Family Inheritance E-Book

Terri Ann Leidich

• Herausgeber: BQB Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

Called to the bedside of their dying mother, three sisters reluctantly return to their childhood home in northern Minnesota.

What should be a reunion of love and warmth is tainted by the ghosts of their childhood; their parents' farm is a place of painful memories. With their mother slipping into a coma, the sisters are left with the troubles of their current lives and the bitterness of their childhood.

But as they begin to reconnect, bond, and see themselves through each other's eyes, together they tread through the wreckage of the past to create lives filled with hope, love, and triumph.

Leseprobe

Family Inheritance © 2014 Terri Ann Leidich. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopying, or recording, except for the inclusion in a review, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published in the United States by BQB Publishing (Boutique of Quality Books Publishing Company)www.bqbpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

978-1-939371-46-1 (h) 978-1-939371-38-6 (p) 978-1-939371-39-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014936930

Book design by Robin Krauss, www.bookformatters.comCover design by David Grauel, davegrauel.com

To my husband Glenn, who supports my dreams, and my daughter Lori, who is my biggest fan.

Other Books by Terri Ann LeidichFrom a Grieving Mother’s HeartFor a Grieving Heart

Chapter 1

Northern Minnesota

July 6, 1990

The old farmhouse creaked in the night air, and the wind howled through the badly caulked windows. Nausea, shortness of breath, and stomach pain were assaulting Anna Teresa Miller’s body as she lay in her bed in the darkened bedroom. She figured she was dying, but she didn’t care. Her life had never been very good, so how could death be worse? The doctor had warned her that diabetes could kill her, that it would attack her kidneys and her other vital organs, but what did it matter?

As her mind fought to stay alert, thoughts rambled in and out, scrambled together, leaving her unsure of what was happening and what was just a memory. In one moment, she was three years old standing beside her mother in the ramshackle barn where cows were herded in each night and milked. Anna’s stomach rumbled and hunger pains gripped her thin body, but she knew she wouldn’t get supper until all the chores were done. Even at her young age, she had chores.

Suddenly, she was fourteen and her mother had dropped her off at Walter’s family’s farm to work for them. Her father had died, and her mother could no longer care for her.

As the memories floated in and out, she fought to remember where she was now and what year it was. For a brief moment, she knew it was 1990 and she was still in the farmhouse she had moved to as a teenager.

Then she was sixteen, pregnant, and being forced to marry Walter, a reluctant groom at best.

Her mind relived the pain of losing that baby and three more after that. She was certain then that she wasn’t supposed to be a mother and had convinced herself that she didn’t want to be.

By that time, the farm could no longer support them, so Walter would pick up odd jobs, leaving most of the farm chores to her. Life with Walter had been hard—oppressive poverty, backbreaking work, and abuse. Then Helene, Alice, and Suzanne had been born, adding to her workload and escalating Walter’s laziness, drinking, and anger—at her, at life, at the kids, and at the fact that he’d never had a son.

When she’d first become pregnant, Walter’s mother, who sometimes tried to be good to Anna, told her that having children meant she wouldn’t be lonely when she grew old. Now, as she lay dying alone in the creaking house that had been her prison and her home for over forty-five years, a cynical chuckle passed through her lips and a tear slid down her cheek.

Her mind once again slipped into the past to a day when her daughters, with their dirty faces, tangled hair, and soiled clothing, sat on the rough wooden floor, cutting out pictures from old magazines and catalogs as slight drafts of wind shivered through the poorly insulated walls and ruffled the pages. Chatter occasionally erupted in an otherwise silent and serious atmosphere.

“I’m going to marry a rich man and live in a big, beautiful house,” ten-year-old Helene had exclaimed as she carefully arranged the figures of a handsome man and a beautiful woman among pictures of luxurious homes.

“I’m going to have lots of kids and be a really good mom,” Alice proclaimed with the determination of an eight-year-old.

Seven-year-old Suzanne’s voice was serious as she declared, “I’m going to work in a big office and be the boss of people.”

That day, Anna had felt anger, fatigue, and defeat at her girls’ wild imaginations and their ideas that life could be better. Anna knew it wouldn’t be.

Overwhelmed by the constant work that the farm, the old house, her three girls, and Walter required of her, Anna’s life had no room for dreams or play. That particular day, and many before and after, Anna had felt as though the world rested on her shoulders. She had often been bitter that nobody seemed to know how hard she worked or what a burden the old house and those three girls were on her. It certainly wasn’t the life she had wanted, but her mother had reminded her often enough by saying, “You made your bed, you lie in it.” So Anna had done just that.

Anna’s eyelids fluttered, and a shiver ran through her body as the same memory took hold again. A noise had erupted in the kitchen when the back door slammed open against the wall. Fear crossed the faces of her young daughters as a drunken voice bellowed, “Where are you, Anna? I’m hungry. Get in here and fix me something to eat!” The sound of a fist pounding against the kitchen table resonated into the living room as Anna scurried toward the raging man who now stood in the kitchen doorway, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

The memories stopped running through her mind like old motion pictures, and everything was starting to go dark. It had done that several times during the night. Her conscious mind knew she should call an ambulance, but she wasn’t ready yet. Maybe she would just die in bed because it didn’t really matter to her where she died. She was tired of living.

Anna’s kids didn’t know about her health problems because Helene had stopped talking to her years ago, and Suzanne had just slipped out of her life. Alice tried, but Anna didn’t know how to talk to her middle daughter. In fact, she never did know how to talk to any of them. She had tried to raise them better than her mother had raised her, but her kids hadn’t responded the way she had expected them to.

Walter had been a mean, abusive man his entire life, and Anna knew she had never loved him. For much of his life, she hadn’t even liked him. Yet, when he died, she missed his presence. He was all she had ever known.

As darkness covered her eyes, momentary panic overwhelmed her because the shadows were so thick. Is this what it will be like forever?

“No, Anna, there is light waiting for you, but you’re not done yet,” a voice whispered in the darkness.

Quickly opening her eyes, she scanned the room. At the end of her bed, she saw a shadow. “Who’s there?” Her weak voice tried to reach the specter.

A cold breeze echoed throughout the dusty, dingy room. The figure became clearer as Anna grappled with her fading consciousness. It’s a man, an old man, gray and unshaven. It took a moment, but her weary mind grasped a vision of her husband looking like that just before his death. Scared at the thought of seeing him again, her voice quivered into the empty room, “Walter? Is that you, Walter?”

The apparition inched closer. Anna’s hands shook as she grappled to pull the sheet up over her face. “No, please, Walter. Go away,” she pleaded. “Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

The specter seemed to stop moving, hovering there, and the voice became a whisper. “I can’t hurt you anymore, Anna.” Anna slowly pulled the sheet down and watched with wide, fearful eyes as darkness surrounded the vision; it began to fade. Pain-filled words echoed, “Don’t come yet. I don’t want you to suffer this pain. Set your life right, Anna.”

“I don’t understand,” she whimpered.

The voice grew louder. “I didn’t do right by you, Anna. We didn’t do right by them. You have to do right by them. You can’t come yet, Anna. You can’t come yet.” The words were so tortured that Anna quickly pulled the covers up over herself again, cowering lower in the bed, shivering with fear.

The sounds were farther away now, echoes in the quiet room. “Set your life straight, Anna. Do right by them . . . do right by them.” The voice faded, and Anna could feel in the air that the ghost had disappeared.

The room was eerily quiet except for her own labored breathing. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t understand . . .” she cried.

Memories of her life and her daughters once again floated through the darkness like a movie—visions of her children as babies, then toddlers, teenagers, and then young women. Tears slid down her cheeks as she called their names into the empty room.

With her last bit of consciousness, she reached for the pad and pen on the bedside table that had three telephone numbers neatly printed on it, and scribbled a message. Picking up the bedside phone and summoning the last of her strength, she dialed 911. After mumbling her address into the receiver, Anna closed her eyes and the world went black.

Chapter 2

Atlanta, Georgia

A beautiful April morning peeked in through the windows as Helene sat on the king-sized four-poster bed. Picking at the decorative pillow she held in her lap, she watched Bill’s reflection in the mirror in the adjoining bathroom. She could smell the lemon scent of his shaving cream as he maneuvered the razor over his face. She gazed in fascination as he guided the sharp edge over his chin and down his cheek. She pulled at the embroidery of a brightly colored flower as he made stroke after careful stroke with confidence. Mesmerized, Helene watched in silent fury, yet part of her was still drawn in, even after twenty years of marriage, by the man’s self-assurance.

Caught up with the reflection of his handsome face, almost-black hair, and blue eyes, she refused to deal with the reality of her life because it was much easier to keep pretending that things were different. Helene’s voice stuck in her throat. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Why do you cheat and lie? Who is she this time? Why do I put up with it? Even with those questions blasting in her mind, she took a deep breath and spoke in even tones that belied the tension building at her temples. “Will you be home for dinner?”

Bill didn’t glance in her direction as the lies flowed smoothly through his lips. “No, I’ve got to work late on a case that’s going to court next week. I’ll probably work most of the night.”

Helene furiously grabbed the tassel on the corner of the pillow. How didyou get so good at lying? As she listened to his words, she remembered the smell of the familiar perfume that had assaulted her nose, and the ever-so-light smudge of red lipstick on the collar of his shirt that she had taken to the cleaners yesterday. Her heart pinched in agony as the man at the cleaners smiled and winked at her, teasing her that she might want to change the color of her lipstick—red, he had said, was hard to remove.

Bill moved away from the mirror and continued talking about his heavy workload. Helene’s demeanor didn’t change as she quietly maimed the pillow with her pulls and tugs. Shut up, Bill, shut up, she wanted to scream. Don’t you know I’ve known about all of them throughout the years? I’ve given them names. Can you beat that? I name your mistresses! The turmoil inside of her was at a full boil today, but she held it in tightly, not letting it erupt or even seep through her calm exterior. A divorce would be much more traumatic and expensive than replacing decorative pillows.

She gazed at Bill through the mirror and said, “I’ll leave you something to eat in the fridge.” He walked out of the bathroom, straightening his shirt. Her hands clenched firmly around the small pillow in front of her as she pasted a smile on her face. She raised her lips to accept his quick kiss.

Helene sat motionless for several moments after he left the room while the scent of his cologne gently lingered. In the quiet bedroom, her hands finally stopped their assault on the defenseless pillow as she willfully silenced her tormented mind.

After showering and preparing for her day, Helene stood in front of the mahogany dresser, leaning close to the mirror, and examined her appearance. Her large, blue eyes stared back at her, and she frowned at the wrinkles decorating her face. Her blonde, shoulder-length hair accented her fair skin. Her white blouse and shorts shone bright in the morning light. Anyone else peering at Helene through that mirror would see an attractive woman of forty-two, but Helene saw none of those things. Disgusted, she pinched less than an inch of flab around her middle.

The wedding picture on the edge of the bureau caught her eye, and Helene was drawn to the happiness in the faces of the young couple staring back at her. Gingerly, she picked up the photograph in its crystal frame, held it close against her heart, walked back to the bed, and sat down as her memory took her back over two decades.

Helene had hated her childhood—the poverty, the abuse, the cruelness of the kids in school making fun of the way she dressed, the way her family lived, and her father’s constant drunkenness. The minute Helene graduated from high school she’d left the farm and eventually Minnesota, and she never looked back. She had known that college was out of the question, but that limitation hadn’t stopped her dreams and her determination to live a life without poverty and fear. With the help of one of her teachers, she had applied for a job behind the ticket counter with a major airline at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport, and to her amazement, she had been hired.

The day after graduation, Helene had loaded the few possessions she owned into the backseat of a classmate’s 1966 white Ford Mustang. With her sights set on the future, Helene refused to turn around to look at her sisters standing on the gravel driveway waving and crying. Helene knew her mother and father weren’t watching her drive away—they couldn’t care less—and she had shared the same sentiment.

Learning had come easily for Helene in her job with the airline, and so had interacting with people. She liked watching them, imagining what their lives were like, and where they were going. As she booked tickets for destinations all over the world, she dreamed of moving someplace warm, someplace far away from the state that held few good memories for her. After a year with the airline, Helene had learned about a position at the airport in Atlanta, Georgia. Immediately, she had known she wanted to move there.

When news of her transfer came through, she felt as though she was living a dream, and the move to Georgia happened quickly and easily.

Helene had immediately fallen in love with Georgia and felt that she was a Georgian by choice instead of birth. Life was simple but good as Helene planned her future. She’d often think back to the catalog pages of her youth and the world her imagination had designed—a world filled with love and beautiful surroundings. Even in the midst of a childhood filled with pain and lack, she knew a better life was possible, and her determination to have that life kept her on the path to that destination. In the beginning, her apartment was bare, but she window-shopped and planned exactly what she wanted it to look like, and week by week, she was making that dream come true.

Helene hadn’t dated much in high school. She kept to herself and people seemed to know not to cross the invisible but solid wall she had erected around her. When she moved to Georgia, her heart expanded and she was more open to the world and experiences, and men started asking her out. But she refused the majority of offers. Even though she was far away from home and lived on her own, it hadn’t changed her mind about relationships or marriage. She would never let herself end up like her mother, so marriage was the furthest thing from her mind. Until she met Bill Foster.

It had been an ordinary day at the ticket counter, with lines of travelers going all over the world. She’d just finished checking in an elderly woman, who was flying to California to see her grandchildren, and placed the suitcases on the conveyer belt behind her. When she stepped back to help the next person in line, she was met with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Helene had never believed in love at first sight until that moment. It had been hard to breathe and concentrate as she helped Bill with his ticket to Boston, told him his departure gate, and put his suitcase onto the conveyor belt.

Helene assumed she would never see him again, but when she went on her break fifteen minutes later, Bill was waiting for her. She walked with him to his departure gate, and they talked non-stop, as though they had so much to say and not much time to say it. She learned that he was twenty-six and in his last year of law school. When he graduated, he would join his father’s firm in downtown Atlanta. His family roots were firmly planted in Georgia. He’d told her that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He took her phone number, called her every evening while he was in Boston, and they went on their first date when he returned. Helene had fallen deeply in love.

She had been so nervous the first time she met Bill’s parents because they lived a totally different lifestyle than the one she had grown up in. They were both professionals, lived in a nice house, drove nice cars, and belonged to a country club. While they were not demonstrative people, they had made her feel welcome and a part of their family.

One year later, she and Bill had married in a big church, and it had been the wedding of her dreams. Bill’s family paid for everything she could possibly imagine, both in her wedding and in her life. She didn’t send her family an invitation or even let them know she was getting married. When Bill and his mother asked questions about them, she simply said she wasn’t close to her family, and they hadn’t pressed her on the subject.

After their honeymoon in Cancun, Mexico, Helene left her job at the airport and spent her days and years creating a beautiful home and what she thought was a happy relationship. When she became pregnant in their first year of marriage, Helene wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Children had never really been a part of the world she had wanted to create, but the moment she had held Thomas in her arms, Helene once more fell deeply in love.

In the beginning, Bill had doted on Thomas and been a loving, attentive husband. But when Thomas was a toddler, Bill stayed away from home more and more often, blaming it on a heavy workload. Then she’d found the lipstick on his shirt. The first time she told herself there was a reason. But when she could no longer ignore the signs of infidelity, she had dropped to her knees and sobbed. From that point on, Thomas had become her world, and she accepted the fact that her relationship wasn’t perfect, but Bill and Thomas were all she had.

Her mind coming back to the present, she put the picture back on the dresser and quickly glanced at herself in the mirror again. Then she left the bedroom and walked down the back stairs that led to the large kitchen, with its marble countertops and hanging racks of copper pots and pans. She smiled as she heard the oldies station playing, “Shake, Rattle, and Roll.”

Soft laughter spilled from her lips as she stopped at the bottom of the stairs to watch Lily, her housekeeper and cook, shake her hips, dance to the music, and sing along to the song. Lily was a contradiction in motion in her freshly ironed flower-printed dress, her golden-brown skin glowing, and neat braids of hair wrapped around the back of her head.

When Lily spotted Helene, she danced over to her, grabbed her hand, and twirled her around. Helene tried to pull her hand away and resist the playfulness, but soon Lily had her dancing. When the song ended, Lily patted her hair and said with a smile, “You’re just in time for a cup a tea and a fresh muffin.”

Laughing, Helene sat down at the cheery, little breakfast nook in the large kitchen. Lily was the closest Helene had ever come to having a loving, caring mother. She often gladly relaxed into the security of Lily’s love.

Over the steaming cup of tea, Lily eyed Helene carefully as she stated, “I’m making Mr. Bill’s favorite chicken for dinner tonight. Thought maybe just the two of you could have a nice, quiet dinner, and Mr. Thomas and I could rent a movie. Haven’t sat down and talked with that young one in a while—seems to always be off doing something or going somewhere.” Lily paused for a moment. “Thought a rest would do him good. And you and Mr. Bill need more quiet time.”

“Nice thought, but Bill’s working late again. Thomas should be home for dinner, though.”

Just as Helene was ready to bite into her muffin, the phone rang and Lily answered it. She listened for a few seconds, then handed the phone to Helene. “It’s Mr. Thomas’s school. They want to talk about Thomas’s excessive absences.”

A lump darted into Helene’s throat. What excessive absences? He goes to school every day.

“This is Mrs. Foster.”

“Hello, Mrs. Foster, this is Vivian Middleton from Thomas’s school. We’re very concerned about Thomas missing so much school. He has brought in all of his absence slips signed by you, but we wanted to make sure it was you who signed them.”

Helene’s thoughts were spinning. What is she talking about? What absences? What permission slips?

“Mrs. Foster?”

“Oh, yes . . . I signed them. He seems to be catching every bug this season.” I just lied. Why am I lying for my son? Yet, she knew why. Something had to be wrong and she wasn’t about to make it worse.

“Well, as long as you know about the absences.”

“Yes, I do. Everything is fine,” Helene assured her. “He’s in school today, isn’t he?” She closed her eyes, waiting for the answer.

“Yes, he is, Mrs. Foster, but we’re very concerned about his grades. Thomas’s numerous absences have put him behind. Something needs to be done.”

Helene’s thoughts were trying to catch up with what she was hearing. How much school had Thomas missed and why didn’t she know he was missing school? Thomas had always loved school and had been a good student. What’s happening with my son? And why didn’t I know about it?

“Let me talk with Thomas when he gets home today. We’ll come up with a plan and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Foster.”

After Helene hung up the phone, she slumped against the wall, worry and concern flooding her mind. She thought of calling Bill, but he’d probably just get angry at Thomas, and she didn’t want to deal with that. She could talk with Thomas, but would he tell her the truth? And when had he started lying to her? Something was wrong, and she had to find out what it was.

She spent most of the day curled up on her bed or sitting quietly in the sunroom, barely responding to Lily’s attempts at conversation. Memories of Thomas as a little boy kept dancing through her mind. They had been so close. He had excelled in school, and their times together had been playful and fun. When had it all changed? What had gone wrong? When in the world had he started skipping school? And why? As much as she tried to deny the fact that her son’s behavior was far from normal and acceptable, she knew better.

As afternoon turned to evening, Helene walked into the kitchen where Lily was making a cake. Thomas wasn’t home yet. At five-thirty, she called Thomas’s best friend Chuck to see if Thomas had stopped by after school but Chuck hadn’t seen Thomas since their last class together, which was just after lunch.

“What if something has happened?” she asked Lily. “What if he’s been in a car accident, and he’s lying somewhere breathing his last breath and calling for his mother? What if—”

“Now whoa there,” Lily interrupted. “Don’t you think you’re going a little fast in your worrying? Yes’m, all those things do happen in this world of ours, and we gotta be aware of them, but not everything that happens is bad.”

At seven o’clock, without saying a word, Lily set two places at the counter that separated the large kitchen from the adjoining family area with its leather sofas and big stone fireplace. She filled the plates and motioned for Helene to sit down on one of the comfortable bar stools that edged up to the counter where they often had tea or shared a snack in the middle of the day. Helene reluctantly sat down, picked up the fork, and began to nibble at her food.

Lily pulled out the stool next to her, sat down, and placed her hand over Helene’s with a look that told Helene how much Lily cared about her, Bill, and Thomas. “It will be fine.”

“I’ve got to make it fine, Lily. I just have to!”

It wasn’t until after sunset that a car pulled into the driveway. Lights flashed across the kitchen windows and disappeared into the garage. They both seemed to be holding their breath as footsteps approached the back door and the knob turned.

Thomas entered with a crooked grin on his face. His eyes were bloodshot. “Hi, guys” was all he said as he moved through the kitchen toward the stairs at the back of the house.

“Thomas, are you okay? Where were you? Why are you so late?” The questions flew from Helene’s lips as her heart beat wildly in her chest.

“I’m fine, Mom.” His walk was unsteady, and his few words were slurred.

“Thomas, wait a minute. I want to talk to you. Your school called today about your being absent a lot and me apparently signing the slips.” Helene stood firmly with her right hand on her hip.

“Can we talk about this later, Mom? I’ve got studying to do.” His hand reached out for the wall to steady himself.

A part of Helene’s mind noticed his lack of balance, but she ignored it. “Where were you tonight?” her voice sharpened as she slowly walked toward the stairs.

Thomas was halfway up the staircase. He stopped with his back still toward her, clutching the banister to steady himself, but he didn’t say a word.

“Thomas, please answer me.” Helene’s voice was louder now. She stood at the bottom of the staircase, her brow furrowed with worry.

Thomas took a few steps forward, widening the space between them. “I just needed some space,” he said without turning to look at her. “Everything’s just crowding in on me. You understand, don’t you?” His shoulders slumped and his voice softened. “Mom, I thought you’d understand.”

Helene’s mind refused to acknowledge his slurred speech and the implications of his unsteady gait. Running her fingertips over her forehead, her words were firm as she spoke. “You absolutely can’t miss any more school. And you’ve got to catch up with your homework. This has got to stop. Do you understand me?”

He still hadn’t turned to look at her.

“Yes, ma’am.” He took another step up the stairway and then paused. “Can I be excused now?”

“No, Thomas, we’ve got to talk about this.” As Helene moved up the stairs, her nose picked up the smell of alcohol, and reality finally marched in. What in the world? Fear gripped Helene as long-ago memories of alcohol assaulted her mind, yet she quickly dismissed them because they were a part of another life, another time. Pulling down the blinders of love, Helene once more let denial envelop her in its firm grasp. Feelings of overwhelm cemented her to where she stood. “Just don’t miss any more school, okay? Promise me?” she pleaded.

Chapter 3

Northern Minnesota

The houses in the government-subsidized neighborhood were tiny square boxes situated on small square lots, and the streets were overrun with children in varying degrees of dress. Many of them wore soiled clothes that had seen better days. Alice Hudson trudged up the walk to her cracker-box house, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. She had lived in the development so long that familiarity blurred it into the background of her consciousness.

When she first moved here, Alice had planted flowers, washed her windows, hung pretty, fresh curtains, and even tried to dig up soil for a garden in the backyard. She had been full of hope and dreams back then. Dreams of a happy family and a nice, neat little house with a white picket fence. Now, the windows were dirty, the curtains were gone, the garden had been overtaken by weeds, and her dreams were tiny little specks in the back of her mind. The reality of life had weighed her down into acceptance. She just tried to get through each day, dealing with as little as possible.

Alice huffed, and sweat dripped from her tightly permed hair down her face as she dragged her five-foot-four-inch frame up the few steps to the front door. The elastic band on her XXXL pants squeezed into her stomach as she bent over to place her grocery bags on the stoop, then she leaned against the doorjamb for a moment to catch her breath. Her youngest child, Sam, was out there somewhere in that throng of kids. He would have come home from school an hour or so ago, raced in to grab some Kool-Aid, and then back out to play.

“Boy, it’s hot today,” she complained to herself as she mopped the back of her neck with her hand. The temperature was sixty degrees, very warm for an April day in northern Minnesota, but with her massive frame, even a pleasant day felt hot to Alice.

Opening the door and stooping once more for the grocery bags, Alice slowly pulled herself inside, and as she scanned her surroundings, exhaustion completely took over her body and soul. The breakfast dishes were still on the counter. The table was cluttered with empty cereal boxes, a loaf of bread, the peanut butter jar, and five empty beer bottles. Alice hadn’t felt like cleaning up before going over to Thelma’s to have coffee and watch soap operas, and since she had been gone, her husband, Jake, had added his collection of beer bottles to the mess.

She plopped the grocery bags on the counter, moved dirty dishes off to one side with a sweep of her hand, and walked toward the living room to find Jake. Her foot caught on the edge of the curled linoleum as she stepped out of the kitchen and almost fell. She had long ago stopped asking Jake to fix anything in the house, because it just made him mad, and Jake was mean when he was mad. Alice and the kids had learned to pick up their feet so they wouldn’t trip on the jagged edge.

As she headed into the small living room, with its outdated and worn furniture, Alice wasn’t sure why she pretended to search for Jake. She knew she would find him passed out on the couch in front of the television. He hadn’t gone out to try to find a job again today, she was certain of it. He had made excuses about his back hurting for the past two years. Why would today be any different? Besides, the welfare coming in every month kept food on the table, and he always figured out ways to make sure there was money for beer, so why work? Alice had accepted that things would never be different. As her mother often said, “You made your bed, lie in it.”

And there he was, sleeping on the couch. She moved as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake him. If he woke up, he would scream about the dirty house and the dishes not being done. He would grab a beer or two, demand dinner, call her fat and lazy, then head out of the house to play poker with the boys. It was better to let sleeping dogs lie.

As Alice walked down the hallway, she kicked a pile of dirty clothes out of her way. The kids were running out of clean clothes to wear. I’ll wash tomorrow. Slowly, she made her way to her bedroom and closed the door. Then she lay down on the sagging mattress, placed her arm over her eyes, and gave way to the peaceful oblivion of sleep.

It seemed like a matter of minutes before she felt someone pushing on her arm. “Mom . . . are you awake? I’m hungry. You gonna make dinner?” Her eight-year-old son, Sam, was tugging at her elbow. “Dad says to tell ya to get your lazy lard outta bed. He’s hungry and wants something to eat before he goes to play poker.”

Alice groaned and slowly pulled herself awake. Her dream was so nice. She had been thin, lived in a clean house, her children resembled the ones in the magazines, and her husband . . . oh, her husband . . . he was clean and smelled like Dial soap. But best of all, he treated her special. The dream had been so warm and comforting that it was hard to come back to reality. Alice didn’t want reality. She wanted them all to leave her alone.

“Mom, come on. Dad’s getting mad, and I’m hungry.” Sam’s hands were now gently pushing on her shoulder as his voice rose.

Alice’s eyes came fully open. She gazed at Sam, with his red scraggly hair and freckled face. He was the oddball of the family. When Sam was born, Jake had been sure that he wasn’t his. In fact, he had really raised a scene at the hospital, refusing to talk to her for two days and calling her a slut and a pig. Then his mother had come to see the baby and told Jake that his grandfather had been born with red hair. Jake had calmed down, but he had never apologized. Jake didn’t apologize. He didn’t seem to think he ever did anything to apologize for.

Sluggishly sitting up, Alice ran her stubby fingers through her hair, tugged at her wrinkled shirt, and straightened the elastic waist on her polyester slacks. She felt disgruntled and dirty, disgusted with life, and madder than hell. She was not sure why she felt so mad. Maybe it was because they had interrupted her dream, her only chance at peace and happiness.

“Mom, for heaven’s sake,” her daughter, Sarah, screamed from the kitchen, “you left the groceries on the counter, and the ice cream melted onto the floor. Now guess who gets to clean up that mess! This whole place disgusts me!”

“Sarah, quit your bellyaching,” Jake bellowed from the living room. “Your lazy slob of a mother can barely drag her carcass around. Just clean up the mess, and somebody make me my damn dinner so I can get the hell out of here.”

Tears flooded Alice’s eyes, and her shoulders slumped. “Mom, are you crying?” Sam peered up at her as they walked toward the kitchen. A lump formed in Alice’s throat. She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a small hug.

“Damn it, Alice,” Jake bellowed as she walked into the kitchen. “You look like something that just walked out of a garbage dump. Don’t you ever comb your hair?”

Alice glared at him. Look who’s talking, you unshaven jerk. Why should I clean up when you’re such a filthy pig? Why should I take care of myself when nobody ever takes care of me?

Quietly going to the cupboard, Alice pulled out three packages of macaroni and cheese. She started cooking the macaroni, sliced in some frozen hot dogs, and pulled a can of corn off the shelf. Pouring the corn into a pan, she turned to set the table. “Sarah, wash off some silverware, will ya?”

“I’ve got homework to do.” Sarah finished cleaning the melted ice cream off the counter and floor. Throwing the rag in the sink, she muttered, “Do it yourself.” Then she stalked out of the room.

With a quiet sigh, Alice washed the silverware. This was not the life she had dreamed of when she was a girl. She had always believed that growing up held some magic to it and that somehow she would have a different life than her mother had. Now she knew how wrong she was. Her life was just like her mother’s. As she scrubbed the dried food from the silverware and watched the crumbs slip into the drain, she sent the last of her childhood dreams right along with them.

When the timer went off for the macaroni, Alice mixed milk, margarine, and cheese into the hot, drained pasta and stirred it around. Then she set the pot with the macaroni on the table next to the pan with the cooked corn, tossed a spoon into each, and yelled, “Supper’s ready.”

Everyone rushed into the kitchen. Jake flopped himself into his chair, the spot he deemed for the “head of the household.” Sam and Sarah slumped into their customary spots, and Alice heaved herself into her chair. Jake scooped the macaroni onto his plate, slopped a spoon of corn down next to it, and started shoveling the meal into his mouth.

They ate their meal in silence, except for Sam, who chatted excitedly. “We played this neat game after school today. Teddy’s dad showed us. You kick this ball around, but it’s not a kickball. Teddy said the game is called soccer!” He took a sip of water, then continued. “I got an A on a test today. And it was a ’specially hard test too. Mrs. Williams gave me two stars on it, and they were red stars. That means I did real good.”

No one responded to Sam. Instead, Jake regarded the food on Alice’s plate. She had taken very little. “Thank God you’re cutting down. You look like an overgrown hippo. It’s about time you did something about that bulk you carry around.”

Sam lowered his head and finished eating without saying another word. Alice silently nibbled at her food. The glare in Jake’s eyes was intense, and out of the corner of her eye Alice noticed Sarah carefully watching the interaction between her parents, her eyes shooting angry darts at Alice. Sadness encompassed Alice as she felt her husband’s anger and her daughter’s hatred. Why do they both hate me? What have I done? Am I that awful that my own husband and daughter find me disgusting? A headache grew at her temples.

When dinner was over, the house was quiet. Jake had gone to play poker, Sarah was at Karen’s, and Sam was outside playing. Cloaked in sadness and despair, Alice moved slowly down the hallway toward her bedroom. The small, crowded room had a sagging double bed and two dressers that were chipped and badly in need of paint. Clothes were scattered on the floor all around the room and piled onto every available surface. Alice didn’t even notice her surroundings as she closed the door, locking it behind her.

In a daze, she stepped into the small walk-in closet, pushed through clothes that were hanging on both sides until she came to a pile of old clothes in the back corner. She pawed through the pile much like a dog digging in the ground searching for whatever might be buried underneath. At the bottom, she found what she was foraging for—a box of chocolate candy bars. Twelve delicious chocolate nut bars that she had bought just days earlier. She’d hidden them away for when she needed them. Tonight, she did.

Alice sat down on the bed with the precious box on her lap. She carefully unwrapped a bar of chocolate, then lifted it to her mouth and shoved it in. Her movements became jerky and sporadic, and her eyes glazed as she ate one candy bar after another.

She was a woman possessed.

Her mind didn’t seem to be present as she stuffed the chocolate into her mouth, barely having room to chew the first one before another bar followed. All too soon, the twelve bars were gone, and Alice lay back on the bed. Calmness invaded her. As she settled back to enjoy her sugar high, she sighed, grateful that she didn’t have to think about her pain or deal with Jake, Sarah, or Sam. The chocolate took care of that.

Except, her euphoria didn’t last long. Ten minutes later, Alice was disgusted with herself. She surveyed the wreckage from the candy bars. Wrappers were strewn everywhere, and chocolate smudges decorated her fingers. She tried to wipe the chocolate smears off her hands, but the more she rubbed them, the bigger the mess became. She stopped and sat silently on the bed. The headache she always experienced after her binges was starting at the nape of her neck. Somehow it was disturbingly comforting.

Alice grabbed a piece of dirty clothing from the floor and angrily wiped at the chocolate smudges. An internal struggle was beginning to build inside of her. The part that needed comforting railed against the part that knew she was ultimately hurting herself. Alice felt caught in the middle of the battle that was raging between her mind and her desperate need for nurturing.

Feeling exhausted, she lay back on the sagging mattress. Gathering a bulge of stomach fat between her hands, she whispered into the empty room, “I won’t do this again. I’m going to start losing weight. I’m going to start cleaning my house, and I’m going to be a better mother. I am. I swear I am.”

With purpose, Alice climbed out of bed and cleaned up the mess from the candy bars. As she headed into the kitchen to make good on her promise to herself, the phone rang. She huffed as she answered.

“That you, Alice?”

“Yes, Mom, it’s me.” Her mother always asked the same question each time she called. Who the heck else is gonna answer my phone, Queen Elizabeth? Alice thought as she lowered herself in the chair near the phone.

“I’m feeling poorly today, Alice.”

Alice closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. This will be another long call. Mom is in one of her whining moods again. Knowing that her mother expected her to just be quiet and listen, Alice sunk into the reality of her life, acquiescing to the silent demand.

When Alice didn’t say anything, her mother continued. “Well, did you hear what I said? Doesn’t anybody care how I am? I could die right up here in this old farmhouse, and you wouldn’t care at all.” She let out a long, purposeful sigh. “A woman raises three daughters, and then they all go off to leave her to be lonely and die alone. Some gratitude after all I did for all of you. And you’re the worst. Seems you could come out and see me more than once a week.”

As the voice droned on and on, Alice sunk farther into the chair, rolled her eyes, and closed off her mind. She knew she didn’t have to really listen because it was the same old words she had been hearing for years now. She could probably recite them before Mom even spoke them.

Several minutes passed before her mother ran out of anything to say and returned to her original statement. “I’m feeling poorly today. Chest seems to be aching some. I’m gonna die, you know that? I’m gonna die, and I’ll probably be alone in this old farmhouse when I do.”

“You’re just tired. You’ll be okay. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll come to see you tomorrow, I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Alice sighed. “I’m tired now, Mom. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” As Alice hung up the phone feeling exhausted from listening to her mother, she scanned the dirty kitchen, then slowly walked back to the bedroom, locked the door, and headed to yet another well-hidden stash of chocolate.

The streetlight shining through the window cast shadows on the ceiling in Alice’s bedroom. After lying awake for hours, her eyes were accustomed to the semi-darkness. She hadn’t been able to sleep tonight. Everything in her life was in chaos. Even her children were out of control. One of the neighbors had accused Sam of stealing money from her pocketbook. Sarah hadn’t come in until after midnight, and it was a school night.

Alice felt scared and helpless. The candy bars helped her feel better, but it never lasted long. Plus, she was getting worried about her headaches and the blurriness in her eyes. Yet, without her chocolate she didn’t think she could put up with Jake, the kids, and the house. Especially Jake.

A sob started in her belly as her mind wandered to the large bottle of aspirin in the bathroom and what it would feel like to peacefully sleep forever. Then the front door opened, and Alice heard Jake drunkenly stagger through the house. She glanced at the clock. It was three a.m.

Bile churned in her stomach, and a lump lodged in her throat. Her fear-filled eyes glared into the darkened room as she heard him bump into something, swear, then kick whatever he’d bumped out of the way. Alice quickly turned on her side, away from the door, and scooted down lower in the bed, trying to become invisible. She didn’t want to face him. She didn’t want to deal with him. If she pretended to be asleep, maybe, just maybe, he’d leave her alone tonight. Sometimes he did if he thought she was sleeping. Maybe tonight she would be lucky.

She listened as he made his way down the hall. He stopped briefly, twisted a doorknob, slapped his hand hard on a door, swore, and continued his stumbling toward their bedroom. Did he try the closet door again? Is he so drunk he doesn’t know where his own bedroom is? Her breath seemed to stick into her throat as Jake staggered into the room.

Even from a distance, Alice could smell alcohol and could tell from the sound of his movements that he was worse off than usual. Her fingers curled tightly around her pillow, pulling it closer to her, trying to shield herself from what she knew was coming. Tonight he sounded like an angry drunk. There were times when he came home a happy drunk, and he was almost kind to her. Then there were nights like tonight when he was mean and angry.

She unconsciously curled into a fetal position. A large hand roughly grabbed her shoulder. “Alice! Hey, fatso! Wake up! I’ve got a hard-on and need your body.” Alice cringed. Deep inside, she felt another piece of herself die.

It hurt when he was nasty to her. It hurt when she was just a release for him. She longed for tenderness, for caring. She continued to pretend she was sleeping. She couldn’t take this, not tonight. His hand briskly slapped the back of her head and his voice became louder. “Damn it, Alice. I said wake up.”

Light blared into her eyes as he flipped on the wall switch. He forcefully turned her toward him. She sensed that he wouldn’t give up. She knew it was one of those nights, and she might as well just endure it. It will soon be over. Please, God, let it soon be over.

There was no gentleness in Jake tonight, no concern for her or if her body was ready to receive his. He climbed on top of her. When she started to protest that he was hurting her, he slapped her, telling her to shut up. Alice closed her eyes, gritted her teeth in pain as another chunk of her soul was torn from her.

Jake grunted and groaned as he spurted into her, heaving into the air in angry, gasping thrusts. Then he rolled off her and almost instantly slipped into a drunken sleep. Alice lay in the well-lit room feeling bruised and broken. She wondered how many more pieces of her heart and soul she could lose before she would just be a hollow shell.