In the space between heartbeats, Lacy Bonner decided to run away. As she gripped a cup of dark roast, all fifteen years of her life, lived in a Holtsville, New Hampshire trailer park, nestled mountainside near route 93, itched like coffee grinds in her throat. She coughed, listening as Paul asked her to go to Rhode Island.
Sitting in his old Chevy Silverado, parked in front of Moby’s Diner, she sucked in the cold February air, feeling it leave a sliver of frost in her lungs.
“Chuck Densen found a job for me at a paint depot in Warwick,” Paul said, waiting for her answer. His dark hair was pulled into a ponytail; it almost touched his shoulder. His eyes reminded her of Shoal Pond in winter; the blue water always visible beneath the ice, as if an internal heat source kept it from freezing over.
She huffed on her hands to warm them. Paul bashed the heater with his fist and it moaned back to life. He turned up the radio, and Eddie Vedder’s voice filled the cab. Lacey felt the lyrics like beacons aimed at her soul: I know that I was born and I know that I’ll die. The in between is mine…I am Mine.
A cold wetness nudged the back of her neck. She turned to pat Joe, her chocolate Lab. “Don’t worry,” she said, “You can come too.” Joe had been her shadow ever since she led him from her mother’s grave two months earlier.
Marilyn had died during a fireball of fever. She had been getting noticeably better; after a long stay in the hospital, and two more weeks of taking care of her at home, Lacey was hopeful her mother had finally turned a corner. Her cough had subsided, she was able to keep food down. Still weak, but she had gotten up that morning and taken a slow walk with Lacey to the mailboxes near the entrance to the park, to post a birthday card to a friend. Lacey had bundled her into two coats and even wrapped a wool scarf around her face so that the cold air wouldn’t trigger the cough. Marilyn’s bright eyes peered out from behind the wrap like a mummy suddenly waking from a thousand-year sleep. She pointed to the mountain range to the east, rising above the vast Pemigewasset wilderness. “Bondcliff,” she sighed.
“You’ll hike it again, Mom. You just need to get your strength back.” Lacey felt a surge of hope. If Marilyn had a goal for the future, something to look forward to, it meant she had a desire to fight her way back to health. But it would be a tough road back. Her lungs had taken it hard. If they got to that point, though, Bondcliff’s trail was wide, and straight, and they could follow the old railroad bed, and camp out overnight to break up the more rugged section of the hike into two days.
But that night, things took a sudden, terrible turn. Lacey woke to Joe’s nervous whining and her mother’s relentless coughing. She went to her bedroom, saw Buzz piling on extra blankets; Marilyn was shaking beneath the pile, her teeth chattering out a percussion solo.
“Can’t warm her up,” Buzzy said, wearing a frightened look that Lacey had never seen there before. He called 911 as Lacey drew a hot bath; she poured in a heavy dose of Epsom salts. Together, she and Buzz undressed Marilyn and lifted her into the bath; she was so alarmingly thin, so light, Lacey knew she could have lifted her by herself.
“Try to breathe in the steam, Mom. It will help.”
Marilyn’s face was beet red and shiny. After a while, her shaking subsided and she went still. She tried to smile at Lacey. She wanted to say something. She was so weak. Lacey moved closer. “You’re my sweet baby girl, don’t ever forget it,” Marilyn whispered. Joe whimpered at the bathroom door. Buzzy went to the front door to wait for the ambulance.
Lacey gripped the edge of the porcelain tub as the light in her mother’s eyes suddenly went out. That light never returned, not after all the CPR Lacey did, not even after the paramedics arrived and took over.
Joe wouldn’t leave Marilyn’s grave. Waiting and watching, a lone sentry, he stayed there in the snow, day and night, refusing food, stubbornly refusing to be led home. “That dog’s not right in the head,” Buzzy said, but Lacey knew otherwise. Seeing Joe’s body starting to waste like her mother’s, Lacey took action. She walked to the cemetery, carrying a bulky sleeping bag, bottled water and several cold hamburgers.
She found Joe asleep on a bed of frozen flowers. Lacy unrolled her ground pad, then her sleeping bag, and lay beside him, curling her body around his. He was stiff with cold, but soon warmed in her embrace. In the morning, she awoke to find Joe licking her upturned palm. Two of the burgers were eaten, even the wrappers. She stayed with Joe that whole morning, her arm around his back, talking softly to him, explaining that Marilyn had gone away but she would always be near them. She would watch over them. She really wasn’t all that far away.
By the afternoon, he followed Lacey home.
#
Paul raised his voice above the music. “What about Buzz?”
Lacey shrugged, knowing that he would be relieved if she left. Buzzy was almost a stranger anyway, engaged to Marilyn for less than a year before her death. He was nice enough and everything, he was a kind man, he had loved her mother, but she felt the weight of the growing awkwardness between them; she was like a visitor who had outstayed her welcome. Marilyn sold their trailer when she met Buzz, and he owned this one. And Lacey wasn’t his kin. People would talk. She didn’t really care if they did. But there was something else. Just yesterday, he’d opened the bathroom door accidentally when Lacey was inserting a tampon. She saw his face pucker and fold in on itself, and she yelped and jumped back, yanking out the tampon as if caught in a sinful act.
She only hoped he wouldn’t think she was leaving because of that.
Work was so scarce these days. Most places were shut down because of the pandemic. Paul had been unemployed since the shoe factory closed. Buzzy was good at fixing things, so he still worked as a handyman, doing cash jobs whenever he could. There would always be work out there for Buzz. He would survive. People trusted him.
Lacey’s school was all online now, but she had missed a lot of it when she took care of Marilyn. Their satellite Internet was slow and unreliable. And when it did work, Lacey would stare at her Zoom-face and wonder if that was really her. She didn’t like that face. She looked so different than in the mirror, so hollowed-out and strange.
“Is Pearl coming?” she asked, but she already knew the answer. Paul nodded, exhaling smoke through his nose. Pearl was the only complication; the one thing that stood between Lacey and Paul. Maybe their six-year age difference did too, but she never worried about that. Pearl was almost nineteen; a tall, willowy blonde with a great body and a sweet singing voice. Lacey envied her for all of it. Weeks ago, when Lacey was visiting her mother in the hospital, she also visited Pearl.
A doctor explained to Lacey that Pearl was “pregnant with cancer.” Lacey stared at the swelling in Pearl’s belly, thinking he meant there was a tumor growing in there instead of a baby. But later that afternoon, Paul came in and cupped both his hands around the mound, his caress seductive and his eyes leaking love.
The doctors tore out a chunk of Pearl’s left breast and stared at it under microscopes. Then they told her to swallow a cocktail of pills that made her heave and puke up her insides. Her beautiful hair snapped off like brittle stalks of wheat, her skin grayed and flaked like snow.
But Paul still loved her.
Lacey brushed her own straight chestnut-brown hair until it shown, applied a heavy amount of eye liner, swung her hips when she walked, and bit her lips to make them swell. But Paul never seemed to notice any of it. She was still his little elf, and Pearl his goddess.
#
They left that night, the back of Paul’s truck piled with suitcases and coolers. Lacey decided to tell Buzzy at the very last minute, so he wouldn’t worry about her. She was surprised by the stunned look on his face. He had tears in his eyes. It made Lacey feel guilty. Even Joe was leaving him. He would be all alone now. She hadn’t really thought about it until then. She hugged Buzzy’s right arm for a second or two, told him she would call. She had tears too. She blinked them back and closed the door behind her.
When they finally got onto the highway, Pearl quickly overheated in the cramped cab and asked Lacey to roll down the window. The wind stung like an icy slap. Pearl opened a bag full of pill bottles and flung them out – Lacey watched the pills spin like candy in the wind. “Fly away,” Pearl said, and fell into a drooling sleep against Lacey’s shoulder. Her warm belly pressed into her side. Joe snored at her feet. Paul followed the yellow lines on the road, and Lacey watched him drive.
When they arrived at Chuck’s motel right at dawn, Lacey already missed New Hampshire. She missed the pink light reflected on the snowy mountain, the comfort of wood smoke curling into the morning sky. It was at least ten degrees warmer down here; the ground covered with just a torn sheet of snow.
The motel was low and flat and painted gray. A squirrel skittered across the gravel. A dumpster overflowed with empty beer cans. There were a few other pickups and vans in the parking lot. Paul got out of the Silverado, stretched his long limbs and walked to the office. A curtain parted, and a fat man with a masked face stared out at them. Pearl stirred, flicked open her wide eyes and dry heaved a few times. She pulled a wool cap down over her ears. Her blonde hair blew around her face, and when she smiled, Lacey saw how beautiful she was.
Lacey watched Paul go inside, then took Joe out to do his business. He sniffed the edges of the building, lifted his leg against a fence post. He caught sight of the squirrel and stiffened, but Lacey grabbed his collar just in time.
It seemed like an hour went by before Paul came out. He walked over, his eyes lowered. “Change of plans.” Paul stuffed his hands into his pockets. Pearl scratched at her wool cap with a fingernail. Joe leaned into Lacey’s legs, and she bent down to hug him. “The job at the depot…well, it’s not available anymore.” Paul lit a cigarette and punched out the smoke.
“But he promised!” Lacey cried, and she hated the sound of it.
Paul sucked in a long drag, pondering their next step, his next words. “We can stay. There’s work here for you girls. And Chuck will give us the room next to laundry.”
Pearl’s shoulders relaxed, but Lacey was still on guard. There was something more. She could feel it. She kept her eyes trained on Paul, trying to read the truth in his face. “What is it?”
Paul ground the burning butt into the snow. “No pets allowed.”
Lacey felt herself fill with rage. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t right! They had come all this way to start a new life. She stormed over to the office door, yanked it open and gave Chuck Densen a piece of her mind. She didn’t like him one bit. He wasn’t a nice person. She knew it the second she saw him. He lurked behind the counter, sweating, watching her with little rat eyes as she yelled at him about his dirty, rotten betrayal. He wasn’t used to being screamed at, especially by a girl, she could tell he was mad about it, he was shocked, in fact, he pulled his mask down to get some air. She wanted to leap over the counter and dig her fingernails into his jowls, and she probably would have — she was already pressed against the counter and lifting herself over it, when Paul rushed in and grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Hey, hey, Lacey, calm down, shit, it’s okay,” and then she heard him saying something to Chuck, a rushing train of words, “not her fault, look, she just lost her mother, really, this isn’t her, she’s not like this, I’ve known her my whole life,” and Chuck screaming get her out of here, y’all get out of here right now or I’ll call the police, I don’t need no fucking lunatics in my motel!
But somehow, Paul smoothed things over. He made Lacey apologize to Chuck, and she did, but it made her nauseous and she kept her eyes downcast. Paul told Chuck that Lacey was a great cook. That was how he clinched the deal. Joe could stay in the room with them at night, and Lacey would make home-cooked meals. During the daytime, she’d keep Joe outside and away from all the guests. It was a strict no-pet policy, so Chuck was doing them a huge favor by making this exception. And Lacey really wasn’t a great cook, but she knew how to make a few things. She had started cooking when her mother got sick. Buzzy never complained about anything she made; he seemed thankful that she made the effort.
Their motel room was small and had one window. Above them, a tiny skylight leaked long ribbons of water stains. The air was heavy with mildew and stale cigarettes. Paul pushed together the two single beds, then rolled a cot in. Lacey felt a sting of happiness in her heart. They had a place to stay, Joe was safe, and everything was going to work out.
The next day, Pearl started working in the office. She wedged her belly behind a mountain of neglected paperwork. Paul drove off in the truck to find a job, taking Joe with him. Lacey had to clean all ten motel rooms, because the other cleaners had quit after getting Covid. She took to it with remarkable energy, determined to make everything sparkle. By three, though, she began to tire, and she still had to make Chuck’s dinner. The thought of food made her stomach growl. She stored her cleaning supplies in a bucket and walked to over to his room. She saw his car was gone. She turned the knob and the door opened.
His refrigerator was filthy. What little food remained was covered in mold. Gagging, she returned to the office. Pearl was asleep with her head on a pillow of receipts. Lacey padded around the room, searching for a cash box. When she knocked into the desk accidentally, Pearl lifted an eyelid.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Got any money? We need to get food.”
Pearl wrestled a wrinkled twenty out of her jeans pocket. She winced as she handed it to Lacey. “What is it? The baby?”
“No…my boob. It hurts.” She lifted her oversized sweater, and pointed to the left one. “Is it bleeding?” Lacey stared at the puckered flesh, so black and blue it looked like pulp. A gauze bandage was stuck to it, and a trickle of pus leaked out around the edges.
“No. But we need to get you to the hospital.”
“Nope. Never going back there. We can fix it; it’s not that bad,” Pearl said, looking at it with her phone, clenching her teeth and peeling away some of gauze. Lacey ran to the bathroom, rifled through a cluttered drawer. She found some clean bandages, tiny scissors and a pair of tweezers. She rinsed them in scalding water. Hands shaking, she returned to Pearl’s side. She took a deep breath, and snipped away the remaining gauze. Most of the stitches looked okay. There was just one leaky, swollen spot on the incision. She dabbed at the pus with hydrogen peroxide and watched it bubble up. “I think it needs to drain,” Lacey said.
Pearl reached up and squeezed the bruised fruit.
Later, Pearl smiled, her face relaxed. “You’re so lucky,” she sighed at Lacey, “yours are still perfect.” Lacey glanced down at her flat chest and shrugged. Paul was pulling into the parking lot; Lacey gazed out the office window and watched him approach, a hint of a smile on his face, Joe wagging by his side.
“No,” Lacey said, “you’re the lucky one.”
Paul drove Lacey to Wal-Mart. She put on a clean mask, went in, and stuffed the cart with groceries. By suppertime, she’d made a respectable beef stew. Chuck grunted and took his meal back to his room. Lacey made a mental list of all the meals she knew how to make: beef stew, spaghetti and meatballs, and macaroni and cheese. Oh, and she could fry hamburgers and steak. Maybe that was enough. And there was decent Internet here at the motel. She could find plenty of new recipes online.
Things were looking up. A few days later, Paul found full-time work at a factory over in Cranston. That night, they shared a giant chocolate bar for dessert and Paul cracked open a six-pack. Lacey didn’t like the taste of beer; she drank it anyway, because she wanted to be grown up, and they were celebrating. Pearl took a small sip, then switched to orange juice because of the baby. Joe was curled up on her cot, in a deep, twitching sleep. Lacey looked out the window, at the snow blowing like lace curtains. It made her long for home. She wondered if Buzz was doing okay by himself.
The fresh blanket of snow beckoned them. They wandered outside and gazed at the dark sky. Paul popped open another beer and danced around in the parking lot. Pearl sang an old lullaby, her voice so pure and sweet. Soon the three of them were holding hands, moving in a circle, giggling and sticking their tongues out to catch the snowflakes. They ventured behind the motel, climbed a small knoll. Lacey flung herself into the snow, arms outstretched, scissoring her limbs into snow angels. Paul and Pearl soon followed, rolling around like drunken children, laughing and making out. Pearl’s cap fell off, and the snow frosted her hair like a sugar kiss.
It was a near-perfect moment; she only wished they had brought Joe with them, so he could leap and bark and catch snowballs in the moonlight. Just as she held that image, she heard Joe barking. They rushed back to the motel, where Chuck was standing in front of their room, arms crossed, jowls flapping.
“Stay here,” Paul warned. Pearl and Lacey held back, as Chuck waved a fist at Paul.
“That god-damn dog shit all over the room,” he yelled. Lacey ran over; seeing their door half-way open, her heart froze.
She reared back at Chuck. “You must have scared him!”
“Fuckin mutt!”
As Paul tried to reason with him, Lacey frantically searched the parking lot, calling Joe’s name. Finally, by the dumpster, she heard a whimper. “Joe!” There he was, cowering behind some boxes. She coaxed him to her, wrapped her arms around him and soaked him with her tears.
After cleaning up the mess, she decided to stay in the truck with Joe for the night. Paul said they’d be too cold out there, but she insisted. They couldn’t risk any more trouble with Chuck tonight. The temperature soon plummeted; they shivered in the cab. The full moon rose, huge and bald. Joe lapped at the frost on the window.
“Take a walk?” Joe thumped his tail against the dashboard. Lacey pushed the blankets into a heap. She’d been using her mother’s tattered cashmere coat as an extra blanket, but now she decided to wear it.
They hiked behind the motel, moving past the knoll and into the woods, following a moonlit trail. The snow was crisp and clean and crunched underfoot. They walked until the sound of trucks on the highway faded into a distant whine, and a soft hush of mist rose over a wide pond.
Lacey smelled pine and frost. Joe burrowed his snout into promising mounds, searching for rabbits and squirrels. They trekked on, the moon lifted its face, and Lacey thought how lucky they were to be together, sharing this special moment.
Then — a snap of branches – a startle of wings. Lacey turned and saw a Canada goose flap into the air.
Joe saw it, too.
He slingshot across the pond.
“Joe! No!” Joe slowed, turned, then slipped on the ice and splayed out on all fours, sliding to the center of the pond. Lacey did the terrible math: Joe was seventy pounds; the ice not nearly as thick here as it was in New Hampshire.
“Joe! Come!” He scampered to his feet, and for a moment Lacey thought he was going to make it back to her. But the pond cracked open like a silver mouth and grabbed Joe in its teeth. He whimpered as he sank, chopping at the ice with panicked paws.
Instinctively, Lacey threw off her coat and boots and tested the edge of the ice. It held her, so she got on her belly and slid forward, her arms and legs tracing reverse snow angels on the surface. “Hold on, Joe! I’m coming!” She slid ever closer to him, so close, almost there.
The ice hissed under her weight.
Near the lip of the dark hole, adrenaline exploding in her veins, she reached out her right arm, grabbed a hold of Joe’s neck and got pulled down into the icy black.
She surfaced to the shock of cold, anchored Joe against her body. She pushed him up and onto the ice. He slid for a few yards, scrabbled to his feet and raced to the edge, barking furiously. He howled and barked as she tried to get out, but her hands were so numb she couldn’t push herself up. She heard him barking as he crashed down the trail, and for a while, Lacey held onto hope, held onto a wide tongue of ice.
Lacey! The moon wore her mother’s face. She felt her heart slow like a tired watch. Her elbows began to slide, and suddenly there was nothing left to grasp onto. She kicked her legs, pushed herself forward and got her torso wedged against the ice. She pushed forward, getting both arms out of the water before she started to slide again. She thought of Joe, and how he’d sit on her coat and wait for her, and that he’d be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. She wondered how long he would wait for her. She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want to leave Paul or Pearl, either. They were her family now.
She needed to change Pearl’s dressing tomorrow. She wanted to hold Pearl’s baby. She wanted to see Paul’s handsome face again.
She wanted to live! But — it was so cold. She thought she heard someone screaming her name from far away. Lacey!
Lacey couldn’t believe how much it hurt. She tried to pray, but even her thoughts were frozen. She could see the words of her prayers hanging like letters on a sign. Then the letters fell away and she heard someone whisper in her ear the wind blows where it w-w-will…and her numb lips mouthed the words but you c-cannot s-see from where it comes or where it is g-going…The wind stirred the mist into a tinkle of glass flutes. You’re my sweet baby girl, don’t ever forget it. In the distance, a deep rumbling like gathering drums, a percussion of rising voices. Lacey! Lacey! Joe’s barking was getting louder. Lacey forced herself to kick her legs. Lacey! I’m coming! At the moon’s command, the barking reached a crescendo, and then the trees joined in, lifting their branches to an orchestra of shattering ice.
Kate Bergquist has an MA in Writing and Literature from Rivier University in New Hampshire. Insurance agent by day, dark fiction writer by night, her short fiction has appeared in The Chamber Magazine and other periodicals. She finds inspiration along the Maine coast, where she lives with her husband and several old rescue dogs.
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