Mazie Baby Read online

  Mazie Baby

  by Julie Frayn

  Copyright 2014 Julie Frayn

  All rights reserved

  License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook my not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or have been used strictly for fictional purposes. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author/publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.

  ISBN 978-0-9918510-4-1

  Dedication

  This book is for anyone who suffers abuse, be it physical, verbal, or emotional. Abuse can be in your face and violent — or it can creep in on tiptoes, subtle and slow. Either way, the tendrils of abuse infiltrate the victim, not just their bodies, but their psyches, until the effects take up residence. It is a poisonous and evil tenant that is hard to evict. I will never understand the perpetrators.

  Contents

  Mazie Baby

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Praise for Julie Frayn’s Fiction

  Mazie Baby

  Cool pavement kissed the soles of Mazie Reynolds’ bare feet. Beads of shining dew, caught in that nether-moment between breaking dawn and the sizzle of a spring heat wave, clung to clipped blades of grass. The world smelled clean and fresh. Smelled of open air and endless horizons. Smelled of freedom.

  The rusty bolt that secured the red flag to the mailbox whined when she forced it up. She shot a glance over her shoulder. The house remained still, her morning reprieve uninterrupted. The eerie quiet lulled her into a sense of normal.

  Whatever that was.

  She pulled a small stack of mail from the box, the envelopes like sandpaper against her fingertips. Bill, bill, flyer, pizza menu. The last bulky and colourful piece announced that Cullen may have already won two million bucks. She snorted. As if.

  She glanced at the van sitting in the driveway before turning her gaze on the mountains in the distance, all lilac and orange in the rising sunlight. How easy would it be to just drive away? Never look back? Do something different. Something new. Something better?

  The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end at the crack of wooden heels on concrete. She tensed her shoulders and set her jaw. She hadn’t heard the door open. And why was he wearing those old cowboy boots on a work day?

  “Surprise!” Soft, pale, freckled arms encircled her waist and squeezed.

  Mazie laughed. “Well, good morning, Miss Simpson. You are definitely not who I was expecting.” Mazie reached her arm around the girl’s shoulder, gave her a small hug, and planted a light kiss on her frizzy, copper hair. “What are you wearing?”

  Polly, the neighbour’s daughter, stepped back and stomped the sidewalk with wooden clogs painted bright yellow. “Grandma sent them from Holland. They’re klomps.” She twirled. Her short skirt flew in the air and flashed a bit of pasty, plump ass cheek and white cotton underpants. “Can I go show Ariel?”

  “She’s still in bed. How about later?”

  “Morning, Mazie. That’s a lovely scarf.”

  Mazie donned a wide smile and turned slowly. That smug half-grin sat there on her neighbour’s round face, all prepped for another day of sticking her stupid nose in everyone else’s lives. “Hello, Rachel.” Mazie touched the thin material around her neck and pulled the scarf higher before drawing her sweater tighter across her chest.

  Rachel jerked her head at her daughter. “Polly, honey, get back inside and eat your breakfast.”

  Polly slipped off the klomps, picked them up, and skipped across the dewy grass, her wet footprints darkening the wooden front stoop before disappearing into the house next door.

  “She’s growing up so damn fast.” Rachel plopped her balled-up fists on the sides of her ever-expanding muffin-top.

  “Too fast. Just last year all boys had cooties.” Mazie sighed. “Now those cootie-carriers are all cute. And Ariel asked if she could wear makeup.”

  Rachel nodded. “Well, today’s twelve is our generation’s fifteen.”

  “I suppose. Kind of scared for my future grandkids.”

  Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Getting a little warm for scarves and long sleeves. You must be boiling all bundled up like that.”

  Mind your damn business, Rachel.

  “I’m fine. I like to be warm.”

  “And you’re looking a little thin. You dieting again?”

  Damn this woman and her incessant need to pry. Always peering over the fence, eyeballing Mazie’s family from her deck, standing on her tiptoes and craning her stubby neck, listening to Cullen’s phone conversations. Though, that was his fault. He shouldn’t drink and take private calls in the backyard. He was so much louder when he drank.

  “I’m always dieting.” Mazie slipped her index finger under the flap of one envelope and tore it open, her focus anywhere but on Rachel’s questioning gaze.

  The paper sliced into her finger. She winced, squeezed the tip with her thumb and watched a droplet of crimson ooze from the tiny scratch.

  “Any plans for summer vacation this year?”

  Mazie nodded. “Maybe a trip to the mountains. Or east to visit Mom. Cullen will go fishing, of course.”

  “Without you and Ariel? You used to go all the time.”

  “He likes his solitude.” And so did she.

  The screen door squeaked on its hinges. “Mazie?” The air stilled after Cullen’s voice boomed across the front yard. “Oh. Hello, Rachel.” He said her name as if it were poison he had to spit from his mouth before it killed him.

  Rachel’s nosy eyebrow shot up. She crossed her arms. “Cullen.”

  “Mazie. Baby, come back in. Your coffee’s getting cold.” His voice lost its boom, took on an average volume, like what she imagined a normal husband would sound like.

  She looked at her feet. “I’ll be right there.” She turned and headed toward the house.

  “Well, have a nice day,” Rachel called as Mazie retreated. “Come for coffee sometime.”

  Mazie waved over her shoulder, stepped inside the door, and bolted it against the outside world.

  In the kitchen, Cullen leaned against the counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest, chin down, eyes dark and brows pinched. “Why do you talk to that stupid bitch?”

  Anger spewing from his mouth was nothing new. But when his voice became a low growl, her skin crawled.

  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.”