Lacy's End (7 page)

Brenda pulled into the driveway, and her heart started beating rapidly. “What the hell is he doing home?” she muttered aloud, “No doubt checking up on me.” Brenda opened the door slowly. There was no telling which corner he might be lurking in, or behind which bush he might be hiding.

As she approached the front porch, she saw him stand up from the glider where he had been sitting.

She mustered her best smile and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, trying to hide the evidence of her mirror attack. He had never come home the previous night, much to Brenda’s relief.

He cupped her chin roughly. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” she demurred.

His voice turned gentle. “Brenda, honey, who did this to you?”

She stared at him, not in the least bit surprised he would play the innocent when the ravages of the crime were not upon his shoulders.

“I did it to myself,” she spat, daring to take a stand.

“Why would you do such a thing, darling?”

“It was an accident.” She stepped back, looking at him, assessing him with renewed eyes.

Brenda had met Peter while she was still in high school. She had been working the concession stand for the football game, and Peter had come to watch his younger brother, Alex, the star quarterback, play in the playoff games.

Her father, anxious to get rid of another mouth to feed, hadn’t batted an eye when she had strolled into the trailer with her arm around his waist. “Hey, Daddy,” she had said. “This is Peter.”

Jason Trimble had looked up at the two of them standing there and said, “Hey,” and returned to his ballgame. After a moment, he looked at them again. “Well, don’t just stand there, honey, get the man a beer.” Then he had looked at Peter and said, “You like basketball, don’t ya?”

“The Suns playing?” Peter had asked.

“Wouldn’t watch if they wasn’t,” Jason said, cackling. “Sit down,” he said, and Peter obliged.

Brenda ran off to fetch two fresh beers: one for her father, and one for Peter. She had tried to concentrate on the game, but she’d never been able to muster an interest in sports. She took a novel she’d been reading out of her backpack and tried to settle down next to Peter and read. The noise had proven too much for her to concentrate, so she stole out of the room, went into her room, and shut the door. She lay down on the bed and tried to read. She was tired, and soon sleep overcame her.

She was awakened awhile later by a gentle nudge. “Hey, sleepyhead, wake up. Your dad sent me to wake you. He said he’s hungry and wants some dinner.” When she only moaned, Peter tried again, nudging harder, and then harder, until his nudges had become smacks.

She bolted out of the bed. “What are you doing, Peter?”

He sat down on the bed, pulling her closer. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked nuzzling her neck.

“That hurt,” she protested, looking like a child pouting after a spanking.

“Ah, I’m sorry, baby. Here let me kiss it and make it better.” He kissed her cheek, then her mouth, and his hands touched the inside of her thigh, sliding up to touch her underpants, and then under them until his finger found its way inside.

From the doorway, her father cleared his throat. Brenda jumped. “I need dinner,” he said. He turned and walked away.

Thus began a ritual around the house. Peter and her father watched the game together. Brenda cooked, cleaned, and had sex with Peter, sometimes roughly, other times slow and patient. She had been fourteen at the time and hadn’t known any better. In less than a year, she was pregnant and trapped.

When she broke the news to her father, all he managed to do was look at Peter and say, “You’re going to marry her, boy.” And he had.

They all lived in the trailer: Peter, Brenda, Jason, and eventually Lacy when she made her entrance. They lived as one big dysfunctional family until her father’s death. Then the trailer had become theirs, and life continued. The trailer was a nice one, and Brenda did a good job keeping it up. Peter’s salary as the city’s sheriff could have afforded his family more things, but he preferred spending it on himself. He considered fishing and hunting trips and a country club membership necessary to schmooze the mayor, the local judges, and the town council members—the cost of doing business. The membership
wasn’t
a family plan. The rest of the money he squandered on booze and prostitutes.

***

She stared at Peter, now, wondering how she had been sucked into this type of life. Becoming a mother at fifteen certainly had something to do with it. Her sense of obligation to her family bound her in marriage as surely as an animal caught in a trap. Did she have a choice?

She stepped aside and walked past Peter. He followed behind her. “Where have you been all day?”

She sighed. “At the hospital.”

“All day?” he questioned.

She blushed, turning her head away so he wouldn’t see the color stain her cheeks. “They were busy.”

“All day?” he asked again.

“Look, Peter. If you want to know if I was out screwing around on you or something, just ask. The answer is no. I woke this morning, cleaned the house, made a grocery list, baked some cookies, and went to the hospital…” she stumbled for an excuse. “…to have the sutures checked. They were busy, so I volunteered to wait. On the way home I stopped at the grocery store.” She gestured at the groceries for proof. “Then I came home, and now I’m going to prepare your dinner.” She sighed in exasperation. “Does that itinerary meet with your approval?”

“From now on I want to know when you go to the hospital.”

She frowned at him, puzzled. “Why, Peter? Why is it so important for you to know if I go to the hospital?”

“I don’t like you going there.”

She bit her lower lip. His comment didn’t make what she had to ask any easier. She plunged on anyway, “Peter, I’ve been thinking that I might like to volunteer at the hospital.”

“Doing what?” he scoffed. “The only thing you’re good at is cooking, and I’m pretty sure they don’t use volunteers for that.”

“They’re looking for people to volunteer in the waiting room. Sometimes the parents are too ill to watch over their children. They need people to look after the kids. I could read stories to them. Maybe even help out the sick.”

“No,” he said, without a second thought.

“Why not?” she asked, defiantly.

Instinctively, he reached out and slapped her face. “I’m not comfortable with it,” he said and strode off toward the shed.

She rubbed her cheek, already feeling the beginning signs of a welt. She knew why he’d denied her request. If she were to go to the hospital on a regular basis, someone might begin to question the bumps and bruises. But hadn’t they already begun to do so?

She heard the lawn mower start up just as Lacy walked through the door. “Hi, Mom,” she said, coming to kiss her mother on the cheek and give her a hug. She noticed the welt. “What did you do this time?” she asked with sarcasm.

“I talked back.”

Lacy rolled her eyes. “Certainly you should know better by now.” She broke off a leaf from the aloe vera plant, milked out some of the sap, began to rub it on her mother’s cheek. She grinned. “Nonetheless, I’m proud of you.”

Brenda couldn’t help but smile. “I thought you had a shift at the diner this evening.”

Lacy plucked an olive from the pasta salad Brenda was making and plopped it in her mouth. “They were slow, so Ray sent me home. Bummer, too, I really needed—”

Brenda cut her off, shame rising and coloring her face. “You’re sixteen, Lacy. You shouldn’t have to work so hard.”

Lacy shrugged, took some plates out of the cupboard, and began to set the table. Leaning across to place her mother’s plate on the other side. She said, “I told you, I’m going to college and getting us out of here.”

“That should be my job,” Brenda whispered.

“What?” Lacy asked.

Brenda shook her head. “Nothing.”

“It’s just as well, I suppose. I’m buried in homework tonight.”

“Need some help?”

She didn’t, but she knew her mother wanted an excuse to be away from her father. “I have a history test tomorrow. You could quiz me.”

Brenda smiled. “Sounds great,” she said. “Will you call your father? Dinner’s ready.”

She went to the back door and shouted for her father. He didn’t hear her, so she stepped off the porch and went in search of him. She could hear the sounds of the lawnmower and followed them. She saw him mowing near the tomato garden. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted for him. He still didn’t hear her. She crossed the lawn and tapped him on the shoulder, startling him. He turned, and his hand flew across her face so hard that she fell to the ground.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing sneaking up on me like that?”

She sat there, stunned. Her hand came up, caressing her cheek, which was already swelling. She didn’t doubt it was red, too. She maneuvered herself into a standing position, glared at her father and said, “Dinner’s ready.”

She turned and walked away. When she was halfway to the house, still in hearing range, her father shouted, “I’m sorry.” She paused but did not turn around, did not even acknowledge him speaking.

She slammed the door when she entered the kitchen, walked wordlessly to the dining room table and sat stonily in her seat.

Brenda was setting dishes on the table, but she paused in her task when she noted the red, swollen cheek. “Again?”

Lacy nodded but said nothing. She just picked up a serving bowl and began serving herself. She would most likely take flak from her father about not waiting for him, but tonight, she didn’t care. However, when her father entered the house, he went straight to the washbasin in the laundry room. He took off his dirty shirt and donned a clean one from the stack of shirts that were kept on a shelf in the laundry for just such occasions. He washed his face and hands and took his place at the table. He noted Lacy was already eating and said, “You don’t wait to thank the good Lord?”

Lacy shook her head. “I said my own prayer.”

“Try again,” he said and offered his hand to Lacy.

She stared at it, defiantly, but then she saw the look on her mother’s face, fearful and pleading. She took her father’s hand in her left and reached across the table with her right to grab onto her mother. Brenda squeezed Lacy’s hand, offering support and gratitude. Lacy barely touched her father’s hand.

Peter began the blessing. “Oh dear, mighty, Father, thank you for the bounty upon our table, for the family around it, and for the wisdom you bestow upon us. Amen.” Lacy and Brenda both muttered, “Amen,” and began eating.

Peter chewed silently, watching both the women in his life with interest. They kept their heads lowered, lest they say something or cast some look that might set him off. After a while he said, “So, I hear Brett and Linda Mackey are having another kid.”

“Oh,” Brenda said.

“What does that make for them, four now?”

Brenda nodded. “That sounds about right.”

Peter looked at Lacy. “You babysit for them, don’t ya? How many does that make?”

Lacy sighed. “It’s only their third, and I don’t babysit for them anymore. Not since I got the job at the diner.”

“I’m wondering why we can’t have another. Lacy will be out of the house soon and then what will we do with an empty room?”

Brenda took a deep breath, preparing herself for the onslaught of accusations. Truth be told, Brenda didn’t want any more kids. She was, in fact, secretly on birth control pills, which she got at the free clinic so Peter wouldn’t notice the money missing from the checking account. There was no way she was risking bringing another child into the house.

“I don’t know, Peter. Perhaps we just weren’t meant to have more than one.”

“It’s not my fault,” Peter said. “The men on my side of the family are virile.” He sat up straight, pumping up his chest in a display of machismo. “Something must be wrong with your plumbing.” He grinned at his play of words.

“Perhaps,” Brenda said. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“I thought the same thing, but then Ryan Marley told me he and his wife had some trouble, so they went to a fertility expert. She’s pregnant now.”

Brenda held her breath. Lacy looked sideways at Brenda, clearly showing compassion.

“Don’t you think we’re getting kind of old to be starting a new family?” Breanda asked.

Brenda looked at Lacy with panic-stricken eyes. Lacy wished with all her might she could help her, but she knew her mother was on her own with this one.

Peter rolled his eyes and frowned at her. “You’re only thirty-two.”

Brenda nearly dropped her fork. Was that all the farther along in life she was? God, she felt fifty. She stared at Lacy. She was nearly seventeen now, older than Brenda was when she had given birth.

Lacy nudged her under the table with her foot, wishing she would shut up.

“I think you should see this doctor. Maybe he can help you.”

“Peter, I don’t think that’s necessary. Linda Mackey is twenty-six. Her oldest kid is barely out of diapers. Our daughter is close to graduating high-school.”