Mazie Baby (4 page)

They hadn’t read the Clementine
books in over a year. They used to read them every night, the pages so worn
they almost fell from the binding. But the adventures of a plucky red headed
third grader didn’t cut it anymore. That night they found comfort between the covers
of a well-loved story. A reminder of a time before Ariel bore witness to the
grown-up realities that happened in her home every day.

Halfway through the book, Ariel sighed.
Mazie could see her daughter peering up at her at the end of every page.

“Why did Daddy do that?”

Mazie closed the book and put her
arm around Ariel’s shoulder. “I don’t know. He has trouble dealing with anger
sometimes, so he lashes out. But usually only at me.” She squeezed Ariel’s
shoulder. “I’m so sorry he hurt you.” She set the book on the nightstand and feathered
her fingers over the handprint on Ariel’s arm that had blossomed with purple
tendrils where her husband’s thick fingers had crushed the flesh of his own
child.

“You always have bruises
everywhere. He does that, right?”

Tears sprung to Mazie’s eyes. “You’ve
seen them?”

Ariel nodded.

“Well, you know what a klutz I am.”
She took Ariel’s hand, stared at their entwined fingers.

“You’re not a klutz. I know you
wear long pants and sweaters to cover it up. I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I never said you were,” Mazie
whispered. She wiped her cheek dry.

Ariel laid her head on Mazie’s
shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered. “I’ll be good from now on.”

“This was not your fault, you
understand?” Mazie sat up and cupped Ariel’s chin in her hand. “It’s my fault.
You just be you. But maybe in front of Daddy, no sass, okay?”

Ariel nodded, her chin quivered.
Mazie gathered her in her arms and lay with her, rocking her and singing an old
tune she used to sing to her every night.

Playmate, come out and play with
me/And bring your dollies three/Climb up my apple tree
…

When Ariel fell asleep in her arms,
Mazie slid out of the bed, turned off the light and clicked the door shut.

She tiptoed down the stairs and
peered around the corner. Cullen was passed out in his chair. His loud, drunken
snores punctuated the silence. She sneaked back upstairs, retrieved the camera,
snapped duplicate photos of the new damage and dated them. In her bedroom
closet, she dislodged a cardboard box that was taped to the inside wall where
Cullen would only see it if he cleaned out the closet, stood inside, and closed
the folding door. Safe bet he’d never clean anything. That was her job, after
all.

She took the photos from that night,
and the ones she’d taken last time he choked her, and added them to the pile
she’d been accumulating the past two years. She made identical notes in two
journals. Date. Damage done. Escalation to the abuse of Ariel.

Ariel.

Mazie tiptoed into her daughter’s
room, drew the blanket down and pointed the camera at the hand print on Ariel’s
arm. She hesitated, her finger on the trigger. No. No pictures of Ariel.   

Mazie covered Ariel back up, crept
back to the closet, tucked the photos and journals into the box and reapplied
the tape.

~~~~~~~~

Mazie polished left to right, a
habit from her childhood when her mother insisted there was a process, a
specific order that must be maintained. Start in the corner of the room and
work left to right so there was no cross-contamination of dust and finger
prints. Mirrors gleamed when polished counter-clockwise with a soft cloth.
Clockwise left streaks on the glass.

Mother was nuts.

Yet here was Mazie, more than
twenty years later, following those same rituals. They’d served her well for
life with Cullen. A life where he was the only thing allowed to be less than
perfect.

She picked up the first framed
photo on the mantle, one of many that bore witness to their shared lives. To
the unaware, they appeared normal. Happy, even. And they were. Once.

She ran her dust cloth over a candid
Polaroid of the two of them on vacation, walking on the boardwalk in Atlantic
City just a few months after they’d started dating. Some random guy had snapped
their photo and then stepped in front of them.

“Hey, mister. Carry this moment
with your beautiful lady forever.” He waved the tiny photo in the air until it
developed, then handed it to Cullen.

Cullen leaned his head next to hers
and shared the photo with her. They strolled arm-in-arm, her head on his
shoulder, her long hair blowing in the breeze. He was so handsome — emerald
eyes, dark hair that normally hung free below his shoulder blades was pulled
back into a ponytail. His guitar, that ever-present giver of music and joy, was
slung over his shoulder. His other hand gripped the black guitar strap that
she’d bought him, tiny, bright beads of yellow, red, and blue embroidered along
its length. Cullen’s broad smile lit up his face.

He had laughed with such ease.

“Look at you, baby. You’re
gorgeous.” He turned to the man. “How much?”

“A mere twenty dollars.”

Mazie rolled her eyes. “Twenty
bucks? That’s ridiculous.”

Cullen dug his wallet out of his
pocket and paid the man. “Totally worth it. I want to remember this day
forever.” He kissed her right there in front of total strangers, then tucked
the photo into his breast pocket.

Later that evening, after a
beautiful dinner in a fancy restaurant he couldn’t afford, they shared a bottle
of cheap wine under the boardwalk. He played his guitar and sang to her. And he
proposed. She gifted him with an enthusiastic yes, and even more enthusiastic
lovemaking in the sand, the sounds of their passion drowned out by carnival
music and the hollow footfalls on the boardwalk overhead.

A dull thud echoed in the front
entry. Her visit to a happier time was cut short by the daily sound of the morning
newspaper hitting the front door. She peered at the clock on the kitchen wall.
The paper boy was way late. Three damn hours late. The missing paper that
morning had been her fault. Everything was her fault.

Mazie placed the polished frame back
on the mantle. Her reflection in the glass stared back at her, the difference
between now and then was jarring. Long hair was the only consistency, but now it
was flecked with too much grey hair for a woman of thirty-seven. Lines on her
face bore witness to life’s stresses, to the change in Cullen’s feelings for
her over the years. The black eye spoke of his hatred.

~~~~~~~~

Cullen stormed in through the back
door as Mazie placed his dinner on the table.

“Ariel,” he screamed from the back
landing.

Mazie cringed. “She’s upstairs
doing her homework.”

“Ariel, get your ass down here.” His
face was crimson, that tell-tale vein over his left temple pulsed in time with
his heavy breath.

Mazie set her jaw, her shoulders
tense, and braced for the coming storm. “What’s wrong?”

“She left her goddamn bike in the
driveway, that’s what. Ran over the fucking thing. If she’s lucky, there won’t
be a hole in my tire.”

Ariel ran down the stairs and slid
on sock-covered feet across the polished kitchen floor, her hands out like a
surfer vying for balance in the curl of a twenty-foot wave. When she stopped,
she turned her smiling face on her father, a trick that used to melt his heart
and garner her anything she wanted. “What, Daddy?”

Cullen reached out and laid his paw
on her shoulder. He shoved her toward the back door. “See that?”

“My bike! Why’d you break it?”

“You left it there. You made me run
over it.”

She looked up at him, tears in her
eyes. “I forgot. I — I’m sorry.” She began to cry. “Can you fix it?”

“Fix it?” He turned his glare from Ariel
to Mazie. “You hear that? She’s as stupid as her mother.”

“She is not stupid!” Ariel pushed
against his chest and wrested free of his grip. She ran for the stairs.

He caught up with her, spun her
around and lifted one hand.

“No!” Mazie screamed and ran across
the room. She stepped between Ariel and her husband, inched backwards until
Ariel found the stairs and raced up to her room.

Her heart in her throat, Mazie
found her voice. “Cullen, what the hell is wrong with you?”

He dropped his hand, squinted, and
stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

Mazie glanced at her feet,
swallowed, then raised her head to meet his gaze. “You were going to hit her.
She didn’t do it on purpose.” She planted her feet, prepared for the blows to
come.

He turned away and ran his hand
over his face. “You want to know what’s wrong?” His voice was deadpan, barely
audible. Not normal. “Another round of layoffs today.”

A pang of fear sliced through her
chest. “Did you lose your job?”

“Not yet.” He turned back to face
her, his eyebrows pinched together, his jaw clenched. “But it’s just a matter
of time.”

Mazie nodded. “Okay, but you
haven’t yet. And even if you had, how is that Ariel’s fault?”

Cullen’s eyes clouded over and his
stare bore into her. “What did you say to me?”

Mazie grasped the railing. She
scanned the room for an escape, but he blocked her path. The only way was upstairs,
and all that waited there was certain pain. She swallowed hard and dropped her
gaze to her feet. “I just don’t understand why you’re taking it out on her.
She’s not to blame.”

“You’re right.”

Shit. She glanced up.

He bowed his head and looked at her
from under heavy lids, his eyes ablaze, like a wolf about to pounce on its
prey. “You’re both to blame.” He took a step forward. “If you hadn’t got
knocked up with her I’d never had to do this shit work. I’d be writing music,
performing. Maybe touring. Maybe I’d be on the road. Maybe I’d be just a tiny
bit happy.” He held the thumb and index finger of his right hand a half-inch
apart and took another step forward. “Maybe I’d feel a little proud of myself. But
you know what I feel instead? Disgusted.” Tears dripped from his eyes. “I can
barely look in the mirror. This was not supposed to be my life, you know that? My
back hurts. And look at my fucking hands!” He held them both up and shoved them
toward her face.

Mazie flinched and stepped onto the
first stair. She was very familiar with his hands. How they looked. How they
smelled. The sharp sting of their slap and pain of their punch. Like sandpaper
when they encircled her throat and tried to choke the life from her.

“I used to make music with these
hands. Now my fingers are nothing but thick stumps. They’re stiff and sore. I
bet I can’t even strum a damn guitar.” He turned and shuffled to his chair, sank
into it, put his face in his hands, and wept.

Mazie stared at him. She glanced up
the staircase to the landing above, turned and eyed the front door. Was there
time to grab Ariel and get out? Was this her moment to escape?

But her feet were bolted to the
floor. And she’d she never make it to the threshold before he caught up with
her.

After minutes of his anguish
filling the otherwise still room, she let go of the railing and inched toward
him. She kneeled by his chair and placed one hand on his knee, ran her other
hand through his hair. “Cullen,” she whispered.

He lowered his hands, wiped his
nose on his sleeve and looked into her face with red-rimmed eyes.

They shared a momentary connection.
A silent understanding.

Neither of their lives had turned
out as they had planned.

He wrapped his arms around her and sobbed.

Mazie froze. Anticipation churned
in her stomach and she braced herself.

But he just cried and held on, buried
his face in her hair. “I’m so sorry, Mazie Baby. I’m so sorry.”

His breath was hot on her neck. She
shut her eyes and swallowed. A shiver ran through her and goose bumps chilled
her skin. She fought the urge to push him away. With a trembling hand, she
stroked the back of his head. “I know you are.”

~~~~~~~~

Cullen’s snores punctuated the two-in-the-morning
silence. Mazie ran her palms down her restless legs. He hated it when she twitched
and turned. Hated to be bothered in his sleep, awakened before he was ready. But
she could find no peace. She inched out of bed, put on her robe, and tiptoed down
the stairs.

She poured herself a rare drink of
brandy and warmed it in the microwave. Alcohol loosened her tongue. Heightened
her bravado — and her risk. Sober was the way to go, the only way to be sure
she kept her wits about her. But with him dead to the waking world, she let her
guard down, just for a moment. The warm liquor calmed her shaken nerves.

In the dark of the living room,
stillness engulfed her. She closed her eyes against her life, but behind her eyelids
she couldn’t prevent memories of how she ended up here from invading her respite.

Cullen had
thrown the back door open with such force that the doorstop snapped off and
skittered across the floor. There was a hole in the drywall where the doorknob
slammed into it. They’d celebrated their first anniversary the week before.