Mary, Mary

by Lesley Crewe

  Carole grabbed the bat from her mother’s hand. “Don’t be daft. She’s probably had a heart attack. Are you sure she’s dead? Did you feel for a pulse?”

  Mary shook her head. “No. I didn’t think of it. I’m pretty sure she’s dead.”

  The three of them charged outside and up Mrs. Aucoin’s stairs. When they reached the kitchen, the cat was curled up beside his mistress. Carole unceremoniously dumped him on the floor. She put her fingers against Mrs. Aucoin’s neck and felt for a pulse, but there was nothing. “Call the police, Mary. They should be the ones to contact the family.”

  Mary ran back downstairs to make the call.

  “She owes us two months’ rent,” Ethel reminded Carole. “Make sure you get it from that louse son of hers.” Ethel opened up the sugar bowl on the table and looked inside. “She kept all her cash under her bed. Maybe we should take a look while we have the chance.”

  “You’re an old buzzard.”

  “And you’re the one who always says we have no money.”

  “So you want me to steal it from a dead woman?”

  “It’s not stealing when she owes us.”

  Carole pointed at the door. “Get out now.”

  It was two in the morning before Mrs. Aucoin’s body was finally carted off. The three Ryan women expressed their condolences to her son before Ethel mentioned the outstanding rent. He gave them a filthy look, saying he’d be by with the money in the coming days.

  “And by the way, I’m not taking that cat. I don’t know where it came from,” he added.

  “Where is he?” Mary asked.

  “I kicked him outside.” He stormed off the porch.

  Carole shut their front door. “Why did you have to mention the rent, Ma? There’s a time and a place, ya know.”

  “So sue me. Jumpin’ Jesus, what a night. I need a drink.” Ethel wandered off.

  “I have to go out and look for Roscoe.” Mary put on her coat and boots.

  “You are not going out and looking for that damn cat.”

  “Yes, I am! And when I find him, he’s coming back with me.”

  “Oh no, he’s not.”

  “Oh yes, he is.”

  Carole grabbed her cigarettes and lit one. “It’s not enough that I have to clean and paint that apartment so we can rent it immediately, now I’m going to be cleaning up after a cat?”

  “I’ll look after him. And you know darn well I’ll be helping you with the apartment. I’m the only one who ever does.”

  “Who else do you suggest I ask? Your grandmother’s useless. I refuse to ask Peggy with her superior attitude, Ted is only handy if he’s ripping open someone’s chest, and Sheena is God’s gift to no one. I don’t have a father or a husband I can ask. I don’t even have friends, what with the ungodly hours I put in to keep this place afloat.”

  “How about I do you a huge favour and run away from home? That way you can keep your expenses down.”

  “Good idea.”

  “You don’t even care that I’m upset about Mrs. Aucoin.”

  “I do care. I know you liked her.”

  “Put out that damn cigarette before you go to bed.” Mary opened the front door and banged it shut.

  It was still blowing a gale, but the hail had stopped. Mary called out into the night for Roscoe. She looked under the front porch and behind the sheds of her neighbours’ houses. Tears poured down her face as she marched up and down the street, shouting his name. After an hour she was so cold that she knew she had to head back. All she could think about was how Roscoe had tried to comfort Mrs. Aucoin in her hour of need. And what did he get for it? Thrown out on the street like garbage. Gran was right. She hated Mrs. Aucoin’s son.

  And then everything changed. Who did she see sitting patiently outside Mrs. Aucoin’s door but one familiar mangy cat? She ran up the steps, picked him up, and wrapped him in her coat.

  “Thank you for coming home, Roscoe. I really need you tonight.” Roscoe purred.

  On the other side of town, in Coxheath, Carole’s younger sister, Peggy, was sitting up in bed with a notepad on her lap in her beautifully decorated bedroom, waiting for Sheena to come home. There were already five pages of things to do for her daughter’s wedding. She looked at the clock. The bright red numbers glared 2:45. Bright red reminded her of blood. Blood reminded her of car crashes. Car crashes reminded her of hospitals. Hospitals reminded her of her husband. Peggy looked at him.

  Ted was snoring his bald head off. That’s all he ever did. Ted being twelve years her senior hadn’t been an issue when they were married, but now it was a problem. He was boring all day and all night. She made a fist and hit him right between the shoulder blades.

  “Whaa…whaa?”

  “How can you sleep when your only child is in a ditch somewhere?”

  He turned over and groaned. “You know this for a fact?”

  “Where else would she be at three in the morning during a blizzard?”

  “Wake me up when the police get here,” he mumbled into his pillow.

  “You’re pathetic. You have absolutely no parenting skills at all.”

  “I won’t have any medical skills either if you don’t let me get some sleep.”

  Peggy crossed her arms. She didn’t know who to throttle first, her husband or her daughter. She had a face full of worry lines that no amount of Estée Lauder could eradicate. And it didn’t help that she couldn’t rely on her mother or sister. How her niece wasn’t a complete loon living with them in that old dump, she’d never know.

  Thinking about Mary reminded Peggy that she should encourage her niece to stop dressing like a farmer. Not a good look for the maid of honour. Sheena was the exact opposite; she had a walk-in closet filled with beautiful clothes. But her daughter might never see her closet again if she was frozen in a snow bank on Keltic Drive. Any minute now she’d get a call saying there had been a head-on collision.

  Car headlights lit up the bedroom window. Peggy threw off the covers. Thank God. Running down the stairs in bare feet, she made it to the front door just as Sheena came through it.

  “Where on earth have you been?”

  Not for the first time did Sheena think how great it would’ve been if she and Mary had been switched at birth and she was sent home with Aunt Carole and Gran. They didn’t give a damn what Mary did and had never heard of the word curfew. But then she always felt a pang of guilt and shut the thought down before it gathered momentum. There was no point in what ifs. Life was what it was.

  Unfair.

  “Drew and I were just talking about our future, Mother. We lost track of time.”

  “That’s no excuse not to call me.”

  Sheena pulled off her wet knee-high leather boots and unwrapped the scarf from around her perfectly highlighted blond hair. “I didn’t call because I’d wake up Dad. I texted you more than once.”

  “I wondered what that noise was.” Peggy took Sheena’s coat and put it in the foyer closet. “Did you have your dinner?”

  “Nine hours ago. You wouldn’t make me a grilled cheese?” Sheena gave her the pouty look.

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “So?”

  “Oh, all right.”

  “Thanks, Mommy.”

  Mother and daughter headed for the kitchen. Whenever Peggy turned on the light, her endorphins buzzed. Ted used to give her the same sensation, but not anymore.

  The new renovation was sublime: marble counters, glass tiles, stainless steel appliances, and dark walnut cupboards gave the room a rich, warm feel, while the two crystal chandeliers added sparkle.

  Sheena sat at the island while Peggy assembled the ingredients and took out a frying pan. “I might as well make myself a sandwich too.”

  “I thought you were on Weight Watchers.”

  “I have lots of poin
ts left.” That was a bald-faced lie, but the stress of waiting up meant that Peggy deserved every cheesy morsel.

  “I showed Mary my ring.”

  Peggy stopped. “Oh, thanks a lot. I thought we were going to tell them together on Christmas Day.”

  “I know, but I couldn’t wait.”

  “Great. Now Carole’s nose will be out of joint that I didn’t tell her first.”

  “Blame me.”

  “I will. So did you ask Drew about having a church wedding?”

  Sheena reached over and took a handful of grapes from the fruit bowl. “He says he wants what I want. He’s so sweet.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “I want everything!”

  Peggy buttered the bread and put it in the pan. “It’s fine and dandy for him to say that, but you can be sure his mother will have an opinion or two.”

  “It’s my wedding, so I’m in charge.” Sheena looked at her ring. “Besides, his mother doesn’t care one way or the other. She’s having an affair.”

  Peggy whirled around. “What? I thought Drew’s father owned car dealerships.”

  “Just because he has money doesn’t mean his wife likes him. He’s a hot mess.”

  “It’s now occurring to me that we know nothing about Drew’s family.” Peggy flipped the sandwiches rather forcefully.

  Sheena sighed. “Listen to yourself. I’m the one who should be worried. How am I going to explain Aunt Carole and Gran?”

  Peggy put the sandwiches on plates and cut them in half. She placed one in front of her daughter and then sat on the nearest stool to devour hers. “Don’t be rude.”

  “I’m sorry, but you know what I mean.”

  “Your grandmother is an alcoholic. It happens in the best of families. It’s no reason to be ashamed of her.”

  Sheena took a bite. “What’s Aunt Carole’s excuse? I don’t think she likes me very much, or Mary, for that matter.”

  “Carole hasn’t had it easy.”

  “That’s her own fault. How many times have you offered to help her fix up that place?”

  “I’m not talking about that. I mean she brought me up after our father left because Mom couldn’t cope. It’s tough looking after a child when you’re a child yourself. Imagine a four-year-old making lunch for a two-year-old. I owe Carole a lot.”

  “Well, she’s still a grump. She better not ruin my wedding.”

  “How could she ruin your wedding?”

  “She’s coming, isn’t she?”

  “MA!”

  “WHA?”

  “Bring me the cash box!”

  “Get it yourself!”

  Carole shook her head. “I’m going to brain that one.”

  Her client tsked. “You should put her in a home, Carole.”

  “Frig that. Let me go to the home and get some rest. Ethel-Alcohol can stay here and let the place fall down around her ears.”

  “Girl, you just need to join that eHarmony, get yourself a boyfriend, and move.”

  “Just what I need: a man.”

  Carole stomped into the living room. Her mother was watching television in her stained bathrobe, stretched out on a maroon horsehair sofa that had belonged to a now dead relative. Some mending was in a pile on the floor and the ever-present tea was on the wonky side table next to her.

  “I’m in that salon busting my butt and you can’t be bothered to get off your ass and do this one thing for me.”

  Ethel waved at her. “Get outta the way, will ya? I can’t see Marilyn Denis.”

  “Where’s the cash box?”

  “How the hell should I know? That’s your business.”

  Carole looked under cushions and newspapers. “You have a nasty habit of taking money out of it to buy gin and lottery tickets.”

  “When I win, I bet you’ll be nice to me then. Look, it’s on top of the television.”

  Carole grabbed it and left. Ethel called after her. “Isn’t it Christmas Eve? Where did you put that little fake tree?”

  “I don’t have time to be looking for that old thing. Try the hall closet.”

  Ethel took a gulp of her tea before she pushed herself off the couch and weaved her way to said destination. “Ha! No tree in here!”

  “Then chop one down!”

  Ethel wandered into the “salon,” where Carole was making change for her customer. “Hey, girl. What’s shakin’?”

  “I was telling Carole that she should join an online dating service.”

  “Acting like some coyote? No thanks.”

  “That’s a cougar, Ma.”

  The client gave a shout of laughter. “You two kill me! Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas!”

  When she left, Ethel said, “Did she give you a tip?”

  “Never you mind.”

  “What’s for supper?”

  “Kraft Dinner.”

  “Again?”

  Mary was adding up her till when her supervisor came in. “Your grandmother wants you to call her.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Mary finished counting change and called home. “Hi, Gran.”

  “Could you bring home some pizza? I can’t stomach Kraft Dinner tonight.”

  “Pizza on Christmas Eve. I can’t wait.”

  “Speaking of which, I didn’t have time to go shopping, so pick yourself up some wine and lottery tickets. I’ll pay ya back.”

  “I don’t drink wine.”

  “Well, get yourself some chocolates, then, and some for your mother. And your mom just said to get some cat food and kitty litter for your asshole cat.”

  Another of Carole’s customers was just leaving by the time Mary got home. They exchanged pleasantries and wished each other season’s greetings. Mary walked in the kitchen with her boots on because she had too many bags in her hands. Her mother and grandmother were at the table. It was covered with the plastic poinsettia tablecloth they used year after year. They’d even lit one of the emergency candles they kept in the kitchen drawer.

  “This looks nice,” Mary said as she put the bags on the counter.

  “What’s all that?” her mother asked.

  “These are your Christmas presents. I know we’re going over to Aunt Peggy’s tomorrow but I thought we deserved a Christmas dinner here.” Mary shrugged off her coat and unpacked the bags. “I bought a big cooked roast chicken, the $9.99 one, and I have instant mashed potatoes and Stove Top Stuffing, a can of baby peas, cranberry sauce and a package of gravy. Oh yeah, and a small fruitcake, because I know you like that, Gran.”

  “Is it the kind soaked in rum?”

  “I think so. And I got an apple pie, candy canes, and eggnog.”

  “Do we have any rum to put in it?”

  “Forget the rum, Ma!”

  “Did you get the pizza?”

  “No, Gran. I didn’t have enough money. Isn’t this better than pizza?”

  Carole kicked Ethel under the table.

  “Yes, it’s much better. Thank you.”

  “Where’s Roscoe?”

  “He was on your bed, so I shut him in there,” her mom said. “Jesus, he’s got to be the ugliest thing alive.”

  “I believe he said the same thing about you.”

  Gran let out a hoot.

  Mary left them to open the packages and mix up the food. She opened her bedroom door, or her sanctuary as she called it. A fortress against her crackpot relatives. There was Roscoe, curled up right between her two pillows.

  “Hello there, big boy!” She bent down and gave him a kiss right on the top of his head. He immediately started to make a sound like a buzz saw.

  “I’m sorry I had to leave you with the warden and her deputy, but you can hide out in here whenever you like. As a matter of fact, it would be
better for your mental health if you avoided my roommates altogether. I’ve got you a first-class litter pan and some Fancy Feast for your dinner. And this.”

  She ripped open a cat toy package—a mouse with catnip inside. Roscoe took a tentative sniff and then his pupils got enormous. He immediately rubbed his cheek against the furry mouse, then rolled on his back and kicked the shit out of it with his back paws. Once that was accomplished, he nibbled at it with a hint of glee in his eye.

  “I’m glad you’re happy. Merry Christmas.”

  Mary loved her room. It was the only cozy space in the joint. Mind you, the wallpaper was stained and peeling in a few places, but she had covered the walls with maps and posters and peg boards so she could pin up items that caught her eye. She’d made her own rugs by braiding old towels together and even sewed her own quilt with all the scraps her Gran had thrown away over the years. She had big pillows and covered foam that created a window seat over the enclosed heat register. Her big closet was a mini refuge—there was a light with a string in there, so she could root around the shelves and shoe boxes of possessions she’d accumulated over the years. But her prized possession was the old wardrobe that stood facing her bed. It reminded her of the one in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It was full of secret things, old keys, diaries, notebooks, the flotsam and jetsam of childhood. Her mother and grandmother had been told repeatedly that if they were to ever open the wardrobe, Mary would move to the other side of the world. So far, they hadn’t: Mary had rigged it; she would’ve been able to tell.

  Off the work clothes went and she slipped on an old sweater and jogging pants. Her long brown hair was a mess, so she took it out of its ponytail and bent over to brush it. Sometimes she thought about cutting it, but it was a rather nice shade. Almost exactly the colour of her eyes, which one boy had described as dark caramel. She had to wear it in a ponytail at work, and it felt good to let it fall over her shoulders when she got home. Her glasses were dirty, so she sprayed them with cleaner. One day she’d save enough money to buy contact lenses; her glasses always slid down her nose, which was annoying. Just yesterday the stock boy at work said they covered up her cute freckles. When he left her register, she rolled her eyes. Freckles were freckles. There was no such thing as cute ones.