Spare Change

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “But…” Susanna’s eyes welled with tears.

  “He took the money in cash,” Bernice called out as Susanna fled through the door.

  For a long while Susanna sat in the car and cried. After all those nights of working, every cent of her tip money was gone. There would be no New York. No New York, no singing career. For the rest of her life there would be nothing but soy beans and the dry dust of summer. She could picture her heart being torn from its rightful place and shoved into a graveyard of dreams; a place where singers were impaled on the shards of broken records and the only sound to be heard was that of sobbing. It was one thing for Benjamin to grab hold of her breast and pinch until a purple spot in the shape of his thumb appeared, but it was quite another to rip away the flesh of her hopes, piece by painful piece. After almost two hours Susanna dried her eyes and drove to the diner.

  As soon he caught sight of her face, Scooter said, “What’s wrong?”

  By that time, her eyes had puffed to the shape and color of an overripe tomato. “Did you mean what you said?” she asked, “…about us running off together?” Without waiting to hear his answer, she hurled herself up against his body and stretched her arms around his waist for as far as they could reach.

  “Course I did, Sugar,” Scooter answered. “There ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you, I done told you that.”

  “What if I was to ask you to take me to New York City?” Susanna pushed her mouth into the folds of his neck and suckled them. “Would you do that?” she asked in a breathy whisper.

  “I suppose,” he answered a bit hesitantly. “You mean for a vacation?”

  “Un-uh,” She slid her hand along the mound of his stomach and reached for the bulge in his crotch. “I’m talking about forever,” she sighed, “You and me, pleasuring each other, night after night after night.”

  Scooter, a man who fought hand-to-hand combat in the war and came away unscathed, was no match for Susanna. Once she ran her tongue along the edge of his ear, he forgot he had a wife at home; he no longer cared about the customers who would line up at the diner door looking for their morning coffee, and he never gave Benjamin a thought. Susanna could do that to a man. “When?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow morning,” she answered, edging her hand toward his crotch. “I’ll come to work tonight, like nothing’s wrong, then tomorrow morning we’ll drive over to Norfolk and catch the ten-thirty train. Ethan Allen can meet us here.”

  “The boy? He’s coming?”

  “Well sure. You can’t expect me to leave him on the farm with Benjamin.”

  For a fleeting moment, Scooter remembered his own son who would indeed be left behind, but when Susanna pushed her tongue inside his mouth, the thought was quickly forgotten.

  Benjamin Doyle

  I suppose I always knew a woman like Susanna could be trouble, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to hold back from falling for her.

  She’s a woman who drives a man crazy with that body of hers; and she can please you in ways other women ain’t even dreamt of. The first time I laid with Susanna, I knew right then, I’d be craving her till the day I died. Maybe I should’ve realized such a woman wouldn’t ever settle down, but I figured once we was married and had a kid, things would change. They did. They got worse.

  The kid, Ethan Allen, he’s a lot like her. They figure I’m blind, but I see them whispering secrets back and forth and I know damn good and well what they’re up to.

  Susanna keeps filling the kid’s head with a lot of bullshit about going to New York, when the truth is nobody’s going nowhere. She’s got no talent and I got no money. How’s that for a shit-sorry life?

  No Hell Like Home

  When Susanna arrived back at the house, Ethan Allen was out in the field shooting at the groundhogs who’d been digging up what was left of the soybeans; Benjamin was in the yard, hosing a splatter of dirt from his new tractor. “Where you been?” he asked.

  “At the bank,” she answered; her voice cold and sharp as a razor.

  Benjamin gave her an icy cold look but stayed with the hosing.

  “I wanted to withdraw my money…”

  “For what?” he asked sarcastically, “A trip to New York?”

  “It was my money! You had no right!”

  “I got every right!” he shouted. “I’m your husband. I say what money gets spent on! This tractor’s more important than some jerkwater notion of you becoming a singer!”

  Susanna scooped a rock from the ground and hurled it at Benjamin’s head. He ducked and the rock cracked hard against the side of the tractor. “Jesus Christ!” he shouted, then came running across the yard and grabbed hold of her hair. He all but dragged Susanna back to where the tractor was standing; “See what you’ve done!” he shouted and shoved her nose into the dent.

  “You think I give a fuck about this tractor!” she answered defiantly. That thing’s a worthless piece of shit far as I’m concerned!”

  “Worthless? You call a tractor that cost more’n a thousand dollars, worthless?”

  “I’d call anything you got an interest in, worthless!”

  “I had enough of your mouth,” Benjamin said; then he raised his hand and whacked Susanna hard enough to send her sprawling across the yard.

  Ethan Allen, who was walking back from the field, saw it happen. He took off running and came at Benjamin. “No, Daddy, no!” he shouted.

  “Keep outta this!” Benjamin roared. He yanked the shotgun from the boy’s grip and smacked him to the ground. “You dare raise a hand to me, you’ll get worse than she got!” With a disgusted sneer he turned and strode off.

  After Susanna had gathered herself from the ground, she went to the boy and said, “Don’t worry, we’re still going to New York City.” She told Ethan Allen he was to stay clear of his daddy until after dark, then slip off to the diner and meet her. “Scooter’s going with us,” she confided, “he’s gonna see to it we got everything we want, he’s even gonna take you to see that Yankee game you been itching to see.”

  “Does Daddy know?”

  “Shit no,” Susanna answered. “That’s why it’s real important for you to keep clear of him—one wrong word and the cat’s out of the bag.”

  Ethan Allen nodded.

  “And, don’t you pack no clothes. That’s a dead giveaway.”

  “I gotta bring my mitt!”

  “Okay, the mitt—nothing else!”

  “What about Dog?”

  Susanna gave him a look of disbelief. “No Dog,” she said.

  “But, Mama…”

  “No buts.”

  “I can’t leave Dog here with Daddy,” Ethan Allen whined, “He’ll shoot him in the heart soon as he finds out we’re gone.”

  Susanna knew such a thing was true for Benjamin always claimed the dog was a reminder of her whoring night. “Okay,” she relented, “you can bring Dog, but not another thing—not a toothbrush or even a stick of gum.”

  “I swear,” Ethan Allen promised, making the sign of the cross over his heart. He breezed through the kitchen, latched onto a wrapper of bologna and a half loaf of bread, then disappeared out the back door.

  Throughout the afternoon, as the sound of dishes breaking and pots clattering against the wall echoed through the trees, Ethan hunkered down in the fort; the fielder’s mitt in his lap and Dog by his side. He listened to a barrage of angry words fly back and forth; it was the same as always, he’d heard it a thousand times before. After a while, they’d tire of the name calling and go off to the bedroom together; then it would quiet down. On this day however, such a thing never happened. The voices continued to grow louder and angrier; which is why Ethan Allen took to keeping his eye on the house. After a particularly violent exchange of words, Susanna ran from the house with a valise tucked under her arm—her audition dresses were the only thing she couldn’t stand to leave behind.

  Benjamin followed her out shouting, “Get your ass back in this house!”

  “Like hell I will!” she a
nswered. “I had enough of you and your bullshit! I’m going to New York and nothing on earth can stop me!” She tossed the valise into the back of the car but before she could slide behind the wheel, Benjamin’s fist came up beneath her chin with such force that it lifted her from her feet. When Susanna dropped to the ground, there was a loud cracking of bone and she made no effort to move.

  Benjamin stood looking down at her for what seemed to be the longest time; then he said, “Okay, enough pretending, now get up!” He nudged her with the toe of his shoe, but still she did not move.

  Peering through the lower limb of a Douglas fir, Ethan Allen whispered, “Come on, Mama, please get up.”

  Twice more Benjamin poked her with his foot; then he shouted, “Okay, bitch, stay there, see if I care!” and stomped back into the house. Moments later he came back with a folded towel, and tucked it beneath her head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled tearfully, “I didn’t mean to do this.” He lifted Susanna into his arms, and carried her inside, promising over and over again that such a thing would never happen again.

  Afterwards, there was no more arguing to be heard. Ethan Allen, figuring Susanna would be awhile smoothing things over with Benjamin, went back to the fort to wait. Dog, having eaten most of the bologna, rolled over onto his side. Ethan Allen, caught up in his thoughts of going to New York, didn’t feel much like sleeping so he turned on the radio and listened as the Orioles battled the Boston Red Sox. When Brooks Robinson drove home two runs with a double in the top of the ninth, the Orioles got hold of the lead. ‘Looks like our birds are just three outs from getting a big win here at Fenway,’ Chuck Thompson said, but Ethan paid little attention.

  Ordinarily, in such a situation the boy’s ear would have been pinned to the radio, but on this particular day he was listening for something else. He was waiting to hear the sound of his mama slamming out the door and tearing off down the drive, but so far there hadn’t been anything other than a deep-throated sobbing that every so often stopped and started.

  In the bottom of the ninth Zuverink struck out Jensen, then Klaus, and the win seemed a sure thing; so Ethan Allen left the game and slipped out of the fort. He crept through the stand of trees and inched closer to the house, wondering if maybe he’d missed the sound of Susanna leaving. But no, her car was still parked in the driveway with the front door hanging open. “Shit fire, Mama,” he mumbled, “get a move on.” It was one thing to be late for work on any other night, but not this night! If Benjamin had stomped off to the barn as he usually did, Ethan could have gone inside and told Susanna, who at times was damned irresponsible, to get hurrying—but, Benjamin was still inside the house.

  Ethan moved closer and crouched behind the stump of an oak tree; he tilted his ear every which way, but still could not catch wind of what was happening. Susanna had told him to stay clear of Benjamin, but it was late in the afternoon, a time when she ought to be playing the radio and snapping on some lamps and the house was still dark with no sign of anyone moving about. He circled around the far end of the barn and came up on the side of the house where he’d be able to see into her bedroom. Stretching his neck, Ethan saw his mama lying on the bed, still wearing the same shorts and halter she had on earlier, not even starting to ready herself for work. “Shit fire!” he grumbled, figuring this to be another of those situations when she’d promise to do something and then forget about it. He stood and turned to walk away; then he spotted Benjamin sitting at the foot of the bed, hunched over and slobbering a string of words about how he was sorrier than he’d ever been in his whole entire life.

  For as long as he could remember Ethan Allan had known his parents to do battle—scream and yell till a person in the next county could hear them; cuss each other up one side and down the other; hurl heavy pots the full length of the room—but never in all that time, had he seen a situation such as this. Something was terribly wrong. He crept closer and closer to the house, until finally his nose was pressed up against the bedroom window. He saw Susanna’s head lolled off to the side like a broken arm. “Mama,” he cried and went running into the house.

  “Get the hell out of here!” Benjamin snarled.

  “No!” Ethan Allen answered defiantly. “Something’s wrong with Mama!”

  “She’s sleeping. Nothing’s wrong.”

  “You blind, Daddy? She’s bleeding!”

  “A bonk on the head, that’s all. Now, get.”

  “It ain’t no bonk on the head, she’s bad hurt; can’t you see?”

  “Enough!” Benjamin grabbed hold of Ethan’s arm and dragged him across the living room to the door. “You’re gonna be hurting a lot worse than your mama, if you don’t get the hell out of here!” He pushed the boy out the doorway with a shove that propelled him halfway to the gate.

  “Shithead!” Ethan Allen screamed as the door slammed shut. He scrambled to his feet and headed back to the bedroom window, but by the time he got there, the shade had been pulled tight against the sill and it was impossible to see a thing. “Damn you, Daddy!” he yelled, “Damn you anyway!”

  Ethan Allen turned and walked back through the trees. He couldn’t shake the image of Susanna from his mind—she wasn’t sleeping, he was almost sure she wasn’t. Her eyes were wide open. He tried telling himself everything was okay, but it didn’t feel okay. It was true enough that Benjamin had a mean streak wide as the Chesapeake Bay, but Ethan knew his mama was tough and could take care of herself. She’d done it before and she’d do it again. He thought back to the time she stayed gone for two whole days then when she finally did get home, ended up with a broken arm. And there was another time, when Benjamin blackened her eye for coming home stinking of whiskey. Even after she’d been knocked flat on her back, Mama always got up. She’d say she was real sorry for carrying on in such a manner; then things were alright. Mama had that way about her; no matter how mad a person might get, they’d end up forgiving her and laughing like they couldn’t ever remember being mad.

  Edging through the open corner of the tarpaulin, Ethan Allen crawled back inside his fort. Dog was still asleep. The game was over and Wild Joe Bonomo was telling listeners that Jimmy Piersall’s ninth inning home run had been a lousy break for the birds. Ethan snapped off the radio, he didn’t much care if the Orioles lost another game, “The hell with you,” he grumbled and curled up alongside Dog. Although he would have sworn he wasn’t the least bit sleepy, Ethan’s eyelids drifted shut. Before long they were at Yankee Stadium, him and Susanna, Mickey Mantle at the plate. With a count of two and two, Mickey swung and sent a home run ball rocketing into the stands; just as it was about to land in Ethan’s fielder’s mitt, he woke to the sound of a car. Still half-asleep, his first thought was that his mama had got to feeling better and headed off to the diner.

  Ethan pushed back the tarpaulin, and saw a flash of light in the distance. With his hand latched onto Dog’s collar, he slipped through the trees for a look. The house was still dark as a coal mine, but in the whiteness of a full moon, he could see Susanna’s car right where it had been earlier, the door still hanging open. Only now, there was a big white Cadillac pulled up behind it, a car exactly like the one that belonged to Scooter Cobb. Given his daddy’s already foul mood, Ethan felt sure this was gonna mean more trouble.

  Scooter Cobb climbed from the car; there was no mistaking him, he was a man the size of a standing grizzly. “Susanna!” he shouted, “Susanna, you in there?” He walked to the front of the house and began pounding a fist against the door.

  A low growl rumbled in Dog’s throat, but the boy quickly put his finger to his mouth and made a shushing sound. They silently worked their way from the edge of the tree line to a spot behind the wisteria. After several minutes, the porch light came on and Benjamin cracked open the door. “Susanna’s sick,” he said, sticking his nose through the narrow slit. “She ain’t coming to work.”

  “Sick?” Cobb repeated dubiously.

  “Yeah, sick!”

  Cobb slapped his huge paw against the door an
d pushed it open. “Funny,” he said, “she was feeling fine this afternoon.”

  “She ain’t now.”

  “Suppose you let her tell me that.”

  “She’s sleeping.”

  “How about I see for myself!” Scooter Cobb pushed Benjamin aside, left the front door hanging open and tromped into the house. He switched on the living room lamp then continued through to the bedroom like a man familiar with where he was headed. In the darkness, it first appeared Susanna was sleeping, but when Scooter went to her, he saw the pool of blood beneath her head. With him not being a terribly quick-witted man, it took the better part of a minute before he came to understand she was dead. Once he knew that the woman who brought his blood to a boil and caused the hair on his neck to rise up was lost to him forever, he let out such an agonizing cry that it rattled the walls and made the floors tremble. He turned back to the living room and grabbed hold of Benjamin’s shoulders, “What have you done?” he screamed, “What in God’s name have you done?”

  “Not me,” Benjamin stuttered as he was lifted from the floor. “It wasn’t my fault. She made me—”

  “You killed her, you stupid son of a bitch! You killed her!” Scooter shook Benjamin so violently that his head ping-ponged back and forth and a spurt of blood shot from his nose. Over and over again he moaned, “You killed her, you killed her.”

  Benjamin began crying and pleading like a man afraid for his life, “It wasn’t my fault,” he sobbed, “it was her…she was the one…always saying she was gonna leave…always talking about how she was going to New York…”

  Perhaps it was the mention of New York, perhaps it was knowing that Susanna was leaving to spend the rest of her life with him; there’s no telling what finally caused Scooter to snap—but he suddenly lifted Susanna’s husband into the air and hurled him through the plate glass window. Not even the sight of Benjamin lying on the front lawn, a spear of glass rammed through his shoulder and his face covered in blood, was enough to quell Scooter’s rage. He stormed outside like an angry bull and stomped on the man’s head, time and time and time again until the left side of Benjamin’s skull cracked open and his face was no longer recognizable. Scooter Cobb then got into his white Cadillac and drove off.