Satan Gets in Through the Cracks

an excerpt

Mama works nights and sends us to Mrs. Bloom’s for dinner and sleep. On the hottest nights, Mrs. Bloom lets us drag sleeping bags to the screened in porch where we fall asleep listening to the peepers, the owls and a scratchy growl Benny thinks is a monster. Mrs. Bloom’s toothless boyfriend, Tank, says it’s just a mama badger clucking at her babies.

Benny stops under the badger crossing sign and asks if I think we’ll see a badger tonight.

“No, Benny.” I take her hand to keep her moving. We never see badgers. We never see anything good— just deer most of the time, and sometimes yellow-bellied marmots if we go outside early enough.

Benny wrenches from my grip and drops to her knees behind the bumper of Gordon McNabb’s van, the big tan one with a spray painted naked lady on the side, one Mama says we should never get in because old Gordon’s full of sin and so is his van.

“Come on from there,” I hiss. But she’s half under the bumper and she screeches like a baby monkey when I grab her leg.

“Stop, Lainey,” she yells, kicking back. I squat on the driveway behind her, looking around for either Gordon or Mama, not sure which one would be worse.

“Benny,” I whisper through gritted teeth, “If you don’t come out from there—right now—I swear to God I’m telling Mama.”

Don’t swear to God,” she says. “It’s a sin.” She scrambles out and jumps to her feet. Her knees are pitted with gravel and dirt. I send up a quick prayer of thanks that we’re on our way to Mrs. Bloom’s and not home, because Mrs. Bloom will wash Benny’s knees with a warm cloth and maybe give her a popsicle. She’ll let Benny put on pants, pants that Mrs. Bloom’s only son used to wear when he was little, so she doesn’t get dirty running around outside.