Authors: Julie Frayn
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.