Her Mother’s Grave

Chapter Twenty-Eight

JOSIE – EIGHT YEARS OLD

Josie pounded her fists against the closet door. “Mommy, please!” she cried. “I have to finish my homework.”

There was the sound of something sliding across the living room carpet, then a bang against the closet door. Josie jumped back. The shard of light at the bottom of the door disappeared. Her breath froze in her lungs. The last few times she’d locked Josie in the closet, her mother had pushed one of the living room chairs up against the door so Josie couldn’t get out.

Josie put her hand in front of her face, but she couldn’t see it. Her heart pounded so hard, the sound seemed to fill up the tiny dark space. She sank to the floor, curling into a ball and trying desperately to think of things that made her feel happy, like visiting Gram and going to school. The thought of school made tears sting her eyes; her teacher was going to be disappointed in her when her homework wasn’t finished. It was so unfair. She hadn’t even done anything wrong. She’d come home from school and started her homework, then her mother had stormed in like a tornado, tossing Josie into the closet like an old coat.

When Josie heard the muffled voice of a man, she suddenly understood why. One of her mother’s special friends was there. Josie always had to go into the closet when they came. Sweet-smelling smoke wafted under the door and made her dizzy. The man’s voice was loud and angry. “I told you to have my fucking money, Belinda,” he said. “Where’s my money?”

It wasn’t Needle. Josie had heard this man’s voice before, but she had never seen his face.

Her mother said, “Relax. I told you, I’m good for it.”

“No, you’re not. If you were good for it, you would have it and I wouldn’t have to wait. What do you think this is? I don’t give shit away for free. What do you have? What can you give me right now?”

There was the sound of rustling, drawers being pulled out, things being knocked over. Then her mother said, “All I got is seven dollars.”

A louder sound came; a heavy crash. Josie heard her mother cry out. When she next spoke, her voice sounded all squeezed and strange. “Come… on… let go… we’ll work something out, I promise.”

“Oh yeah? Like what? I want payment now, and I’m going to get it one way or another.”

“You know what—I don’t have money, but there are other things I can do to pay you back.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“I have a girl. You can take her in the back. Do whatever you want.”

“What do you mean, a girl?”

“What do you think I mean? A kid. You can have her. I’ll talk to her. She’ll do whatever you want.”

“How old?”

Her mother didn’t answer.

“Wait a minute,” the man said. “You mean that little kid? The one with dark hair just like you?”

“I only got one kid,” said her mother.

There was a long, silent moment. Josie knew they were talking about her, but she didn’t understand what they were saying.

When the man spoke next, his voice was filled with disgust. For a moment, he reminded Josie of the way her daddy talked to her mother near the end, before he went away to heaven. “Are you kidding me? You’re kidding, right? You think I’m some kind of pervert?”

“No, no. I didn’t say that.”

“I don’t mess with little kids. That’s disgusting. You’re fucked up, you know that? Give me my shit back.”

Josie heard crashing sounds, grunts, gasps, and then her mother, breathless, begging, “No, please. I can pay you. Just wait.” There was more rustling, the sound of a zipper being pulled down, and then the man took in a sharp breath. Josie’s mother said, “I can take care of the payment myself.”