“Don’t go out on me, or I might eat all these cookies.”
She looked down at the plate, amazed to see he must have eaten half the plate already. She laughed. “I guess you like them.”
He grinned, covered the plate and said, “I don’t usually eat this way. These are delicious. You must have studied culinary in college.”
Her smile dropped, and she shook her head. “No. I didn’t go to college.” A sad expression crossed her face. She pushed it away, making an effort to regain the smile. “I got married instead. The cooking is self-taught.”
“Bravo,” he said. “I’d love it if you would cook for me sometime, perhaps dinner?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t. I’m sorry. Peter definitely wouldn’t allow that.”
She stood and grabbed her purse, slinging the strap over her shoulder. She looked down, played with the strap of her purse. “I have to go now,” she said. “Peter will be home soon.” She turned to walk away.
He stood, grabbing hold of her arm and turning her back around. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was forward of me. I understand that you’re married.” An awkward silence had followed before he said, “Okay. Thanks again for the cookies.”
He walked her back to the nurses’ station. “Can you find your way out from here?”
She nodded and extended her hand. “Thanks for the coffee.”
He watched her walk away. One of the nurses, Wanda, tapped him on the shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing, Doctor?”
He shrugged and said, “I’m hoping to save a life.” He began to whistle and strode off toward the emergency room.
Chapter Six
Millie Watson dabbed at the cut on Lacy’s face. Lacy flinched. “You would think I’d be used to them by now.”
Millie frowned at her, stepping back to look at her, face-to-face. “No one should have to get used to them.”
“Don’t start, Millie.”
Millie mimicked her, waving her shoulders and scrunching up her face. “Don’t start, Millie.”
Lacy laughed at the ridiculous expression on Millie’s face. Millie soon joined her.
Without warning, Lacy grew serious. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Millie stopped dabbing and considered the question. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t say I disbelieve in them. Why do you ask? Is some ghost lover visiting you in the middle of the night?”
They both laughed again, and then a horrible thought struck Millie. She narrowed her eyes at Lacy. “Lacy,” she said. “Your dad doesn’t…you know...” She winced, “…come and visit you in the middle of the night, does he?”
Lacy smacked Millie’s hand away. “Oh, God, no!” she screamed.
Millie breathed in relief.
Lacy closed her eyes as a mental image flooded her mind—her mother, pinned down on the bed, making noises Lacy was sure normal people didn’t make when making love. Loud slapping sounds and the whimpers of her mother’s cries always followed the noises. She wondered what would happen if her mother refused him. Would he come to her bed, instead? “My mom would never let that happen.”
Jenny Pearson and her gang of girls chose that moment to burst in on them. Jenny walked toward them, swinging her hips in an exaggerated style, coming to stop beside Millie, who was putting away her makeup. She stood in front of Lacy, so close Lacy could see her artificially enhanced breasts pushing up and out of her low-cut top. If she had a pin, she would reach out and pop them.
“Oh, look,” Jenny said. “What do we have here, girls. Miss punching bag and her road manager.” Jenny laughed, and the girls all joined in.
Jenny cupped Lacy’s chin, shaking her head back and forth. She spoke to her in a baby tone. “Oh, whatsa matter, wittle Lacy? Did big, bad daddy wail on you again?”
Lacy pulled her head from Jenny’s hand, reached out to slap her, but pulled her hand back at the last minute. She would not resort to violence. Of course, this made the girls laugh harder.
Jenny rolled her eyes “Looks like Daddy has succeeded in making a chicken shit out of you.”
Millie stepped between them. “Did you have a purpose for coming in here, or did you just come to wipe the bird shit off your face?”
“What!” Jenny exclaimed, running to the mirror, to check it out.
Millie grabbed Lacy’s hand, pulled her off the counter and ran out the door, pulling Lacy behind her. “In here,” she shouted as she pushed open the door to the boys’ bathroom.
They both ran into the handicapped stall, also known as Mary Jane Lane in their school. Lacy gasped for breath. “You do realize we are in the smokers’ closet—in the boys’ bathroom, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do,” Millie said. “Jenny wouldn’t dare come in here. She might catch boy cooties or something.” They both howled with laughter and clamped their hands over their mouths to stifle the laughter.
“Hey, who’s there?” a voice called.
They heard a toilet flush at the same time a nauseating odor assaulted them. They ran out of the stall and collided with Roger Thorn. Millie and he bumped heads. “Ouch,” she cried. “What are you doing? What is that awful smell?”
He looked toward the stall. “What do you think it is? Are you that stupid? Besides, I’m not the one who has some explaining to do.” He smirked at her. “I do believe the sign on the door reads BOYS.”
They heard heavy footsteps in the hallway outside the door. A muffled, yet distinguishable voice said, “They went in there.”
Anger crept into Millie’s face. “Jenny,” she spat.
Lacy began to panic, bouncing slightly. “I can’t get caught in here.” She pleaded with her eyes as mist formed in their corners. She pointed to her face. “If you think these cuts look bad, wait until you see what’ll happen if I get suspended for being in the boys’ bathroom.”
In an instant, Roger grabbed Lacy by the shoulders, shoved her back into a corner, and wedged her behind the trashcan. Then he grabbed Millie toward him, smashing her lips against his. The door exploded open, and Mrs. Bart stood there, looking at the couple engaged in a lip-lock. “What is going on in here?” she demanded.
Roger and Millie pulled apart. An amused grin played at the corners of his mouth. He whispered in her ear, “I never knew you were such a good kisser.”
She grinned back. “You should have asked.”
Mrs. Bart cocked a finger at them. “Come on, you two,” she added, “Millie Watson, I’m surprised at you. I’ve seen you do some pretty careless things before, but I never thought I’d catch you fornicating in the bathroom.”
As the door was closing, Lacy heard Millie gasp and exclaim, “I was not fornicating!”
The door opened again, and Lacy heard Jenny protesting. “They were both in there, Mrs. Bart.”
“Jennifer Pearson, you get to class right now and let me worry about this.”
The door closed again, and Lacy heard, “But, Mrs. Bart….” Then silence fell as the group wandered away.
Lacy waited for what seemed like ages for the door to open again—but it didn’t. She eased out from behind the trashcan, stole over to the door and opened it slightly. She stuck out her head, looking for signs of loiterers.
“That was fun.”
She jumped, clutched her chest, and gasped. She looked beside her and straight into the eyes of Jake. “What are you doing here, Jake?”
He smiled and said, “The game looked like fun, so I thought I’d join you. The coast is clear, by the way.”
“What?”
He gestured toward the hallway. “You can leave now. Everyone is tucked away in their classrooms learning their ABCs. Well…except for Millie and Roger. I don’t think they’re going to be around much for a while. That teacher sure looked angry. Are we going back under the bleachers?”
She started to walk down the hall. “No, and she wasn’t a teacher. She’s the vice-principal.”
He shrugged and fell into step beside her. “I don’t see the difference.”
She stopped walking, gaped at him and then picked up the pace. She shook her head. “You’re an odd one, Jake.”
“If we aren’t going under the bleachers, then where are we going?”
“I’m going to my class, and you’re going to your class.” She eyed him suspiciously. “You do have a class, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“Good—then go to it.” She paused, her hand resting lightly on the door to the chemistry lab. “Goodbye, Jake.”
He began to walk away, whistling a tune. He turned and waved. “See ya after school,” he said.
She waved and smiled, amazed to find herself looking forward to it.
She pulled open the door, pleased to discover the students were in the middle of an experiment and didn’t notice her enter. Mrs. Horton did, however, and looked at her. She cocked her head slightly to the left and motioned her over. “Where have you been? And where is Millie?”
Lacy shook her head. “I don’t know where Millie is.” She bit her lower lip and begged a thousand pardons from God for lying. She leaned in and whispered to Mrs. Horton, “I started my period and had to wait for someone to bring me a tampon.”
Mrs. Horton shook her head. “That’s the same excuse you used last time, Lacy.”
Lacy shrugged. “I can’t help it if I’m irregular.”
Mrs. Horton sighed. “Take your seat. You’ll have to do the experiment on your own since your lab partner seems to be missing.”
Lacy took her seat and stared dumbly around. She hadn’t a clue what they were even doing. Tony leaned over. “We’re studying hot and cold reactions using baking soda, lye, vinegar, zinc, and hydrochloric acid.”
“We did that at the beginning of the year.”
Tony pointed across the room. “Yeah, I know, but brilliant-brain Billy over there almost blew up the lab, so now we have to review.”
Lacy rolled her eyes and sighed. “Well, at least it’s easy since I don’t have a partner.”
At that moment, there came a loud bang from the corner of the room. They all turned to look and saw Billy covered with black soot. The kids all laughed while Mrs. Horton groaned. “Perhaps chemistry isn’t for you, Billy,” she said. “Everyone, please exit quietly.”
They filed out, meeting in the parking lot, just as they had learned to do in grade school—all except Billy, of course, who spent another afternoon in the chemical wash station.
“I hear Billy’s doing a bang-up job in chemistry.” Lacy looked to her right, not even surprised to see Jake.
She laughed. “I thought you went to class.”
He shook his head. “You assumed I went to class. I never actually said I was going.”
Mrs. Horton blew the whistle, signaling everyone it was clear to return to the classroom.
“I’ll catch you later,” Jake said.
“Okay.”
Mrs. Horton walked up to Lacy. “Who were you talking to, Lacy?”
Lacy looked puzzled. “My friend, Jake,” she said.
“There’s no one there, Lacy.”
Lacy looked beside her. She shrugged. “I guess he went to his class.”
Mrs. Horton eyed her warily. Lacy didn’t blame her. Even she was getting a strange feeling about her new friend.
Chapter Seven
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.
Lacy's End Page 6