Authors: Julie Frayn
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?”
“Twenty-three. It was never going
to end, right?” Her eyes pleaded with Mazie. “Right?”
“It was never going to end.”
Betty squeezed her eyes shut, put
her head back against the wall and wept. “You know what’s stupid?”
“You miss him? And you still love
him?”
Betty opened her eyes and gawked at
Mazie. “You do know.”
Mazie nodded. “I told you. I understand.”
Betty raised one eyebrow.
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“Does that lawyer know?”
Mazie shook her head.
Betty leaned close. “I won’t tell
him,” she whispered.
“He only wants to help you, you
know. You should let him.”
Betty turned her attention to the
view outside the window. “They can put me in jail forever. I don’t care.”
“Bullshit.”
Betty turned to Mazie, her eyes
narrowed.
“If you go to jail, then he wins.
He’s been in charge of you all these years. It’s time you got to live life your
way. Trust me, it’s worth it.” She took her hands again. “Now let me get
Norman, and let him help you. He knows what to do. And he thinks you’re
innocent.”
“But I killed him. I said so.”
“It was self-defence, not murder. You
are the victim.” She squeezed Betty’s hands. “You’re innocent, Betty.”
~~~~~~~~
Norman turned the volume of the
radio down. He bounced in his seat like a toddler who needed to pee. “I just
can’t believe it. How did you get her to talk to me?” His focus ping-ponged
between her and the road. “Those police reports might have been enough for a
jury, and the hospital records. But her testimony, that’ll seal it. We’ll get
her off for sure.” He turned to face her, reached out and squeezed her hand.
“Thank you, Charlie. Thank you.”
“Norman, watch the road.”
“Sorry.” He put his hands back on
the wheel. “How did you break through?”
Mazie stared at her lap. “We shared
war stories. She needs someone who understands her. Not another man in charge.”
“I see.” He drove in silence. “Charlie,
just how much of Betty’s story can you relate to?”
Mazie cracked her neck. “What do
you mean, how much?”
“You told me he abused you. Did he
try to kill you? Are you worried he’ll try that again? I assume that’s why you
ran away. Otherwise you’d have just divorced the prick.”
She stared at the green and yellow blur
the trees made as they winged by her window. “I’ll never be free of him. No
matter what happens.”
He tapped the steering wheel with
his fingertips and pursed his lips. “He can’t find you, can he?”
She grit her teeth and pushed her
tongue into the back of them to prevent the flood of her confession. How could
she admit guilt to a lawyer? Didn’t he have an ethical obligation to turn her
in? Or at least a moral one.
“Charlie, haven’t you figured it
out yet?”
She turned her head. “What?”
He pulled over to the shoulder and
eased the car to a stop. The engine cut and the radio silenced. There was nothing
but the whiz of cars speeding past and her heavy heartbeat thrumming in her
ears.
“You can trust me. That’s what.” He
took her hand. “I care for you, Charlie.”
A tear sprung from one eye and she
slapped it away. “Norman, I can’t.” She turned away and stared out the window.
“Charlie, talk to me.”
She sat up and whipped the scarf
from her neck. “See?” She pointed to the red marks. “I’ll never be free of him.
He’s always right here.” She jabbed at her neck with one finger.
Norman wrapped his hand around hers
and guided it away from her neck. “So, he had tried to kill you. His violence
was escalating.”
“He said he’d kill me. I believed
him. It’s not like he hadn’t come close before.”
Norman leaned over the console and
put his arms around her.
She flinched at his touch.
“I won’t hurt you, Charlie,” he
whispered in her ear. “I would never hurt you.”
She dissolved into his embrace and
let waves of convulsing sobs wrack her body.
~~~~~~~~
“Mom?” The door slammed against the
wall. Ariel’s book-laden backpack hit the floor with a familiar and comforting thud.
Her daughter was home. All was
well. And she was calling her Mom again.
Mazie glanced at the clock and
peeled carrots. “You’re late. Where’ve you been?”
Ariel kissed her on the cheek and
snatched a piece of raw carrot. She crunched it between her teeth. “Sorry. At
the library with Jen.”
Mazie nodded. “Just text me next
time, please?”
Ariel nodded and leaned against the
counter. She chewed on the carrot and hovered.
“If you’re going to stand there,
the least you could do is toss the salad.”
“I could.” She poured the dressing
on the salad and stirred it, her mind obviously elsewhere.
Mazie put the peeler down and faced
her daughter. “Okay, what’s up?”
Ariel stared at the salad bowl.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“When did you start dating?”
Mazie could lie. Say she was
eighteen. Or even sixteen. She sighed. They’d promised to stop lying. At least
to each other “Why do you want to know?” Obfuscation. Good strategy. She sliced
another carrot.
“I met a boy. He’s really cute and
nice and he gets good grades and plays football.”
“Whoa, take a breath.”
“I just don’t want you to say no
before you have all the facts.”
“He already asked you out?”
Ariel nodded.
Mazie’s grip tightened on the
handle of the knife. “I don’t know. You’re only thirteen. How old is he?”
“Sixteen.”
“Ariel, that’s too old for you.
Wait, is this the boy from registration day?”
Ariel’s cheeks pinked. She nodded
and grinned at the salad.
“What grade is he in, ten? Eleven?”
“Eleven, but so what? It’s only a
three year difference. When I’m eighteen he’ll be twenty-one. It’s not a big
deal.”
“But you’re not eighteen. You’re
thirteen.” Not legal. Not ready.
“Did you date at thirteen?”
“Yes. But…”
“Oh my God, you are such a hypocrite!”
Ariel’s raised voice rang in her ears.
“Not a hypocrite, young lady.” Did
she just turn into her mother? “The boy I dated was also thirteen. Hand holding
and the occasional kiss. No chance of sex. A sixteen year-old is looking for
way more than holding your hand. And you’re too young for it.”
Ariel tossed the salad tongs onto
the counter. Oil and vinegar smeared the fake wood surface. “I’m not stupid,
mother. I won’t go and get pregnant or anything.” She balled her fists and took
a step back. “You just think he’ll be like Daddy. Just because you got hit
doesn’t mean I will. I won’t do anything to deserve it.”
Mazie reeled back. Her cheeks ached
from held-back tears, the knife crashed to the countertop. She turned to face
her accuser and poked one finger at the air between them. “I didn’t deserve
what he did to me.”
Ariel paled. One hand flew to her
mouth. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.” She threw herself into
Mazie’s arms. “It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry.” She pulled away, her eyes
pleading. “But Adam’s not like that. He’s so sweet and kind. He opens doors for
me. At lunch he picked a dandelion, said he knew it was just a weed, but if we
went out he’d bring me real flowers. Roses or something.”
Sweet and kind. Romantic and filled
with promises. Just like Cullen before the abuse started. Poor, sweet, naïve
Ariel. But damn it, not every charming man would turn into an abuser. This was
just a high school kid smitten with her beautiful daughter. He wasn’t Cullen.
Wasn’t even a man.
“Have you kissed him?”
Ariel blushed and cast her eyes to
the salad. “Just once.”
“Your first kiss,” Mazie whispered.
She picked up the knife and lopped the top off a carrot.
“Well, second really.”
Mazie dropped the knife. “Who?
When?”
“Aaron Johnson. On the swings at
school. It wasn’t a big deal. He smelled like cheese and his lips were dry.”
Mazie stifled a laugh.
“Mom, please? Just one date. Just a
movie. Nothing else, I promise.”
How had her baby girl become a
woman in one short summer? She could impose strict curfews, keep tabs on Ariel’s
every move. Risk alienating her and losing her altogether. And suck all the fun
out of her life in the process.
“Fine. One date. Then we’ll see.”
Ariel squealed and hugged her.
“Thank you. I promise you, he is
so
not a bad guy.”
Mazie turned away, snatched the
knife from the counter, and hacked celery hearts to bits.
~~~~~~~~
“Good evening, Ms. Smyth. I’m Adam.
Is Clementine here?”
Tall and handsome. Clean cut, short
blond hair, and well dressed in high-end jeans, a clean golf shirt, and
brand-spanking new runners. He held a bouquet of half-a-dozen red roses in one
hand. His green eyes twinkled just a bit too much for her taste. Nothing but
mischief and high expectations in those eyes.