Novel: Filling the Cracks—Chapter Eight
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Welcome to the eighth 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 Eight
It was a complete accident, and reasonable people understand that accidents happen. Though disappointed and upset, the average person would have accepted it as an unintentional freak occurrence and let it go. However, Virgie Clark and Gary Tremblay were not reasonable.
Virgie was preparing breakfast for Constable Hughes, who had stopped by for one of his twice-a-week romps with her. She had asked Otto to grab a platter from a high kitchen cabinet. Otto stood no more than four-foot-four; therefore, he had to grab a kitchen chair to reach the cabinet. Even on the chair, he had to stand on his tiptoes to get the platter on the top shelf. Beth cringed as she watched, wishing she had been the one asked to retrieve the platter, but one didn’t question Virgie when she gave an order. Otto had a grip on the dish when his chair slid out from under him, sending him, platter in hand, crashing onto the counter and tumbling to the floor.
The platter struck the lip of the counter on the way down and shattered. Otto hit his chin on the same counter, driving his sharp bottom incisors into his upper lip. Virgie screamed, but not at the sign of blood or her son lying stunned on the floor. She knelt next to the shards of porcelain and wept.
“That was my grandmother’s platter,” she wailed, a piece in each hand. “You stupid little bugger! How could you do this?” She dropped the shards and stood up, turning toward her bedroom, where she kept the spanking board. Otto still lay on the floor, dazed. Beth jumped in her mother’s way, hands held up in petition.
“Please, Mommy, don’t spank Otto,” she said. “It’s my fault. I didn’t put the platter up right and… and I spilled oil on the floor yesterday, and I didn’t clean it up properly, which made it slippery and caused the chair to move, and—.”
“You want to take his punishment?” Virgie asked, her voice hard. “Fine with me.” She pushed past Beth and went to her bedroom. Instead of returning with the spanking board, she carried the razor strap.
Beth’s eyes widened in horror. Only once before had she received the strap. It hurt ten times worse than the board and left cuts instead of simple welts and bruises. This she hadn’t anticipated, but she also knew she couldn’t allow Virgie to take out her wrath on Otto. He was smaller, frailer, and wouldn’t stand up under the punishment like Beth knew she could.
“Come here,” Virgie said softly, not caring that Hughes watched her from the kitchen table.
Beth looked to the cop for help, but he stared back at her with cold eyes. No sympathy or support would come from him. As much as she wanted to protect her brother, she didn’t think she could tolerate the strap. Panicked, Beth raced past her mother, pushing her aside, and bolted out of the house without her book bag. She headed down the block, turned into the Jones’s yard, and ran to their back door. Without knocking, she ran inside and bulldozed into Mrs. Jones.
“Beth! What are you doing here? My goodness, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
Lisa and Aurora entered the kitchen, curious, and a moment later, Mr. Jones arrived.
“What’s going on?’ he asked, his bushy eyebrows rising over his nose.
“I…,” Beth panted, wiping her tears on her sleeve. “Virgie… Otto broke her grandma’s platter, and she’s on a tear and—.”
“It’s okay,” Mr. Jones told her, “I’ll stop by there on my way to work.”
“She’ll only get angrier!” Beth protested, realizing she shouldn’t have come to the Joneses. Now Virgie would be even more vengeful when she got home.
“Not to worry.” Mr. Jones grabbed his lunch pail, kissed Mrs. Jones, and headed for the door. “I’m not scared. I’ll go get Otto.”
“And my book bag?” Beth suggested. That way, she wouldn’t have to face Virgie again until after school.
“Got it.”
Beth watched through a window as Mr. Jones went to his van, drove a few houses away, parked, went to the Clark house, and stepped inside. Lisa and Aurora joined her at the window. Less than two minutes later, Mr. Jones emerged from the Clark house with Otto and Beth’s book bag. He brought both back to his house and left for work without a word to anyone. She was curious about what he’d said to Virgie and Constable Hughes when he arrived. Perhaps she’d find out after school. The thought of returning home in a few hours terrified her.
Mrs. Jones took one look at the blood on Otto’s face and t-shirt and hurried him into the bathroom, where she kept the family’s first aid kit. The three girls stood in the doorway and watched Mrs. Jones dab peroxide on Otto’s lip with a cotton swab.
“You girls get going to school,” Mrs. Jones instructed. “I’ll drop Otto off when I go to work.”
Lisa and Aurora displayed no fear; they obeyed out of respect, not terror. Beth envied them. The three girls left the house with their bags, heading toward the center of the village en route to their schools. Aurora attended the Secondary school across the big grass field from the Elementary where Lisa and Beth attended.
“Poor Otto,” Lisa said softly. “I wonder what my daddy said to your mom.”
“I don’t know,” Beth answered, trembling. “I don’t want to know, but I’m gonna find out this afternoon.”
#
Lisa tried to convince Beth to come home with her and not return to the Clark house after school, but Beth couldn’t avoid Virgie’s wrath forever. She and Otto would have to go home at some point and face the music. When Otto got home, he threw his book bag into the house, hopped on his bike, and took off toward his best friend’s house without speaking to Virgie. He got away with that behavior, but Beth didn’t. The hammer always fell on her.
She entered the house, expecting her mother to meet her again in the kitchen. Instead, the house was empty. On the table was a note in Virgie’s scrawl.
Were you sending Lisa’s dad after me now? Virgie had written. Don’t want to deal with me? Fine. Gary will put you in your place when he gets home. Next time, you’ll wish I had disciplined you.
Beth trembled at the thought of the torture Gary might devise for her when he got home from work or came to visit her at night. He hadn’t been by; they were both on medication, but their infections were cleared up now. Nothing kept him from hurting her in ways no one knew except her—and Gary, of course. She couldn’t face that. Beatings were one thing, but sexual torture exceeded what Beth could tolerate.
Her mind sought out a solution to her predicament. She considered running to Lisa’s, but come dark, she’d be expected home. Even if she spent the night, the time came when she had to go home, and Gary would be there. Only one solution existed—she had to move away from home. But where would she go? The Joneses lived too close to Virgie and Gary. Finding her and bringing her home would be too easy for them. Her grandmother lived in a nursing home in Edmonton, and her aunt, her mother’s sister, had had nothing to do with Virgie or her offspring for years. That wasn’t an option either.
The only other person Beth considered was her father. He lived in downtown Edmonton somewhere. Beth had no idea how big Edmonton was, but it wouldn’t be that difficult to locate David Clark, would it? He had abandoned her before—there was no guarantee he would accept her now, but he was her only hope. The problem was how to get to Edmonton. The city was a forty-five-minute drive away to the west end. Getting downtown was even further.
The Greyhound. That was it. The bus came through Coverville, heading to Edmonton once in the morning around six a.m. and again twelve hours later. The bus station in Edmonton was downtown. The next question was, how much did a ticket cost, and did Beth have enough saved up to cover it?
She dug her piggy bank out of her closet and opened the small cover in the bottom, dumping everything onto her bed. The change came out first. Beth had to stretch her skinny fingers in the pig’s belly and pull out the folded bills. It was two years’ worth of Birthday and Christmas money saved for a rainy day. The sun shone outside, but as a metaphor, Beth’s life was one giant thunderstorm, so she might as well spend it trying to find freedom and safety. She counted the money. There were seventy dollars in bills and change. That had to be enough to get her to Edmonton, right?
Beth packed her duffel bag with clothing, soap and shampoo, her toothbrush, and a comb. She threw in her favorite teddy bear, the money, and a book: a Bible given to her by her paternal grandma before she passed.
Without leaving any note about where she went (she didn’t want to be found), Beth headed to the Corner Store in downtown Coverville, making a wide berth around the Hotel and restaurant where her mother worked. When she reached Edmonton, she planned to call Lisa to let her and her family know she was okay.
She went to the clerk behind the till at the Corner Store and requested a one-way ticket to Edmonton for six p.m.
Mrs. Delaney, the middle-aged woman with red-dyed hair who owned the store with her husband, narrowed an eye when she appraised Beth and shook her head. “No evening bus anymore. The next one comes tomorrow morning. Aren’t you a little young to be traveling alone, Beth?”
The clerk knew Beth and Otto; they often frequented the store to buy MoJos or Bazooka bubble gum when Virgie was occasionally generous enough to give them a dollar between them. When Virgie needed cigarettes, she sent them there.
“I’m going to my dad,” Beth admitted, acting like she always traveled alone by bus. “I’ll come back tomorrow, I guess.”
“Your mom knows you’re here?” Mrs. Delaney asked, raising a tweezed eyebrow.
“Of course,” Beth lied. “She gave me the money. See you tomorrow morning.”
She hurried out before the owner asked her any more questions. It sucked that the bus had stopped its evening run. Now Beth had to go home or find somewhere to hide overnight and return for the next bus at six a.m. If she went home, Gary would hurt her. That wasn’t an option. Neither was Lisa’s place. No, Beth had to find somewhere around the village to shelter for the night, and she knew the place. No one would think to look for her there.
#
“Where’s my daughter?”
Virgie stared bleary-eyed at Marg at the back door of the Jones house. Her brother, Gary, a tall drink of water with mousy brown hair and a matching mustache, stood behind her, his calloused hands shoved into his jean pockets. He’d forgotten to put a shirt on before leaving the house. There was no worry in either pair of eyes glaring at Marg; instead, she detected anger and not a little alcohol consumption. They smelled like a brewery.
“Beth’s not here,” Marg answered, alarmed. She pulled her bathrobe tighter around herself and glanced at her Timex. Two-fifteen am. Had they just now gotten around to looking for the missing twelve-year-old? And where was Otto? Home alone, no doubt. “She’s not home? How long has she been gone?”
A hand came to rest on Marg’s shoulder. Frank stood behind her in his t-shirt and pajama pants.
“Otto said she wasn’t home when he returned from his bike ride around five,” Virgie answered. “I had the day off and went out with some friends, didn’t come home until about two. She wasn’t back yet. Her bike was home, but she took a duffel bag and clothes. Found her piggy bank raided, too. Your daughter knows where she went?”
“Lisa’s asleep,” Marg said, only to be corrected.
“Not anymore.” Her daughter wandered into the kitchen in her nightgown. “Bethie’s missing?”
“Do you know anything about it?” Frank asked.
Lisa shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “No. The last I saw her was after school. We walked home together.”
“She didn’t call you or anything?” Virgie demanded, glaring with an accusatory raised eyebrow.
“No,” Lisa said again, her lip quivering. “Maybe she ran away?”
“Any idea where she might have gone?” Marg asked her.
Lisa shook her head, growing teary-eyed. “I’m scared.”
Frank patted his daughter’s shoulder and said to his wife, “I’m getting dressed.” He returned to their bedroom.
“Have you called her other friends?” Marg asked, still not welcoming Virgie and Gary into her home.
“She doesn’t have other friends,” Virgie answered, and Marg heard a slur in her final ‘s.’ “If she isn’t here, we gotta be looking for her.” Virgie turned to leave.
“Have you called the police?” Marg asked.
Gary shook his head. “We don’t need to get them involved.” They walked away. Marg shut the door and locked it. Lisa remained standing in the kitchen.
“Go back to bed,” Marg told her.
“I can’t sleep now,” Lisa replied. “I want to go out looking for her.”
“No,” Marg said, placing both hands on her shoulders. “You’re going back to bed. I’ll call the police, and your dad will look for her.”
Lisa returned to her room, shuffling her feet and complaining again that she wouldn’t sleep until Beth was found. Marg picked up the phone and made the report to the RCMP, unsure what to say when asked why she called and not Beth’s parents.
“I guess they don’t like to involve the authorities,” she said, making something up before ending the call.
Frank emerged from the bedroom. He grabbed a flashlight out of a kitchen drawer. “I’ll drive around the village and search for her. Did you call the RCMP?”
Marg nodded, hugging herself. “I wonder what happened over there to finally drive her to decide it was too much?”
“Try not to dwell on it,” Frank told her, kissing her. “I’ll keep you updated.”
Frank left. Marg went to Lisa’s room finding the girl awake in bed with the light on.
“Maybe she went to the park at school?” Lisa suggested. “I don’t know where she went, Mom. There’s no safe place to hide in Coverville.”
Unless you’re an abuser, Marg said to herself. “Sweetie, try to get some sleep. Your dad and the police are looking. Someone will find her.”
“Come sit with me until I fall asleep,” Lisa said. Marg sat on the edge of Lisa’s bed and held her hand, humming an old lullaby that used to work like a charm. She hoped and prayed Beth was all right, that some predator hadn’t picked her up and taken her away to hurt her or worse. That poor child had suffered enough; she didn’t deserve that fate.