Just Scratch the Surface

By Kathe Olafson

The first lines of "Just Scratch the Surface" suggest this novel is not about anything ordinary. But don't be deceived, in this book Katherine Olafson weaves the deeply personal stories of everyday women into a grounded, flowing portrait of small town community life. The group gathers in the gentlest circumstance, a Church Sharing Circle raising funds for pew cushions. They meet, talk, share recipes, and their stories one by one unfold. They will carry you to tears, to heights of joy, to expressing fear and love. This unforgettable book will definitely entertain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rocky Point Books
• Release date: Jul 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9780994963369

Kathe Olafson

Kathe Olafson is retired and writes for fun. She enjoys creating stories about women and their lives.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE –– Catherine BBQs Ribs

Catherine gasps, Uhhh , hits the wall hard and slides to the floor.

Get up you useless bitch.

Dazed, Catherine tries to move but too slowly. John grabs the collar of her blouse and a handful of hair and drags her to her feet. She looks into the eyes of a madman. Purple with rage, John’s fury distorted face is unrecognizable. Catherine doesn’t dare show any emotion. She wills herself to go to her safe place but she isn’t fast enough. His fist drives into her stomach. Doubling over she can’t help but cry out this time.

John, please.

Please what? This is all your fault. It’s always your fault. You just never learn.

Grabbing her by the hair again he pulls her upright and starts to shake her. Over and over her head hits the wall, Catherine feels herself retreating, finally.

THE COLD ROUSES HER from her feel-nothing place. Shivering, Catherine raises herself on one elbow. There’s no piercing pain. Good no broken ribs this time. She winces as she sits up and cradles her stomach. Her stomach muscles seem to have taken the brunt of this attack. Bringing the clock into focus she sees it’s just after midnight. She slowly calculates she’s been lying there for just over two hours.

What in the world brought this on? Think. Think. I was getting the coffee ready for tomorrow and then...What happened?

She struggles to her feet. Moving slowly around the house she turns off one light after another. Reaching the bottom of the stairs she looks up and for the hundredth time wishes there was somewhere else she could go. Sighing, shoulders drooping, she slowly climbs the stairs.

She pauses outside the master bedroom. John is fully clothed, passed out on his side of the bed. She can smell the alcohol from the doorway. She goes into the bathroom and very quietly closes the door. She doesn’t dare have a shower so she runs the water as hot as she can stand it and holds the wash cloth on her face. She wants desperately to cry but no tears come.

Tears! What’s the point of tears? He’s going to kill me. What was this all about? Oh God, he doesn’t seem to need a reason anymore.

She takes two extra strength Tylenol and slips into her nightgown.

Tomorrow I’ll think about this. Just like every other time you coward.

Catherine climbs into bed and prays for sleep.

A WEEK LATER CATHERINE stands at the counter mixing the sauce for the ribs. Favouring her left side, she winces as she adds the tabasco.

God please let everything be perfect tonight, she prays as she puts the sauce on the burner to heat. The ribs are covered in tin foil and cooking at a low temperature in the oven. The succulent odours of slow cooking pork fill the air.

As she sets the dining room table she catches sight of the Christmas tree and sighs. I hate Christmas. I’ll be so glad when it’s finally over. Who knows what sets him off anymore? And Christmas is the worst time of the year. Worst time? Oh, give your head a shake. Every day lately is the worst!

Back in the kitchen she turns the sauce to low and covers it. She checks the fridge and stirs the coleslaw. The potatoes are resting in their tin foil jackets ready to go into the oven for the final bake with the ribs. This is John’s favourite dinner and she hopes he will enjoy the evening and not find any fault. Please God don’t let him find any fault. She whispers.

It’s getting late and Catherine hurries upstairs, wincing with each step. She changes into an outfit her husband likes. The emerald green sets off her jet- black hair and hazel eyes. She carefully adjusts her makeup and smiles wryly, thinking, No marks here of course. She adds a light flowery scent and stepping back to check all angles thinks, Okay, as good as it can get! After walking through each room upstairs and down she is confident there is nothing out of place.

In the kitchen she finishes cooking the dinner. The ribs are brushed with sauce and the potatoes join them in the oven. Forty-five minutes to go and she tries to relax, nervously checking the kitchen for anything that could set John off.

Right on the dot the garage door opens and the oven dings. Taking a deep breath Catherine goes to greet her husband.

Hi Darling, she says as she scans his face for trouble.

John enters and accepts the kiss his wife places on his cheek. I’m starving, he says, Is it ready?

Yes Dear.

Good.

John goes to the dining room and she can hear the tinkling of ice. She carries everything to the table and opens the merlot.

They sit down and Catherine warily watches John. So far so good. No upsets. The meal goes well. John compliments her on the ribs and declares they are perfect. Catherine breathes a little easier.

John finishes the bottle of wine and gets up to pour himself another scotch. What’s for dessert? Catherine gets up to go into the kitchen and says, Just ice cream tonight after that heavy meal Dear.

As she is dishing up the ice cream she senses John behind her. Just as she turns, he grabs her by her arm. The poor arm is so covered in bruises she can’t help but cry out.

Angry, John lashes out at her. What is your problem?

Nothing Dear, nothing, you just startled me. I’m so sorry.

This fuels the anger that has been simmering just beneath the surface and John twists her arm behind her back as he turns her towards him. Nose to nose he hisses, You stupid bitch. You can do nothing right. You always spoil everything. He pulls his hand back and slaps her hard on the cheek. The sound of his hand hitting flesh seems to incense him more. Pushing her into the counter and making a fist he drives it into her jaw.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. This is bad. Closing her eyes she tries to go to her safe place but the next blow knocks her off her feet. She lies still knowing that to curl up in a ball will infuriate him further. Losing consciousness Catherine is finally safe.

COMING TO, SHE OPENS one swollen eye and looks around. She cries quietly trying to sit up. The pain in her ribs is excruciating. She stares at her watch as she tries to bring the numbers into focus. Startled, she discovers that more than hour has passed since dinner. She tries to sit up and groans. Two front teeth are loose. Carefully closing her mouth she presses her elbow on the adjacent stool and pulls herself to her feet. Pain shoots through her body. She limps to the powder room off the kitchen.

Who is this woman? Wiping the blood that has pooled in one eye, she gingerly tries to open it. It won’t open. Catherine starts to cry. Tears burn the open gash by her mouth. She tries to sit on the closed toilet seat but pain knifes through her middle.

What am I going to do? she cries, He’s going to kill me. I can’t die. I can’t die. Who will help me? The silence calls back, No one.

Straightening her shoulders she finally says, I will.

The garage door is just beyond the bathroom. Inside she searches the walls looking for the lawn mower gas can. She puts one foot in front of the other as she goes down the three steps to pick it up.

She hobbles back into the house, ignoring the pain that stabs her with each step. Grabbing the candle lighter off the kitchen counter she heads for the stairs. She painfully takes one step at a time. An interminable time later she reaches the bedroom. Pushing open the door she is not surprised to find John passed out on the bed.

Beating me is very tiring isn’t it you bastard? You bastard. I hate you. I hate you. You are never going to touch me again!

The gas can lid is tight and she winces with the effort as she twists. Adrenline kicks in and with one more turn it opens. She splashes gas carefully around the bed, soaking the carpet. Trickling the gas behind her she closes the bedroom door and continues the stream down the stairs. Inside the front door she drops the can. Her fingers fumble with the lighter mechanism until it finally catches. Painfully she leans over and sets the carpet on fire. The flame starts slowly at first but then gaining momentum it races up the stairs and under the closed bedroom door. Closing the front door behind her she carefully walks down the steps.

The firefighters find her on the driveway watching the flames engulf the second floor. Wordlessly she stares at the house and is unresponsive as the fireman leads her to the ambulance.

CATHERINE’S BBQ RIBS

3/4 c. of honey

1/2 c. catsup

1/4 c. of butter

1tbsp. of vinegar

1/4 tsp. of tabasco

1/4 c. sweet chili sauce

2 tsp. dried mustard

2 tbsp. brown sugar

1 tbsp soya sauce

1 clove garlic, minced

1/8 tsp. garlic salt

4 lbs. of baby back ribs

Combine all ingredients (except the ribs and garlic salt) in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 5 minutes.

Sprinkle the ribs with the garlic salt. Place in a roasting pan and seal with tin foil. Roast for an hour and a half at 300 degrees.

Take out and remove excess fat in the pan. Baste the ribs top and bottom and put back in the oven for another hour, basting after 30 minutes.

CHAPTER TWO

Lisa opens the front door of the church