Jessie

I stood in front of the dresser mirror, hoping I could pass for sixteen, and stared at the small silver bracelet before slipping it onto my wrist. Tarnished with a single charm–a cross–my tenth birthday gift, the only thing Momma had ever given me, besides a beating. After that gesture of love, her heart closed, never to open again for many, many years.
I stepped into my dress and pulled the sleeves to hide the bruise on my left arm, still sore and bearing the print of Daddy’s hand from the night before. The memory hurt more than the injury.

My chest had tightened when I heard the front door open fifteen minutes early because dinner wasn’t quite ready. I had only been living with Daddy for six months, but every day was like living on the edge of a razor. I remembered how he used to touch me, and how cruel he could be over the smallest of things.
Daddy wasn’t tall, but he had bulging muscles in his arms that made his shirtsleeves so tight, I thought they might burst. Once, I saw him with his shirt off, and I noticed scars on his back from the war.
I had put the spaghetti on to boil and had finished the sauce; the table was set.
Grabbing a Schaefer Beer from the refrigerator, I ran to the foyer, where he took off his work boots.
I handed him the beer. “Here, Daddy. How was your day? I’m making your favorite spaghetti.” One of the few things Momma had taught me how to make.
His eyes were tired. “Is it ready yet?”
“Almost, Daddy.” I hung my head.
He took a swig of the beer. “Damn, that tastes good. Work was a pisser.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. Get out of your work clothes, and dinner will be ready.”
“Thanks, baby.” He squeezed my shoulder, kissed the top of my head, and went upstairs. He could be nice sometimes, and during those times, he could almost be gentle, like a daddy was supposed to be. It also made me nervous because I knew how fast he could turn.
In the kitchen, I sliced a loaf of French bread, buttered a few pieces and sprinkled garlic powder on them. I listened for the sound of the shower turning off upstairs. After a minute or two, I put the bread in the oven to brown.
I glanced around one last time and took a deep breath. Maybe this would be a good night. Daddy normally reads the newspaper after dinner. And drinks beer.
Tonight, I hoped his friend, Mr. Mike, would stop by so I could curl up in the living room chair and read the latest Nancy Drew novel I checked out at the library, The Mystery of the Ivory Charm. Nancy Drew had to be the smartest girl alive. And what was this ‘Ivory Charm?’ I couldn’t wait to find out.
“Jessie! Where the hell is my other slipper?”
Panic set in, and I almost peed on the floor. I pulled the bread out of the oven and raced to the bottom of the stairs. “It should be in your bedroom, Daddy.”
“Well, get your ass up here and help me look for it!”
Tears blurred my eyes. Racing up the stairs and into his bedroom, I spotted the slipper by his bedside. “There it is, Daddy.”
“Don’t be stupid, girl. That’s the one I already found. Where’s the other one?” He stopped and stared at me with shifty eyes. “You been in my room? You move my stuff around?”
“No, Daddy!” I fought back the sobs. I dropped onto my hands and knees and looked under his bed.
He grabbed me by the arm, and I yelped. “You better find my slipper.” He squeezed my arm so hard I thought it might break.
Holding back the tears was important because tears only made him angrier.
Snatching my face with his other hand, he pulled me so close I could smell his breath.
Then he let go of my face and slung me to the floor. I spotted the slipper wedged behind his bathroom door.
“It’s...it’s in the bathroom, Daddy. Behind the door.”
He gave me a disgusted look, snatched the slipper. “Clean your face and go get dinner ready.”