Her Mother’s Grave

Chapter Ten

JOSIE – SIX YEARS OLD

The trailer only seemed too small when her mother was angry. When she got really worked up, her fury filled the whole place like thick clouds of steam from a hot shower. Her rages were inescapable, even when Josie hid beneath the kitchen table and watched her feet stalk back and forth, back and forth. It was never good when she started pacing.

“I don’t know who he thinks he is,” her mother growled, spittle flying from her mouth. The refrigerator door opened and slammed closed, and Josie heard the snap of a beer can opening. She clutched her threadbare Wolfie to her chest, shrinking back as far as she could, out of reach from her mother’s hands, which she knew would thrust under the table and drag her out eventually.

But they didn’t come. Josie’s eyelids grew so heavy she could barely keep them open. She stifled a yawn and tried to ignore the cold that seeped from the tiles into her nightgown. It was late. She knew because it was dark outside.

“That bastard,” she heard her mother mutter, her feet suddenly moving again across the kitchen.

Josie tried to tune out the sound, listening hard for the sound of her daddy’s truck outside. She wished he would come home. Next, she heard the sound of kitchen drawers being torn from their homes and silverware clattering to the floor. Then her mother’s voice again, thick and slurred this time, talking though no one else was there. “You’re not going to get away with this. Goddamn you. I’ll destroy everything you love. Everything.”

Then suddenly—terrifyingly—her mother’s face appeared in the tiny space beneath the table. She smiled at Josie, and Josie got that sick feeling in her stomach she always got when her mother did bad things. She reached out a hand to Josie.

“You come here now, girl.”