by Julie Frayn
“How long did she say the bus stops there?” The thought of passing through her home town again brought Mazie’s heart into her throat.
“An hour.” Ariel took Mazie’s hand. “You look freaked out. We could get off now. Change the route?”
“No. We’d have to be nuts to travel back through North Bay.”
Ariel grinned. “So, we’re nuts?”
~~~~~~~~
The bus rolled to a stop at the North Bay Greyhound station. Mazie scanned the area. No police cars, no foot patrol. She rested her forehead against Ariel’s temple. “Let’s grab a bite inside. Keep your head down and don’t look at any cameras,” she whispered.
“That’s why you keep telling me to put my hood up?”
“Yeah.”
“And that’s why the haircuts and the makeup and the fake names? Not a game, not breaking Daddy’s rules? To hide?”
“Afraid so.”
“And I thought you were just being cool. And weird.”
They put their hoods up, exited the bus and headed for a small café in the station.
Ariel picked at a roast beef sandwich. “This sucks.”
“We’ll try to find a place with a kitchen in Cornwall. Make our own food.” Mazie sipped at her coffee. At least that didn’t suck.
Ten minutes before the bus was scheduled to leave, they gathered their things and approached the exit. Mazie pushed the door open. It hit the back of a police officer who stood just outside.
Maze grasped Ariel’s sleeve. “Shit.” She shook her head. “I mean, I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay ma’am.” He looked her up and down, tipped his hat to Ariel. “You in a rush?”
Ariel took her hand.
“Our bus is leaving soon.”
“Where you all headed?”
Before Mazie could reply, Ariel blurted out, “Regina.”
“Regina? Well you’ve got plenty of time. The westbound doesn’t leave for a good half hour.” He squinted at Mazie. “Ma’am are you feeling all right? You’re kind of flushed and sweaty.”
She swallowed. “I think it’s something I ate.”
“Well, no surprise if you ate here.”
The radio clipped to his shoulder stuttered to life. He clicked a button. “Ten-four.” He tipped his hat again. “Have a safe trip.” He jogged to his car and sped out of the parking lot, lights flashing.
When he was out of sight, Mazie’s knees gave out and she fell to the ground. The bus driver lumbered over.
“You okay? It’s Charlotte, right?” He hitched his pants up under his belly and held his hand out.
“I’m fine. Just a little faint.” She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.
“Can I get you some water? I have to run in for a coffee.”
“That would be nice, thanks.”
He checked his watch. “You folks get on board. We head out in two minutes.”
~~~~~~~~
Fluffs of high cloud glowed tangerine against the darkening sky. Teal streaked with purple graduated to a bright blue glow at the horizon. At first blush, Cornwall was beautiful. As long as you kept your gaze skyward.
Modest houses of beige brick on acre-plus sized lots lined the east side of the road, Canadian flags proclaimed many an owner’s patriotism. Businesses, mostly housed in Quonset huts and double-wides, lined the west. Antiques, a garden centre, a row of yellow bull dozers, graders and front loaders, like so many giant Tonka toys lined up in an adult sandbox.
The deeper into town the bus drove, the closer together the houses grew and the smaller the lots shrank. Industry slipped away, and a peaceful neighbourhood — with a highway slicing it down the middle — took its place.
The rush of airbrakes shook Mazie from her thoughts. She sat up, a flutter in her chest. Could this be their new home?
The bus slowed and veered right into the parking lot of a gas station and pulled to a jerky stop. The driver stood and called out “Cornwall!”
Ariel jolted awake. “Are we here?”
Mazie stared out the window. “I guess so.”
The driver made his way down the aisle toward them. “I think you’re the only ones getting off here. I’ll grab your bags.”
Ariel peered out the window. “This is a gas station.”
“Yup. Doubles as the Greyhound bus station.”
Mazie retrieved her purse from the floor at her feet. “Are we anywhere near a hotel? A hostel or something?”
“Sorry, Charlotte. I just drive through.” He pointed out the window. “There’s a pay phone over there.” He shifted his finger toward the gas station. “And MacEwen has a decent café. I bet Loretta’d be happy to give you some ideas.”
“Thanks.”
He lumbered down the aisle. The bus rocked side to side with each step and lifted with relief when he disembarked.
“Well, bug. Let’s get out of here and check out our new home.”
“There’s more to it right? Like a downtown and real restaurants and stuff?”
“Here’s hoping.” Mazie grabbed the backs of empty seats on her way to the front of the bus and stepped out onto the asphalt. She took a deep breath of bus fumes, dirt, and grease from the greasy spoon. It had to get better than this. “You stay here, I’ll go see if there’s a hotel nearby.”
The phone booth was old-fashioned, the kind that turned Clark Kent into Superman. But this one had seen better days. A broken cord dangled where the phone book used to be. Mazie peered out the Plexiglas, milky with age and smudged with filth.
At the pumps, Ariel spoke with a man who was filling his gas tank. Who the hell? She jogged to her daughter’s side, her eyes locked on the stranger who had no business chatting up a young girl.
He’d watched Mazie approach, grinned at her when she neared. She touched her hand to the side of her face, shielding it from his stare, and took Ariel by the arm. “We’ll have to go talk to Loretta. There’s no phone book.” She pulled up the handle of her suitcase and glanced back at the man. He set the pump back on its cradle, paying not one whit of attention to them. “What did he say to you?”
“He asked where we were going. I told him I had no idea.”
A bell over the door announced their entrance into the café. A woman stood behind the till, engrossed in a worn paperback.
“Excuse me, are you Loretta?”
“I certainly am.” Loretta dog-eared the page and tossed the book on the counter. “Did Bill send you my way?”
Mazie smiled. “Yes, he sure did. Said you’d know where there was a decent place to stay.” She did a mental calculation of her resources. “A cheap one.”
“Well, you want decent, or cheap?” Loretta let out a huge laugh. “Just kidding, honey. I know just the place.” She scrawled an address on a piece of scrap paper. “It’s not too far, you can grab the bus just down the road a bit, take you right to it. Should come in…” she glanced at her watch, “forty minutes or so. You could take a cab, be quicker. But that’s not as cheap, right?” She winked. She looked at Ariel. “Love your hair, sweetheart.”
Ariel touched her hair. Her cheeks pinked.
“Where are you coming from? What brings you to our sleepy little city?”
Back story. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
“Just a change of pace. Divorce. You know how it is.”
“Ah yes. Yes I do. Damn bastards.”
“Hey, Loretta, I gotta jet. Can we move it along?”
Mazie turned around to face a truck driver, a wad of chewing tobacco lumped inside one cheek, credit card at the ready.
“Sorry,” Mazie said. “We’re done.” She turned back to Loretta. “Thanks for everything.”
“Any time, honey. Good luck.”
Mazie skirted around the trucker dragging her luggage, battered and beaten, behind her. She bumped right into the man from the gas pumps. He stood a good eight inches taller than her, his reedy body drowned by his corduroy pants and tweed jacket.
“Pardon me, miss
.” He glanced at his feet before lifting his eyes to meet her gaze. “I overheard you at the till. I know you have no idea who I am, but I’d like to offer you a ride. Looks like you’ve been travelling a while,” he looked away and scratched the back of his head, “and it’s almost dark.”
“Thanks, but we’re fine.”
“I know, kind of crazy, right? Complete stranger. Offers a ride.” He held his hand out. “I’m Norman Day.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Day. But we do all right on our own.”
He held up his hands. “Didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. Just thought I could save you a long wait. I could have you to the hotel in ten minutes flat.”
“Norm, you’re up!” Loretta’s voice boomed across the shop.
“Just let me pay my bill and we can talk?”
“Thanks, but no.” Mazie grabbed Ariel’s hand. “Come on Ar ─” She pressed her lips together. “Just come on.”
“Take the ride, honey.”
Mazie spun around.
Loretta was ringing up Norman’s gas purchase. “He’s a straight arrow. He’ll just drop you off, get you in safely before dark. Known him for twenty years. He’s above board.”
Norman blushed and shrugged his shoulders.
Mazie looked at Ariel. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m tired. Take the ride, Mom.”
Mazie nodded. “All right, then.”
Norman had paid his bill and held the door open for them. His eyes were kind, his smile genuine. And he smelled familiar. Like vanilla. Or cookies. Oatmeal cookies.
“I’m Charlotte. This is my daughter, Clementine.”
“Nice to meet you, Charlotte.”
“She likes to be called Charlie.” Ariel’s face was alight with mischief.
“And what do you like to be called?”
“Clem is fine.”
“Clem it is. What does the ‘A’ stand for?” Norman pointed to her necklace.
Ariel touched one finger to the gold pendant that rested in the hollow of her collarbone. Her cheeks paled. “Uh, it means … Awesome.”
“Ah, of course it does.” He smiled and piled their luggage into the trunk of his rusty old Buick LeSabre. He opened the back door and gestured to Ariel. “Mademoiselle.” He gave a slight bow then turned to Mazie. “And the front of the carriage for madame.”
Mazie squinted.
He clicked the door closed and walked around the front of the car.
“He’s got a crush on you,” Ariel said in a sing-song voice.
“Yeah, right. That’s just what I need.” Another bloody man to mess up her life even more.
Norman pulled out onto the highway. His headlights cut through the growing darkness. He cleared his throat. “So, where are you coming from?”
Mazie stared straight ahead.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.” He slowed at a red light and tapped the steering wheel with his fingertips. “Are you just passing through?”
Mazie glanced sideways at him. “No. We’re planning to stay for a while.”
“So, you have a place?” He turned to look at her, his cheeks pinked and he looked ahead again. “No, of course not. That’s why I’m driving you to a hotel.”
Ariel snickered.
“I’ll have to look for something. And a job.” Mazie rubbed one palm down the front of her pants. How long was this quick drive going to take?
“A job?” He made a quick left and pulled into the parking lot of a small hotel in the middle of nowhere. “I could help with that.” He parked the car and turned in his seat. “The company that cleans my office building is hiring. It’s not glamorous, but it would be a start.”
Mazie looked back at Ariel who shrugged her shoulders. “What office building?”
“A small group of businesses, marketing and the head office of a trucking firm. I have a law practice.”
Mazie’s chest hollowed. Law practice. She’d be working in the belly of the beast, in plain sight right inside the system. That wasn’t hiding. It was suicide. She shook her head. “I … I don’t know.”
“Come on, let me set you up with them. It’s decent pay.”
She stared at him. Was this guy for real?
“And a fellow I know owns an apartment building downtown. Kind of run down, but passable. He owes me a favour.”
She furrowed her brow. “Why are you doing this?”
He straightened in his seat. “You look like you could use a leg up. That’s all.”
She eyed this man who looked like he spent more time behind a desk than in a gym, his hands callous free and his nails clean and trimmed. He reminded her of Allan, the accountant she’d dumped for Cullen. They could use the money and a place to call home. If he wasn’t who he appeared, she could cut and run.
Cut and run.
She was getting good at that.
She nodded her head. “I’ll take you up on the job offer.”
His face lit up. “Great.” He drew his wallet from the inside pocket of his tweed jacket pulled out a business card. “Call me tomorrow. I’ll get you their number.” He handed her the card.
She took the card between her thumb and index finger. Norman Day. Criminal Defence Attorney.
Son of a bitch. He was on her side.
~~~~~~~~
Mazie and Ariel settled into an uneasy calm. The musty apartment was liveable, despite the body odour and exotic spices that clung to the walls. Norman fixed a leaky tap and hired someone to change the locks. Ariel dotted the rooms with air fresheners and scented candles in the hopes that fake cinnamon and orange blossoms would over-perfume the stink.
Mazie worked evenings and Saturdays, dusting and vacuuming when the offices were closed and the normal people had gone home to their normal families. Except Norman. He was there most of the time, working well into the night and through the weekend. He was dedicated. Or he had no other life.
The cleaning company paid her cash under the table. No tax returns to worry about, no bank accounts required. And no need to show identification.
She used her old trick, a false back in a drawer — just enough room for a stack of cash, the photos, and her journal — to keep the money she’d drained from the bank accounts hidden and safe. With the money she made scrubbing strangers toilets, she could afford to let that sit. An emergency fund. Her stay out of jail not-so-free stash.
The work was menial, grimy, and so familiar. But she was damn good at it. It kept her body busy and her mind at peace. She hadn’t earned her own money since Ariel was born, and didn’t have to account to anyone for one cent she spent. In an unsettling way, life was sort of good.
But the peace that manual labour brought only lasted while she dusted shelves and emptied trash bins, vacuumed behind desks, and polished a myriad of DNA and fingerprints from door handles and telephones and windows. Outside the relative sanctuary of that office building, she spent every moment with her eyes cast down, casting furtive glances to assess if strangers on the bus, in the grocery store, walking the sidewalks, were in fact evil enemies waiting for the opportunity to out her.
In early August, Ariel turned thirteen. She was letting her hair grow, and dying it regularly. Purple first, like she’d always wanted. Then blonde like Mazie. But the home dye jobs were nothing like the professional ones, and the result was never what she expected. The latest, back to the deep maroon that started it all, had turned a muddied pink.
As the stifling summer wore on, an ever-growing sense of panic set in. Ariel would have to go to school. Mazie had to enrol her. Without identification. With a fake name. How the hell would she do that? Two months of dodging the law had done nothing to turn her into a savvy crime maven.
She dusted the shelves next to Norman’s desk for the third time since she’d entered his office just twenty minutes before. He glanced over his shoulder at her, returned to his computer screen, glanced at her again.
“Charlie, are you okay?”
She plastered a casual smile on her fa
ce. “Me? Sure. I’m good.”
“Really? Because I think the dust is not only gone, but future dust is afraid to land.”
She flopped into the chair across from his desk. “Sorry. I do have a problem.”
He pushed aside a folder and rested his forearms on his desk, his fingers entwined. “Let me help.”
“You’ve done nothing but help. I don’t want to bother you.”
“Nothing you do bothers me.”
She tried to contain an affectionate smile. He’d become her closest friend next to Rachel, and her fondness for him grew each day.
“I have to enrol Clem in school.”
He raised his eyebrows and spread his hands out, palms up. “And?”
“I left all her identification behind. I have nothing, no birth certificate, no immunization record.”
“Well the birth certificate is easy.” He typed on his keyboard and clicked his mouse. “We can just ask for a replacement. You can enrol her without it. Just get the school a copy when it comes in.” He wrote on a pad of paper and tore a piece off. “Here’s the website.”
She leaned forward. “Right. Of course.” Tears threatened and she bit her lip.
He pushed back in his chair, tented his fingers and rested them against his lips. “Why are you here, Charlie?”
“Excuse me?”
“In Cornwall. I’m curious. Why here? You never speak of your ex. You have a daughter, there had to be a father.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “You can trust me, Charlie. Honest you can.”
“What about you? You have an ex?”
“I’m a widower.”
She swallowed. “I’m sorry. You seem too young for that.”
“Yeah, well, drunk drivers don’t give a good God damn how old the person they mow down in a crosswalk is.” Red blotches blossomed on his face. He took a gulp of cold coffee.
“How long ago?”
“Twelve years. She was four months pregnant.”
“Oh, Norman. I am so sorry.”
He cleared his throat. “Your turn.”
She pulled the cloth through her closed fist, her eyes trained on the cloud of dust that wafted from it. “I’m divorced. He didn’t take it well. I wanted to get as far away as I could.”
He stood and stretched. “Can you type?”
