Her Mother’s Grave

Chapter Twenty-Six

JOSIE – SEVEN YEARS OLD

Josie’s stomach clenched and burned. She didn’t remember ever being so hungry. Her mother hadn’t come out of her room in days. Inside the fort of sheets she had made in her bedroom, her belly groaned and felt like it was trying to fold in on itself. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands together, whispering, “Dear God in heaven, please bring my daddy back, and Wolfie too, and let me see Gram again, and also please bring more food for me and my mommy.”

As she said the words, she heard voices outside her door. Her mother and a man; it must be Needle. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she heard them walk past her door, and then heard her mother’s bedroom door close.

Then she smelled it. Pizza. It was unmistakable, and her favorite. The smell of it filled her mouth with saliva. As quietly as she could, she opened her door and snuck into the hallway. Her feet were light and soundless on the worn carpet that led from the hall into the living room, ending at the kitchen tile.

The big white box sat on the kitchen table, smells of deliciousness seeping from its creases. Josie’s stomach made a noise so loud, she was sure her mother and Needle heard it. But no sound came from the back of the trailer. She climbed onto a kitchen chair and opened the box. Glancing back to make sure they were still in the bedroom, she picked up a slice that seemed bigger than her head and started eating. She ate until she felt sick and woozy but fuller than she had felt in weeks.

She was on her third slice when a hand came down hard on the back of her head, knocking her from the chair she squatted on.

“Jesus, Belinda,” Needle said as her mother grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the kitchen.

“Did I say you could eat that pizza?”

Josie said nothing. Her throat felt like it was full of concrete. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, and she concentrated as hard as she could on not letting them fall.

“Belinda,” Needle said. “Come on.”

“You shut up,” she told him.

The closet door opened in front of Josie, coats hanging from a bar above a dusty, brown bit of carpet. It smelled like cigarette smoke and stale air. Josie screamed, “No! Mommy, no!”

Josie’s mother pushed her inside. “Shut up.”

The carpet was scratchy against Josie’s cheek. “Mommy, you said,” Josie choked out, unable to stop the tears now, “you said if I didn’t tell, I wouldn’t have to go in the closet. Mommy!”

Needle said, “Jesus, Belinda. She’s a kid.”

Her mother pointed a finger at Needle. “You stay out of it.”

“Mommy, please!” Josie cried.

Then the door slammed shut, and the darkness closed in all around her.