by Alana Terry
“Listen, Meg, I’ve got to hang up. I’m at work.”
“Hold on. There’s something I haven’t told you.” Meg was whining now, her voice rising in pitch. It was that same affected intonation that made her come across as cool and mature in high school but sounded grating and petty as an adult.
Jade was still staring at Kimmie, jerking her head now as if playing a game of charades, raising her eyebrows in some unspoken message. Goosebumps erupted at the base of Kimmie’s neck, and she instinctively turned around. Her stepfather was just a foot behind her, glowering, his face somewhat droopy on account of all he’d had to drink.
“Just who d’you think you’re talking to?” He grabbed Jade’s cell phone. “Who’re you?” he demanded coarsely, and Kimmie held her breath, straining to hear any response from the other line.
It was silent. Had Meg hung up?
All of Chuck’s attention reverted back to Kimmie. “What’re you doing with a cell phone? Didn’t I tell you those things’ll give you brain cancer?”
“It’s not mine,” Kimmie stammered. “I was just …”
Jade rushed up, interrupting. “It was a prospective parent. A new family in town. They just had some questions about the daycare, and I was busy with the kids.”
Kimmie felt her face heating up and didn’t know if Jade’s intervention made her feel more grateful or humiliated.
She winced when Chuck grabbed her arm, digging his dirt-crusted fingernails through her sweater. Dragging her away from Jade, he hissed, “Get the boy. You’re coming home.”
“It’s not three yet,” Kimmie protested. “I’ve got two more hours.”
“Don’t care,” Chuck slurred. “And tell that big black gal you work with you quit. I can’t find a single can of chili for lunch, and even if I did, I couldn’t eat it because you lost the can opener. We’re out of groceries, and the bathroom’s a mess. You’re coming home.”
Kimmie didn’t have the nerve to meet Jade’s eyes but sensed her friend’s gaze following her as she made her way into the daycare. Pip was still drooling on his cot, his hands tucked under his chin like a tiny cherub.
“Come on, Buster. Let’s get you ready.” She hated to wake him up. He looked so peaceful, and she knew he needed his sleep.
Pip stirred, and Kimmie smiled at him. “Wake up. It’s time to go home.”
Back at the trailer, she’d confront Chuck. She had to. She and Pip needed this job just as much as Chuck needed the paycheck. He’d come around.
Kimmie wrapped Pip’s arms around her neck so she could carry him to the cubbies to collect their things.
“You okay?” Jade whispered. Kimmie hadn’t even noticed her trailing behind them.
She sniffed. “Yeah. He’s just … you know, still having a hard time. After everything.” She wrapped Pip’s coat around his shoulders and wondered if he was about to fall asleep again in her arms.
Jade looked unconvinced. “You need something? I can help, you know. I even have a spare bedroom if you and Pip need some time away for a little bit.” She let the last part of her sentence inflect up to a question.
Kimmie squeezed back the anger and mortification that were boiling inside her. “That’s really sweet of you. But we’re fine.” She rubbed her brother’s back and looked Jade square in the eyes. “We’re going to get through this. We always do.”
CHAPTER 14
Back home, Kimmie helped Pip get situated in their room with the handful of matchbox cars Mom managed to buy for him at the thrift store. Once Kimmie was sure he was adequately distracted, she headed to the bathroom and started cleaning. Chuck must have had a bloody nose again. Splatters of red filled the sink. She looked inside the cabinet. Great, no gloves, either.
She grabbed a few paper towels and balled them together in as thick of a wad as she could, hoping the barrier was big enough to protect her from coming into contact with her stepfather’s blood. Who knew what kind of diseases he might carry? Her stomach retched, and she remembered she hadn’t eaten any lunch. Oh, well. At least Pip was fed. Whatever Jade heated up for the kids that afternoon might have to last him until tomorrow morning.
If Chuck let them go back to the daycare at all.
He couldn’t really force her to quit her job. They needed that money. Besides, he liked getting Pip out of the house. After three-day weekends when the daycare was closed for a holiday, Chuck would grumble and demanded to know when she would get that boy out of his hair.
A dozen times while she cleaned out the sink, Kimmie pictured herself walking into the living room, snapping off that stupid television set of his, and telling her stepfather he had no authority to make her leave her job. But then what? Even if he legally couldn’t keep her from the daycare, he had every right to prevent Pip from going, and then what would be the point? She had to stay with Pip. She was his only protection from his father’s violence. She would never leave the two of them at the trailer alone.
So if Chuck remained that stubborn about the daycare, if he said that he was withdrawing Pip from the program, did that mean she’d stay here, every bit a slave as her mom had been? The idea was unfathomable. She’d lose her mind. She’d go insane and kill herself like her mom had. Or kill her stepfather and wind up behind bars, with Pip imagining her a villain every bit as scary as the ones he saw on TV. No, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t stay here forever.
So what could she do?
She scrubbed at the sink fiercely until Chuck came in, pushing past her with a grunt. He unzipped his pants and started to pee.
Disgusted, Kimmie threw down her paper towel, stomped into the hallway, and slammed the bathroom door shut. People shouldn’t live like this. It was cruel and inhumane to subject a child as young and impressionable as Pip to this kind of squalor and filth.
Chuck cleared his throat from the bathroom, loudly enough that Kimmie could hear through the door and above the sound of the wailing TV. She didn’t know what was on, but it certainly wasn’t appropriate for children. Sometimes she wondered if Pip retreated into his own mind like he did because his surroundings were too difficult to accept.
No kid should have to endure what he had, but what could Kimmie do? How could she help him? She thought about Taylor. She’d had the trooper on her mind even before he showed up at her work today. Fingering his card in her pocket, she wondered if there was any way he could help her.
But how?
If Chuck wouldn’t let Pip go back to the daycare, that meant she couldn’t go back either. She couldn’t abandon her brother that way. As far as she knew, Chuck had never physically hurt Pip, but he’d threatened to. It was one of his go-to responses whenever Kimmie or her mom showed any sign of rebellion. If Mom let the coffee run out, Chuck would tell her he was going to bash Pip’s head against the wall. If Kimmie didn’t sign over her entire daycare check to him, he’d threaten to starve Pip for the week. Who could guess what would happen to her brother if Kimmie defied Chuck’s orders and went back to the daycare?
She’d have to find another way to convince him. She could bring up the money, but she’d already tried that. There had to be something else.
Chuck threw open the bathroom door, jostling her as he squeezed his wide girth down the hallway. Scratching at his hairy belly, he mumbled, “Outta my way,” and plodded back toward his recliner.
Kimmie glanced at him in open disgust. Her mom had spent a decade with this man, subjecting Kimmie and later Pip to his barbaric ways, his explosive temper. And now Mom was gone, and there was no way Kimmie was going to waste the rest of her life cleaning up her stepfather’s messes and rolling over to be his punching bag whenever a violent mood came over him.
She was going to get away from here, and she was taking her brother with her.
CHAPTER 15
By the time Kimmie got the bathroom at least relatively clean, Pip had fallen asleep, content to finish his interrupted nap at home. It was just as well. She was sure he needed the sleep. She
still didn’t know how he was processing their mother’s death. He’d cried when the ambulance came to carry her body away, but how much did he really understand? Kimmie had tried to explain to him, but what words do you use to tell a three-year-old their mother is dead?
Chuck was taking an afternoon snooze in front of the TV, and Kimmie tiptoed into the kitchen and scanned the cupboards. It was one of her regular pastimes, something she liked to call let’s see how much food there is and figure out how many days we can make it last.
Today she was lucky. She pulled down two cans of chili from the back of the cupboard and the heels leftover from Chuck’s white bread. She could feed Pip dinner after all.
Glancing around at her sleeping stepfather, she wondered how to make the best use of her time. If Pip were awake, she’d take him outside. It was chilly out, but the fresh air did both of them good. Every winter brought two or three major cases of sinus infections, and Chuck refused to let anyone see the doctor. The family could easily qualify for state insurance, but Chuck claimed the application process invaded their privacy and was convinced that Alaskan doctors were paid off for killing the most Medicaid recipients.
Kimmie hated feeling so helpless, and just a few months ago at work she’d printed and filled out the forms to get Pip onto Alaska’s free health care for children. She used the daycare’s address instead of their own and figured she’d keep the card there too in case Pip ever needed it, but the system was so backed up it would still be several months before she’d receive any kind of answer.
And Kimmie didn’t plan to stay here that long.
All afternoon while she cleaned, she’d been thinking through her conversation with Taylor, running through each fact and insinuation.
Mom didn’t write a suicide note. Or if she did, nobody had found it yet. If Mom wanted people to read that note, she would have left it somewhere obvious. Kimmie had no idea how many suicide victims really did write letters for their families to find, but the trooper thought it was strange enough to at least mention its absence.
Mom had been in contact with Meg. About what? Chuck had sneaked up behind her while she was talking to her sister, interrupting their call before Kimmie could find anything else out. So what had Mom and Meg been talking about? How had Mom even reached out to Meg without Chuck finding out?
Meg didn’t think Mom killed herself. Did Taylor actually say those words, or was that just the meaning Kimmie pieced together on her own? Meg had contacted the troopers. The troopers were investigating the case. Therefore, Meg must have given them some sort of information that cast suspicion on the suicide theory.
Meg didn’t think Kimmie was safe. Meg asked her again to come to Anchorage, only this time it wasn’t so she could sweep in and save the day and set herself up as Kimmie’s parent-replacement, bossing her around and nagging her for all the ways she didn’t live up to Meg’s expectations. At least it didn’t feel that way.
Not this time.
Meg wanted Kimmie to leave Chuck. That was nothing new. She’d wanted Kimmie to leave as soon as she knew or at least suspected what kind of man their stepfather was. There was nothing legally preventing Kimmie from leaving, and even though Chuck would be mad to lose a free source of domestic labor, he was too lazy to come all the way down to Anchorage to cause her any problems.
She could walk away now and never look back.
But what would happen to Pip? Relentlessly, her mind replayed the dozens of times Chuck had used Pip as a hostage to force Kimmie or her mom to do what he wanted. She could pass that information on to Taylor, but would anything happen? What if Taylor came back and said that he couldn’t take any action unless she could prove Chuck actually harmed Pip? She was stuck.
But she wouldn’t stay that way forever. There was some way out of this maddening prison. There had to be.
She just wished she knew what it was.
CHAPTER 16
Pip woke up from his nap crying. No, that wasn’t the right word for it. Shrieking.
Kimmie had never heard any human make sounds like that, not in her entire life. She’d been heating up the last of the chili to get ready for dinner when she heard the shrill screams. Running to Pip’s room, she braced herself for something terrible. His clothes were engulfed in flames. Chuck was stabbing him with the knife he’d used to butcher moose back in the days before he grew too lazy to go hunting.
But no. Chuck wasn’t there, and as Kimmie knelt on the floor by the mattress, she couldn’t see anything wrong. “What is it, Buster?” she asked, but Pip only continued to scream as if his intestines had caught fire. She examined his body, looking for injury, trying to guess where he hurt. Could it be his appendix or something else internal that she couldn’t see? She had to get him to medical care, but how?
“Pip? Where do you hurt, Buster?”
He thrashed from side to side. She had to calm his movements. If she could just make eye contact, she could try to communicate. She curled him up on her lap, doing what she could to hold his head still so he wouldn’t hurt himself with his wild flailing. When she saw the look in his eyes, her words caught in her throat. That wasn’t her brother. It was someone else. Something else. His eyes were entirely vacant, reminding her mercilessly of her mother’s corpse.
He stared at her, still unseeing, and shrieked again.
Terrified, she hefted him into her arms and raced him into the living room. “Something’s wrong.” She didn’t care how worried Chuck was about money. She didn’t care how much he hated the idea of doctors treating welfare patients. Pip needed medical attention. Now.
Chuck blinked at his son, and for a moment his face blanched. Kimmie didn’t know if she should be grateful that he was taking Pip’s condition seriously or if his reaction only freaked her out more.
“He woke up screaming,” she explained, panting. “I don’t know what to do.” Her heart was racing, both from the physical energy it spent to keep her brother from flinging himself out of her arms and from her fear for his safety.
Chuck looked as bewildered as she felt, so she dared to squeak, “Should I take him to the doctor?”
The words seemed to snap Chuck out of his fearful reverie his son’s behavior had cast him into. He scowled. “No.” He stood up from the recliner, toppling Pringles crumbs and a crushed beer can onto the carpet.
He took a step forward and stared at his son. “Night terrors,” he announced factually. “You’ve just got to wake him up.”
Kimmie forced herself to look at those expressionless eyes again. “But he is awake. See?”
Chuck shook his head. “No, he ain’t.” He raised his fist in the air, and before Kimmie could react, he brought it down onto her brother’s belly. Pip opened his mouth like a fish trying to gulp air, and in an instant the blank, glossy eyes took on an expression of fear and pain. He sucked in a noisy inhale then started to cry
“See?” Chuck turned back around and lumbered to his seat. “All you gotta do is wake him up.”
Kimmie turned her back and hurried with Pip into the bedroom. She fingered the card in her pocket, where Taylor had written out his number, telling her to call if she ever needed help.
Through his tears, Pip clung onto Kimmie’s shoulders but no longer flailed around or acted possessed. Kimmie took in a choppy inhalation and sank down with him on the mattress. Stroking his sweat-drenched hair, she fingered Taylor’s card with her other hand and promised her brother, “I’m going to find us a way out of here. I’m going to get us some help.”
CHAPTER 17
Dinner had been doomed from the start. During the entire time Kimmie was dealing with Pip and his night terrors, she’d left the chili on the stove. By the time she realized her mistake, half of the meal had turned into black crisp.
She would have never served it to her stepdad, but that was the last of the chili, so she added a few prayers and half a can of water, hoping to mask the burnt taste and stretch the meager offering out as much as poss
ible. She scooped the top portion, the part that was the least scalded, into a bowl for Chuck and split the rest between herself and Pip. Even though Chuck never ate the heels of his bread, Kimmie couldn’t serve the portions to Pip at the table without infuriating her stepfather, so she slipped them beneath her sweater to store for later.
Pip would sleep better with a snack before bed, anyway.
“This tastes awful,” Chuck declared after his first bite. “What’d you do to it?”
Kimmie caught Pip’s eyes on her. For her brother’s sake, she’d try to avoid a confrontation. It would take every ounce of her patience and self-possession, but to keep Pip safe, it was worth the effort.
“I’m sorry.” Kimmie eyed her own bowl, which contained nothing but black tar and a few beans. “It got a little burned.”
Chuck spat, his saliva landing on the edge of the table instead of the floor where he probably intended. “What kind of stupid idiot can’t even cook chili?”
She poked at the lumps in her bowl and offered another apology, one she mentally promised herself would be her last. She had to stop this, stop groveling. Mom had done nothing but cower before Chuck, and look where it had gotten her. For years, Kimmie had been plagued with both the urge to protect her mother and the unbearable frustration of knowing Mom was too weak to leave. Kimmie hated the way Mom refused to stand up to Chuck, the way she let him beat her up without offering up even the faintest of protests.
For years, Kimmie simultaneously despised, feared for, and pleaded with her mom, also vowing to herself that she would never let another man ruin her life the way Chuck had ruined her mother’s. But now look where she was. It hadn’t even been a full week since Mom’s death, and Kimmie was falling into the exact same passive role, submissively trying to placate her stepfather because she was too scared to see Pip hurt.