Mazie Baby (9 page)

“Oh.” He nodded and picked up the
fork, shoved the last of his mashed potatoes in his mouth. “Good,” he said
through the food.

“I was thinking I could take Ariel to
see my mother.”

“Do whatever you want. As long as I
don’t have to see the old bat. She can’t die soon enough. Bitch hates me.”

Ariel peered at her. “Is Grandma
going to die?” she whispered.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” She plastered
a fake smile on her face to hide the clenching of her jaw. “But she is sick and
we can’t visit her often.” She cleared the plates and stacked them next to the
sink. Rachel’s daughter rode her bike past the front of the house. “Ariel, why
don’t you go out and play? Polly’s out there.”

“Can I, Daddy?”

“Sure, pumpkin. Whatever you want.”

Ariel’s face lit up. “Thanks,
Daddy.” She ran to the entry, slipped on her runners, and bolted out the front
door.

Mazie stood at the window and
watched Polly jump from her bike and hug Ariel. The joy on her daughter’s face melted
Mazie’s heart. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure the face of her
childhood best friend, but Sherry’s memory had become another bit of blurry flotsam
in the emotional turbulence that churned in the wake of her life. She opened
her eyes to find that the Johnsons’ twin sons had joined the girls. The four of
them stood on the manicured front lawn beside the spirea bush still waiting for
its white flowers to bloom. Sunshine caught the gold A of Ariel’s pendant and flashed
a glint of light into Mazie’s eyes.

She blinked, ran the water,
squirted the dish soap into the stream, and slid the dirty dishes under the
surface.

Cullen shuffled around the room,
ice cubes clinked into a tumbler, bourbon glugged from the bottle.

His footfalls neared until he stood
beside her, a cigarette in one hand, bourbon in the other. He stared out at the
children and sucked on the cigarette until a long ash dropped onto the counter.
He flicked it into her dishwater, held the butt under the suds, the hiss of its
dying heat just another fuck you.

He rested one hand on her shoulder.
“Look at our little Ariel.”

Mazie glanced at him and caught
herself smiling. Bathed in the yellow light of a spring sunset, he almost
looked his old handsome self. His long, soft, chocolate hair was now clipped
above the ears and peppered with grey. His tanned face bore evidence of the
passing years, the smile lines and soft skin now weathered by years of hard labour
in the hot sun and cold wind, the rain, the snow. The deep furrows between his
brows and frown lines that cut alongside his drawn lips proof of the transition
from easy-going and loving partner to taskmaster with a heart filled with
contempt.

He should have sold a million
records by now. Won a Grammy or two. Not foundered on the bottom rung of a
too-tall ladder, with more talented, more driven, more connected musicians
stepping on him as they clamoured past on their way to the top. His hatred for
her was borne of his own bitter disappointment in himself. Mazie knew it. But
she could never make it any better. He wouldn’t allow her to.

“She’s starting to look like you,” his
voice rasped in her ear.

He set his tumbler on the counter
and slid behind her, brushed her hair from the nape of her neck and leaned over
her shoulder, his cheek touching hers. “You know, when you were younger. When
you were pretty.” He pressed into her back.

Mazie froze. It was the only thing
she knew to do. The lump of his erection rested between her ass cheeks.

“She’s so tall. Must have got that
from me. But the tits, those are all you, Mazie Baby. All you.” He reached his
left arm around her, slipped his hand under her shirt and bra, and massaged her
breast. His right hand bounced against the seat of her skirt.

Mazie forced back a lump of bile
that rose in her throat and gripped the sink’s edge with both hands while he
masturbated against her.

“Look at her hair, Mazie. Black
like yours, shiny and thick like it used to be.” His hand left her breast and
lifted her skirt, then yanked her underpants down.

She swallowed hard. “Not here, not
in the kitchen.” He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t be thinking about their
daughter that way. “The kids might see.”  

“Yeah, they might.” He rested his
chin on her shoulder and held her hip. With each stroke, he slapped himself
against her bare flesh and grunted in her ear. “I’m almost done with you,
Mazie. Bored in fact.” His breath was laboured and his words were punctuated by
the wheeze of too many cigarettes. “Time to move on, right? To someone younger.
Someone prettier. Like you used to be.”

His breath was sweet with syrupy
bourbon. She shut her eyes and steadied her breath, tried to prevent the
convulsions that were threatening to explode her dinner all over the kitchen
window. “Cullen, no. You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yes.”

Mazie opened her eyes. Ariel spun
in circles on the lawn. She stopped and staggered about. Laughter lit up her
face.

He groaned. The warmth of his
climax hit her lower back and dripped into the crack of her ass.

She grit her teeth. “She’s just a
little girl for God’s sake! Your own daughter, Cullen!”

One hand covered the back of her
head and pushed her face into the dishwater. Her arms flailed and knocked
something off the counter. The muffled sound of shattering glass broke through
the splashing and her silent screams. Her legs went numb and her mind blanked.
Familiar glints of bright light flickered behind closed eyelids. And then
nothing.

~~~~~~~~

“Breathe, Mazie Baby. Breathe.”

The chrome bar was cold in her
hand. Her screams filled the room.

Cullen stroked her sweaty head and
bent forward, his lips pursed, eyes wide. He puffed air at her to show her how
to breathe, just like the Lamaze instructor had taught him.

The contraction eased. Giddy from
nitrous oxide, she laughed into the mask on her face. “You look like a
constipated monkey.”

A glint of anger flashed across his
eyes. Then he broke out in a loud laugh.

It had been a long, hard day. And
one of the best in their marriage.

Two hours later, there was Ariel, squirming
atop Mazie’s stomach, still tethered to her mother by the umbilical cord.

Cullen ran his thumb over their
baby’s head, gross and sticky with placental fluid, blood, and white chunks
like so much spilled cottage cheese. He rested his chin on the edge of the bed
and stroked Ariel’s hair, stared at her eyes, not yet open, not yet aware of
her parents’ faces.

And he cried. Not sad or angry or
resentful tears. Just streams of water dripping down his cheeks. Like he was
being cleansed from the inside out.

The doctor handed him scissors and
held the umbilical cord.

Cullen hesitated. He looked so
helpless and afraid. “Will it hurt her?”

The doctor smiled. “No, neither of
them will feel any pain.”

Cullen kissed Mazie’s knuckles,
then hacked through the tough cord tissue until mother and daughter were no
longer one.

For months he was happy. And mostly
sober. He smelled of soap and freshly brushed teeth. Of cologne and promise and
hope. He bounced out of bed to pick up the baby when she cried in the night. He
stared at mother and daughter during feedings, desperate to be part of a
bonding that no man could ever experience. Ever understand. He changed diapers
and fetched fresh onesies.

Was it true change? Were they going
to be all right?

Whoever said bringing a child into
a bad marriage would not fix it was wrong. Ariel had been their saving grace.

~~~~~~~~

Mazie blinked against the pain in
her head and the blinding light of the hundred-watt bulb above. She lay on the
floor gasping for air, her hair and clothes soaked with dishwater. Drops of
blood dotted the linoleum where broken glass cut into her skin.

Cullen squatted in front of her and
pushed wet hair from in front of her eyes. “Clean this up.”

The stench of whiskey and
cigarettes turned her stomach.

He stood, grabbed the bottle of
bourbon by its neck, and sat in his chair in the living room.

Her entire body quaked. She gripped
a chair and dragged herself to her feet. The blood rushed from her head, her
feet numbed and she sat in the chair and put her head between her bloody knees.

She turned to glare at the monster
she’d married.

He sat in his recliner, remote in
hand, flipping through television channels like nothing had happened.

Nothing.

Ariel’s laughter came through the
window. Mazie stood and gripped the counter’s edge. The setting sun caught the
steel of the chef’s knife and shined a glint of light in her eyes. She stared
at the blade, then gazed out the window at her smiling daughter.

~~~~~~~~

 Cullen remained silent the rest of
the day. Mazie kept Ariel busy in the kitchen, baked cookies and talked about
the trip to visit grandma. Anything to prevent her from being alone with her
father.

Cullen went to bed early, his
drowsiness fuelled by half a bottle of Jack. He slept soundly, no remorse for
his actions to keep him awake, no guilt for the harm he had done, the threats
to his child. His snores reverberated in the bedroom.

The street light danced shadows of
the thirty-foot poplar across the bedroom walls. Her eyes flitted along with
the quaking leaves until the trunk loomed closer and pinned her to the bed. She
shook her head and sat up, her throat tight.

The money would have to be enough. The
time was now. Before it was too late. Before he ruined Ariel. More than he
already had.

Mazie glanced at the clock radio.
Two thirty-eight. She slid from beneath the sheets and tiptoed to Ariel’s room
and lay on the floor in front of her bed. Mazie closed her eyes, and listened
to her daughter breathe.

A thud shook Mazie from a shallow
sleep. She sneaked back into her bedroom and glanced at the alarm clock. Five
fifty-six. She pulled the drape aside and peered out in time to see the paper
boy toss an elastic-bound newspaper at Rachel’s house. Mazie slipped back into
bed, turned her back on Cullen, and feigned sleep.

Cullen rose at six sharp to the
screech of the alarm, threw the covers off them both and onto the floor, and
walked to the bathroom without so much as a glance in her direction.

She cinched the belt of her robe,
the long sleeves shielding Ariel from the scabs and bruises of the day before.
She retrieved the newspaper from the stoop, brewed coffee and poured his in a
to-go cup with cream and three sugars. She packed his lunch pail with leftover
dinner, cookies, two water bottles, and a Coke.

He tromped down the stairs,
showered and shaven, looking his best for the men he worked with. He took the
coffee and newspaper from her, snatched his full lunch pail from the sideboard,
and walked out.

Mazie rubbed her hands up and down the
sleeves of her robe. His last day of work before his summer break. Before he’d
be in the house every day. All day long. Standing over her, pointing out each
spot she missed, the right way to scrub his shit stains from the toilet. Eyeing
Ariel as if she were a potential conquest, not a child. His child.

She watched the truck peel out of
the back alley and race to the corner. He  turned right at the stop sign
without hitting the brakes. She clicked the back door shut, squeezed her
eyelids together, rested her forehead against the cool windowpane, and struggled
for steady breath.

When her nerves eased and she was
ready to open her eyes to the reality of life, the back yard came into focus, his
messy tool shed and oil stains from his precious truck. She wiped her forehead
smudge from the glass with the terry-cloth of her robe sleeve.

Rachel’s eyes and forehead appeared
over the edge of the fence. When she saw Mazie, she ducked, then reappeared a
second later waving her pudgy hand.

Mazie squinted and bolted the door.
Of all the potential BFFs out there, why did Ariel have to pick Rachel’s kid?

Like hell would she stay cooped up
in this prison just waiting to be wailed on again. Waiting for her daughter to
be raped. And all under the ever-watchful eye of the nosy gossip-mongering
neighbour. She’d let it go on too long. Should have run the first second he’d
hurt Ariel. What kind of mother sits on the sidelines and allows her child to
be abused?

Mazie yanked the garnet ring from
her finger and flung it into the garbage bin. She yanked a mug from the
cupboard and poured a cup of coffee. Steam from the sweet, creamy brew curled
into her nostrils and brought her a slice of peace. A moment of clarity. She
fished the ring from the garbage, pulled a meat mallet from the drawer under
the knife block, and crushed the garnet against the cutting board. Bits of red
stone scattered across the counter, like blood spatter after a good beating.

She lifted her head, closed her
eyes, and took a long breath.