Beach Babies

By Pamela King Cable

Beach Babies came to me a few years ago when I held a picture, now the cover of this book, and stared at it. Bobbie Sue Rossi isn’t a heroine, neither will she be a legend. She’s simply a woman that did what needed to be done. I understand her and identify with her in many ways. We make no excuses for our behavior or even our mistakes. But, I like to think her kind of courage will go on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Satya House Publications Inc.
• Release date: May 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781935874188

Pamela King Cable

Born in West Virginia, Pam claims a tribe of wild Pentecostals and storytellers raised her. Southern Fried Women was a finalist in Fiction and Literature-Short Story category, Best Books of 2006 Book Awards sponsored by USA Book News and a finalist for ForeWord Magazine’s Book of the Year. Invited to speak at the Southern Festival of the Book in Memphis, and by the First Ladies of West Virginia and Mississippi, she has become a speaker in much demand. Pam’s passion and inspiration for overcoming life’s insurmountable obstacles is evident in her performances at bookstores, women’s groups, on the radio, for churches of every size, civic groups in major cities and throughout the rural South.

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BEACH BABIES

by

Pamela King Cable

Copyright 2006-2012 by Pamela King Cable. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. For information address Satya House Publications, Inc., Post Office Box 122, Hardwick, Massachusetts 01037

ISBN: 9781935874188

Published by Satya House Publications, Hardwick, MA, a boutique publishing company, specializing in books that just might change your life or the way you think about it. www.satyahouse.com

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Beach Babies is one of the stories in the award-winning book, Southern Fried Women, which is available in print directly from the publisher, Satya House Publications, your favorite on-line reseller, or, ask for it at your local bookstore. Cover photography and photography restoration by Michael Cable.

Beach Babies

May 1945

Bertie hated Mama. She hated her for her backhandings and beatings and allowing our boarders’ sneaky nighttime raids on our sleeping bodies.

I hated her too, but not as much as my sister did.

Crawling into my bed, Bertie curled up like a cat near a fire and bawled for a good hour. Time to get the hell out, Bertie, you with me? I gave her my best devil-be-damned smile.

She jerked her head up and looked at me hard. Her nose dripped. Drool slid out the side of her mouth as she spit her words at me. Hell’s bells, I was ready to leave here five years ago, the day after our 12th birthday. I still got scars from that beating.

I handed her a rag to blow her nose. Yeah, I remember. It was such a happy birthday. The bitch threw Daddy out of his own house not five minutes after we blew out the candles on the first birthday cake we ever had. I say he figured bein’ a hobo and ridin’ the rails was easier than livin’ with her.

Mama says he’s in prison.

Could be. We’ll never know for sure.

I sighed and kicked the quilt off my legs.

Why’d Daddy leave us, Bobbie? Why’d he let her run him off?

My sister’s question stung me like she’d snapped a rubber band at my head. Daddy left in a hurry, with only the clothes he had on. Erwin Doogan had hopped a train to Knoxville, we were told, and never came back.

Men do funny things when their back’s against the wall. I think the Depression broke him and Mama never loved him. Like I said, we’ll never find out. Not as long as we’re here.

Even at seventeen, Bertie chewed her fingernails. I watched her gnaw on her pinky. But Mama didn’t want us either. Except to cook and clean, among other things. Bertie laid her head on the pillow and turned over to her back. The war’s almost over; I hear they’re hirin’ at the mill.

We gotta get far away from Mama. Hosiery mill ain’t far enough. I’ll find us a place. A small seed of trust slipped