Page 19 of Brick

Eleven

That same night…

“You’d look reallygood as a redhead. My mama’s talkin’ about how blonde is the way to go, but I think red would be better for you. Not a lot of women can carry it off.”

Betsey only half listened to the chatter of the vivacious Molly as the young girl got back behind the wheel and drove her to the parsonage. Taz had confirmed that Brick was fine but under tremendous pressure to handle the events of the night.

“He’s carrying the club on his back right now, Betsey, an’ there’s a lot ridin’ on how he deals with all the shit that happened tonight. He said he’d be comin’ by to see you as soon as he could. Hope you’re okay with that, darlin’. If you ain’t figured it out by now, if you stick with him, you’ll share him with whatever’s left of the club.”

Would that make her second in his life, the Dragon Runners being first? She had lived her life so far being second, third, or fourth. The needs and wants of her father came first and the rest of them got whatever scraps were left. Betsey had been dead last most of the time, and she was sick of it. She wanted someone who would love her and put her first for a change. Could Brick do that, or would the Dragon Runners take over completely? She was worried about the man she loved and what he was facing tonight, but she couldn’t help thinking about what all of this meant for their future.

The painkillers were wearing off, and a dull ache settled in her face. Her nose had been set and was now taped in place. A huge white bandage wrapped around most of her head, and the swelling of her eyes was still significant enough that her vision blurred. Hopefully when her parents saw her condition, they would forget about her extreme lateness getting home and be concerned rather than angry. Maybe her dad would forget about collecting her tip money too.

Molly kept talking. “Mama says I can start wearing makeup when I’m sixteen, but that’s so long from now. I wish she would let me at least wear mascara. Do you wear makeup?”

“No, but I want to.”

The church came into sight and the parsonage right behind it. No lights were on waiting for her, which was unusual. The station wagon was gone from its spot. Betsey’s pulse picked up. Something was not right, and she didn’t want her chaperone in any danger.

“Um… thanks for the ride, Molly. I hope you don’t get grounded for too long for driving without a license.”

The perky girl shrugged. “Ain’t no big deal. If I get the car back to the station quick enough, maybe I won’t get caught this time. Kinda dark, ain’t it? You sure you want me to leave you here? Don’t look like no one’s home.”

“My dad is real particular about keeping lights on at night, that’s all. I better get inside. Thanks again.”

Betsey got out and waved the girl off. She watched the red taillights disappear in the dark before turning back to the house. The loose screen door creaked as she opened it, and the sound grated on her already frayed nerves. “Hello? Dad? You still up?”

An empty glass jar rattled across the floor, and Betsey jumped back with a little scream. It was one of her father’s moonshine jars. A sour smell wafted up as her eyes made out a lumpy pile under the kitchen table.

“Bessie? Izz-datchu?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I just got home. I know it’s really late, but I can explain.”

“Whar did-jur mama go? Fuckin’ bish.”

Betsey knew he was drunk. Way drunker than she remembered ever seeing him before. He shifted, and another empty jar fell over.

“Gavvher a home an' a huzbin, ’n she gave me a basterd.”

“Daddy, what’s going on? Where’s Mama and the boys?”

“Bish lef’ me. Jus’ loaded up and lef’. Been gone fer hourz. Ungraidful slud.”

“Can I turn on the lights?”

“Fuggin’ cunt.”

She hesitated for a moment when she heard nothing and then clicked on the single overhead light. Her father lay on his side on the kitchen floor, covered in filth. Puddles of mixed vomit, piss, and moonshine pooled on the worn linoleum. It looked like he had consumed all the shine left in the house. Betsey looked at his ashen face. His skin was gray and slack, and there was a line of drool hanging from his lips.

“Lord have mercy, Daddy, are you okay?”

“Nod-jur gawdam daddy. Fuggin bish awlreddy pregnan win ah marrid-ur. Yew ain’ mine, zo gedda hell aoud.”

His voice faded into nothing as he passed out. Betsey shook her head in shock, ignoring the pain in her face. Her father wasn’t her father? Throughout her life, he’d always treated her differently, harsher, stricter, meaner than her younger brothers. It made sense now. A frisson of guilt filled her briefly as she thought she should be lost and sad. Instead, she felt relieved.

The man made some gargling noises and heaved, sending more foul liquid across the floor. Betsey backed away from the flood and stepped farther into the house and up the stairs. She checked the room that her brothers shared. They had stripped it bare. The few possessions they had and their clothes were gone. Her mother’s clothes were gone too. The family never had much to begin with, and packing up what meager belongings they had would take minutes, not hours.

Panic raced up Betsey’s throat as a dreadful thought hit her head. Oh, no, no, no, no, no. She flew back down the stairs, taking care to avoid the noxious puddles, and raced to the old car cover. The dark was absolute, and she tripped once, going down on one knee and adding more pain to her body. It was nothing compared to the pain in her heart. She scrabbled at the stones that held her precious savings.

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