Her Mother’s Grave

Chapter Fifty-Four

JOSIE – FOURTEEN YEARS OLD

Her biggest mistake was letting herself enjoy life with Dex around. He’d been living with them for almost a year, and he was right: he wasn’t a pervert, and he didn’t want to be her father. They’d developed a strange kind of friendship restricted to the hours that Josie’s mother was out of the trailer. She watched ER with him, and he watched Ally McBeal with her. Lisette would have said Josie was too young to watch television shows with such adult themes, but Dex didn’t seem to think it was an issue. He drove her to school each day, picking up Ray along the way, and sometimes even picking them up at the end of the day as well. He took her for ice cream sundaes, swimming in the river during the summer, and sledding in the winter. Once during a snowstorm he’d driven into an empty parking lot and done donuts in the icy slush, provoking screams and giggles from Josie and somehow not crashing the car into any of the light poles.

If her mother noticed their rapport, she didn’t comment on it. As usual, Josie stayed out of her way, and Dex focused all of his attention on her when she was there. For a time, Josie thought they could go on forever that way. But it couldn’t last forever. That was the silly dream of a naïve fourteen-year-old.

The first signal came the day Josie sliced her hand open working on a science project. She had chosen to take and compare fingerprints and, after taking her own and Dex’s prints, had broken a glass while reaching for some kitchen roll.

A wedge of glass protruded from the meat of her palm. There was a lot of blood, but she didn’t even feel the pain until she heard Dex say, “Holy shit!” He sprang into action, wrapping her hand up in a dish towel and rushing her to the hospital. At the ER, they removed the glass, stitched her up, and sent her home, where her mother was waiting for them.

Josie could smell the booze on her before they were even through the door. She stood next to the bloody glass debris they had abandoned in the kitchen, hands on her hips, glaring at the two of them. Josie knew from the way her eyes narrowed that she was in deep shit now. But when her mother spoke, she was looking at Dex. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

From the corner of her eye, Josie glanced at him, seeing the confusion on his face. He smiled as though he wasn’t sure if this was some kind of joke. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What did you say?”

“Where were you?”

“I took JoJo to the hospital. She cut her hand pretty bad. She had to get stitches. I—”

“Did I give you permission to take my fourteen-year-old daughter to the hospital?” Her mother’s voice was hard and cold, sending a shudder up Josie’s spine.

Dex looked mystified. “Didn’t you hear what I said? She needed stitches. She was bleeding all over the place.”

“I didn’t hire you to be a babysitter, Dex,” her mother said. “You’re mine.”

He placed a hand on his chest. “I’m sorry, what?”

“JoJo takes care of herself. She doesn’t need your help with anything. You’re here for me.”

“She’s a kid,” Dex argued.

“Yes, she’s my kid. Not yours. You stay away from her and stay out of our business, you got that? I don’t care if her goddamn hand is hanging off. And what the hell is all this?” she waved toward the makeshift fingerprint kit that Josie had left on the coffee table.

“I was helping her with a science project,” Dex said. “But let me guess, you don’t want me doing that either?”

A smile curved her mother’s lips. “Now you’re catching on.”

Dex took a step toward her. “Let me ask you, Belinda, when’s the last time you helped your kid with her science project? Or helped her with her homework, or—”

“Dex,” Josie said, “don’t.”

The smile dropped from her mother’s face, replaced by a look of pure rage. She looked from Josie to Dex and back again. Then, in a mocking tone, she mimicked Josie: “Dex, don’t.”

“Belinda,” Dex said.

“I see what’s going on here. You thought that JoJo was part of the deal. And you—” she turned her wrath toward Josie, “you’re just a little whore after all, aren’t you?”

“Hey!” Dex shouted. He moved in front of Josie and pointed a finger at her mother’s chest. “Watch it.”

Her mother looked him up and down as though he was beneath her. “Oh? What if I don’t?”

He sniffed the air, moving his face closer to hers. “You’re drunk,” he said.

“So? That doesn’t make what you’re doing right.”

“I’m not doing anything, and neither is JoJo. She’s a kid, Belinda.”

“And so are you. Get the hell out of my house.”

With that, she sauntered off to her bedroom at the back of the trailer. Josie let out the breath she’d been holding. The center of her palm was on fire. Dex stared at her for a long moment. “You okay?” he asked.

Josie nodded.

She assumed he would leave. They always did. But she was wrong. Instead, he followed her mother down the hallway, kicking open her door with a loud bang and slamming it closed behind him. Josie stood rooted to the spot, listening as the shouting turned to gasping, and the familiar sound of her mother’s bed springs creaking filled the small trailer—faster, louder, and longer than Josie had ever heard before. She fled to Ray’s house, staying until well after midnight, but when she came home, she could still hear them.