Stacey 1

The Holes We Dig

By Andrew Stacey

The engine roars as Frank pushes the accelerator to the floor. “Get the fuck out of
the way!” he bellows out of the driver-side window while sitting on the horn. Rush hour
is not the time to need to get to the hospital.
Frank turns on his wipers as the rain starts to pick up. His knuckles whiten as he
grasps the wheel tighter. There is a pounding in his ears but he is too frantic to identify it.
A thousand thoughts race through his mind now, jumbled, incoherent. He can’t focus. He
tries to think. I’m going to the hospital is the only grip on reality he has remaining.
As he runs another stop sign, his thoughts finally zero in on his daughter—
Victoria. She’s so young; this can’t happen. Not again. Frank honks again at a car that
doesn’t make a right-hand turn fast enough. His horn cuts through the air and rain as he
swerves around the obstacle, nearly clipping the man’s rear fender. The pounding in his
ears persists. Frank takes a deep breath and tries to situate himself in this new reality.
What day is today?
“Today is Thursday,” he says aloud, freely participating in the one sided
conversation.
Where are you?
“On Arlington Street.”
Good. Now where is Victoria?
“She should be at home, safe!”
Yes, but where is she?
“At the hospital; I don’t know, something about a car accident.”
He always warned her about driving with that boyfriend of hers. Frank never
cared for him. His stomach curls whenever Victoria runs out of the house and jumps in
the car with him. Frank cringes as he plays the accident out in his mind. He can see his
daughter’s face engulfed in horror as she braces for impact; two mangled vehicles
creating a grave of twisted metal for his innocent daughter. I hope she was wearing her
seatbelt.
He recalls the phone call he received nearly twenty minutes ago, the impersonal,
clinically calm voice telling him his daughter was in an accident. “She’s in critical
condition,” is all the nurse would tell him. Frank shudders as he imagines his poor little
girl laying in a hospital bed, plugged with wires and tubes of all kinds, fluids coming and
going, surrounded by doctors shrouded in facemasks staring coldly down at her. Alone
and hurt, she stares back at the masked men who only look to each other and shake their
heads. For the second time in his life, Frank rushes through traffic to spend with a loved
one what may be their final moments.
Ten years ago, Frank watched as his wife, Margaret, gave into cancer. Here he
was, ten years later, rushing to the same hospital. Frank remembered sitting at his wife’s
bedside after work, night after night, unable to help the first love of his life. The best he
could do was hold her hand as the cancer slowly took her. Victoria was only five then,
but he now imagined her in that same pitiful position, weak and debilitated. He could not
bear his little girl’s life wasting away while he raced through traffic, speeding ever faster
as the bleeps of Victoria’s MRI machine slowed and then finally ceased. Frank was not
willing to let go of his daughter. He was not willing to lose the best thing in his life.
 Stacey 2

He chuckled uneasily and with a tear in his eye. Funny how a parent always
expects the worst, how the unbearable and unimaginable seem the most likely, he
thought. As the knot in his throat grew and his eyes began to well, he reassured himself
of Victoria’s health. He tells himself that Victoria is fine, probably chatting with the
nurses, a few bruises here and there. She is her bright, beautiful self with that little hint of
mischief in her eye, laughing at the thought of her poor father coming in all worked up
over nothing. “Yes, I’m sure she is just fine. She must be,” he utters, not taking notice of
the crack in his voice.
Frank swerves into the Emergency Room entrance, tires screeching. Before the
truck even comes to a complete stop, Frank explodes from the driver-side and sprints
towards the automatic double doors of the hospital, ignoring the smell of burning rubber.
The pounding in his ears only increases as he approaches the ER waiting room. He
whispers a prayer to himself and God before he reaches the front desk. It is then he
realizes, heaving and unable to speak, the pounding in his ears is his heart.

* * *

Frank Gavin lives for his family; he works for his family; he mines for his family.
The Pewterfield coal mine is all he’s known; it is his world. The mine is the lifeblood of
Cainsford—a small mining colony thirty miles outside of Pittsburgh. For nearly two
decades now, Frank has made those dark shafts and tunnels his place of business, pulling
coal from deep within the earth.
When five o’clock rolled around on that Thursday afternoon, Frank saw it as just
another day coming to an end. He had gotten the call from HQ to pack it in and, with the
rest of the crew, made his way to the surface elevator. Six other men accompanied Frank
up the main shaft to the surface, a trip that took a little over six minutes.
“Hey Frank, you comin’ out with us tonight to The Workshop? It’s game one of
the playoffs,” David Grale asked, a tall, gawky man with an eternally sunny disposition.
The Workshop was one of the many pubs in town, and earned its name due to the fact
that nearly anyone who walked in walked out hammered. A testament to the busty, barely
legal waitresses and bartenders it employed.
“Nah, after this week I think I’ll stay home with the kid, if she’ll have me,” Frank
said, as he peered at his friend with hard, light brown eyes which shown brightly through
his rather shadowy countenance. Like all of his co-workers, Frank had a perpetually dirty
appearance due to the accumulation of coal dust over the years—a distinction in the
appearance of miners.
“Good luck. You know, I’ve got two teenage girls and I’m lucky if they so much
as give me a nod every once in a while.”
“Yeah.” Frank lowered his gaze to the rusted grated flooring of the service
elevator. The air smells of oil and grease mixing with the earthy odor of the shaft walls.
The elevator motor hums. He kept his silence for the remainder of the ride out of
darkness, not taking part in the repartee and off-handed comments his co-workers
enjoyed.
Once on the surface, the October sun brushed the sky with shades of orange and
washed the earth in a glow as it began its descent into the horizon. The maples and oaks
 Stacey 3

on the perimeter of Pewterfield already boasted their brilliant foliage, creating a collage
of autumn beauty. The grounds of the mine, however, were black, barren and lifeless.
Then, just as Frank stepped out of the elevator, looking forward to his drive home,
the radio which hung from his utility belt crackled to life. “Gavin! Report to HQ before
you leave.”
“Hmm, sounds like a good time. I’m jealous,” David laughed. He slapped Frank’s
shoulder, a black cloud of dust rose from the impact.
“Thanks for the concern, Dave. Dempsey’s got some bug up his ass over some
damn thing. No worries.” He shrugged and started in the direction of the main office.
“I still wouldn’t want to be you!” David yelled, hoping to get a response and
cheer up his believed friend with some jostling. Frank just kept walking, not turning to
return a jibe. He just muttered under his breath, “Me either.”
Entering the main office at HQ, Frank was met by the stench of stale coffee and
body odor. A sloppy looking man swiveled around in a chair to meet Frank. Grady
Dempsey was the senior administrator at Pewterfield Coal Fields, a large man with a
demeanor to match his sour hygiene.
“You were five minutes late today. What’s the excuse?” he sneered from behind a
full, graying beard that added to the roundness of his face. Grady Dempsey was a man
who made his presence known, and malignantly so. His sheer size, tipping the scales at at
least three hundred seventy-five pounds, and well over six foot, made him a character to
contend with, especially in close quarters. It was usually considered dangerous to linger
near the man for fear of being pushed to the ground if he happened to turn abruptly. This
happened quite often. Too often. He was also the type to add physical ‘motivation’ to his
orders, never missing an opportunity to add a slap or a push to get you on your way.
When discussed by the miners, the word of choice to describe the man was usually
‘prick.’
“Just one of those days boss. Traffic, you—“
“No, I don’t know. After so many years with us, I would expect a veteran such as
yourself to know our protocol. Six A.M. sharp you’re here for briefing. No bullshit.
Understood?” he asked while lifting himself from his chair, which seemed to just
materialize as if it were an egg he had just laid. He positioned himself in front of Frank
and crossed two tree trunk-like arms over his massive chest. He stood there for a moment
staring at Frank with intense brown eyes, waiting for the result of his scare tactic. Frank
took a step back towards the door, more from disgust of the odor emanating from the man
than fear of him.
“Look, shit happens. I’ve been here for nearly twenty years and have shown up
everyday. I don’t think five minutes is a crime.”
“I’m not askin’ you. I’m tellin’ you. Be here on time, or don’t fuckin’ come,” he
said, jabbing an oversized finger into Frank’s shoulder. Frank was unaffected by the prod,
but couldn’t stop his shoulder from swinging back. The man was powerful, no doubt.
Frank then stared back at the man who was a full head taller, fists balled at his sides,
heart increasing its pace, holding his breath. Thickly built and barrel-chested, Frank
looked larger than he was. If it weren’t for his rather low hanging brow and shoulders,
Frank Gavin would not appear to be a man to meet in a dark alley. “What? You got
somethin’ to say? Go ahead. Say one word and I’ll dock your pay for insubordination,”
the large man said with a twitch at the corners of his mouth.
 Stacey 4

Frank released a long, whistling breath through his nose, his fists losing their
tension. He then reluctantly sighed, “Yeah boss, it won’t happen again.”
On his way home, Frank’s shoulders hung just a little bit lower. As he made his
way down the winding streets leaving the coal fields, a familiar knot grew in his chest.
He took a deep breath and relaxed in the driver’s seat, loosening his white knuckled grip
on the wheel and letting up on the gas. He put the window down to allow the crisp
October air to blow through his mop of thick, dark brown hair. His composure was kept,
but the knot remained unmoved.
Fifteen minutes later, Frank pulled his red Bronco into the driveway of his small,
two bedroom home. He sauntered up the front walk, taking his time. He paused at the
door, took a deep breath, and tried his best at a wholehearted smile before entering. He
walked in to the sound of a television turned up too loud, a radio blaring, and the intense
smell of scented candles—vanilla. Victoria’s backpack was on the floor, leaning against
the side of the couch, her few books strewn across the coffee table, her shoes thrown to
the far corner of the small living room, as usual. From the doorway, Frank could only see
the back of the couch, but could easily make out the four legs hanging over the arm.
Frank crossed the threshold to the couch and reached over to grab the boy who
was so comfortable on top of his daughter. Effortlessly, Frank flung his daughter’s
boyfriend from the couch to the wall. “What the fuck!” her boyfriend squealed in mid air,
before landing with a thud.
Ignoring his daughter’s high pitched objections, Frank glared at the skinny young
man on the floor, “I believe visiting hours are over for today, Brian. Get out of my
house.” Despite the situation, Frank was entirely calm; in fact, he took pleasure in
throwing the boy across the room. Brian picked himself up off the floor and ran out of the
house in a huff, to his car, which he so cleverly parked across the street.
Victoria still kneeled on the couch, leaning over the back. Her mouth was
momentarily agape before she began coldly, “You’re home early, Frank.”
Frank didn’t pay much attention to his daughter’s icy tone. “Nice to see you too,
darling. How was your day at school?” Frank asked, an ounce of sarcasm in his voice.
“Peachy”
“Excellent.” Frank let out a sigh of exhaustion. “Well, since you’re not doing
anything now, you can clean this mess up,” he said, looking around the room. “This is
really not what I expect to come home to.”
“How would you know what to expect? You’re never here. This is like what, the
first time I’ve seen you in like three days?” Victoria stepped off the couch and crossed
her arms in defiance. “And why do you have to treat him like that? What’d he do to you,
Frank?”
“He who? Oh, you mean Numb-nuts? I told you, that kid is no good. I don’t want
you around him. And you know my rough work schedule. If I didn’t need to support you
I wouldn’t work so hard. And what did I tell you about calling me Frank?”
“Well he is my boyfriend. He’s around more than you are,” she said under her
breath as she looked away from her father.
“What was that?” The thought of what she just said made his blood boil slightly.
He didn’t know what implication infuriated him more; the stab at him for not being
around or the fact that Numb-nuts was.
“Nothing.”
 Stacey 5

“Care to say that again,” Frank said as he took a step towards his daughter, eyes
narrowed. “I didn’t quite catch it the first time.” There was a harshness to his voice.
“No,” she said impishly, shying away from her father’s bullish presence.
“What are you doing tonight?” asked Frank rather gruffly.
“I’m going out to meet Brian later.” There was a quizzical look on her face. It was
unlike her father to ask of her plans.
“Oh no you’re not. Not after what I just came home to. You’re staying in tonight.”
“What the hell is your problem? We weren’t doing anything wrong! He’s my
boyfriend for Christ’s sake!”
“And he’s not allowed in my house. I told you that,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You’re too young to be dating anyway. Besides, it’s a school night.”
“I’m fifteen!” she shrieked, her arms flailing, green eyes burning.
“And he’s eighteen!” Frank could feel his heart begin to quicken. Lately,
arguments like this were a habit. It didn’t usually take much to spark it, but when the
argument began, it usually burned fiercely.
“God! Can’t I get any privacy in my own house? Why don’t you trust me? You’re
like a fucking Nazi!” She trotted around the living room dispensing her usual contentions
on her father’s ‘fascist’ authority.
“Hey! Watch your mouth! And last time I checked, I pay the bills here. When you
have your own place, you can do whatever the hell it is that you want. Got it, kiddo?” In
their sparring, Frank felt the knot in his chest growing again, slowly. It would pain him
deeply to be so mad at her, especially when she looked so much like her mother. Victoria
had the same eyes as her mother; an intense green that showed bright in any light, and
that would burn furiously when enraged. Frank even remembered sleeping next to the
same silky, chestnut hair when Margaret was alive. It was all he could manage to see
those blazing eyes turn on him.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?”!
“Because Child Services would take you away and I’d lose my tax break,” Frank
said wryly. Victoria wasn’t having it. She stood before her father, eyes burning and hands
tensed.
“Oh sure you could, just like you left mom to die alone in some hospital bed. You
left her alone, Dad.”
Frank wasn’t ready for such a knockout punch. His mind went reeling. Wounded,
he reacted like a cornered animal. “Don’t you ever, ever, bring your mother up to me like
that again…ever!” He looked at her then, wondering if he had it in him to reach out and
crush her like he wanted to. He didn’t. “I can’t even look at you. Go to your room. Get
out of my sight.”
Tears welled in her eyes then. “Fine! I’ll just leave then!” she shrieked as she
scurried for her shoes. Frank felt himself losing control of his temper and his life. He
searched for the words that would prevent her from walking out the door. Nothing came.
He wasn’t sure if he would have even spoken had he known what to say. He watched as
the last woman in his life darted out the front door. Frank remained standing in the
middle of his living room, growling to himself.
She knew better than to use her mother as a weapon. It was dirty, but she was
right. When Victoria was only three years old, Margaret was diagnosed with an
aggressive case of cervical cancer. It moved through her body quickly, infecting her
 Stacey 6

kidneys and liver before moving to her lungs. She went through a session of chemo but
the cancer generated too quickly. Eventually, Margaret’s condition worsened to the point
where she needed around-the-clock care and couldn’t stay at home. She continued to
fight the cancer for seven more months after moving out of the house, laying in a hospital
bed. She was twenty-eight years old.
Frank watched as his wife succumbed to the cancer eating away at her insides.
The vibrant young woman he knew wasted away until she was merely a shell of the
woman he had loved since high school. Victoria was too young, only five, to remember
her father spending long hours by her mother’s bed side every night. Still, he wasn’t there
when it would have mattered the most.
The care his wife was receiving was not free, and Frank was already pulling
double shifts at the mine. He just couldn’t keep up with the hospital bills. When
Margaret’s prognosis went south, Frank started dipping out of work early. Dempsey
caught him one day. “I don’t care where you have to go. There are still two hours on the
clock. If you leave, you leave your paycheck, too. Now get back on the line before I lose
my temper.” Frank couldn’t afford to lose his job; not with bills to pay; not with Victoria
to support. He went back to work and counted the seconds, praying for his wife to hold
on. When he went to the hospital that night he found an empty bed.
He sat on the couch for hours, watching a black television screen, thinking. He
hadn’t even realized he was sitting in the dark until the phone rang. Frank picked up the
phone frantically. “Victoria?”!
“Hey buddy, what’s goin’ on?”
“Oh, hey Dave.” Frank said, unable to hide his disappointment. He could hear a
great ruckus in the background, sounds of cheers and numerous loud, slurred voices. The
game was going well.
“Hey Frank, listen, you gotta get down here. Half the guys from the mine came
out. It’s a fuckin’ mad house down here. We’re all getting’ completely sloshed. It’s a
great time, c’mon.” Dave was clearly yelling, but the cheers in the background drowned
him out. “You there Frank? C’mon, you have to come over. Even that prick Dempsey
showed up for a while before he stumbled out of here.”
“No thanks, Dave. I’m kinda goin’ through some shit right now. I’ll pass.”
“Okay, your call man. Hey, let me call you back real quick. Two bombshells just
walked in.”
Frank put the phone back on the receiver and remained sitting in the dark. He
looked to the time displayed on the VCR. Seven thirty and still no sign of Victoria.
Where is she, he thought. A pitter-patter sounded on the windows then, the beginning of a
rainstorm. He heard the blast of thunder far off. Frank gripped the couch with tense
fingers. He eyed the clock again. Then the phone rang, breaking through the sounds of
the gentle pitter-patter like a brick through a pane of glass.
“Dave, I’m still not—“
“Mr. Gavin?”
Frank was caught off guard by the mature feminine voice. “Yes?”
“My name is Nurse Wright… Mr. Gavin…I’m calling from Suffolk County
Hospital.”

* * *
 Stacey 7

“Daddy?” murmurs Victoria, unable to open her eyes, pain racking her body. She
remembers vaguely where she is, although the memory is fragmented. The room is a
cacophony of voices, making it impossible to zero-in on just one. The sounds mesh
together like a net of indistinguishable vocal knots, trapping her within herself. She wants
to scream and cease the noise for a moment. When she attempts she can’t bring much
more than a hissing breath to pass her lips.
Where is he? Why isn’t he here with me? She asks herself of her father. Fear had
set in long ago, when her body lay broken on the pavement as she looked up to see the
red SUV speed off, its tail lights burning the hazy autumn air. Before she lost
consciousness then, her thoughts dwelt on her father—where are you? Help me! I need
you.
She only vaguely remembered her father before her mother passed. They were
closer then. Victoria always thought it a shame that her and Frank’s relationship peaked
when she was only five. She had grown up watching her father shrink away from their
little family, the mine drawing him from home, consuming him. She didn’t know why he
never saw, never noticed the girl who needed a father. He was too busy providing for her
to be with her. She knew he was doing what he had to, but Victoria could never forgive
Frank for his well-intentioned abandonment. A father should know better.
Victoria wonders if this is how her mother felt years ago, alone and scared. Her
loneliness in the dark is complete; the faceless voices the only comfort that surround her,
sharing in her misery. She listens for a while, trying to position them in a room she
cannot see. She begins to lose herself in the chatter of the voices when a touch to her left
hand brings her back. She opens her eyes slightly to see a frightened, disheveled man
standing over her, her hand in his. She looks at the man as his eyes scan her face in teary
horror.
“Dad?” Victoria whispers, her voice hoarse and gritty. She examines her father’s
large, rough hand engulfing her own with satisfaction.
“I’m right here, kiddo,” says Frank, holding back his obvious distress. “You
scared me there, hun.” Frank was searching for more words, but nothing was coming to
him. He was hoping that the tears that were welling in his eyes were enough.
They weren’t.
“Dad, I was so scared.” Victoria began meekly, tears streaming down her face. “I
was all alone. I wanted you to be here, but you weren’t here, an—“
“Shhhh-shh-shh, baby it’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m here. I’m right here.”
Frank squeezes her hand as reassurance but lets go when she winces.
“No,” she objects meagerly. She looks to Frank with wet cheeks and two soft eyes
and says, “That’s all I ever wanted from you. That’s all.” She begins sobbing again.
“That’s all I ever wanted from you.”
Looking at his daughter, Frank let go of the tears he was holding back. Pulling up
a nearby chair, Frank sits familiarly by Victoria’s bedside and massages her hand with
his. Victoria rolls her head to the side to look at her father, not having the strength to
wipe the streaks from her face. Looking at him, he seemed to be in more pain than she
was. His tear soaked face, his wrinkled brow, the ugly, distorted shape his mouth took—
his face was an exemplified model of misery. He does not meet her gaze, but rather looks
 Stacey 8

at the floor. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, but the shutter that comes upon his
exhale gives away his vulnerability. Tear drops collect at his feet.
“I remember sitting here…in this very hospital, but, uh….I was holding your
mother’s hand then.” Victoria gently squeezes her father’s hand so as to say, ‘I’m
listening.’ ”Well, I never told you this, but,” manages Frank. A weak smile appears on his
face but quickly vanishes, “before your mother…passed…I, uh, made her a promise. I
promised her that I would always take care of you and that, um,” Frank’s voice brakes.
He takes another breath and continues, “and that I would give you enough love for the
both of us.” Finishing the sentence is as much as Frank can bear. He wipes his eyes and
steadies himself once more. “And…and I’m sorry for not being there for you, Victoria. I,
uh…I guess I fell short on the second part. I’m so sorry.”
Victoria’s lip quivered and she closed her eyes in disbelief. She had never seen
this part of her father prior to now. Before her was a man beaten down by years of labor
and guilt. This is the closest she has ever felt to him; however, she could not embrace it.
Over the last ten years, Frank had created a distance between the two of them that was
possibly insurmountable. She looks at him again, watching his eyes. “Why did you run
away from me?” she asks as the tears subside, her hand squeezing his ever so gently.
“I don’t know, baby.” Frank lowers his head to meet her hand, which lays clasped
in his on the bed. His eyes are still welling.
“No, tell me” she mutters. Speaking is getting to be too strenuous.
He looks up to meet her gaze, to tell the truth to her face. “When your mother
died, I…I took refuge in working. Being around the house only hurt. When I was busy, I
forgot about the pain, the…the…” he searched for the right word, “hole, the hole that was
in my heart, my soul. You look so much like your mother. Every time I look at you I see
her. I guess everything was just a reminder of what Margaret meant to me, and what I
lost.”
“I just wanted you to see me; to know who I am.” The whisper that is her voice
quivers. She closes her eyes again. Tired. She takes another breath and tries to start again.
“I wanted a father… You gave me everything I needed, but you….You dug those holes
yourself.” With that, Victoria’s eyes remain closed. She takes a deep breath and rolls her
head to the other side, still weakly clenching her father’s hand. “Dad?”
“Yes honey?” says Frank, trying to shake the impact of his daughter’s words.
“Stay with me? I’m scared.”
“I’ll be right here, baby. I’ll be right here when you wake up. I’m not going
anywhere.”

Frank sits in the dark of his daughter’s room in his small, two bedroom home. He
sits on the edge of her bed and stares. His hands in his lap, shaking; tears soaking his
cheeks before dropping to his chest. His thoughts dwell on Margaret. He screams out in
misery, filling the room with an air of agony that few ever come to know. Between sobs
he utters, “Oh my God. Margaret. I’m so sorry.” He raises his shaking hands to his face
in hopes that he can plug his flowing eyes. “I’m so sorry…I let our baby die. Oh God. Oh
my God…I let your baby die. Why? Why God?” He sobs uncontrollably. “Whhhyyy!”
The burst of force makes him collapse over onto the bed. There he lays crying,
looking around his now deceased daughter’s room. He doesn’t remember the last time
he’d been in her room. Looking around he thinks, She has grown up so much. Over her
 Stacey 9

bed were magazine rip-outs of bands and singers he has never heard of. In her closet were
clothes he’s never seen her wear, a far cry from the clothes he had dressed her in himself
when she was still a toddler. His baby had grown-up around him and he had missed the
whole thing.
Thinking about it makes tears rush from his eyes in a burst of emotion that chokes
him. The world around him crumbles. He feels like he’s suffocating, the memories
smothering him. The walls he painted a pale blue when she was seven; the knobs on her
dresser he fixed for her over and over; the spot on the carpet when she spilled a bottle of
her mother’s nail polish when she was six; it all washes over him in a wave of sweet-
tempered woe. He rolls over in pain. His stomach is a bottomless pit while his heart beats
so fast he thinks it might burst out of his chest.
That’s when he sees the frame turned facedown on her nightstand. It makes him
pause for a moment. He reaches out to grab it, sniffling. He turns it over, taking in the
image of him and Margaret holding an infant Victoria in their arms. This is the only
picture of all of them together he can remember. His lips tighten and purse as his eyes fill
with water again. He runs his hand over the faces in the picture. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so
sorry,” he sobs. He kisses the picture and puts it to his chest, wrapping his arms around it
in a bear-hug.
He leans back and gently weeps, Victoria’s words playing in his head. You dug
those holes yourself. The words run a constant loop in his mind. She’s right, he thinks.
Frank cannot believe his life has come to this. It was only hours ago that she asked him to
stay with her. He held her hand, not willing to let go, as if the small gesture bridged the
gap that had taken ten years to create. She slept and, after a while, so did he.
Not even an hour later he woke to the long beep that told him his daughter was
gone. He tried desperately to wake her but she wouldn’t. The doctors who rushed in tried
to revive her but suffered the same result. They tried to explain to Frank that she had bled
out internally. There was too much damage to be helped. There was nothing they could
do. You dug those holes yourself.
Frank grabs at his head, picture still in hand, trying to stop the words from
swirling around his brain. “How did this all happen? Aargh! Why wasn’t I there...for both
of them? How did I fail? What is wrong with me?”! Frank starts working himself into a
rage. He argues with himself, trying to sort out the many thoughts coursing through his
mind. “You should have been there!” The rage he feels is turned inward, creating a solid
knot of contempt in his chest. It grows with each new accusation, putting an even greater
weight on his shoulders. Like Atlas he drops to his knees under the weight, his hands
clenching the carpet. His head becomes light. He rolls over onto his side, finding security
on the floor. He spends the rest of the night like this, staring at the chipped paint on the
baseboard.
The next morning, Frank slothfully lifts himself off of Victoria’s bedroom floor,
not taking notice of the phone ringing. He looks at his watch. Seven o’clock. Without
thinking he walks out of the house and gets in his truck, the phone still ringing. His
clothes are wrinkled and disheveled, his hair a mess. In a silent daze he backs out of the
driveway and continues down the street, no particular destination in mind. He doesn’t
even know why he’s driving, he just is. Frank rolls the windows down to let in the cool
air. He takes comfort in the habitual drive around town. For the moment he is at peace,
 Stacey 10

his mind vacant of thought. He just focuses on his foot on the gas and his hands on the
wheel.
He pulls up to a stoplight, alongside is a worn-out Cadillac. The black finish is
dull and worn through in some places; numerous dings and dents adorn the rear fender
and passenger side. As he comes to a stop, he sees an old man in the driver’s seat tapping
his fingers on the wheel and bobbing his head. Frank gives the man a blank stare as he
listens to the words of the song on the radio. But they never told you the price that you
pay…For things you might have done. The man turns to Frank with a friendly smile and a
wave. Only the good die young. Upon hearing the words, Frank snarls like an animal at
the man and floors the gas peddle, not minding the red light. He continues on his way,
wishing there had been oncoming traffic.
As he speeds down a long, heavily wooded road, Frank realizes where he is. The
road only leads to one place. The treads of his tires toss leaves of gold and red into the air
as he speeds past a reflective green sign that reads: Parking – Authorized Personnel Only.
Frank recklessly swerves into the dirt and gravel parking lot, fish-tailing his Bronco. He
skids into a handicap parking space and puts the car in park.
Sitting in his truck outside of the northwest entrance, Frank is confronted by the
heavy, chalky odor of coal. His hands fall from the wheel as he leans back into the
driver’s seat. “Why the hell did I…hmmpff,” Frank wonders to himself with amusement.
It wasn’t really of any wonder to him. He has gotten up every morning and has come to
this place. The majority of his life thus far has been spent in the darkness of Pewterfield,
running away from promises and obligations that meant much more than a paycheck. He
couldn’t help it. He is drawn to the black fields by the security its cavernous tunnels and
shafts offer, a hideaway from the rest of the world.
A great breeze crosses the fields and sends a gust of sand and coal dust into
Frank’s face, waking him from his stupor. He covers his face, protecting his eyes from
the onslaught of sand and coal particles. As soon as he closes his eyes he is bombarded
by images of his wife and daughter, glimpses of a life that left him behind; a life he will
never know again. The knot in his chest settles in once more as a reminder of his misery
and self-loathing.
As the wind subsides, Frank breathes deep with indignation. Lifting his head
slowly from his hands, he looks out to the main facility fifty-some yards away. “Well…I
might as well put in for time-off…since I’m here,” he says somberly.
Frank walks up to HQ’s main office looking for Dempsey, but finds it empty. He
must be in the mine. He makes his way towards the main surface elevator, passing a
number of signs that warn and caution against safety hazards. In twenty years Frank
hasn’t looked twice at them. He gets in the elevator, closes the accordion door, and
presses the down button. The cool autumn morning disappears as Frank descends into the
earth.
“Where the fuck have you been?” was Frank’s greeting as the elevator made its
stop. The air was musty. Grady Dempsey and a small assembly of miners were going
over digging preparations for the day not far from the elevator. “And have you lost your
mind? You know you can’t be down here without all your gear. Gavin, what the fuck is
wrong with you?” The large man was made to appear even bigger in the dim lighting of
the mine tunnels.
 Stacey 11

Franks walks down the tunnel to meet the group of miners, shielding his eyes
from the glare of Dempsey’s hardhat mounted light. “I came to tell you I’m taking some
time off. There’s been a…death in the family.” The last thing he wanted to do was
recount last nights events, especially to Dempsey.
“What?” Dempsey scoffed. “Funny, Gavin.” He adjusted the light so it didn’t
show directly into Frank’s eyes. “You want to show up…” Dempsey looks at his watch,
“an hour and a half late, break regulation by comin’ down here without the proper gear,
and then tell me you’re taking time off? Gavin, you’re dreaming. I don’t care what the
reason is. I told you yesterday, if you’re late again I’m docking your pay.” The lights
made shadows dance across Dempsey’s face, making him look sinister. Dempsey turns
his massive back to Frank and snaps his fingers at one of the miners. He turns back
towards Frank and pushes a shovel into his hands. “If you want a paycheck at all, you’re
goin’ to gear up and start workin’ now.”
Irritation starts to bubble under the surface and Frank’s composure weakens. “I’m
taking two weeks. That’s all.” He holds the shovel out for Dempsey to take, but it gets
pushed back, slamming into his chest, by two fat hands.
“I said now, Gavin,” Dempsey growls, jaw clenched, teeth showing through the
black of his beard. He holds the shovel to Frank’s chest. “Start digging!”
His jaw drops as he processes each syllable. Dig. The word resonates deep within
Frank. Victoria’s voice rings out in his mind. A flash of his hand cradling hers. A
promise made and broken in a matter of heartbeats. A life lost. Frank’s eyes narrow and
his whole body tenses. With a roar, Frank tears the shovel away from Dempsey and
hurdles it down the long, dark tunnel. Dempsey moves in astonishment to grab Frank. His
enormous hands close around Frank’s arms in an attempt to hold him. “Are you fuckin’
crazy, Gavin?”
Frank tries to step away but his hands are like bear traps on his biceps. He winces
as Dempsey’s hands clamp tighter. The other miners stand and watch in amazement.
Frank’s heartbeat skyrockets. Dempsey spins Frank around, pushing him further into the
mine, his large chest heaving from the effort. Frank takes hold of Dempsey, watching as
his face shifts in the shadows. Frank digs his heels into the earthen floor and stops his
procession backwards.
With all the force he can muster, Frank pulls Dempsey with a grunt. At the last
moment, Frank shifts all his weight to one side, allowing his boss to fly past him. Too
heavy to catch himself, Dempsey is sent crashing to the floor, his helmet tumbling down
the tunnel, clanking as it goes. Frank is drunk with rage as he walks over to Dempsey,
who is sprawled out in the dirt. He straddles him and lifts his rotund head up, each hand
grasping a fold of his shirt. He lowers his head until their faces are inches apart. He can
smell the dirt, coal and sweat on the fat man’s skin. “I’m done digging your fucking
holes,” snarled Frank. He lifts his right fist into the air, ready to deliver a devastating
blow. Dempsey puts his hands up and cries out.
“Frank! What the hell are you doing?” cries a familiar voice from behind Frank.
Frank pauses and looks to see who it is, fist still hanging in the air. “Turning in
my resignation, Dave.” He turns his focus back to Dempsey.
“I’ve been calling you all morning. Frank, what the hell is going on?” David asks,
stunned at what he is witnessing. “Have you lost your mind?”
 Stacey 12

Staring at Dempsey, the knot in Frank’s chest pulsates. “I’ve lost everything
else.” He lets his fist fall, connecting right in the center of Dempsey’s bulbous face. The
man convulses in pain, his hands shooting up to catch the torrent of blood that rushes
from his nose. Frank lets him go and turns back towards the elevator, not saying a word.
The other miners stand and look at each other in disbelief as Frank steps into the elevator.
They watch in silence as the elevator disappears up the shaft, Dempsey writhing on the
ground in pain.
Frank stands with his eyes closed, chin to chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
The knot in his chest loosens and seems to fall away, taking with it the burdensome
weight from his shoulders. He breathes in deeply, taking in the familiar odor and stale air
of the elevator shaft for the last time. He can see the faces of the two women he loved
most, looking at him with kind eyes. Mother and daughter together. So much time was
lost. He opens his eyes and looks up the dark shaft to the blinding light above. Fresh air
fills the elevator as the morning sun bathes Frank in a warm glow. Covered in dirt, Frank
steps out into the cool air. I’m sorry.