Trailer Park Wives Part Two: The Doublewide Edition

By Denise Gwen

In part two of Trailer Park Wives, the double-wide edition, answers arrive at the same time that new questions emerge. By the time the wives find out how--and why--Anne Marie ended her life, they've learned a whole lot of other things about their dear friend . . . as if it wasn't bad enough having to live in the grimmest trailer park in Ohio.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denise Gwen
• Release date: Jul 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005136123

Denise Gwen

Denise Gwen writes!!!

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tuesday, April 1, 10:45 a.m.

---

We sold ten pills, Dwayne, Samantha crowed. Ten pills!

Hot damn. Dwayne grinned.

Clutching the wad of money in her hands, Samantha danced around the motel room as Dwayne, lounging in an armchair beside the window, lit a cigarette and smiled at her.

Look at all this money! she crowed.

That was, perhaps, the best part of all of it, the cold, hard cash. She held in her hands a pile of Ben Franklins, a glorious pile of them, thirty to be precise, thirty of those crisp, soft bills, with the distinctive smell so peculiar to fresh currency. The smell of money reminded her of many things, of wealth, success, but what she loved most about money was its very smell. It smelled of success.

She buried her face in those soft green bills and inhaled their creamy essence. God, how she loved the smell of money. Did anything else in life give her more pleasure?

She looked around the room, wondering where she could hide this massive pile of cash. Despite the bills’ utter smoothness, their sharp crispness, she couldn’t slide them into her wallet; as crisp and as smooth as they were, and as beautiful to behold, when she piled them up together, they proved too thick to fold.

Where to put them?

While she fretted, Dwayne lounged in the chair, blowing out smoke rings, while continuing to gaze out the window. He wore a Rolling Stones T-shirt and he looked unbelievably hot. She wondered if she really could get away with fucking him, just once?

What if she made him promise never to tell Vicky?

A car driving down the road backfired and Samantha jumped with a sudden, animal-like terror.

Dwayne glanced at her. It’s only a car engine, Sam.

Sweet Christ Almighty, she said. It sounded like a gun.

Still clutching the wad of cash, she walked to the window and looked out. A frisson of fear laced through her heart and the image of Jack’s baleful stare filled her mind again. What was Jack’s crew up to, at this very moment, she wondered? She pushed her knee against Dwayne’s outstretched leg.

Whassup, Hoss? he asked.

You wanna know what I think? We should leave right now. This is good, this is good money.

Dwayne dropped the cigarette butt into an empty Coke can. No way, Sam! We’re only just getting started.

Dwayne, look-it. She turned and spread the thirty bills out across the polyester bedspread, fan-like. She grabbed the Oxycontin bottle and dumped the contents of the bottle out across the bedspread beside the bills. Okay. We started out with twenty-eight, ‘cause I sold two before we left the trailer park, and we just sold ten, so we’ve got eighteen left.

We’ll sell’em all in no time, Dwayne said.

Dwayne, come here.

Whatcha want, babe? Dwayne stood up, stretched, and lounged over to her, sliding his hand around her waist and pulling her in toward him.

She ignored this as she divided the pale pink pills into two piles of nine each. She scooped up one pile and dropped them into Dwayne’s palm. Here. You take half. I’ll take the other half. In case something happens to one of us, there’ll still be at least nine pills to sell.

He grinned loopily at her. What could happen?

Oh, and here. She scooped up ten Ben Franklins and handed them to him. You hold onto these.

Dwayne accepted the proffered money with a shy smile. You trusting me with all this money, Sam?

Oh, sure, why the hell not? It’s part of your take, anyway. You may as well keep it. Now, I only owe you another five-hundred dollars.

Thanks, Sam. With meticulous care, he neatly folded up the bills, put them into his wallet and then stuffed the wallet into his back jeans pocket. Look, I know you want to get out of here, so why don’t we split up? That way we can sell the pills faster.

She hesitated. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. And neither one of us brought our cell phone down with us. How could I be so fucking stupid?

It’ll be okay. It’s a small town, it’s not like we’re gonna get lost. Besides, I wanna get out of this motel room. As if to demonstrate how cooped up he felt, he began strumming on an invisible air guitar.

Samantha considered. Really, how could she be so stupid as to forget her cell phone? She’d been in such a hurry to leave yesterday, she’d left her cell phone back at her trailer, charged into the wall socket. How could she be so dumb? But in her rush to leave, she’d simply failed to notice it or grab it on her way out the door. And Dwayne’s cell phone coverage got canceled due to nonpayment. It really was a bad, bad thing, neither one of them having a cell phone. Dumb. Stupid. Dangerous. They really ought to stay together.

She shuffled the remaining twenty Ben Franklins together into a neat pile, stacked them up, and then stuffed them into her wallet. It all fit, but barely. Something still felt wrong, though. It niggled at her, at the back of her mind. Really, if she was going to let Dwayne run around town loose, she’d better get a fucking cell phone.

Look, she said, remember that Wal-Marts we passed by, forty miles up the road?

He stopped playing air-guitar to gaze at her. What?

Remember that Wal-Marts?

What about it?

She glanced out the motel window. It boasted an unparalleled view of Morton Boulevard and of the motel parking lot, plus the Morton Inn, across the street. Everything looked okay, but still, something troubled her. She felt uneasy, unsettled.

After the big rush of morning sales, business had suddenly slacked off and she didn’t know why. Something was wrong. She’d never felt quite this way before; in all her years, in all the scrapes and close calls she’d encountered, she’d never before felt quite this frightened; a low-grade rumbling of terror flared up inside her.

Then it hit her, what felt wrong.

Things were quiet.

Correction, they were too quiet.

An eerie stillness had descended over the parking lot, and an image suddenly darted into her mind.

In High Noon, the black-and-white classic film starring Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly, in the moments leading up to the brutal gunfire exchange when Gary Cooper is fighting to save his life, the town grows creepily quiet, still. The tension hovers in the air as the clock ticks out the remaining minutes till high noon, the moment when Frank Miller, the desperado who’d sworn to kill Marshal Kane, played by Gary Cooper, returns to town and into the welcoming arms of his posse, who’ve been waiting for him to arrive on the twelve o’clock train.

Eerily, Samantha had landed in her own High Noon moment.

This was bad.

She grabbed Dwayne’s arm. Look, we’ve got lots of time. It won’t be dusk for hours. Let’s run back up there, buy us some cell phones with plenty of minutes on them. That way we can stay in touch with each other.

Oh, come on, Sam! Dwayne wailed. I need to get out there and start selling.

I’ll pay for them! she offered in desperation. I’ll pay for yours and mine out of my cut.

Oh, Sam, that’s awful sweet of you, but I don’t think we oughta waste our time. He grinned at her. Let’s just get out there and sell some pills.

Why don’t we just stay here, then? She offered with a hopeful smile. Now that word’s out—

Aw, sweetie. You’re so cute.

Look Dwayne, she said anxiously, I’ve got an idea. Let’s just stay here till we sell them all. And then we’ll scoot on back to Batesville. She slapped her palm against her forehead. "You know what? Fuck it! Let’s just head on home now. I’d be willing to bet, if we get back home in time, we could sell the rest of our pills to everyone in the trailer park."

Naw, he drawled. I been cooped up here all day, and no offense, Sam, but since I can’t fuck ya, I wanna strike out, see the town.

She considered. Perhaps Dwayne really did know the right thing to do; a small town, after all, it wasn’t like they could get lost from each other, right? But this idea of letting him run around Hazard loose, well, that idea just rankled at her craw. They really ought to stick together. But he seemed so eager, so happy. He knew about Jack’s crew; she’d warned him against those guys, he’d be on the look-out for them. Dwayne was a grown man, after all. He knew how to sell weed without getting caught. What harm was there in him unloading a few pills on his own?

She fetched a heavy sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. Okay, she said reluctantly. But you be goddamn careful, okay? And be back by five, no later. She shivered. I wanna get the hell out of here before nightfall.

Sure thing, babe. He grabbed his car keys off the bedside table, pecked her on the cheek, loped out of the room and clattered down the stairs to his Corvette. He gunned the engine, pulled out of the parking lot, and tore down the hill toward town.

Samantha opened the plate-glass door and walked out onto the balcony, watching him drive away. She felt very vulnerable and very much alone.

Tuesday, April 1, 11:22 a.m.

Deena finished her third reading of Where the Wild Things Are, and set the book, facedown, onto the stack of books she’d brought with her to the agency for her two-hour supervised visit.

No, Mama, Clare cried. Again.

Again? Deena asked. Honey, I just read it to you three times.

Again, Mommy, Ian said. Again.

Wead it to us again, Clare lisped.

Oh, all right, she sighed, casting a sideways glance at the impenetrable mirror. On the other side of this one-way mirror, every single employee of the Gallatin County Children’s Protective Services Agency had the right to drift into the viewing room, sit down, watch, be entertained, make judgment upon her, and then leave the room, without Deena knowing who’d been watching her.

What she most certainly did know for certain? Someone was watching her, at all times, to see how she interacted with and behaved with her children. She kept a brave smile on her face, but inwardly, she seethed with resentment.

What really angered her; she couldn’t actually see who sat in the room on the opposite side of the looking glass, but she did sense, from the shadows drifting across the glass, that she’d drawn quite a crowd. She didn’t know if she ought to feel comforted or despairing from so much interest.

All right. She swallowed back a yawn, Let’s begin again.

The twins snuggled in on either side of her, cuddling her and lulling her to sleep at the same time. She had to fight to keep her eyelids from closing. She loved the sensation of their hot, moist little bodies jammed up next to hers. It was the only thing during the entire supervised visit that gave her any joy.

And she’d conducted herself during this two-hour visit in an exemplary fashion. She’d interacted with her twins; she’d given them brand new coloring books and crayons. She’d sung to them; they sang to her; they all danced to the tune of a Tellytubbies’ tune on a CD player; they ate a snack, healthy and nutritious, no cake; they sipped from ice-cold bottles of chocolate milk, then, finally, the three of them collapsed onto the hard rubber sofa for book-reading time, the children reclining their soft, downy heads on her lap.

Slowly, as she worked her way through the book for the fourth time—dear God, she knew it by heart, now—she sensed the twins slowly falling asleep. Their abundant energy, their unmitigated capacity to jump up and begin whirling around the room, slowly dissipated from their bodies, and they slowly grew still and hot and lumpy on her body. First Clare, who’d laid her soft, downy head down onto Deena’s lap, then a few moments later, Ian followed suit. This left Deena in a bit of a pickle. Did she dare quit reading? Every moment with her children during these two-hour supervised visits at the agency were closely scrutinized, but all the same, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d worked so damn hard to be a good mother. Waves of exhaustion rippled over her as she forced her eyelids to remain open.

Gently, she laid the edges of the book down onto her lap, snuggled down on the seat a bit, just enough so that the padded wall behind her supported her head. She closed her eyes, just for a second, and in the next moment she startled herself awake with a snore.

Mercifully, she didn’t awaken the twins. They’d passed out in the way only small children can fall asleep, when they are thoroughly exhausted; deeply, reverently, and without ever awakening.

She glanced at the one-way mirror again.

Go ahead, you judgmental bitches, and judge me. Go ahead, judge me.

The one-way mirror, her own personal rabbit hole to hell, just as Alice’s adventures through the looking glass had been hers. Just as Alice had tumbled down the rabbit hole in search of the March Hare, so too had Deena’s life tumbled down the rabbit hole as well. Only in Deena’s situation, the Mad Hatter wasn’t mad at all; she was simply a supremely self-assured young woman with too much power in her hands.

But Deena wouldn’t escape from this bizarre wonderland until she’d completely satisfied each and every element on her case plan. Then, and only then, would she gain admittance back into the world of the green, lush world aboveground, where Alice’s sister sat under a tree, engrossed in her novel, a strange book filled with words and no pictures.

The door to the observation room creaked open and Mandy stepped daintily inside. She looked even more trim and stylish than ever, Deena noted with weary envy; she wore a new pair of plum suede Mary-Jane pumps, a crisp white blouse with balloon-style peplum sleeves, and a flirty microfiber skirt with an artfully-shredded hemline; her hair, recently cut—in a blunt razor-style this time, with attractively-arranged sections of highlighted hair framing her face—she looked every inch the composed and regal princess of the Gallatin County Department of Human Services.

If she weren’t Deena’s sworn enemy, Deena would’ve told Mandy she looked simply adorable. The little bitch.

Hi, Deena, Mandy said.

Hi, Mandy, Deena said.

The power given to this young woman, only six years older than her own teenage daughter, simply staggered Deena. How did it happen, Deena wondered? By virtue of attending college, Mandy was invested with the power of the State of Ohio to stand in judgment over her. A young woman who’d gone to college, and, in a matter of months after graduation, she possessed the enormous power to stand in imperious judgment on a woman years older than herself and struggling to raise her second family?

Deena swallowed back her bitterness and plastered a smile across her face.

What a good visit, Mandy commented blithely.

Yes, Deena replied evenly, I thought so.

Ian stirred awake. Mommy, can we go home? he asked in a plaintive voice.

Me too, Mommy! Me too! Clare cried. Me come home, too! She grabbed Deena’s pants leg and hung on.

Okay, kids, Mandy said. Mama Cassie’s coming to get you.

No, Ian said. Home with my mommy! He clung to Deena’s pants leg. Home with my mommy!

Deena swallowed back her tears. The worst, the very worst part about these visits, came at the end, where she kissed her babies goodbye.

Mandy stepped out into the hallway. Um, Sarah? Can you come help me out for a second?

With a great deal of effort, Ian and Clare were finally extricated from their death grip on Deena’s legs, and placed into the capable hands of the foster mother, a woman known only to Deena as Cassie; apparently something of a favorite foster mother at the agency, she specialized in the very young, traumatized children. At the age of three years, Ian and Clare actually fell at the top end of the age spectrum that Cassie managed. And, although Deena wasn’t supposed to know anything at all concerning Cassie’s private life, Deena did know—from listening intently to the caseworkers talking in the hallway—that Cassie lived in a real house in a nice subdivision in Milford.

Cassie also appeared to be the only person at the agency who possessed a modicum of sympathy for Deena.

As Clare screamed and thrashed around in the caseworker’s arms, Cassie flashed Deena a kind smile. It’s the good mothers the kids hate to leave.

Tears filled Deena’s eyes. Thank you.

It’s true, Cassie said with a tired smile. It’s true, honey.

It’s the good mothers the kids hate to leave.

Oh, but was it really true? Or was Cassie just being nice? After all, children didn’t know when they were being raised badly. Children didn’t generally question the quality of their rearing during the time of their rearing; not until they reached adulthood did they start to question the quality of their mothers’ care.

And, with the exception of abuse—physical, sexual, emotional—didn’t all children generally prefer their mothers to all other mothers? And what made a woman a good mother? Deena wondered at that. Was she really a good mother? Or was she a bad mother, albeit one with good qualities?

Stay awhile after they leave, Deena, Mandy called over her shoulder as Cassie and Sarah carted the twins out to the parking lot. We need to talk about a few things.

Okay, Deena said. As if there were any choice. As if she wanted to be anywhere else in the world, other than in this room, watching her children being hauled away from her. Once Mandy eased out of eyesight, Deena let the smile fade from her features. It hurt, all the god-damn smiling she did.

Tuesday, April 1, 11:31 a.m.

---

Come on back with me, Deena, to my office, Mandy said.

Okay, Deena said.

Mandy escorted Deena deep into the recesses of the agency. They flitted past cubicle after cubicle, filled with caseworkers yelling into telephones. As they eased past the other workers of the agency, Deena overheard snatches of conversations.

"And I’m telling you, ma’am, that if you make one more complaint about this family, the prosecutor told me to warn you he’ll press harassment charges against you—"

I’ve got a medical authorization that I’ll fax to you, so we can take the child down to Children’s for a sex victim examination—

The welfare office called us, to let us know you’ve got a man living in your apartment with you, and that you failed to disclose this to us. This will impact on your welfare benefits. Your food stamps will be cut off. You could be charged with welfare fraud if you’re failing to disclose the income he’s providing to your household—

Mandy stopped in a doorway opening into a spacious office with a window. Right in here. As Deena plunked herself down into a chair, Mandy strolled across the plush white carpeting to stand by the window. Oh look, she said absently, I see a deer.

Oh, Deena said. Wow.

After a moment, a huge woman whom Deena recognized from the shelter-care hearing, strolled into the room. This woman, with her enormous, swinging hips, had been sitting next to the mean old gray-haired woman who’d made fun of Deena. Obviously, someone of some importance—after all, her office boasted a window—but who was she?

The woman extended her fleshy hand. Hi, I’m Greta Saunders. I’m Mandy’s supervisor.

Hello, Deena said inadequately. I’m Deena Cook.

Close the door, Mandy.

Mandy obediently walked across the room to close the door.

As Greta heaved her massive bulk behind her desk and collapsed into her chair, the springs shrieked in pain.

Deena’s heart thumped dully. Were they getting ready to tell her some more bad news? The kind of bad news that had to take place behind closed doors? Did they observe something inappropriate during her supervised visit? A flash of terror shocked her brain and she wondered what she’d done, but when she thought back to the supervised visit, she could honestly say she’d been nothing less than a wonderful and attentive mother. What could they have possibly found to complain about? A cold chill coursed through her. Oh God, this was bad. This was bad.

Mandy sat down in the chair next to Deena and across the desk from Greta, who made a great show of scrutinizing some papers in front of her for a few moments, before pushing them to one side. Well, Mandy tells me things are going well.

Deena nodded.

Wait for it.

Yes, Mandy chimed in. Deena’s completed the parenting class, she’s enrolled in mental health counseling, and her supervised visits are always very appropriate. She flashed a smile at Deena, the first genuinely friendly smile Deena had ever seen on Mandy’s face. In fact, I’d say Deena’s visits at the agency are just stellar. She smirked. I wish my mother paid that much attention to me!

Deena managed a thin smile.

Don’t worry, honey. I’m sure she did. I’m sure you don’t remember anything she did for you, but I’m sure your mother lavished a lot of attention on you. How else can you explain how well you turned out if she hadn’t been a good mother to you?

How long have the children been in the custody of the agency? Greta asked absently.

Twenty-two days.

A little over three weeks, Mandy offered, scrunching up her smooth brow.

Twenty-two days, Deena interjected hastily. You took them from me—you removed them—on Saturday, March the eighth.

The day of my best friend’s funeral.

Mandy gazed, surprised, at Deena. Oh, yeah, that’s right.

And the father, he’s not participating in the case plan? Greta directed this question to Deena, who shook her head. No, he left me.

I amended the case-plan, Mandy said coolly, to take that into account.

Any chance of him coming back?

Deena wanted to say yes, but she really didn’t know for certain. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then closed her mouth again. I really don’t know, she said miserably.

So there’s no other man in the picture? Greta asked with a steely look.

Deena gulped. On her trip down the hallway to Greta’s office, she’d overheard a caseworker barraging someone for failing to disclose a man in her apartment. Clearly the issue concerned food stamps. But Deena didn’t take food stamps. She didn’t take any welfare. She didn’t want to mention it, but should she say it, just to be on the safe side? She didn’t know if Richard was going to stick around, but he did sleep over last night. He said he wanted back in her life, but things were going slowly. Did one night in her bed count?

With this agency? Who am I kidding?

My ex—my ex-husband, Deena began in a faltering tone, he and I may be getting back together. A fresh sheen of shame rippled through her. Boy oh boy, did that look bad; a woman, abandoned by her husband, falls into the arms of another man. Boy, did she sound just like a typical, trashy, trailer-park mom. She hated the way it made her look; she hated the way it made her feel.

Is it Richard, Deena? Mandy asked with a helpful smile. Surprisingly, Mandy didn’t appear to look on this new piece of information with her usual sneering condescension. She was actually being kind of nice about it. I do remember you telling me something along those lines the other day—don’t you remember telling me?—that you might be getting back together with your ex?

Deena nodded. At the time, I didn’t know how serious he was about it.

Mandy turned to Greta. Richard’s a nice man. He’s the father of her two teenage children, who are still in their placement at her home.

How old are these teenagers? Greta asked.

They’re seventeen and fifteen, Deena offered.

And you say you’re married to him?

Yes, well, no. I was married to him. We’re divorced. I’m married to Travis Cook right now, but we’re separated.

So there, lady. You can quit judging me right now. I’m not quite your typical trailer-park mom. I did at least marry the guy before I gave birth to his children. I’m not complete trash, no matter what you may think.

Greta’s brow furrowed. Will Richard agree to be put on the case plan? I don’t want to return these children to a household where one of the adults isn’t on the case plan.

Deena looked up, fearful of revealing the glimmering of hope dancing in her eyes. Are you thinking of returning my kids?

We are, but I want to be assured this Richard person will support you.

He will. He’ll do a case plan.

Are you sure, Deena? Mandy asked.

Oh yes. He will. She snorted with derisive laughter. Or he can forget getting back together with me.

Greta’s eyes hardened as she gazed at Deena. Finally, she gave an imperceptible nod. "Very well, then. Richard needs to contact Mandy, to be put on the case plan, and then we’ll start