by Julie Frayn
After he climaxed, he zipped his pants while she pulled up her underwear and shifted her skirt down.
“Wow.” He ran one finger between her breasts. “Can I see you again?”
A pen on a string dangled from a clipboard hanging next to the door. She wrote her phone number on his palm and dotted the ‘i’ in her name with a heart.
He smoothed her hair, placed one finger under her chin and kissed her with a simple tenderness that would stick with her for years to come. Then they made their way back to the table so he could gather his guitar and ‘work the room.’
“Gotta say, I fucking hate that part, but you’ve got to do it if you want people to remember you. Maybe to buy a CD.” He signed the jewel case of one with a sharpie, handed it to her, and kissed her cheek. “Thanks. It was really great to meet you,” he whispered in her ear. Then he turned and walked away.
She arrived home sated but aroused, loopy with his sex and his smell. The next morning she was nothing but embarrassed. She didn’t know where he was staying. Had no idea how long he’d be in town. She was probably just one of a string of back-room trysts. And she hadn’t even been careful about it, didn’t use a condom.
When her period arrived a week later, the relief was overwhelming. She felt like a fool calling bars in town to see if he was playing. But he was gone. And she was an idiot.
~~~~~~~~
Strange voices called out. A cacophony of clicking and beeping and honking and wailing assaulted Mazie’s ears, each noise like another punch to her head. Her hand found a metal bar running alongside her body. She blinked against the bright lights, focussed on a thin clear tube hanging above and followed it to a needle stuck in her arm. She lifted her head. Stars exploded behind her eyes. “Shit.”
“Mommy?”
Her eyes sprung open. “Ariel?” She pulled herself up, but a firm hand on her shoulder kept her down.
“Try to relax, Mrs. Reynolds.”
She looked up into the face of a young man, a stethoscope dangling from his neck. The room swayed and jerked. No. Not a room. She was in an ambulance.
“Ariel?” Mazie twisted her head until she found her daughter sitting across from her, eyes swollen and nose red. Dread filled her. “Where’s your father?”
“Ma’am,” the baby-faced EMT patted her arm. “He’s being kept in holding. Domestic violence.”
“Oh no. No, no, no.”
“Ma’am?”
“How?”
“Your daughter, ma’am. She called nine-one-one.”
“Ariel, why?”
Ariel started to cry. “I thought he was going to kill you.”
Mazie closed her eyes. “Damn,” she said under her breath. “I want to talk to the police.”
“They’re meeting us at the hospital. They’ll take your statement there.”
She looked over to Ariel and held her hand out.
Ariel took her hand. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”
“No, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. Nothing is your fault. We’ll go home and have a bath. Maybe you can sleep with me tonight.”
“What about Daddy?”
“I won’t press charges.”
“You don’t have a choice in that, Mrs. Reynolds.” The EMT pressed a finger to her side.
She cried out against the pain that shot through her torso, gasped and turned to glare at him.
“Charges are automatic, he’s already being processed. He broke a couple of ribs. I thought your eye socket was broken too, but it looks like it’s just swollen. We’ll get it X-rayed to be sure. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
She squinted. A stab of pain shot through her eye. “Do I look lucky to you?”
“Sorry, ma’am. That’s not what I meant.”
~~~~~~~~
Cullen’s shadow filled the window of the back door. Mazie’s feet were frozen to the floor. He’d been released on his own recognizance, pending a court date six weeks out. And here he was, the day after getting out of jail, standing on their back porch.
At least he knocked.
She unlocked the deadbolt and inched the door open. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
His eyes were red-rimmed, his hands tucked firmly in the front pockets of his jeans. “I know. I just had to see you. See Ariel.”
“If they catch you, you’ll go back to jail. Is that what you want?”
His eyes darkened. “Are you going to call the cops on me?”
She averted her gaze. “Cullen, what do you want me to do? They gave you conditions. You can’t just ignore them.”
“I know that.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can I come in? Please?”
Every instinct told her to slam the door, dial nine-one-one. But her training won out and she stepped aside.
He slipped off his shoes and lined them up neatly against the wall, strolled into the kitchen and stood at the sink, staring out into the front yard.
She stood still, clasped her hands together and rested them on her belly. They made a knot, like a human heart. She squeezed them together in time with her staccato heartbeat. One. Two. Threefourfive.
“Do you want coffee?” Her voice cracked and her hands shook.
He huffed. “No.” He glanced back at her. “Thanks,” he whispered. “Where’s Ariel?”
“She’s spending the weekend with Polly.”
He nodded.
Mazie cleared her throat. “She’s afraid that you’re angry with her.”
He turned, his eyes misty. “Afraid?” He wiped a tear from his cheek.
For minutes, absolute silence screamed in her ears. The standoff ended when he pushed off against the counter. The sudden movement made her jump, sending a jolt of pain through her ribs.
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I really am.” He touched her arm.
She flinched.
“I’ll go now.”
He sat on the step and tied his laces.
“Where are you staying?”
“A guy I work with. Sleeping on the couch.” He looked over his shoulder. “They almost fired me, did you know that?” The edge in his voice sliced the air. He stood. “But that’s not your fault. I know that.” He put his hand on the knob. “I do love you, you know that, right?”
She said nothing, stared at her feet.
He turned and left without another word. Left the door ajar.
She pushed it closed and pulled the drape aside. His truck rumbled away. Rachel’s face popped over the fence, then ducked out of sight when she caught Mazie’s eye. Maybe she’d get the bat out of the shed and play neighbour Whac-A-Mole.
~~~~~~~~
Mazie caught her reflection in the mirror. The bruise around her swollen eye extended over her brow and down her cheek. She pulled her shirt up and followed the purple contusions that spread from the confines of the tape around her ribs and snaked up her back toward her shoulder blade and down to her hip. She peeled off the bandage, winced at the sharp pull of sticky tape from her tender skin, and crawled with trepidation into a steaming bath.
With dinner in the oven, she poured a coffee and sat at the table. Half an hour passed with no sound except the ticking clock. The band of her silver ring with the tumbled garnet cut into her right ring finger. She twisted it, stared at the stone. It meant new beginnings, he’d told her. A gift shortly after Ariel was born. During the best year of their marriage. Before he devolved into a now-familiar cycle of anger, resentment, violence, justification, and repentance. That last part of the cycle showed up rarely these past couple of years. Justification became the norm. It was her fault, Ariel’s fault, his boss’s fault that he hit her. If that guy hadn’t cut him off on the freeway and nearly caused an accident, he wouldn’t be so upset. When she was stupid, it added to his stress. She made him snap. All her fault.
That ring had been a life raft and her marriage was a sinking ship. Over the years, the shining crimson stone looked less like hope, and more like a tiny pool of her own blood, frozen in
time.
A key scratched in the front door lock. Her heart leapt into her throat and she held her breath.
“Mom?”
Mazie exhaled and gripped her mug of cold coffee with both hands. “In the kitchen, bug.”
That evening, Ariel cleared the dinner dishes while Mazie put leftovers in the fridge. They chatted about school, about Polly, about anything except the hard realities of the past week, the evidence of it written all over Mazie’s bruised and cut face.
Mazie listened to Ariel make light of her day, her forced cheerfulness a poor imitation of a normal young girl. The false breeziness of the evening was cut short by a knock at the back door.
There he was again, ignoring police orders. Showing up unannounced. Uninvited.
“Mom, it’s Daddy.” Ariel stepped behind Mazie. “What do we do?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Should I call the police?”
“Not this time. It would only make him angry.”
She opened the door. “Why are you here?”
“I brought some things for you and Ariel.” He looked over Mazie’s head into the kitchen. “Hi, pumpkin. Daddy brought you something.”
Ariel froze in place, glanced at her mother then averted her eyes and stared at her feet.
A guilty ache jabbed Mazie’s heart. Ariel was mirroring her own actions, had probably seen Mazie in that same stance so many times. It was her coping mechanism. But she had no idea that Ariel was watching. Maybe it was ingrained in all women, that apologetic, guilty response. Even though they’d done nothing to deserve it. Hell, maybe it was genetic.
He arranged his shoes in their proper place, slipped his socked feet up the steps and dropped a grocery bag on the counter. The familiar clink of glass told her it was either beer or bourbon. Or both. Couldn’t he go one night without drinking? She had blamed much of the early abuse on the alcohol. It changed his personality, made him angry. Poisoned his spirit. But as the years wore on, he didn’t need booze to be abusive. Or maybe the alcohol was never cleansed from his system. He never gave it a chance to be.
He reached into the bag. There was a second of absolute stillness, anticipation for what he would pull out. Like a rapt audience waiting for the magician to pull a rabbit out of a hat, but then, ta-da! It’s a dove.
Mazie watched for the neck of the Jack Daniels bottle.
Ta-da! It was a small box. The kind that jewellery comes in.
He turned to Ariel and held it out to her. “Here, pumpkin. For you.”
Ariel shot a fleeting look at her mother, then raised her eyes to her father’s face but didn’t move, didn’t lift her head.
“It’s okay. Take it.” He didn’t take a step forward. It was as far as he ever went with conciliation. Hold out the carrot, have the abused make the first move.
Ariel inched around the table and held out her hand. He dropped it into her open palm. She opened it, and a subtle smile crossed her face.
Cullen plucked a delicate chain from the box, a cursive capital A dangling from it. “It’s gold. Big girl jewellery.” He undid the clasp and placed it around her neck. She pulled her hair out of the way while he did it up.
Ariel held the A in her fingers and ran her thumb over it. She grinned.
He stroked her hair. “Will you take care of it?”
She nodded. “Yes, Daddy.” Ariel stepped forward and went to put her arms around his body, but only got her hands to his waist. She touched her head to his chest. Not the usual Ariel bear-hug. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
He hugged her hard and kissed the top of her head. His eyes glistened. But with what? Love? Relief? Or satisfaction that he’d perpetrated the same ruse with his daughter as he had with Mazie time and time again.
Did I hurt you? Here’s a piece of jewellery. Won’t happen again. Did I do it again? Here’s a bunch of flowers. Won’t happen again. It was your fault. You made me hit you, made me choke you, made me break your ribs. Will it happen again? Can’t make any promises.
It’s a lie! A trick! Don’t believe it Ariel! Mazie’s screams never left her mouth. How could she ruin her daughter’s moment? No matter how brief this respite from their normal lives would be?
He reached into the bag again. Flowers. He held them toward her. “I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean to do those things.” An actual tear ran down his cheek.
She made no move forward, just stared at the flowers. The kind you get at the grocery store checkout. Or from that woman who sells them in front of the liquor store.
He shook the bouquet. “Are you going to take them?” The tear dried up and his eyes had that frustrated glint — the forecast of the storm ahead.
She reached out and snatched the bunch from his hand. “Thanks.”
“You should put them in water before they wilt.”
No shit.
She pulled a small vase from the top shelf of the cupboard next to the sink. The place she kept consolation prizes from past beatings that gathered dust, but that she hadn’t thrown away. Not because of sentiment. Because he would have noticed them missing and flipped out. The ice cream boats for banana splits that he bought when Ariel was just three. An apology for ‘accidentally’ pushing Mazie down the stairs. Ariel had loved those treats, but the boats hadn’t been used in four years. There was the sushi set and the mini-doughnut machine. And the vase. An actual crystal vase. He’d bought her that after the first time he choked her during sex. An experiment in erotic asphyxiation, he’d said. But even he didn’t buy that lie. So he rewarded her with a dozen roses in the crystal vase. Red roses. Blood red roses.
She filled the vase with cool water and pulled her sharpest chef’s knife from its sheath. The sun caught the stainless steel and flashed a spark of light in her eye. She stared at the blade like she’d done hundreds of time. Imagined it slicing through the delicate skin of her wrists, releasing her from this hell she lived in. But Ariel’s face always got in the way. Her baby girl finally grew out of her fear of monsters under the bed only to discover the worst monster slept right down the hall.
Perhaps she should slice his wrists instead. Free them all from the torment that every normal day brought. She squeezed the handle, her fingernails bit into her palm. She lifted her face to the warm setting sun that streamed in the window. She sighed, sliced off the ends of the rose stems with one fluid motion, and slid them into the water. She put the vase on the table, so he could admire his vague and lame apology.
He maintained a watchful eye on her and reached into the bag again. Ta-da! Bourbon. Of course. He couldn’t help but get himself a gift. And that was the gift that kept on giving.
He pulled one last thing from the bag. “I got you brandy. You haven’t had that in a long time.” His smile proved how pleased he was with himself. That his generosity astounded him. That he’d allow her this small bottle of brandy once or twice a year while he went through a two-six of Jack almost weekly. “I thought we could sit and talk. Maybe have a drink.”
She took the bottle from him and placed it in the cupboard over the fridge. “Maybe.”
“And maybe I could help Ariel with her math homework. How does that sound, pumpkin?”
“If you want to, Daddy.”
Cullen sat beside Ariel at the table, her textbook open, pencils sharpened. He kept his shit together, didn’t yell when she didn’t understand, and found ways to show her how to do it right. She didn’t get it all, but he had made a difference.
Mazie picked up the last dish and turned to watch them do homework while she dried it with the damp dish towel. She froze. He’d slid their chairs together, his arm around Ariel’s shoulder. He stroked her hair, his cheek resting on the top of her head. Every few seconds he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled.
He glanced up and caught Mazie watching. He straightened his back and scooted his chair away, his gaze shifted from the math book to the floor to his hands. Anywhere but her face.
“It’s getting late,” she said through grit teeth. “
Ariel, say goodnight to your father. He has to go.”
“What about our drink?”
She shook her head. “No. Not tonight.”
~~~~~~~~
The subsequent week brought daily texts filled with apologies and declarations of Cullen’s undying love for Mazie and Ariel, and one that body-slammed her with guilt.
I’m nothing without you. If I lose you, I’ll just kill myself. There’ll be noting to live for.
He dropped in to visit, to cut the grass, to offer his handyman services. Something he’d not done for years while actually living there.
Inch by inch he wormed his way back home. She ignored the conditions of release, ignored the red flags and her own voice screaming inside her head, it’s a trick, he’s a liar, run away, and let him in.
He remained quiet and polite. Hell, he was downright pleasant. By the end of the second week, she allowed him to sleep on his own couch in his own living room. By the end of the third, they were sharing their bed again. But only the bed. They lay with their backs to each other like normal. But something had changed. Sleep found Mazie more than usual. The edge she clung to grew less sharp as each day without pain or anger passed.
She watched him around Ariel. He kept a polite distance, only touching her for good night hugs and the occasional high-five. Perhaps what she thought was inappropriate was simply a father missing his little girl. She’d overreacted. Over thought. He would never cross that line. But no matter how often she tried to convince herself, that damn gold A dangling from Ariel’s neck whispered a different story.
Three Saturdays after being arrested, Cullen ran some errands and arrived home hours later, his arms laden with packages. Another shopping apology, trading stuff for forgiveness. Product for understanding. Material things for love.
He yelled for Ariel to come to the living room. Mazie stood at the sink and dried dishes. The sound of ripping cardboard and crinkling plastic was punctuated by the screech of the television stand being dragged against the hardwood. She cringed. Would he blame her for the damage that little trick would cause?
