Mazie Baby (8 page)

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?

Ariel’s footsteps bounded down the
stairs. “What, Daddy?” Her old self had eked back in. She could relax in her
home, not spend her energy anticipating the next time her father would hurt
her, yell at her, or punch her mother.

Ariel’s scream pierced the air. Adrenaline
coursed through Mazie’s veins. The plastic bowl fell to the floor and she raced
to the living room.

Cullen and Ariel stood in the
middle of the room, her arms around his waist, a huge smile on his face.

Mazie stopped short, her chest
tight.

“Thank you, Daddy, thank you, thank
you, thank you. Can we play?” Ariel looked up at him, adoration for her father
back full strength.

Cullen caught Mazie’s eye. “Sure, pumpkin.”
He winked at his wife, stood aside and jerked his head toward the television. A
new video game console sat on the ottoman. Wires snaked across the floor and
into the TV. Packaging debris littered the floor. “It’s a Wii. For Ariel. But
we can all play.” He picked up a white remote, stretched his arm to bridge the
gap between them, and handed it to her. “You use your body to play. How about
bowling, pumpkin?”

“Yes!” Ariel took another remote.

Cullen turned on the television and
put a disc in the console. They created their own avatars, Ariel’s with long
raven locks and denim capris, Mazie’s with the same hair but long pants, and
Cullen’s with long dark hair and a smiling face. Like his old self, he said.

Mazie glanced at him every few
seconds.

His old self.

She should have had him arrested years
ago.

Cullen showed Ariel how to aim, how
to use the remote to simulate the action of tossing the ball down the virtual
lane. He did the same for Mazie, stood behind her, held her hand that held the
remote, and drew her arm back with his. She knew how to bloody well bowl, she didn’t
need guidance or a tutorial. But he smelled of cologne and toothpaste, and the
rasp of his afternoon beard sent a shiver down her spine. Was she aroused by him?

For an hour, the sound of fake pins
hitting a fake hardwood floor filled the room. Real laughter bounced off the
walls.

After Ariel won the bowling
tournament, she asked to play tennis.

Cullen glanced at Mazie. “But only
two can play that game.”

“It’s all right. I’ll go get us
more soda.” Mazie gathered up their empty glasses and filled each with ice and cola.

Cullen and Ariel volleyed the ball
back and forth. Or at least they looked pretty silly swinging remotes around
while their avatars ran around the virtual court.

Mazie passed behind him carrying a
tray laden with full glasses. He pulled his arm back and smacked her in the
cheek. A soda tipped. She caught the glass before it hit the floor, but cola
sprayed everywhere.

He swung around and stared at her.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

She stared at him.

“Come on, don’t look at me like
that, you know it was an accident.” He put his hands on his hips and raised
that damn eyebrow.

She stood frozen in place, her gaze
quickly shifted to the floor.

“Shit.” He threw the remote at the
couch.

Ariel’s eyes filled with tears.
“Daddy, please.” Her voice was barely audible.

He turned to his daughter and
kneeled on the floor in front of her, held her arms with his hands. He turned
back to Mazie. “It was an accident this time. Honest.” His grip on Ariel’s arms
was gentle. His gaze filled with regret.

She touched her fingertips to her
cheek. “I believe you.” She was surprised to realize that she actually did.

He smiled and nodded once. He
jogged into the kitchen and returned with a roll of paper towels and a bottle
of all-purpose cleaner.

Mazie held her hands out.

“I’ll do it.” He kneeled on the
hardwood and wiped up the sticky spill.

Mazie took the tray to the kitchen.
She peered at him out of the corner of her eye, watched him spray the floor and
mop up the mess. She smiled, rinsed the tray and wiped the spilled soda from
the glasses.

Once Ariel was asleep, Cullen took Mazie’s
hand and led her upstairs. He stood at the foot of the bed, brushed hair from
her neck and unbuttoned her blouse.

She closed her eyes and willed her
hands to stop trembling, her stomach not to refuse dinner and spew it all over
his face.

He kissed her neck, her collarbone,
her lips. He found a tenderness she thought he’d lost forever, and guided her
into bed.

She began to relax, to allow
herself a moment of enjoyment, an instant of passion and love for a man she’d
grown to hate. Was this real change? Was her body responding to his sex with
more than just stiff resignation? She wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t look at
him. She shut her eyes to the sight of the monster hovering above her, and
remembered the Cullen of old. It was like cheating on her husband with a better
version of him.

His hand brushed against her
throat. Her eyes sprung open. Her body stiffened and she stared into his face.

He was frozen in place, his palm
against her neck. He inched it away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  

He pulled away, grabbed his robe
and left the room. The sounds of a good, stiff drink clinked up the stairs. An
hour later he sneaked back into the room and slipped beneath the covers.

She pretended to be asleep.

~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Reynolds, how do you plead?”

“Guilty, your honour.”

Mazie closed her eyes for a full
two seconds and let that admission sink in. He was taking responsibility.
Admitting he had hurt her. Not exactly saying it was his fault, but it was the
closest he’d ever come.

The judge scanned the papers in
front of him. “Mrs. Reynolds, I understand you are willing to take your husband
back?”

Mazie stood. “Yes, your honour.”

The judge harrumphed. “Well, Mr.
Reynolds, this is your lucky day. Since this is your first offence ...” He eyed
Cullen over his glasses. “First official offence ...” He shook his head. “Time
served, two years’ probation.” He pointed at Cullen. “If I see your name cross
my desk again, there won’t be forgiveness, and there will be no bail, you
understand me?”

Cullen’s shoulders tensed and
inched toward his earlobes. With his back to her, Mazie could only imagine the
look on his face. Defiance. Anger. Fuck you, Judge.

“Yes sir. I understand.”

~~~~~~~~

The next few days passed in
relative silence. Life seemed normal — the good kind of normal. Cullen hadn’t
tried to have sex with Mazie again. Maybe he knew he couldn’t fuck her without
hurting her. That he couldn’t get off without bringing her to the brink of
death. That if he did it again, he’d land his ass back in jail.

Mazie remained on edge, walked as
if broken glass littered the house but she wasn’t allowed to let her feet bleed.
Everything made her jump, every noise, every knock at the door, every ringing
phone, every alarm on her cell that warned of his texts. But each one was
polite — the
Sorry, I’ll be late
,
Do you mind getting me a pack of
smokes
kind of polite.

His drinking continued unabated,
but he’d found the strength to rein in the terror. To control his emotions. Why
couldn’t he have done that all these years? When would the elastic waistband of
his emotional big boy pants snap? When would he be fully exposed again, the
real him, the only one he knew how to be?

Each day, sharp edges of his anger
began to scratch at her. His words started to bite, his displays of affection,
as awkward as they’d become, waned.
I won’t be home after work. Have dinner
waiting
started appearing on her phone.
Where you at?
crept back in.

 One night he walked in the door,
an hour late for dinner. No text that day. No phone call. No consideration.

She pulled his plate from the
fridge and put it in the microwave, punched the EZ-cook button four times,
watched the plate spin and the timer count down from two minutes.

He brushed past her, his hair
reeking of smoke, the rest of him stinking of bourbon. And perfume.

She pinched her eyes shut. The
night he’d traipsed in thirteen years ago, three hours after the bars closed, niggled
at her. She’d confronted him in the kitchen on her way out the door for work, exhausted
from working too many hours at two different jobs.  Part of the act was being
friendly with the fans, he’d always said. “If they want to give you a hug and
get a picture with the gorgeous lead singer,” he jerked his head to flick his
hair back, “then you let them. That’s how you make sure they come back.”

“Yeah? So casual hugs here and
there with more than one woman, and the result is that you reek of Chanel? Only
Chanel?”

“I don’t know what kind of perfume
it is.”

“I do. It’s my brand. The one you
buy me every Christmas.” She stood with her arms crossed, her cheeks on fire.
“And I guarantee you, it’s not mine.”

“Come on, Mazie. It’s just part of
the act.” He put his hands on her hips and wiggled them back and forth, his pelvis
against hers. “You believe me. Right, baby?”

She turned her face from the stench
of his bourbon breath. “I used to.” She pushed him away, grabbed her purse, and
bolted out the door. She peeled out from the curb and turned the corner before
pulling over and crying against the steering wheel. He’d never admitted to
cheating, and she’d never figured out if he had, but the thought that he might
sleep with another woman and then come home to her made her gut lurch. The fact
that he was a liar stung.

The microwave beeped. She opened
her eyes but didn’t move.

“Hey, wake up.” His voice grated in
her ear. “It’s done.”

She pulled out the hot plate and
dropped it on the table, a fork and knife clanged against the wood where she tossed
them.

“What the hell?” He raised that
damn eyebrow like he was all innocent and shit and she was the bloody problem.

She glared at him. “I’m going to
bed.”

She turned and walked away. She’d
lost the will to give a damn. He could fuck whomever he wanted. Choke them for shits
and giggles. As long as he left her the hell alone, what did it matter?

~~~~~~~~

Mazie pushed peas around her plate
then poked at her pork chop. She glanced up at Cullen. His plate was nearly
empty, three fingers of Jack over ice already gone from his tumbler.

She cleared her throat. “Are you
taking time off when Ariel starts summer break?”

“Thought I’d go fishing. Get away
for a bit.”

She nodded.

He glared at her. “What? You want
to come, right? Damn it Mazie, it’s the only time I get to myself!” He pitched
his fork onto his plate and grabbed the bottle of bourbon. Another three
fingers went down in one gulp.

Ariel sat next to her father,
frozen in place, staring at her plate.

Mazie reached across the table and patted
her hand. “No, me and Ariel don’t need to come.” Trapped in the woods in a
shitty one-room cabin with no phone, no television. No escape. No, she wouldn’t
do that again.