by Hill, Brenda
“Unfortunately, you could be right. His behavior is escalating if he’s threatening a child’s life. Yet in some case studies, we found a percentage of subjects who, underneath all the bravado, have never grown emotionally beyond a child desperate for love.”
“Doctor, I don’t give a damn what he’s like underneath. I’m dealing with his behavior now. I have to find him before he gets to her and that baby.”
“I sincerely hope you do.”
“Don’t you have a grand theory I can use?”
“Of course.”
He waited. “Well?”
“If you’ll pardon my vernacular, catch the bastard.”
***
The next day Ritchie woke fussy from his nap, first squirming from Tracy’s arms to get to the floor, then wanting her to hold him. She took him into the back yard, but even that didn’t help. She checked him over and there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with him physically. She supposed he could feel her tension and she wondered what she could do to help him feel more secure.
She wished he had some playmates, but right now there were no other children around his age at the safe house. He needed the company of other children. All right, then. She would take him to the park. After all, Karr had no way of knowing where she was now. She had to remember that. After awhile, when he had given up or gone away, she would go back to her apartment. But for now, she couldn’t behave as though Ritchie and she were prisoners.
After a snack of orange wedges, she held both his hands and stood him on her lap.
“Well, partner, let’s go do something fun. Let’s take a look at the park.”
“Good idea,” Amy said. “Want me to go with you?”
“That would be great, thanks. Give me a moment to grab the wig.”
With shade from tall pine trees crowded together and the dotting of mature willows and cottonwoods, the park offered a cool sanctuary against the summer sun. The women passed under the canopy of pine branches, their shoes making a crunching sound as they walked through the dropped needles.
“Ummm,” Tracy inhaled deeply, “smell the fresh pine.”
Ritchie made a big production of sniffing. Everyone laughed as they made their way to a small pond.
Ducks and geese waddled around the water begging for food. Ritchie was fascinated, laughing and waving his arms, trying to talk to them. Children of all ages played on the grounds, some at the swings and slides in the playground area next to the parking lot, while others ran around the pond, feeding the ducks and geese.
They found a bench close to the pond and Tracy gratefully sat down.
“I’ll take Ritchie over to the sandbox,” Amy said. “Why don’t you relax a while.”
Shading her eyes with her hand, Tracy watched Amy put Ritchie down with some other children at the sandbox. He gurgled, cooed, and happily played with them, and she vowed to bring him here every day.
She heard loud, angry voices from the grassy softball field. A group of boys, about thirteen or fourteen years old, were picking on a smaller one who was thin and wore glasses. He looked much younger, around nine or ten.
Tracy listened. From what she could observe, the younger one wanted to join their game of softball, and the older boys wouldn’t let him. They ran him off, calling him, ‘four eyes,’ and ‘shrimp’. When they quit chasing him, he slowed to a walk and circled around to head back toward the field. He dropped under a pine tree and watched them. Tracy could see the yearning on his face.
She observed his thick glasses, the cowlick sticking up in the back of his head, the way he didn’t take his eyes off the other boys. Something about him touched her. She wished she could help, but didn’t want to embarrass him by letting him know she’d watched. She checked her watch and thought she might return at the same time tomorrow.
The next afternoon, blonde wig anchored in place, Tracy got Ritchie ready for the park. Amy was busy in the kitchen and the other women were occupied. Tracy hesitated. Okay, this was it. Was she going to deny Ritchie the experience of playing with other children because she was a coward? If she made excuses and stayed home today, when would she venture out by herself, another day, a week, a month? Was she going to let Karr win?
She picked Ritchie up and passed through the back gate. Maybe she walked a little slowly, maybe she hesitated too long before crossing the street, but when she stepped on the familiar pine needles at the park she felt proud of herself.
She strapped Ritchie in the kiddie swings and pushed him awhile, then took him to the slide. He wore her out wanting to go again and again, and finally, she took him over to the sandbox. Thank God, she thought, sitting down at the bench.
The group of boys from yesterday strolled into the park, the smaller one trailing behind. His arms were so loaded with mitts, balls and bats, Tracy wondered how he could see where he was going.
When they entered the field, they formed a tight circle, leaving the smaller boy out. He dumped the equipment in the dirt and watched them. The circle broke and the boys took their places, ignoring him.
When he asked if he could play, the pitcher, an older boy, laughed at him. “Now go on,” Tracy heard him say, “get outta here!”
Watching the small boy slink away, Tracy wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t move. He ambled over to the pine trees. Tracy thought he was going to watch quietly, but he stopped and walked back to the pitcher. Tracy couldn’t hear what was being said, but soon, the older boy pushed him and kept pushing until the kid fell down. He skinned his knee and started crying.
“Ah, the little bitty baby fell down and hurt himself,” another boy taunted. The others jeered and laughed.
Don’t let them do this to you, Tracy silently urged. Fight back. Quit your crying and belt him. He’s just a big bully, throwing his weight around because you take it.
Suddenly, she had a vivid image of Karr standing over her, taunting her just like the tableau in front of her now. My God, she and that little boy were just alike. She was running from a bully, too.
She glanced at Ritchie. He was playing quietly in the sandbox, so she walked to the boy. The other boys watched, and when she didn’t give them her attention, they went back to their positions. The smaller boy was still on the ground, his bloody knee drawn up.
“I see you hurt yourself,” Tracy said. “Are you all right?”
Sniffing, he rubbed his nose on his sleeve. He mumbled something and she helped him get up.
“You’d better go home and have your mother clean that for you,” she told him. “I know it won’t help much, but I know exactly how you feel.”
Watching him go, Tracy wished she could give him some magic potion, like Popeye’s spinach, to suddenly get brave enough to fight back. That would stop them from picking on him.
Something like that might help her too.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Suzy stopped by after dinner. She wore a plain, royal blue blouse and pants. Even her hair was back to its original white.
“Sorry I haven’t been able to get here before,” she told Tracy, “but everything’s been so crazy. Must be a full moon or something.”
“The full moon must have affected you in a different way,” Tracy said with a smile. “You sure look different.”
“It’s a bad one. An eight-year-old girl was assaulted and I didn’t want to appear frivolous.”
“I’m so sorry.” Tracy instantly sobered. The assault on her had affected her life in such a way she didn’t know if she would ever be the same, but for a child, especially one that young, it had to be an unimaginable experience. She wished she could help, but she knew Suzy would do everything possible. They discussed the tragedy without Suzy revealing confidential details. The other women were in the yard, enjoying the cool evening and they were alone.
Suzy took a sip of her tea. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess. I finally took Ritchie to the park,” Tracy told her. “By myself. But most of time I’m just my normal cowardly self.”
/> “Honey, you’re certainly not a coward.”
“That’s not true, Suzy. I wish it were.” Tracy told her about the boys at the park. “I felt so sorry for the little one. But it’s funny. I kept wanting him to get up and belt that kid.”
“He’d probably be better off if he did.”
“But for me to think that. Me, the great spineless coward, can’t even fight my own battles.”
“I don’t think you’re spineless,” Suzy said. “Actually, I think you’re very strong. But it’s your opinion of yourself that really matters. Suppose you tell me why you think you’re a coward.”
“How can I tell you that when I don’t even know why myself?”
“Try.”
“For starters, I always backed down in situations, as long as I can remember.”
“What kind of situations?” Suzy asked.
“Oh, times I back down even when I feel I’m right. I get so mad at myself, but I keep doing it over and over. And now, it’s even worse. I’m afraid of everything.”
“Something dreadful happened to you. You’ll get past it.” Suzy paused. “Tell me more about yourself and how you back down.”
Once Tracy started talking, it seemed as though she couldn’t stop. She told Suzy about her reaction to Karr, then about the visit from Sergeant Sanders and Officer Cooper.
“When she talked to me,” Tracy said, “all but accused me of something, the only thing I did was cry. Inside, I was screaming at her, but I couldn’t make myself say anything. What kind of person am I, what kind of mother am I going to be if I cower inside anytime someone confronts me about something?”
Suzy studied her. “Tell me about your childhood, your relationship with your parents.”
“And while I’m at it, recite the entire encyclopedia!”
“You must be feeling better. But I still want you to tell me.”
“I don’t know if I can do that. It’s never been easy for me to talk about things.”
“Didn’t you ever have a best friend to confide in? Someone to giggle with while you were growing up?”
“Not really,” Tracy said softly, “I never fit in with the other girls.”
“Why not?”
Tracy sighed. “My life was different, I guess you’d say.” Suzy was silently waiting, encouraging, so Tracy began to tell her about Jim. And her bride doll.
“Honey,” Suzy’s voice brought Tracy back to the present, “I’m so sorry.”
Tracy blinked. Her eyes and cheeks were wet. Wiping her face, she looked at Suzy. “I’m sorry, it was just a doll, and it all happened so long ago. But I can’t seem to forget.”
“Of course not, and you shouldn’t have to. Don’t ever be ashamed of your emotions. Even though you were a child, you suffered a loss of something very precious to you. You had lost your father and the doll was your last physical link with him.” Suzy paused. “Tell me about Jim. Your relationship with him and what comes to mind when you remember him.” Suzy prompted.
“So many things. The way I felt when he was around. The way we lived. Looking back, I know Mom and I didn’t have much, but after she married Jim, well, it was awful.”
Tracy never told anyone about Jim’s drinking, and how they kept moving, each apartment worse than the one before. Now, with every word, it seemed as though a burden was slipping off her shoulders, a burden she had not even realized she was carrying.
“One place had three rooms,” she told Suzy, “each one directly behind the other. Shotgun cottages, they called them, because you could fire a gun in the living room and the bullet would go straight through each room until it hit the one in back, usually a bedroom. I slept on the couch.
“The apartment was old and it smelled bad, no matter how many times Mom and I scrubbed it. I remember one night, I suddenly woke up. It was dark and I was scared, but didn’t know why. Then I heard it again, Mom, screaming. God, it was awful. I ran into the bedroom and in the dim light from the window, I saw Mom batting her arms around. ‘Get them off me!’ she screamed. ‘GET THEM OFF!!’ It was roaches. When I switched on the lights, I saw them. They scattered from the headboard, even from under the pillows.” Tracy’s voice trailed off and she slumped in her chair.
“God, honey,” Suzy got up and hugged her. Tracy sat unresponsive, lost in the feelings of the past. After a few moments, Suzy asked, “How did your mother react to all the changes after her marriage?”
“Mom didn’t say much,” Tracy went on. “She cried a lot and couldn’t eat. She made herself sick.”
“And you?”
“I didn’t cry. I didn’t do much of anything. I read a lot and I watched movies. No matter what was happening in front of me, another part of me could escape to this other world. For a short time, I felt safe.”
Suzy wrapped her arms around Tracy and sat silently, holding her. “Oh, honey,” she finally said, “I’m so sorry. Did you ever try to talk to your parents? Your mother?”
“My mother couldn’t do anything, and I couldn’t talk to Jim.” Tracy rose and paced the kitchen. “I wasn’t allowed to say anything to him or to any other adult, except to answer a direct question with a, ‘Yes sir,’ or, ‘No sir.’ If I was accused of something, trying to defend myself was called backtalk, and not tolerated. I never brought friends home. Jim didn’t allow noise when he was there. If I had the radio on, I had to shut if off as soon as he walked through the door. I loved music, and I wanted to play the flute in the band. Well, that lasted about a week.”
“Why?”
“Same thing,” Tracy shrugged. “To be in the band, I had to practice, and I couldn’t practice when Jim was home. I suppose he wasn’t a bad man. I mean, he didn’t beat me. But there was something about him. He was such a forbidding figure. He had a certain look, a combination of hatred and scorn, and when he looked at me like that, everything inside just shriveled up. Somehow, without beating me, he managed to make me terrified of him. And so I just tried to stay out of his way. You know, it’s funny, he never paid any attention to me while I was growing up, except to correct me. Probably because I was so ugly.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“Oh, I was. I got fat. Seemed like I couldn’t ever get enough food. Mom said I was going to be shaped like my grandmother: small, but full-figured. Jim said, ‘If her figure gets any fuller, she won’t be able to get through the door!’” Tracy continued, the words tumbling over each other in her haste to get them out. It was so difficult to remember all this, all the details she had tried so hard to forget. But somehow she knew she must. It was like a mountain she had to climb before she could go on with her life.
“One time Mom and I were watching a variety show on TV,” she went on. “Jim was in the kitchen. I usually kept quiet when he was home, stayed in my safe place, but I forgot myself long enough to sing along with one of the popular tunes. First thing I knew, Jim came in and said, ‘Shut up, nobody wants to hear you.’ He could have said anything, even like, ‘Shut up, I want to hear the TV.’ But no, he had to make it sound like no one wanted to hear me.
“Another time, Mom and I watched a talk show, and the issue was on discipline in the school system. Mom asked me something about it and I was telling her. I didn’t notice Jim had come in. He cut me off. ‘What makes you think anyone wants to listen to you? No one wants to hear a bratty girl trying to talk grown up. If you keep your mouth shut, no one will know how stupid you really are.’ And he went back into the kitchen.”
“My God,” Suzy whispered, “I’m amazed you can talk at all.”
“And then, when I began to mature, you know, physically….” Tracy’s voiced trailed into nothingness.
“Were you sexually abused?”
“No, he didn’t touch me like that. But he started talking, making remarks about my body, about girls on TV, and about sex in general. Always when Mom was in another room. I didn’t know what to do, so I married the first boy who was nice to me and left home at sixteen. Mom wrote that Jim ran off with another
woman. And Mom...well, she died shortly afterward of a stroke.”
“And after all that,” Suzy said, “there you were, working, raising that boy of yours without help, and even planning on going to school. Listen to me, honey, that’s strength, and you’ve got it. In spades. And then, to have all this happen to you. Most women would be in the cracker factory by now. You think you’re a coward, but you’re the strongest, bravest person I know, and I have nothing but admiration for you.” Suzy folded her arms and sat back as if daring Tracy to disagree.
Tracy tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. “I’m not deserving of that kind of praise. Oh, Suzy, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“Oh posh! Honey, you’ve got all you need locked inside. You just have to let it out.”
***
“I been on the streets since I was fourteen,” Holly said that evening. Wearing her usual black outfit, she slouched at the table, her chair pulled slightly away from the table, her legs propped up on the chair next to her. “Man, I seen parts of Denver that’s not even on the map, I’ll tell you! Make a good living, too,” she eyed a challenge to the women sitting at the table. “Won’t find me begging no man for money, I make my own. And I bet it’s a lot more than most men make.”
“Yeah,” Karen said, her gaze taking in Holly’s attire. “I bet you do.”
“Men like this look. I get the most money when I wear my spike collar, pile on the chains and wear my whip coiled around my shoulder. Boots, too.” She grinned. “Can’t forget the boots.”
“Uh,” Wendy cleared her throat, “do you really, uh, whip them? Or is it just part of the costume?” She blushed, but kept her eyes on Holly.
“Depends on what they want.”
“But they really want to be whipped?”
“Well, not really with the whip,” Holly said. “Makes marks, so I use a belt with lots of padding. Most of them are married or have big, important jobs and can’t go around with marks all over them. You’d be surprised at how high up these men are. The ones who want whipped, they’re dressed the best and pay the most.”
