and back, and her 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 imagine the kind of fall that would leave bruises where she saw them on Beth, but she couldn’t comprehend 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. There are also some older scars, ones that are already healed from past… falls.”

“She’s fine,” was the reply. Virgie pushed her cup away and rose from the table. Her t-shirt, too small for her, had ridden up, and she pulled it down over the small pot that was her 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 explain all of Beth’s injuries. Is it possible that... maybe somebody lost their temper and was a little too rough on Beth while... disciplining her?”

Virgie narrowed her eyes once more and tilted 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, Marg thought but instead she said, “No... uh, not exactly. I understand how frustrating kids can be at times, especially when we’re stressed by finances and broken relationships. It’s easy to lose control in those moments, isn’t it?”

“I don’t lose control,” Virgie articulated 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 simply thought—“

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

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

She cleared the dishes from the visit, reflecting on the conversation as she worked.

#

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

He glanced up from his book. “And did you speak to the mother?”

She stood up from her vanity table and walked to the light switch on his bedside lamp before turning off the ceiling light. “Of course. I had her over for tea.”

“As you do.”

She ignored the comment, crawled into bed beside him, and wrapped an arm around his waist. Frank closed his novel and placed it on his bedside table before encircling her with his arm.

“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 took a moment to consider. “I’ll make an anonymous call to Social Services regarding 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 go camping with us over the May long weekend. Those kids could use a break and some fresh air.”

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

Marg nodded, sliding 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 been worried about them.”

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

She chuckled deeply from her throat. “Lights on tonight.”

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

Marg giggled, temporarily setting aside worries about the neighbor kids.

#

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

Around eleven, Marg operated the photocopier as she selected an outside line and called Virgie from the phone extension in the workroom to supervise the unpredictable Xerox machine at the same time.

“I know we left our conversation yesterday on a less than positive note,” Marg told her. “I apologize if I sounded accusatory. That wasn’t my intention. I was concerned about Beth and Otto, but I must have come 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 returning Monday night around seven. Lisa and Aurora would love it if Beth and Otto could join us for our trip. We’d cover all their expenses; all they’ll need are clothes and toiletries. We would enjoy having them along, and it would give you free ‘me’ time, too. Would that be all right?”

There was a long pause during which Marg gnawed on her lower lip. She wished she knew what was going 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, sounding hopeful. “It’s our pleasure. Our kids would love to have some company on the trip.”

Another pause, this time 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 would be great if they could be 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 mind. That went much easier than she had anticipated. Was that a good sign? Perhaps she had misjudged Virgie—she wasn’t as harsh a parent as Marg had suspected.

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

At lunch, she would make another call to Alberta Social Services. There was no harm in making an anonymous call regarding her suspicions. The worst that could happen was that a worker would be sent to visit the Clark home and children—after the camping trip so Virgie wouldn’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

Related Posts: