by Julie Frayn
Mazie caught just glimpses of the beauty that is highway seventeen. All those years ago, when she was the passenger and her father was stuck with driving duties, she’d roll down the window and take in every tiny sight she could. Commit to memory the shades of purple and steel and orange and red of the mountain rock, the sound of every drip and trickle and raging torrent of the waterfalls. Every scent of pine, of sap and wet earth. Even of pungent animal dung, putrid road kill, and the occasional proof that one or two of the bodies squashed under speeding tires had once been waddling skunks.
How she adored this province, especially the stretch of blacktop yet to come. The road that skirted the edge of Lake Superior and spanned the hump between Thunder Bay and Marathon before slicing back into the maw of the mountains. She’d stare out the back window until she lost sight of that magnificent body of water, not to see it again until the car emerged on the other side of Wawa.
But she wasn’t a sightseer on this trip. Instead she contended with the dipshits and the assholes, semi drivers whose sole purpose in life was to get from point A to point B in as short a time as possible, no matter whose ass they rode, whose nerves they jangled with their air horns and their tailgating and passing when there was no passing lane. Each time she heard the roar of an engine and found nothing but a truck’s grill in her rear-view mirror, she slowed, pulled as far to the right as possible with virtually zero shoulder and a sheer mountain face to cushion the passenger side, her daughter’s side, if something went horribly wrong. And each time, the van got sucked into the vortex created between truck and rock. She gripped the wheel to stay on the road, focused and took deep breaths.
No wonder her father drank during overnight stops on their long summer road trips.
Heading into Thunder Bay, Mazie veered onto Dawson Road, a shortcut her father made so he could grab a coffee before their ritual pit stop at the Terry Fox Memorial. She hit the drive through at Tim’s on East Avenue for her beloved double-double, a couple of maple creams, and a lemonade for Ariel, then continued east on the Trans-Canada. She eased the van along the long leftward curve, the vastness of Lake Superior to their right.
“There it is!” She poked Ariel’s arm and pointed. She turned left and followed the loop of road around to the parking area of the memorial. They gathered their snack and approached the memorial. Her mind flooded with memories of her father, of his British Sterling aftershave that no amount of salty wind could tame, of his scratchy five o’clock shadow that always showed up by two, and of their shared love of this exact spot.
They stood at the back side of the memorial and stared up at the curly-haired icon of hope and determination.
“Do you know who Terry Fox is?” Mazie put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder.
“Duh, mother. We do the run every year.”
“Of course. How silly of me.”
“Do you remember it?” Ariel shrugged off Mazie’s hand. “When he actually ran? When he died?”
“No, I was just little then, two or three. But every time we took a summer road trip, your grandfather insisted we stop. I didn’t know at the time that he had cancer. Didn’t understand what it meant to him.” A breeze picked up and brought a cool wind off the lake. She turned to admire it, to take a deep inhale of the bitter sweet alkaline odour complemented by algae and fish undertones. Some might turn their nose up. Not her. This was the scent of her innocence. The smell of happiness. If only time machines were real, she’d jump right in, turn back the dial, and slam the door on the past fifteen years.
Ariel took the bag of doughnuts from Mazie’s hand, sat on the bench with her back to the water, and took a big bite of maple cream.
Tears pooled in the corners of Mazie’s eyes. How could she wish away any moment that brought this beautiful girl into her life? She would just wish away all the horrid Cullen times, and keep the rest for herself.
~~~~~~~~
The last time Mazie set foot in North Bay, Ariel had been an infant. In all those years, not much had changed.
Her father, because he was stubborn, wouldn’t tell anyone of his condition and refused the treatments his doctors offered, died of prostate cancer before he’d ever had a chance to meet his granddaughter. Mazie had been furious with him. Still was. How dare he let disease suck his life dry one day at a time without a word? Without giving her a chance to say goodbye?
Her eyelids fluttered and she glanced at Ariel. The hollow pit of Mazie’s stomach ached. Ariel hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to her father either. But he hadn’t denied her that. Mazie had. Different kind of disease, all of their lives being sucked dry. At every turn, she’d failed as a mother.
She followed Main Street until it turned into Lakeshore Drive. A torrent of memories rushed at her the second she took a left onto Gertrude Street and passed the little clapboard house where her best friend, Ruthie, had lived. They spent the hottest days of summer on that front lawn, jumping through the sprinkler, gorging on sweet watermelon, spitting seeds at each other.
Ariel sat straighter in her seat. “There aren’t any sidewalks.”
“Nope.”
“The houses are so small.”
“In this part of town.”
Mazie turned onto the road where she’d grown up, had lived until the day after she turned eighteen when she packed up and moved out in a huff over her mother’s incessant need to know everything, share everything, be everywhere she was. She hadn’t gone far, just into a crappy apartment in the Gateway, the oldest area of town. The only place she could afford to live on the paltry sum she made waiting tables at the diner. When she landed an executive assistant job downtown — just a glorified title for an old-fashioned secretary, the kind who makes coffee, takes dictation, and lets the boss slap her ass — she could have afforded to move. But she stayed. It had become home. The home she lived in when she’d met Cullen. Where she fell in love with him. Where he convinced her to move to Calgary.
“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 daug
hter 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.”
He
r 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?”