Mazie Baby (17 page)

“Here we are. Grandma’s house.”

The thousand-square-foot bungalow
sat back from the road, the yellow bricks filthy, the wooden window panes rotted
and crumbling. Mother hadn’t even painted, and it looked like she hadn’t mowed
the lawn since spring.

Mazie rolled to a stop in the
driveway. She eased the gearshift into park, leaned back against the headrest,
and stared at her childhood home.

She’d loved this house. Loved her
tiny room, her pink and purple oasis, her safe haven. Eleven years ago, she
came home to bury her father and discovered her parents had knocked the bedroom
wall down, made the living room ninety square feet bigger, and bought a
big-screen plasma television and two La-Z-Boy recliners. She had locked herself
in the bathroom, sat on the edge of the tub, and bawled like a spoiled little
girl who didn’t get the biggest piece of cake. All for a bedroom that she
hadn’t stepped foot in for years. That wasn’t hers at all.

She took Ariel’s hand and made her
way up the short walk, glanced behind the massive boulder on the front lawn
where she’d had her first kiss. It was the boy across the street after their
first day of grade one. He’d walked home with her, held her hand. What was his
name? She closed her eyes but couldn’t muster his face, couldn’t recall any
details about him — except that his breath smelled of Cheezies and Juicy Fruit.

Ariel went to poke the doorbell,
but the door swung open before her finger touched the illuminated button.

Mother looked crazy. Her hair was
full-on old-lady gray and looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in days. The crow’s
feet around her eyes had become crevasses. Proof of her own fight with illness
and disease, of aging at an unnaturally rapid pace.

Mazie’s chest tightened. She should
have come home more often. But Cullen would never allow it. She should have
insisted, risked the repercussions. A lousy mother and a lousy daughter.

A spark of the vibrant woman her
mother used to be flashed across her faded blue eyes. That twinkle she had when
she’d held down a full-time job, did volunteer work on the weekends, cared for
her daughter and her husband and the household, and still found time to play bridge
with the girls. But with Dad’s insurance payout, his government pensions and no
mortgage, she had no need to work. Is that what was killing her? More than
aging, more than failing kidneys and clogged arteries and gout. It was stagnancy.
She was dying of boredom.

“Get inside!” Her mother grabbed
her arm and yanked her through the door. “Come on Ariel, get in now.”

“Hello to you too, mother.”

“I’m sorry, darling.” She hugged
Mazie, but pulled away quickly. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Oh, my little Ariel.”
She brushed a strand of black hair from Ariel’s face and pinched her cheek.
“You’re almost a grown woman.”

Ariel blushed. “Hi, Grandma.” She
hesitated, then held her arms out. It was surreal to watch grandmother and
granddaughter meet in an awkward embrace, Ariel now an inch taller than her
Grandma. They’d not set eyes on each other since mother came out to visit one
summer, four years ago. Cullen could never hide his contempt for his mother-in-law.
Could never hold his tongue or show her an ounce of respect. She cut her visit
short, unable to bear the weight of his oppressive presence in Mazie’s life.

Ariel had tried to get her
grandmother to use Skype, but she never did get a computer. Didn’t want ‘the
internets’ in her home, like it was some evil force intent on stealing her soul
or some such crap. Yup, mother was definitely nuts.

“Ariel, darling, there’s cookies in
the kitchen. And soda in the fridge.” She turned to Mazie. “Is that all right?”

Mazie nodded. “We’re not playing by
any rules this trip. She can have anything she likes.”

Her mother’s face lit up. “Down the
hall, dear.”

“Thanks, Grandma.”

Mazie’s mother watched Ariel until
she was out of earshot then grasped Mazie’s wrist and stomped into the living
room, dragging her along. She pulled the drape back a bare inch and peered out
the front window, her head bobbing side to side and back and forth like a hen
on crack.

“Mother, what the hell is going
on?” No matter what it was, Mazie couldn’t rely on anything her mother told her.
Her memory was spotty, she kept forgetting appointments. Granted, Mazie was
failing to make their weekly phone calls, but when they did talk, her mother
often forgot what she’d been told the last call, couldn’t recall details about
Ariel’s school and friends. Maybe she’d lost it for real this time.

She turned to face Mazie, the puffy
sacs under her eyes a lovely shade of mauve.

“The police have been to see me.
Twice.”

Mazie’s chest hollowed. “What?
Why?”

Mother stepped toward her, squinted
and focused on her face. She touched Mazie’s cheek under her left eye, licked
her thumb and rubbed it against her daughter’s skin.

Mazie was six years old again, getting
ice cream drips spit-shined off her face.

“How bad was it this time?” her
mother whispered.

“What?”

“The makeup doesn’t work.” Her face
softened. “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You never beat
the ever-loving crap out of me.”

Her mother’s hands trembled, her eyes
red-rimmed and swollen. “Darling, what did you do?” Her voice broke.

Mazie looked over her shoulder then
back to her mother. “I was leaving. Was going to come home. Then he started
talking about Ariel. He was going to…” She swallowed hard and balled her fists.
“I did what I had to. The only thing I could.” A lump formed in her throat and
tears bubbled to the surface. “It was him or me.”

Her mother rubbed a hand on Mazie’s
arm. “It’s about damn time.”

“What?”

“He deserved it. Don’t you think I
knew what he was up to? The scarves, the makeup, the long sleeves. The way he
looked at you, spoke to you. The way you jumped at the sound of his voice whenever
he snapped at you. You never fought back. Not one damn word.” She held Mazie’s
upper arms with her frail, age-spotted hands. “I know he would have killed you
one day. I kept waiting for the phone call. But I didn’t know what to do.”

Mazie laid her head on her mother’s
shoulder and sobbed.

“I know he wasn’t always like that.”
The stroke of her mother’s hand over her hair was familiar comfort. “You loved
him for good reason. Once.” She stiffened and pulled away, peered out the
window. “Look, you’ve got to go. The police might be watching. They’re probably
going to come back. They didn’t believe me, that I’d not heard from you or that
I didn’t know where you were.”

Mazie straightened and wiped her
nose. “I’ll turn myself in.”

“No! Think of Ariel. I can’t take
care of her. I’m dying. I probably only have a few months.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since they found cancer in my
bones.”

A wave of misery and guilt body-slammed
Mazie. She buckled to the floor and sobbed. “Oh God, Mother. I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” Her mother kneeled
beside her, both hands on Mazie’s shoulders.

“For not being here more, for
abandoning you. Especially after Dad died.”

“You did not abandon me. You had
your own life to live, your own crosses to bear. I just wish
he
weren’t ever
a part of it.”

Mazie pulled away and wiped tears
from her face. “If he hadn’t been part of it, I wouldn’t have Ariel.”

“Well, that’s true. But what toll
has it taken on you?”

Mazie gazed at a family picture on
the wall, taken twenty-three years earlier when she was about Ariel’s age. They
were such a happy family. No violence, no abuse. How she longed to know that
feeling again. “Where will I go? I can’t go back west.”

“Take my car. Put your van in the
garage. I’ve got money for you.” She scurried to the dining room and rifled
through her purse, pulled out a wad of cash and pressed it into her daughter’s
palm. “My car is parked in the back alley. I’ll go open the garage door.” She
turned toward the kitchen. “Ariel, we’re just going outside. We’ll be right
back in. If anyone comes to the door, please don’t answer it.”

Ariel came out of the kitchen
holding a Coke and an oatmeal raisin cookie. “Okay, Grandma. Why not?”

“It’ll just be those pesky God
people. I don’t need any of their silly pamphlets. I have my own God.”

Mazie ran out to the van, her gaze
jerking in all directions, shoulders slouched and head down. She was right to have
been afraid of those cops in Dryden. But why hadn’t they noticed her? Seen the
van? She raced around to the back alley and pulled into the garage. Her mother
stood beside her car, the engine running, trunk open.

Mazie yanked luggage from the rear
of the van and tossed each bag into the trunk.

Her mother was in the garage, wrestling
with a huge, blue tarp. “Here, help me put this over your van. In case the nosy
neighbours see it.”

Mazie understood about nosy
neighbours. She remembered the message from Polly the day before. Maybe it was
Rachel? Had that stupid woman figured it out? Called the police?

“Mother, when did the police come
see you?”

“Yesterday afternoon. And again this
morning.”

Her mother ran, as fast as she
could run, more of a zombie trot — step drag wheeze, step drag wheeze — into
the house to fetch Ariel. She came back carrying a grocery bag, Ariel had an
armful of blankets and pillows.

“There’s sandwiches and cookies and
water and sodas.” Words spilled from her mother’s mouth. “And a big Thermos of
coffee. Sugar and real cream, lots of it.” She looked stricken. “You still like
it that way, right?”

Mazie nodded. “Yes. Thanks.”

Ariel stared at her grandmother,
her black brows knit together, one arched high. A look Mazie was familiar with,
one she was sure had graced her own face a thousand times in the past. But mother
wasn’t nuts. She was just mother.

“Mom?” Ariel turned to Mazie.
“What’s going on?”

“We have to go, bug. I’ll tell you
about it on the way.”

Her mother hugged Ariel and kissed
her cheek, ran both hands over the sides of her head and smoothed her hair. “Goodbye,
sweet Ariel. You are so beautiful. You look just like your mother did at your
age.”

“Bye, Grandma. Love you.”

Mazie hugged her mother. “Thank
you,” she whispered through the mane of curly, grey hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“I love you, darling.” Her mother
pushed her away. “Here are my keys. Tank is full.” She ran her hands down the
front of her jeans. “Now go.” She shooed them away with one hand.

Mazie climbed into the old Charger,
yanked on the lever between her legs and pushed the seat back. The smell of her
father’s cigarettes still lingered in the upholstery. She closed her eyes,
inhaled, and held onto his scent for a few seconds. She opened her eyes,
emptied her lungs and glanced in the rear-view mirror.

In the passenger seat, Ariel twisted
her entire body around and watched out the back window.

Her mother stood in the middle of
the alley, her oversized sweater hanging almost to her knees, bundled against
the heat of the day that no longer penetrated her fragile body.

Mazie turned right at the end of
the alley and headed for Trout Lake Road. She had to stay off the Trans Canada,
off the main streets.

Ariel stared out the passenger side
window. “Mother?”

“Yes, bug?”

Ariel faced forward. “What’s going
on? Why are we running away?”

Mazie sighed. “I’ll explain it all
later, okay? Right now I have to figure out where we’re going.”

“Can’t we go home?” Tears dripped
down Ariel’s cheeks.

“No, we can’t.”

“Is it Daddy? Are you running away
from him?”

Mazie held the steering wheel with
her left hand, reached out with her right, and squeezed Ariel’s hand. “Yes. But
I don’t want to talk about it right now. Okay?”

Ariel sniffed and snatched her hand
away.

Mazie drove northeast along highway
sixty-three. Forty minutes passed before either spoke another word.

Ariel squirmed in her seat. “I need
to pee.”

“Next gas station.”

“Where are we going?”

“Not sure yet.” The route was
unfamiliar. She’d never ventured north of North Bay and had no idea what lay
ahead. Twenty minutes later they approached a small township. “Here, there has
to be somewhere to stop.”

The Charger lurched through the
hamlet, the streets eerie and quiet. “There. A restaurant.” Mazie pulled up to
the front of the building, the parking lot abandoned. A faded sign hung from
the door, its text barely visible through the filthy glass. “Damn it.” She
glanced at the clock. “Closed at supper time?”

They got back on the highway and
were soon on a bridge over the Ottawa River. “Look, bug. We’re in Quebec. I’ve
never been to Quebec before.”