Mazie Baby

by Julie Frayn

  He took lids off of aluminum containers and dug paper plates and soy sauce packets from a second bag. All the while, he watched her out of the corner of his eye “Why’d you do that? You a girl scout from way back?” His amused half-grin gave him a youthful appearance, despite the flecks of grey at his temples.

  “It smooths the rough edges. Just need one splinter in your lip and you’ll never forget to do that again.”

  He nodded. “Got it. No slivers.”

  She focused her attention on the monitors, but Norman focused his on her. After years with Cullen, her peripheral vision had become her ninja power. She could see an entire room while looking at just one point too far from her real focus for him — or anyone — to notice. She’d learned to sense him beyond sight, to pick up on the subtleties between him simply moving across the kitchen and moving with the intent to slam her into the fridge.

  Norman didn’t have malicious intent in his bones. He was gentle in his words, in his actions. There were no red flags. He never got angry. Not even when she’d deleted a file she’d spent two days working on. When she got up the nerve to tell him, braced herself for punishment, he told her not to worry about it and found the file in the desktop recycle bin. Even made a joke that they were lucky they weren’t on some big server set up or he’d have to restore from back up. Laughed and said maybe he should back up this week. Thanked her for the reminder.

  “So, Charlie.” He chewed and swallowed, stared at the next bite of noodles dangling from his chopsticks. “Why am I paying you cash?” He shoved the food in his mouth.

  She closed her eyes and listened to her heart beat in her ears. “Why do you need to know?”

  “I’m putting myself out there. It is pretty unethical. And as a lawyer, I’ve got a high ethical standard to uphold.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. Most lawyers she knew were pretty damn unethical. They’d sell out their own mother just to make a case.

  He reclined in his chair, chewed, and stared at her, that half-grin betraying his joke.

  Damn, he was cute.

  “Right. High ethical standard.”

  “I am curious though. You just looking to avoid tax?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “You seem to know a lot about these cases. Not these particular cases, but the way they feel, why they did what they did.” He popped half a dumpling in his mouth. “Your ex,” he said through the food. “He hit you, didn’t he?”

  She shoved as much chicken in her mouth as would fit and chewed. Can’t talk with your mouth full, that’s what mother always told her. She shrugged.

  “Come on, he either did or he didn’t.” He sighed and tossed his empty plate into the trash can, the chopsticks clanged against the metal. “You can trust me. You really can.”

  She pitched her chopsticks on top of her plate. She still had a pile of chow mein and Kung Pao, but her stomach had turned on her.

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “Well, for one thing, I can help.”

  “Yeah? You can make a man stop being an alcoholic, stop punching me, throwing me into walls and furniture, nearly drowning me, choking me, raping me? You can do that?” She covered her mouth with one hand and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears dripped from the corners. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

  He leaned forward, took her other hand and stroked her knuckles. “Don’t be. I’m sorry, on behalf of all men, that you endured that. The bastard doesn’t deserve you.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. She snatched a tissue from the box on his desk and pulled her hand away, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. She scrunched the tissue into a ball, squeezed it in her fist, and stared at her hands.

  He pulled her hands apart and took her snotty tissue from her, tossed it in the garbage. He leaned his elbows on his knees and lifted her face with one finger under her chin. “You’re not divorced, are you? You ran away.”

  She stared at him but no words came.

  “He must be looking for you.”

  Anything she said would be a damn lie and she had already lied to him enough. To Ariel. To everyone.

  “Is Charlotte Smyth your real name?”

  She shook her head.

  “I see. I bet all your identification is in your real name, right?”

  She nodded.

  “And you never ordered another birth certificate for Clementine.”

  He wasn’t asking. He knew the answer.

  “Charlie, you’re not a criminal. I know you don’t want him to find you, but you have done nothing wrong. You shouldn’t be the one hiding. Or running.”

  She bit her bottom lip and looked up to the stained ceiling, willed the tears to dry up.

  “I could represent you. We could make the divorce legal, get you full custody of Clementine. And he would be charged. Do you have witnesses? Proof?”

  Air huffed from her nostrils. “Scars. Photos. A journal. And Ari —” She clamped her lips closed. “Clementine. She called the police, they arrested him. Just a couple of months before we left. He was good for a few weeks. He didn’t get angry. At least not on the outside. He drank himself silly of course, but I think all that did was make it build up inside.” She slumped in her chair and stared at the lines on her knuckles. “When his court date came, I went too. Told them I’d take him back.”

  “Wait, he was home with you before his sentencing? That violates standard conditions of release.”

  “I let him. For Clem. And he really was trying. But after court, everything he was bottling up came out. And it was the worst. He said he wanted our daughter.” She shifted her gaze to the monitor. She couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “Wanted her for what?”

  “He was bored with me.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Kept talking about her hair and her figure.” She dropped her head and wept. “I just couldn’t let him. I had to do it, I had to.”

  “All right, all right.” He scooted his chair closer until her knees were between his, and took her into a gentle hug. “Let’s just forget we had this conversation. But I’m coming with you tomorrow.” He stroked her hair and let his fingers trail down her spine. “And maybe in a few months you can go back to your regular hair colour.”

  She pulled away, ran a palm over her fake blonde locks. “You can tell?”

  He smiled. “Everyone can tell. You have black eyebrows.”

  Her hand darted to her forehead and she touched the tips of her fingers to her brow. She pressed her lips together. “I’ve got to get home.”

  She was a lousy fugitive.

  “Busses are only running every hour at this time. Let me drive you.”

  “No, that’s okay. I have to run an errand.”

  “I can take you for your errand then drop you at home. Save you an hour at least.”

  She relented and let him drive her home with a quick stop at Wal-Mart.

  He rolled to a stop in front of the apartment building. She fished her keys from her purse and stared at them gripped in one hand. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. For seeing through me perhaps? Except if you can, then maybe others do too. That scares me.”

  He put a hand over hers. “I don’t see through you, Charlie. I just see you.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Now go see that daughter of yours and I’ll pick you up right here in the morning. Eight o’clock?”

  “Eight o’clock.” She ran up the walk and punched in the access code. The door buzzed and the lock released with a loud click. Once inside, she turned back. He was leaning over the passenger seat, watching her to be sure she got in safely. She smiled and waved. He waved back before pulling away from the curb.

  Inside the apartment she kicked her shoes off, draped her coat over the armrest of the couch. “Clementine? Oh my darling, Clementine!”

  Her daughter came from her room, a bowl of ice cream in her hand. “What’s up, Charlie Brown? Er, Smyth.”

  A glint of light
sparkled on Ariel’s nose. Mazie took Ariel’s chin in one hand and turned her head sideways. A tiny crystal stud nestled in the crevasse of one nostril. “Where did you get this?”

  “Jen’s mom has a tattoo and piercing shop. She did it for free.”

  “Without my permission?”

  “Mom, I’m thirteen.”

  “Who is Jen?”

  “She’s in my homeroom. And we have math together. She’s a whiz at it. Said she’d help me.”

  She was still compelled to get good grades in math. Would they ever truly be free?

  “You didn’t get a tattoo did you?”

  “Of course not. You have to be sixteen for that.”

  Mazie pursed her lips and sucked on her front teeth. In the short months since they’d left home, Ariel had become a woman before her very eyes. “I like it. It suits you.” She tossed the Wal-Mart bag at Ariel. “Now help me dye these damn eyebrows.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  Mazie split the blind with one hand and peered out. Norman’s car pulled up to the curb. Eight o’clock on the dot.

  “I’m going now.”

  Ariel came out of the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth. She waved her fingers.

  Mazie kissed her cheek. “Straight home after school. And do your homework. There’s a plate of spaghetti in the fridge in case I’m late.”

  Ariel rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine, Charlie.” Toothpaste sputtered from her mouth. She walked into the bathroom and spat in the sink.

  Mazie grabbed her purse, ran down the three flights of stairs and out into the sunshine of a late summer morning.

  Norman leaned against the car, an extra-large Tim Horton’s cup in one hand. “Double-double?”

  “Oh, bless you.” She took the cup.

  He held the door open and she climbed in.

  An open box of Timbits balanced on the console between the bucket seats. She plucked a sour cream glazed from the box and popped it into her mouth.

  She should feel awkward sitting next to him, so soon after she almost allowed confessions of murder to slip from her loose lips. Self-conscious. Something. What she shouldn’t feel is so damned calm. So perfectly at home.

  “Clem off to school?” He turned left and eased onto the on-ramp of the four-oh-one westbound.

  “Not yet.” She fished a dutchie from the box and bit into it. She covered her mouth with the other hand. “She got her nose pierced,” she said through the sweet dough.

  He gave her a sideways glance. “You okay with that?”

  “Too late now.” She dug a raisin from between her front teeth and sucked it off her fingernail. “It looks nice.” Trees flew by her window, streaks of fall colours dotted the mass of green leaves. The highway was arrow-straight, almost as dull as driving through Saskatchewan. “She’s not the same kid that I dragged away from home three months ago.”

  “How so?”

  “Became a teenager, got her period, dyed and cut her hair. Makeup. Piercing. And attitude to spare.” She sipped at her coffee. “Keeps calling me Charlie instead of Mom.”

  “Her whole life did change in an instant. Does she want to go home?”

  “Sometimes. She misses her friends.”

  “What about her father? Does she miss him too?”

  Mazie looked at her lap. “Sometimes.”

  “What the hell?” The car slowed behind a long line of red taillights that loomed ahead. In the distance, red and blue flashes bounced off the cement of an overpass. Norman tsked. “Accident.”

  Mazie craned her neck, but could see nothing but the tops of cars. The left lane merged into the right, the line of traffic inched forward. When they neared the scene, an officer guided traffic through a narrow laneway. They squeezed past a car that had slammed into the abutment head first. An ambulance waited on the west side of the overpass, fire and rescue pried the car open with the Jaws of Life. As they inched past, the cop stared straight at her.

  She held his gaze, her breath shallow, her heartbeat heavy.

  He nodded at her and waved them through.

  When they were clear of the wreckage, Norman picked up speed. “Hey, you okay?” He patted her hand. “You’re a little flushed.”

  “Yeah, fine. Just a nasty accident is all. Maybe slow down a bit.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  Bright lights assaulted her eyes, the blinding wattage reflecting off the white walls. Mazie brought her scarf to her nose, shielded herself against the mingling of piss and vomit and pine-scented cleanser.

  Norman seemed immune. He rested his forearm on the high green countertop of a nurses’ station. “We’re here to see Elizabeth Wardell, please.”

  A large woman, her bubble-gum scrubs in stark contrast to her short-cropped hair and full tattoo sleeve on her left arm, looked past him to Mazie. “You Charlotte Smyth?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Jess. We talked on the phone.” She pulled a pen from behind her ear. “Betty won’t shut up about you. She’s been writing your name everywhere. Asked me last night when you’d be coming. Never seen her like this.” She put her fingertips on a piece of paper held firmly to a clipboard, spun it around on the counter and dropped the pen beside it. “Sign in. I’ll get her into an exam room for you.”

  The room faced east. The sun, high in the late morning sky, streamed through the large windows and lit the space like a thousand-watt bulb. It was stark and sanitized, white and beige, plastic and steel.

  Perched on a hard chair near the window, Betty stared out into the world she was no longer allowed to be a part of. She didn’t turn when they entered. Didn’t appear to notice them at all. Unkempt hair fell past her shoulders, faded copper witness to an old home-dye habit. Eight inches of mousy grey roots was evidence of years of not giving a rat’s ass.

  An oversized sweater engulfed the slight woman, the loose knit of its orange yarn pilled at the elbows and clashed with cornflower blue hospital pants.

  “Betty.” Jess’s voice boomed in the tiny room.

  Betty’s shoulders jerked. She turned and met Mazie’s gaze. A glint flashed across her eyes.

  Excitement? Mischievousness? Or perhaps uncertainty and mistrust.

  She slipped a glance at Norman, pointed to Jess and jerked her head.

  Jess approached and Betty whispered in her ear. The nurse patted Betty’s shoulder and straightened. “Sorry, Mr. Day. You’re out. Just Charlotte.”

  Norman nodded. “I understand, Betty.” He touched two fingers to Mazie’s arm. “I’ll wait in the lobby. Take your time.”

  Jess let Norman out of the room and winked at Mazie before clicking the door shut behind her.

  Mazie wandered to the window and looked out. The third floor vantage point offered a spectacular view of Lake Ontario. “It’s a beautiful day.” She turned to Betty. “Don’t you think?”

  Betty nodded.

  Mazie sat in an identical chair and pulled it toward Betty. “My name is Charlotte, but please, call me Charlie” She held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  The woman hesitated, then held her hand out as if Charlie were a man about to kiss the back of it. Charlie took her fingers. The woman’s skin was like rice paper, soft from months of doing nothing — no dishes to wash, no toilets to scrub, no garden to weed. No life to live.

  Betty pulled her sweater closer around her body and gripped it shut at her collar bone. Above her tight fist, red marks marred the delicate flesh of her neck.

  Mazie undid the knot of her scarf with one hand and allowed the satiny keeper of secrets to fall from her neck. She lifted her chin and ran a finger along her own evidence.

  Tears welled up in the corner of Betty’s eyes and dripped onto the lap of her hospital pants. “Choked?” Her shallow voice croaked from her throat.

  Mazie nodded. “The red marks. They’re never going away, are they?”

  Betty shook her head.

  Mazie reached up and ran a finger along a C-shaped scar that ran from Betty’s forehead, around her
right eye, to the middle of her cheek. “Did your husband do this?”

  Betty nodded. She reached out and took Mazie’s hand, guided it to the back of her neck and along her upper spine. She turned slightly and lifted her hair. “And this.” Her voice was as reedy and thin as her bony fingers.

  Mazie felt the length of a long scar that began under Betty’s hairline and continued past the neckline of the sweater. “How?”

  “Kitchen window. Pushed me through, flipped me over, dragged me back.” She let go of Mazie and bonked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Hit my head on the counter. Nearly died that day.”

  Mazie nodded and allowed her own tears to flow. “Not the only day you nearly died, I bet.”

  Betty shook her head and stared at her lap. “One week in jail. They let him out. I was in the hospital longer than that. When I came home, I had to clean the dried blood.”

  “Oh, Betty. I am so sorry.”

  Betty cocked her head and peered at Mazie. “What else did your bastard do to you?”

  “Broken ribs, countless bruises, usually where no one else could see. Broken arm.” Mazie glanced out the window. “He used fists, feet, stairs. He liked stairs a lot. Sometimes he tried to drown me.” She pointed to her neck. “This was his favourite.”

  “How’d you get free?”

  Mazie pressed her lips into a thin line and furrowed her brow. “Are we ever free?”

  Betty sighed. “No.”

  Mazie leaned her elbows on her knees and held the woman’s hands. “How did it start for you?”

  “I’m not sure. He wasn’t like that when I met him.” With every word spoken, Betty’s voice gained strength. “I fell for him so hard. He was such a bad boy.” She grinned. “My mother hated him.” She laughed and shook her head. “God, I could use a smoke and a beer.” She turned to Mazie. “You got any cigarettes?”

  “Sorry. I don’t smoke.”

  “How’d you cope? You drink?”

  “Not much. Mostly it was my daughter. She kept me sane.”

  Betty sat back. “My kids think it’s my fault. I drank.” She put her fingers to her lips. “They hate me for killing him.”

  Mazie covered Betty’s other hand with both of hers. “How many years?”