Pausing by the cross at the back of the sanctuary, her gaze flitted from
left to right until she was certain nobody was watching. Polly bowed her
head and closed her eyes, shifting her doll under her arm as she folded
her hands, her lips forming the words silently, the same words she’d
prayed every day for three months.
“
Please God. It's almost Christmas. I want my parents to be together.”
A lone tear trickled down her cheek, making a ragged along the dirt-stained
skin.
*****
Polly’s shoulders drooped as she sank down on the cold concrete.
Her left arm trailed along the lowest railing, her cheek pressed against
her wrist as she sat, legs dangling over the side of the steps, her other
hand clutching the tattered doll she’d gotten for her birthday not
four months before. Already the toy’s face was faded, the beige-pink
fabric streaked with water stains and grime.
Her dark black eyes stared vacuously, past the church parking lot where
the women still lingered, nattering away, while husbands revved engines
and glanced at their watches between glares at their wives.
Polly’s grip on the doll loosened, until it dropped onto the top
step beside her.
The little girl stared off, past the usual Sunday morning church parking
lot hubbub, past the straggly black limbs clawing the sky, towards the
cemetery where row upon row of stone marked those who had “been
called home”. Some were the old stones, the etched markings of letters
and dates blurring into the crumbling façade. There were some new
headstones as well, for those that still opted for sanctified ground.
Ones that were mourned in their passing.
*****
“Poor thing,” Ethel Beasley murmured with a cluck-cluck sound as
she shook her head soberly, her eyes widening as she leaned in close to Marlene
Ford’s ear. “It must be so hard on the little dear. She must miss
her mother terribly.”
“
Every child wants to have both parents at home.” Marlene sighed. “Too
young to understand.”
Ethel frowned. “What’s to understand? Her hair, all straggly like
that, unkempt . I’m surprised the courts would leave her with her father,
after all that’s been said.”
“
She’s hardly more than skin and bones now.”
“
Not that she was ever a particularly happy child. There’s always been something
about the look in her eye.”
“Now that you mention it, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that
girl smile.” Marlene’s eyes gleamed. “You know in Sunday school,
they had the children write down what they wanted for Christmas. She said she
wanted her parents to be together.”
“
Now that would take a Christmas miracle. You know, her mother always was a wild
one. I’m sure I told you about the time she ran off…” Ethel
stopped suddenly and sucked air between her front teeth, turned on her heel and
trotted off toward her car.
Marlene turned to see Polly’s hollow dark eyes fixed on her with such force,
she felt as if the child could see right through her.
*****
“
Polly. Let’s go.”
Her father’s voice was low but there was still an edge to the words, a
no-nonsense tone that told her he would not be kept waiting. Still, she looked
up at him for a moment, clutching the railing with her hand as her chin quivered.
“Now, Polly. And pick that doll up off the step. You know what will make
someone trip and fall and break their neck?”
She did, but she didn’t dare say.
“
Is that thing ripped already? Dammit.” He scowled as she pulled her feet
up and positioned them on the pavement, about to stand as he reached down and
grabbed her wrist, yanking her up as she reached out to grab the doll with her
other hand. Polly yelped, a brief almost noiseless yelp, inaudible to anyone
more than a few yards away.
But not so quiet that her father didn’t hear. His eyes narrowed as he tugged
on her arm, her short legs racing to keep up with his long strides so that he
wouldn’t drag her across the pavement.
“
You know what can happen when you leave things lying on the stairs, Polly.”
As soon as she was in the back seat of the car he slammed the door, not waiting
to check that she was buckled in. Polly reached up over her shoulder and tugged
on the seatbelt. It slipped from her trembling fingers at first, but she finally
managed to drag it down, fumbling with the clasp while her father walked around
to the driver’s door and got into the car.
Her shoulders shook violently as her mouth opened, imitating the form of sobs,
tears streaming down her sunken cheeks, but no sound escaped her mouth. She shuddered,
her body convulsing with the soundless sobs as the engine sputtered. Her father
cursed, the ignition caught, and he backed the car out of the parking lot.
*****
She walked as softly as she could, careful to place each foot in front of the
other soundlessly on the floor. Her father was still in the living room, where
he’d been since they got home from church. The first thing he’d done
was pull off his tie, undo a few buttons on his shirt and push the sleeves up.
Then he sat down on his chair and told Polly to get him one his drinks.
Polly knew only three things about his drinks, but they were three of the most
important things she knew. The first thing was that she was never, ever, ever
to take a sip of his drinks. The second thing she knew was that his drinks were
almost magical, but not a good kind of magic. When he drank he changed. All of
the mean points got meaner and the nice things about her father disappeared.
And the last thing she knew was that when her father had a lot of drinks, it
would be a very long night.
There had been a lot of long nights since her mother had gone. Because her mother
had gone. Because he was protecting her, he said. From what she did to her mom.
So that nobody would know and blame her.
Polly had just finished in the bathroom when she started walking towards the
kitchen, careful to prop her doll up under her arm so that the rip was upwards,
so that none of the insides would spill out.
“
Hey!”
She froze mid-step, waiting for him to speak.
“
Wudza git me assuther un.”
He waved the empty bottle in the air and she nodded, creeping towards the kitchen.
When she set the doll on the counter, some of the contents spilled out. Polly
ignored that, went to the fridge and got the bottle. She’d had enough practice
that it only took a few minutes of fumbling with the opener to get the cap off.
Then she dealt with the bits from the doll that had spilled onto the counter.
From the other room she could hear his slurred words, hear him calling to her.
Polly hurried with the bottle and then stopped herself, walking slowly, slowly,
ever so slowly, so that she wouldn’t spill a drop.
She crossed the room and he grabbed the bottle from her hands and tilted it back,
taking a swig. Polly turned and went back to the kitchen to get her doll.
*****
As she started up the stairs he lifted his bottle and hand in her general direction. “I’lls
be up soon en tuckya in luvs.”
She swallowed and nodded, climbing the stairs one by one, stumbling as she stretched
her leg over the bad, broken step. He was drinking this one fast, so she knew
she didn’t have much time to get ready.
But she was prepared. Her nightie was set out so it took only a moment to slide
out of her dress and into the cotton gown. She moved quickly, quicker than usual,
and when everything was done she returned to her room and sat on the edge of
the bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she rocked back and forth,
back and forth. Listening. Waiting. Hoping it would work. Praying.
Then she heard the sound of something clunking against the floor, thick glass
rolling on the lino followed by the sound of movement. She’d been downstairs
enough times before to have a good idea of what was happening, the initial thuds
followed by a low curse and then more thuds as he staggered back up to his feet
and started towards the stairs. Each step was unpredictable, the footfalls coming
at irregular intervals, but coming closer, the sound increasing slightly in volume
as he made his way up to the top of the landing.
She heard the uttered, “whah” from almost right outside her room,
followed by tremble of her bedroom wall as his fist struck it, then the clunk
clunk tu-du-du-du-du. There was a loud crash, the sound of glass shattering,
and then silence.
*****
Tick tick tick tick tick…
Polly watched the clock for twenty minutes and then let go of her knees, her
legs sliding down the side of the bed, her bare feet softly landing on the floor.
She held her breath as she crept to the door, turning the knob a millimeter at
a time until the latch clicked and she could tug it open slowly.
Pressing her face up against the tiny crack, she looked into the darkness of
the landing, seeing nothing but the usual shadows from the partially closed doors
to her parent’s room and the bathroom. When there was still no sound, she
took a gulp of air and opened her door enough to poke her head out into the hallway.
There was no movement, no sound. She risked a step out and looked down the stairs.
Enough moonlight shone in through the windows for her to see his face was grey,
as still as the stones in the churchyard. He lay on his back, arms sticking out
from his sides, one leg pushed back underneath his body, the other lingering
on the stairs, his mouth open ever so slightly, a trickle of something dark forming
a jagged line from his lips.
Polly bent down, picked her doll up off the step, the one above the broken one
they had to skip, and scampered back up the stairs, slammed the bedroom door
shut and turned the lock.
She sank down to her knees beside her bed, like she had done every night of her
life, and folded her hands. Thinking back to a night not so long ago, when the
scuffling sounds had been furniture and bodies downstairs.
“
You’ve had enough,” her mother had screamed. “Y’aren’t
supposed to take ‘em with the booze.”
“
One ain’t gonna kill me.”
“
They say no alcohol.”
“
Dammit wimmin you ain’t bossa me. Givez me de fuzzin’ drink. Now.”
There’d been more scuffled, then the sound of fast footsteps, running up
the stairs. Followed by something falling at the top and then a sharp cry, followed
by a long silence.
The blame. No, it wasn’t his fault for the broken stair they all stumbled
on, but hers, for the toy left lying in the way.
The games. Her way of showing daddy she was sorry. And so that nobody would ever
know it was her fault Mommy went away.
*****
Polly didn’t know how many pills it would take. She’d been stashing
them in the doll until she counted up twelve and tonight she mixed them in with
his drinks. But she wasn’t prepared to chance it. She’d left the
doll on the step to make sure it happened again. Not what everyone thought had
happened, but what had really happened.
Her boney knees pressed against the cold, hard floor, Polly folded her hands
and closed her eyes.
No more, she thought. No more Daddy games.
“
Thank you God. For getting my parents together again,” she said, her lips
curling up into a smile.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sandra Ruttan has just signed a deal for the release of her first
novel, Suspicious Circumstances, in November 2006. A regular contributor to Spinetingler Magazine,
her work can also be found in the May/June and July/August issues
of Crimespree Magazine. For more information
about Sandra visit her website at www.sandraruttan.com
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