Mazie Baby (16 page)

“Good morning. I smell coffee.”

Her breath caught in her throat and
she laid the back of her head against his shoulder. His right hand wandered
down the front of her body until he found her sweet spot. He slid his fingers
inside, one stroke for every pounding heartbeat, licked and bit at her neck and
ear lobe.

Her palms against the counter’s
edge, she pushed against him, his erection prodding her through her robe. She
climaxed and called out, her legs jelly. He slid her to the floor and made love
to her on the tile. They came together at the exact moment the coffee machine
announced it was finished.

“Mom, coffee’s ready.”

Mazie opened her eyes and stared at
the crappy one-cup brewer on the mini-fridge.

Ariel yawned. “Can we have
pancakes?”

“Sure.” Mazie wrapped her arms
around Ariel, gave her a long hug and kissed her temple. “Go get dressed and
brush your teeth.”

Mazie packed their belongings and
grabbed her phone from the dresser. Before she could slip it into the front
pocket of her purse, it vibrated in her hand and sent a shrill chime through
the room.

She stared at the glowing screen
like it was a can of fake nuts and coiled up snakes were about to jump out at
her.

How the hell? Only Cullen had that
number. And Ariel.

“Is that Daddy?”

“No, bug. Not Daddy.”

The ringing stopped. Ariel took it
from Mazie’s hand and pressed a couple of buttons. A broad smile overtook her
face. “It was Polly!”

Polly. Of course.

“Can I call her back?”

“Not now. We have to get on the
road. Maybe later.”

Ariel sighed. “All right.”

A few kilometres down the road, the
bright neon sign of a diner caught Mazie’s eye. She angle-parked the van between
two pickup trucks, both caked with muck. A bell above the door announced their
presence. They found an empty booth near the back with a window view of the
parking lot and the highway. Mazie sat facing the door, Ariel across from her.

Two menus, laminated and sticky to
the touch, were stacked behind a chrome rack which held bottles of sugar and
ketchup and vinegar. Mazie scanned the list of basic diner fare.

“Look, bug.” She pointed at Ariel’s
menu. “French toast.”

“Nah, I want pancakes.”

A fat waitress in a pink polyester
tunic stained with all manner of sauces and grease sidled up to the table and
pulled a pencil from behind her ear.
Norma
, her faded and food-crusted nametag
proclaimed.

“Mornin’, ladies. What can I get
you?”

Ariel looked at Mazie.

“Go ahead, you can order your own.”

“Really? Daddy never lets me.”

“Well, Daddy isn’t here. Let’s make
a pact to break as many rules as we can.”

Ariel pursed her lips and nodded.
She held up her hand, pinkie extended. Mazie locked pinkies with her. They
pumped their hands once.

The waitress smirked. “So what’ll
it be, young lady?”

“Pancakes please. And sausage. And
orange juice.”

“And for you, Momma?”

“I’ll have the same. Except coffee,
please. Do you have real cream?”

“Yes, ma’am, none of that petroleum
product crap in this joint.” She flipped  a coffee cup over and reached past
the shoulder of a man sitting at the counter. “’Scuse me, love.” She grabbed a
coffee pot, spun around in the narrow aisle and filled the mug. She pulled
three creamers from her pocket. “That enough?”

“For one cup.” Mazie smiled. “I’ll need
a refill soon. The hotel coffee was awful.”

“Say no more. I think I know the
place.” Norma winked. She turned her head. “Two stacks, zeppelins on the side,”
she yelled toward a man with an apron and a dirty white linen cap. He raised a
spatula. “Two stacks, zeppelins on the side,” he called.

Ariel giggled. “What did we order?”

“I have no idea.” At least the
coffee was good.

Norma delivered their breakfast in less
than five minutes, along with real maple syrup and whipped butter. They ate
every bite, even groaned once or twice, the pancakes were that good. Mazie
drank three cups of coffee and Ariel got a refill on her juice.

Norma stopped at the table again.
“Can I get you anything else?”

“No thanks. It was delicious.”

“I’ll pass it on to the chef.” She
slid a bill onto the table. “You all drive safe.”

“Thank you.” Mazie flipped the bill
over. Nine seventy-five. She dropped a ten dollar bill on the table, and tossed
a toonie on top. The bell over the door chimed.

Two officers entered the diner, their
short-sleeved black shirts covered by the ever-present bullet-proof vest, a
crest emblazoned with “OPP” on each sleeve. One slid onto a stool and tipped
his hat to Norma, then set it on the counter at his elbow.

Norma filled two coffee cups and
kibitzed with the man. The partner stood and glanced around the diner.

Mazie froze.  She pressed against
the window and slouched in her seat, picked up the empty coffee cup and
shielded her face with it. Was he staring at her? She peeked over the rim of
the cup. The second officer was already seated and drinking his coffee. She
closed her eyes and shook her head, huffing air out of her nose.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Even if
they had found his body, why would two cops out in the backwoods of Ontario
know or care?

Ariel twisted around in her seat.
“Mom, are those Mounties?”

“No. Ontario Provincial Police.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Different uniforms?” She put the
cup down and squeezed Ariel’s hand. “Mounties are federal. OPP are provincial,
just in Ontario. Now let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot of driving to do.”

She slid her butt along the worn
vinyl seat of the booth and took Ariel’s hand. She straightened her spine,
lifted her chin, and set her shoulders back. She walked past the officers,
guiding Ariel ahead of her through the narrow passage.

One of the officers looked directly
at her. He nodded and smiled.

“Good morning, officer.” Despite
her attempt at confidence, her voice cracked. At the van, she aimed for the
unlock button on the key fob. Her quaking fingers missed the button, the fob
and her keys tumbled to the gravel at her feet. “Shit.” She stooped and
retrieved them, opened the door and scrambled in. She put the van in gear and
shoulder-checked behind her before easing out of the parking lot, her mind
fully on her breath.

“Mom, your face is all red. You
okay?”

“Just anxious to get on the road.”

~~~~~~~~

Mazie cranked up the air
conditioning. The sun beat on her left arm and burned her cleavage.

“Squeeze out a bit of sunscreen
onto my fingers.” She held her right hand out, palm up.

Ariel pulled a plastic tube from
the glove box. “Say when.”

“When.” Mazie rubbed the greasy
lotion onto her chest and down her arm.

The sun filtered through the tops
of fir and pine that lined the highway. The mountainside was dotted with
waterfalls, each one drawing an oooh, or an aaaah out of Ariel. In long
stretches where the mountains broke, lakes caught the sun’s rays and bounced
light into their eyes, the glassy surface broken only by the mild wind and the
occasional floating loon.

Mazie caught just glimpses of the
beauty that is highway seventeen. All those years ago, when she was the
passenger and her father was stuck with driving duties, she’d roll down the
window and take in every tiny sight she could. Commit to memory the shades of
purple and steel and orange and red of the mountain rock, the sound of every
drip and trickle and raging torrent of the waterfalls. Every scent of pine, of
sap and wet earth. Even of pungent animal dung, putrid road kill, and the
occasional proof that one or two of the bodies squashed under speeding tires had
once been waddling skunks.

How she adored this province, especially
the stretch of blacktop yet to come. The road that skirted the edge of Lake
Superior and spanned the hump between Thunder Bay and Marathon before slicing
back into the maw of the mountains. She’d stare out the back window until she lost
sight of that magnificent body of water, not to see it again until the car emerged
on the other side of Wawa.

But she wasn’t a sightseer on this
trip. Instead she contended with the dipshits and the assholes, semi drivers
whose sole purpose in life was to get from point A to point B in as short a
time as possible, no matter whose ass they rode, whose nerves they jangled with
their air horns and their tailgating and passing when there was no passing
lane. Each time she heard the roar of an engine and found nothing but a truck’s
grill in her rear-view mirror, she slowed, pulled as far to the right as
possible with virtually zero shoulder and a sheer mountain face to cushion the
passenger side, her daughter’s side, if something went horribly wrong. And each
time, the van got sucked into the vortex created between truck and rock. She
gripped the wheel to stay on the road, focused and took deep breaths.

No wonder her father drank during
overnight stops on their long summer road trips.

Heading into Thunder Bay, Mazie veered
onto Dawson Road, a shortcut her father made so he could grab a coffee before
their ritual pit stop at the Terry Fox Memorial. She hit the drive through at
Tim’s on East Avenue for her beloved double-double, a couple of maple creams,
and a lemonade for Ariel, then continued east on the Trans-Canada. She eased
the van along the long leftward curve, the vastness of Lake Superior to their
right.

“There it is!” She poked Ariel’s
arm and pointed. She turned left and followed the loop of road around to the
parking area of the memorial. They gathered their snack and approached the
memorial. Her mind flooded with memories of her father, of his British Sterling
aftershave that no amount of salty wind could tame, of his scratchy five
o’clock shadow that always showed up by two, and of their shared love of this exact
spot.

They stood at the back side of the
memorial and stared up at the curly-haired icon of hope and determination.

“Do you know who Terry Fox is?” Mazie
put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder.

“Duh, mother. We do the run every
year.”

“Of course. How silly of me.”

“Do you remember it?” Ariel
shrugged off Mazie’s hand. “When he actually ran? When he died?”

“No, I was just little then, two or
three. But every time we took a summer road trip, your grandfather insisted we
stop. I didn’t know at the time that he had cancer. Didn’t understand what it
meant to him.” A breeze picked up and brought a cool wind off the lake. She
turned to admire it, to take a deep inhale of the bitter sweet alkaline odour
complemented by algae and fish undertones. Some might turn their nose up. Not
her. This was the scent of her innocence. The smell of happiness. If only time
machines were real, she’d jump right in, turn back the dial, and slam the door
on the past fifteen years.

Ariel took the bag of doughnuts
from Mazie’s hand, sat on the bench with her back to the water, and took a big
bite of maple cream.

Tears pooled in the corners of Mazie’s
eyes. How could she wish away any moment that brought this beautiful girl into
her life? She would just wish away all the horrid Cullen times, and keep the
rest for herself.

~~~~~~~~

The last time Mazie set foot in
North Bay, Ariel had been an infant. In all those years, not much had changed.

Her father, because he was stubborn,
wouldn’t tell anyone of his condition and refused the treatments his doctors
offered, died of prostate cancer before he’d ever had a chance to meet his
granddaughter. Mazie had been furious with him. Still was. How dare he let
disease suck his life dry one day at a time without a word? Without giving her
a chance to say goodbye?

Her eyelids fluttered and she
glanced at Ariel. The hollow pit of Mazie’s stomach ached. Ariel hadn’t had a
chance to say goodbye to her father either. But he hadn’t denied her that.
Mazie had. Different kind of disease, all of their lives being sucked dry. At
every turn, she’d failed as a mother.

She followed Main Street until it
turned into Lakeshore Drive. A torrent of memories rushed at her the second she
took a left onto Gertrude Street and passed the little clapboard house where
her best friend, Ruthie, had lived. They spent the hottest days of summer on
that front lawn, jumping through the sprinkler, gorging on sweet watermelon,
spitting seeds at each other.

Ariel sat straighter in her seat.
“There aren’t any sidewalks.”

“Nope.”

“The houses are so small.”

“In this part of town.”

Mazie turned onto the road where
she’d grown up, had lived until the day after she turned eighteen when she
packed up and moved out in a huff over her mother’s incessant need to know
everything, share everything, be everywhere she was. She hadn’t gone far, just
into a crappy apartment in the Gateway, the oldest area of town. The only place
she could afford to live on the paltry sum she made waiting tables at the
diner. When she landed an executive assistant job downtown — just a glorified
title for an old-fashioned secretary, the kind who makes coffee, takes
dictation, and lets the boss slap her ass — she could have afforded to move.
But she stayed. It had become home. The home she lived in when she’d met
Cullen. Where she fell in love with him. Where he convinced her to move to
Calgary.