by Jackie Weger
She dropped the envelopes onto the counter, turned on the tap and squirted dish soap under the stream of hot water. “I don’t. She talked to me. She always does, you know how nosy she is.” Mazie’s voice was casual, almost sing-song. But even she could hear the underlying strain, like a too-taut piano wire about to snap.
The scratch of Cullen’s work boots against the gleaming floor neared. She tensed, her hands immersed in soapy dishwater.
He rested his chin on her shoulder. The stench of his cigarette breath soured the air. Her scarf tightened around her neck.
“Just keep to yourself.” His voice was gruff in her ear.
She nodded, willed the tears he so loathed — or feared — not to pool at the corners of her eyes. She held her breath against the pressure on her throat.
“Daddy?”
He let go of the scarf. Mazie grasped the sink’s edge and struggled quietly for air.
“Morning, pumpkin. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school?”
The familiar shuffling of Ariel’s slippers on the linoleum neared. “Mom, are you okay?” Her thin arms circled Mazie’s waist.
“Of course she is.” Cullen put one hand on Ariel’s shoulder and pulled her away.
Mazie grit her teeth. “I’m fine, bug. Do as your father says and get ready for school. I’ll make you pancakes.” She didn’t turn around. Didn’t want Ariel to see that the tears had won again, and were dripping down her cheeks.
“All right.” The whisper of slippers against linoleum disappeared at the living room carpet.
In Mazie’s peripheral vision, Cullen scanned the grocery list on the fridge, ran one permanently grimy finger down the clean paper. “Are you going today?”
“Yes.”
“You need more woman shit already? Didn’t you just buy tampons?”
She swallowed. “That was last month.”
“Fucking stupid bullshit. Maybe we ought to just get you fixed. Would save me a lot of cash.” He yanked bills from his wallet, counted out five twenties, and slapped them on the counter. “Where’s my lunch?” He yanked the fridge door open and leaned into it, shoved the food around. Glass containers crashed against each other as if they would crack open and spill their contents onto the shelf and the floor below. It would be his fault if they did. But she’d get the blame.
She sucked in a deep breath. “It’s packed in your pail. On the sideboard.” Like every other day.
He nodded, didn’t even look at her. “I’ll be late tonight. Going for a few beers.” He turned his back and slammed the door. The aura of sweat and grime that never came out of his plaid work shirts no matter how many times she laundered them, no matter how much soap and softener and deodorizer she poured into the machine, fouled the air.
The truck rumbled to life. He gunned the engine and roared out of the alley.
She exhaled.
How did she get here? A prisoner in her own home. She should have taken Ariel and run years ago. She dropped her chin to her chest and wept at the sink.
“No.” She stood straight. “Stop it, you stupid, weak woman.” She pounded her fists against the counter’s edge, spraying soapy water onto her clothes. “Damn it.” She snatched a dish towel and dabbed at her shirt. “Can’t you do anything right?”
~~~~
Mazie’s footsteps echoed in the near-empty aisles of the grocery store. A few women roamed the store that afternoon, dumpy in stained sweat pants or pyjama bottoms. They shuffled around, hair greasy, feet clad in brightly-coloured rubber clogs or flip-flops.
Cullen would kill her if she left the house looking like that.
She scanned her list and ticked off each item as she placed it in the cart. Exactly as noted, not one thing more. Only tampons remained. She searched the shelves for the most expensive product in the largest box, tossed it on top of the canned tomatoes, and headed for the cashier.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Hi, Lucy.” Mazie pulled groceries and toilet paper from the cart and piled it onto the conveyor.
“You’re in a good mood today.”
“It’s a beautiful day, sun is shining.” And she got to be out of her cell for a few hours. Shopping days were the best.
“Well, I’m stuck here until six.” Lucy dragged each product across the scanner. “Ninety-one seventy-two.”
Mazie counted out the five twenties.
“And your change, eight eighteen.”
Mazie hesitated. “No, that’s not right.” The pulse of her pounding heart bounced off her ribs.
“Sorry?”
“The change. It should be eight twenty-eight. Not eighteen.”
Lucy ran her finger down the tape. “Oh, right.”
Mazie’s fingers trembled. “Every dime counts, right?” Her eyes darted about the store, landing anywhere but Lucy’s face.
Lucy opened the cash drawer and handed her another dime. “Yes, of course. Sorry.”
“Thank you. See you next week.”
Mazie packed the groceries into the back of the van, fumbled with the door latch, sat in the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. The skin of her knuckles was taut against the bones, her fingernails dug into her palms. She eased her hands from the wheel, pulled open her purse and counted the change, did the math in her head. Eight dollars and twenty-eight cents. Exactly. She put her head back and took three deep breaths, then turned the key until the engine came to life.
Her purse vibrated against the centre console. She dug her cell phone out. The mid-day check-in with her jailer was particularly late that day.
Where you at?
She flashed her thumbs across the keyboard. Grocery store.
You’re behind schedule.
She grit her teeth. What did it matter if she scrubbed the toilet first, or went to the store first? Thought I’d pick Ariel up from school.
You spoil her too much.
Her thumbs hesitated over the keys. What did he want her to say?
Right?
Of course. That’s always the correct response.
Right.
She eyed the green glow of the dashboard clock. Two forty-five. Just enough time to run to the drug store before school was out. Ariel would be so surprised. She hated the school bus. And some one-on-one time with her daughter before Mazie had to make dinner and vacuum was just what she craved.
She pulled into the parking lot of a Shoppers Drug Mart she hadn’t been to in at least a month. She retrieved the box of tampons from a grocery bag, peeled the price tag from the bottom, and stuffed the box into a reusable tote. She took a few breaths, climbed out of the van, and ran one hand over her hair. In the store she made a beeline for customer service.
The lone clerk glanced up at her and motioned with two fingers for her to approach. “What can I do for you?”
“I bought these tampons last week and realized I bought the wrong brand.” Mazie pulled the box from the tote and placed it on the counter.
“Receipt?”
“Sorry, I’ve lost it.”
The clerk raised one eyebrow. “I can’t give you a refund without a receipt. Just store credit.”
Mazie nodded. “That’s fine.”
The clerk scanned the barcode. “Those are twelve ninety-five.” She ran a gift card through the magnetic stripe reader and pressed a few buttons, then handed the card to Mazie. “There you are, thirteen sixty with tax.”
Mazie took the gift card, tapped it against the counter and leaned in a couple of inches. “Thank you,” she whispered and tucked the card into the back pocket of her jeans. In the van she pulled the grocery receipt from her purse and ran her finger down the list until she found the tampons. Not bad, almost three dollars profit on the return.
She reached below the driver’s seat and tugged on the billfold duct-taped to the underside, added the gift card to the growing cache of other cards and money.
It looked like a lot, all stacked together like that. But was
it enough?
~~~~
A line of SUVs battled for position in front of the school. Mazie pulled into an open spot just seconds before the final bell. Ariel skipped down the school steps holding Polly’s hand, Rachel right behind them. Damn, she was volunteering again?
Mazie ducked down in her seat. Screw it. Her personal stalker could drive Ariel home. Mazie checked the side-view mirror and put on her left signal. She shook her head and clicked it off.
No. She wouldn’t let Rachel steal her alone time with Ariel. Mazie pressed her fingertips to the horn, one long beep followed by three quick ones — their secret code.
Ariel spun around. When their eyes met, she waved and smiled. She said something to Polly and ran towards the van, her backpack bouncing against her shoulders.
Rachel waved. Mazie ignored her.
“I was hoping you’d pick me up!” Ariel tossed her backpack into the back next to the grocery bags and crawled into the passenger seat. “Can we get ice cream?”
“Sorry, bug. There wasn’t enough left over from groceries today. Maybe ask Daddy if he has any spare change and we can go on the weekend?”
Ariel pouted. “No fair.”
“I know, honey.” She ran her hand over Ariel’s raven hair. “Seatbelt, please. Watch you don’t get your hair caught in the latch.”
Ariel pulled her long locks to the other side.
“Maybe it’s time for a trim, eh?”
“Daddy said no. He likes it long.”
Of course he did.
“It’s not fair, it’s my hair.” She crossed her arms.
“Maybe I can talk to him. See if he’ll change his —”
“No, that’s okay,” Ariel blurted out, the space between her eyebrows creased. “I don’t want him to be mad at you.” She turned away and stared out the window.
Mazie’s eyes burned with unspent tears and she turned to look out the driver’s window. “Speaking of Daddy, he’s going to be late. Want to watch a movie before dinner?”
“Yes! Madagascar?”
“Again? We’ve seen that at least five times.”
“Six. Can we?” A childlike gleam glowed in Ariel’s eyes. She was caught in that twilight zone between child and young adult. Little girl and grown woman. Boys were high on her list of the most important things in the world. Begging to wear makeup had been a near daily occurrence until her father laid down the law with a boom in his voice and a wagging finger in Ariel’s face. No daughter of his was going to get all slutted up before she even hit high school. She was months past needing a training bra, too young to look so, so .… sexual, as Cullen called it. But she just wasn’t ready to let ice cream and animated movies slip from her life. Or pouting.
“All right, we’ll watch one more time. But only if we can do the move it-move it dance.”
“Can we close the drapes first? The neighbours already look at me funny when I’m in the yard.”
~~~~
Mazie sat in the living room, a cup of tepid tea on the side table. She stared at the television, her thumb on the remote, and flipped through channel after channel, her mind on autopilot.
She’d tucked Ariel into bed after they’d worn each other out, dancing and singing and filling the house with laughter. The second she flicked off the light and clicked her daughter’s bedroom door closed, the light-heartedness evaporated and the burden of what was to come smothered her.
With the sound of every engine that roared by and every footstep that clopped on the sidewalk as someone passed out front, her heart raced.
She waited in the incandescence of the floor lamp, the three-setting bulb on its lowest wattage. The streetlamp on the corner threw its orange glow into the room, the decorative window bars casting a checkerboard shadow over the family portrait that hung on the opposite wall. The cuckoo clock ticked and tocked, ticked and tocked. Its hollow marking of time echoed in the empty kitchen.
Her head hurt. She was tired of waiting for him to come home. To tell her what to do, what to think, who she was or wasn’t allowed to speak to.
Her chin dipped to her chest, her eyelids thick with sleep. The roar of Cullen’s truck jolted her awake. She jumped from her chair and scurried into the kitchen, stripped cellophane from the plate of cold meatloaf, mashed potatoes and steamed carrots, all smothered in dark brown gravy. Six beeps of the ‘quick cook’ button and his dinner was on its way to hot while she threw out the plastic, polished off the droplets of condensation it had left on the counter, and fetched a fork and knife from the cutlery drawer.
He walked in the door and sat at the table as the microwave announced that his food was ready. She slid the hot plate in front of him and stood still, just to his left.
He barely breathed between the forkfuls of food he shovelled into his mouth. Hops and barley emanated from his pores.
“You pick her up from school?” He spoke through a mouthful of potatoes.
“Yes.”
He paused, his fork mid-air, turned and raised one eyebrow at her. “I told you not to spoil her.”
“I was already so close. Why make her take the bus?” She stared at her feet.
“Because she’ll expect it, that’s why.” He shook his head. “Stupid.”
His work boots sat in the back landing, one on its side near the closed door, the other right smack in the middle of the tile. She armed herself with paper towels and a spray bottle of all-purpose cleaner, aligned the heels of his boots against the wall and placed them on the rubber shoe mat. She wiped the dust and polished the tile.
When she was finished and the soiled towels were safely in the garbage, she took his plate. He had tossed a napkin over what little remained of the meal, his silent cue that he was finished and she should hurry up and clean up after him.
She turned her back, scraped and rinsed the plate, placed it in the dishwasher, and set the machine to wash.
She took a deep breath and turned to face him.
He held out his hand.
She pulled the grocery list and receipt from her pocket and handed it to him, along with the change.
He ran his finger down the receipt, compared it to the list she’d written out. He counted the change, nodded and pocketed it, then ripped up the papers and handed them to her.
She slipped the garbage into the bin under the sink.
He looked her up and down, “C’mere.” His voice was raspy from too much beer and nicotine. He reached out and grasped her wrist and yanked her into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her in an embrace, her arms pinned to her sides. The smell of the cigar bar oozed from his hair and clothes, a sickly sweet stench like gym socks dipped in fake vanilla and lit on fire. Her head spun and her stomach lurched. One of his hands slid between her legs, the other up her shirt and under her bra.
She shivered and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. The calluses on his hands scraped against her soft skin. There’d be fresh scratches under her breasts or across her backside after he finished with her.
She squirmed. “I … I have my period.”
He stiffened. “Shit. Again?” He pushed her off his lap.
She reached for the counter, caught it with one hand, the other hand on the linoleum, and steadied herself. Better than landing on her ass on the floor. She used the countertop as leverage, stood and turned to him.
He was already halfway up the stairs.
~~~~
Earls restaurant buzzed with the anonymous conversations of dozens of strangers. Mazie sat in the booth, Ariel at her side. Cullen sat across from them, the birthday crown Ariel had made him out of gold construction paper askew atop his head.
“Can I get you another beer?” The skinny blonde server with the micro-mini-skirt sidled up to him and put one hand on his shoulder.
He grinned up at her. “Sure. The birthday boy deserves another brew.” He gunned the third of a pint still left in the Albino Rhino glass and handed it to her.
“And you, ma’am? Mo
re water? If you’re the DD, I can get you some pop or iced tea, on the house.”
Mazie shook her head. “No, thanks.”
The server cleared the empty plates and smiled at Cullen. He watched her walk away, his gaze firmly planted below her waist.
“You want your present now, Daddy?”
“I didn’t see a box or bows. What present?” He smiled at his daughter, his eyes alight with the game. Same game, every year. He bought tickets online, paid for them himself, printed them out and handed them to Mazie to give to him for his birthday. As long as he got what he wanted, he didn’t mind not being surprised. And he always played along with Ariel, who was none the wiser.
Mazie slid the envelope to Ariel under the table. She pulled it out and handed it to him. “Happy birthday.”
He ripped the envelope open and grinned at two tickets to the Calgary Stampeders’ game in June. He nodded at Mazie and Ariel. “Thank you, my ladies.”
“Can I come?”
Cullen’s brow creased. “To a football game? I always take Jerry.”
Ariel sank in her seat and looked at her lap. “Okay.”
Mazie slid her hand across the leather of the bench seat and patted Ariel’s arm.
“Happy Birthday, to you,” a crowd of wait staff gathered beside their table and sang the birthday song. Skinny Girl placed a large piece of warm chocolate banana cake ablaze with a sparkler in front of Cullen and handed him a fork.
His toothy smile lit up his face, his laughter lit up Ariel’s. Mazie grinned. It had been a fun night, light and easy. For the most part.
When they finished singing, applause popped around the room, other patrons joining the fun. “Thank you, thank you,” Cullen called out to the nearest tables and waved.
He leaned across the table and took Mazie’s hand.
She flinched.
“Did you hear the pipes on the tall dude with the long hair?” he whispered. He looked around the room, pointed at a young man taking orders three tables over. “That guy.” He turned back to her, squeezed her hand. “He sounds a lot like I used to, don’t you think?”
Mazie nodded. “I guess so. It’s been so long since I’ve heard you sing.”
“Yeah, well, that life is over.”
His phone chimed and a red light flashed. He picked it up, grinned at the screen and ran his thumbs across it. Seconds later the phone chimed again. He let out a small laugh and responded.