Mazie Baby Read online

  That wasn’t normal. He’d never hit her in front of another living soul. Had never really harmed Ariel. Not with his hands.

  At the top of the stairs, she touched a finger to her cheek and winced. Her eye had already swollen, her fingers stained with blood.

  What lie could she come up with this time?

  Mazie took her daughter’s clammy hand and led her to the bathroom. Her fingers trembled in Mazie’s grip.

  She squeezed toothpaste onto Ariel’s toothbrush and handed it to her, gave her a weak smile and brushed strands of shiny long hair away from her emerald eyes.

  Ariel’s hand trembled. Half the toothpaste slid off the brush and landed on the counter.

  “It’s okay, bug. You brush. I’ll clean that up.”

  Ariel nodded and stuck the brush in her mouth, making feeble attempts to clean her teeth. She spat into the sink and rinsed her brush, then wrapped her arms around Mazie and hugged her hard.

  A pang shot through her bruised belly. She kissed the side of Ariel’s head. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

  When Ariel had changed into pyjamas, Mazie fluffed her pillow and pulled back the covers. Ariel climbed in, not the usual run and jump and bounce. Just dragging feet and quashed spirit. It was all so damn familiar, like looking through a window into her past, witnessing those first signs of giving in. Giving up. Acknowledging that this was what her life was going to be. And that she had no power to fix it.

  Mazie pulled the covers up to her daughter’s chest and chose a book from the shelf. “Clementine?”

  Ariel allowed a shy grin to cross her face but quickly wiped it away.

  They hadn’t read the Clementine books in over a year. They used to read them every night, the pages so worn they almost fell from the binding. But the adventures of a plucky red headed third grader didn’t cut it anymore. That night they found comfort between the covers of a well-loved story. A reminder of a time before Ariel bore witness to the grown-up realities that happened in her home every day.

  Halfway through the book, Ariel sighed. Mazie could see her daughter peering up at her at the end of every page.

  “Why did Daddy do that?”

  Mazie closed the book and put her arm around Ariel’s shoulder. “I don’t know. He has trouble dealing with anger sometimes, so he lashes out. But usually only at me.” She squeezed Ariel’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry he hurt you.” She set the book on the nightstand and feathered her fingers over the handprint on Ariel’s arm that had blossomed with purple tendrils where her husband’s thick fingers had crushed the flesh of his own child.

  “You always have bruises everywhere. He does that, right?”

  Tears sprung to Mazie’s eyes. “You’ve seen them?”

  Ariel nodded.

  “Well, you know what a klutz I am.” She took Ariel’s hand, stared at their entwined fingers.

  “You’re not a klutz. I know you wear long pants and sweaters to cover it up. I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “I never said you were,” Mazie whispered. She wiped her cheek dry.

  Ariel laid her head on Mazie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered. “I’ll be good from now on.”

  “This was not your fault, you understand?” Mazie sat up and cupped Ariel’s chin in her hand. “It’s my fault. You just be you. But maybe in front of Daddy, no sass, okay?”

  Ariel nodded, her chin quivered. Mazie gathered her in her arms and lay with her, rocking her and singing an old tune she used to sing to her every night.

  Playmate, come out and play with me/And bring your dollies three/Climb up my apple tree…

  When Ariel fell asleep in her arms, Mazie slid out of the bed, turned off the light and clicked the door shut.

  She tiptoed down the stairs and peered around the corner. Cullen was passed out in his chair. His loud, drunken snores punctuated the silence. She sneaked back upstairs, retrieved the camera, snapped duplicate photos of the new damage and dated them. In her bedroom closet, she dislodged a cardboard box that was taped to the inside wall where Cullen would only see it if he cleaned out the closet, stood inside, and closed the folding door. Safe bet he’d never clean anything. That was her job, after all.

  She took the photos from that night, and the ones she’d taken last time he choked her, and added them to the pile she’d been accumulating the past two years. She made identical notes in two journals. Date. Damage done. Escalation to the abuse of Ariel.

  Ariel.

  Mazie tiptoed into her daughter’s room, drew the blanket down and pointed the camera at the hand print on Ariel’s arm. She hesitated, her finger on the trigger. No. No pictures of Ariel.

  Mazie covered Ariel back up, crept back to the closet, tucked the photos and journals into the box and reapplied the tape.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Mazie polished left to right, a habit from her childhood when her mother insisted there was a process, a specific order that must be maintained. Start in the corner of the room and work left to right so there was no cross-contamination of dust and finger prints. Mirrors gleamed when polished counter-clockwise with a soft cloth. Clockwise left streaks on the glass.

  Mother was nuts.

  Yet here was Mazie, more than twenty years later, following those same rituals. They’d served her well for life with Cullen. A life where he was the only thing allowed to be less than perfect.

  She picked up the first framed photo on the mantle, one of many that bore witness to their shared lives. To the unaware, they appeared normal. Happy, even. And they were. Once.

  She ran her dust cloth over a candid Polaroid of the two of them on vacation, walking on the boardwalk in Atlantic City just a few months after they’d started dating. Some random guy had snapped their photo and then stepped in front of them.

  “Hey, mister. Carry this moment with your beautiful lady forever.” He waved the tiny photo in the air until it developed, then handed it to Cullen.

  Cullen leaned his head next to hers and shared the photo with her. They strolled arm-in-arm, her head on his shoulder, her long hair blowing in the breeze. He was so handsome — emerald eyes, dark hair that normally hung free below his shoulder blades was pulled back into a ponytail. His guitar, that ever-present giver of music and joy, was slung over his shoulder. His other hand gripped the black guitar strap that she’d bought him, tiny, bright beads of yellow, red, and blue embroidered along its length. Cullen’s broad smile lit up his face.

  He had laughed with such ease.

  “Look at you, baby. You’re gorgeous.” He turned to the man. “How much?”

  “A mere twenty dollars.”

  Mazie rolled her eyes. “Twenty bucks? That’s ridiculous.”

  Cullen dug his wallet out of his pocket and paid the man. “Totally worth it. I want to remember this day forever.” He kissed her right there in front of total strangers, then tucked the photo into his breast pocket.

  Later that evening, after a beautiful dinner in a fancy restaurant he couldn’t afford, they shared a bottle of cheap wine under the boardwalk. He played his guitar and sang to her. And he proposed. She gifted him with an enthusiastic yes, and even more enthusiastic lovemaking in the sand, the sounds of their passion drowned out by carnival music and the hollow footfalls on the boardwalk overhead.

  A dull thud echoed in the front entry. Her visit to a happier time was cut short by the daily sound of the morning newspaper hitting the front door. She peered at the clock on the kitchen wall. The paper boy was way late. Three damn hours late. The missing paper that morning had been her fault. Everything was her fault.

  Mazie placed the polished frame back on the mantle. Her reflection in the glass stared back at her, the difference between now and then was jarring. Long hair was the only consistency, but now it was flecked with too much grey hair for a woman of thirty-seven. Lines on her face bore witness to life’s stresses, to the change in Cullen’s feelings for her over the years. The black eye spoke of his hatred.

  ~~~~~~~~
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br />   Cullen stormed in through the back door as Mazie placed his dinner on the table.

  “Ariel,” he screamed from the back landing.

  Mazie cringed. “She’s upstairs doing her homework.”

  “Ariel, get your ass down here.” His face was crimson, that tell-tale vein over his left temple pulsed in time with his heavy breath.

  Mazie set her jaw, her shoulders tense, and braced for the coming storm. “What’s wrong?”

  “She left her goddamn bike in the driveway, that’s what. Ran over the fucking thing. If she’s lucky, there won’t be a hole in my tire.”

  Ariel ran down the stairs and slid on sock-covered feet across the polished kitchen floor, her hands out like a surfer vying for balance in the curl of a twenty-foot wave. When she stopped, she turned her smiling face on her father, a trick that used to melt his heart and garner her anything she wanted. “What, Daddy?”

  Cullen reached out and laid his paw on her shoulder. He shoved her toward the back door. “See that?”

  “My bike! Why’d you break it?”

  “You left it there. You made me run over it.”

  She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I forgot. I — I’m sorry.” She began to cry. “Can you fix it?”

  “Fix it?” He turned his glare from Ariel to Mazie. “You hear that? She’s as stupid as her mother.”

  “She is not stupid!” Ariel pushed against his chest and wrested free of his grip. She ran for the stairs.

  He caught up with her, spun her around and lifted one hand.

  “No!” Mazie screamed and ran across the room. She stepped between Ariel and her husband, inched backwards until Ariel found the stairs and raced up to her room.

  Her heart in her throat, Mazie found her voice. “Cullen, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  He dropped his hand, squinted, and stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  Mazie glanced at her feet, swallowed, then raised her head to meet his gaze. “You were going to hit her. She didn’t do it on purpose.” She planted her feet, prepared for the blows to come.

  He turned away and ran his hand over his face. “You want to know what’s wrong?” His voice was deadpan, barely audible. Not normal. “Another round of layoffs today.”

  A pang of fear sliced through her chest. “Did you lose your job?”

  “Not yet.” He turned back to face her, his eyebrows pinched together, his jaw clenched. “But it’s just a matter of time.”

  Mazie nodded. “Okay, but you haven’t yet. And even if you had, how is that Ariel’s fault?”

  Cullen’s eyes clouded over and his stare bore into her. “What did you say to me?”

  Mazie grasped the railing. She scanned the room for an escape, but he blocked her path. The only way was upstairs, and all that waited there was certain pain. She swallowed hard and dropped her gaze to her feet. “I just don’t understand why you’re taking it out on her. She’s not to blame.”

  “You’re right.”

  Shit. She glanced up.

  He bowed his head and looked at her from under heavy lids, his eyes ablaze, like a wolf about to pounce on its prey. “You’re both to blame.” He took a step forward. “If you hadn’t got knocked up with her I’d never had to do this shit work. I’d be writing music, performing. Maybe touring. Maybe I’d be on the road. Maybe I’d be just a tiny bit happy.” He held the thumb and index finger of his right hand a half-inch apart and took another step forward. “Maybe I’d feel a little proud of myself. But you know what I feel instead? Disgusted.” Tears dripped from his eyes. “I can barely look in the mirror. This was not supposed to be my life, you know that? My back hurts. And look at my fucking hands!” He held them both up and shoved them toward her face.

  Mazie flinched and stepped onto the first stair. She was very familiar with his hands. How they looked. How they smelled. The sharp sting of their slap and pain of their punch. Like sandpaper when they encircled her throat and tried to choke the life from her.

  “I used to make music with these hands. Now my fingers are nothing but thick stumps. They’re stiff and sore. I bet I can’t even strum a damn guitar.” He turned and shuffled to his chair, sank into it, put his face in his hands, and wept.

  Mazie stared at him. She glanced up the staircase to the landing above, turned and eyed the front door. Was there time to grab Ariel and get out? Was this her moment to escape?

  But her feet were bolted to the floor. And she’d she never make it to the threshold before he caught up with her.

  After minutes of his anguish filling the otherwise still room, she let go of the railing and inched toward him. She kneeled by his chair and placed one hand on his knee, ran her other hand through his hair. “Cullen,” she whispered.

  He lowered his hands, wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked into her face with red-rimmed eyes.

  They shared a momentary connection. A silent understanding.

  Neither of their lives had turned out as they had planned.

  He wrapped his arms around her and sobbed.

  Mazie froze. Anticipation churned in her stomach and she braced herself.

  But he just cried and held on, buried his face in her hair. “I’m so sorry, Mazie Baby. I’m so sorry.”

  His breath was hot on her neck. She shut her eyes and swallowed. A shiver ran through her and goose bumps chilled her skin. She fought the urge to push him away. With a trembling hand, she stroked the back of his head. “I know you are.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  Cullen’s snores punctuated the two-in-the-morning silence. Mazie ran her palms down her restless legs. He hated it when she twitched and turned. Hated to be bothered in his sleep, awakened before he was ready. But she could find no peace. She inched out of bed, put on her robe, and tiptoed down the stairs.

  She poured herself a rare drink of brandy and warmed it in the microwave. Alcohol loosened her tongue. Heightened her bravado — and her risk. Sober was the way to go, the only way to be sure she kept her wits about her. But with him dead to the waking world, she let her guard down, just for a moment. The warm liquor calmed her shaken nerves.

  In the dark of the living room, stillness engulfed her. She closed her eyes against her life, but behind her eyelids she couldn’t prevent memories of how she ended up here from invading her respite.

  Cullen had thrown the back door open with such force that the doorstop snapped off and skittered across the floor. There was a hole in the drywall where the doorknob slammed into it. They’d celebrated their first anniversary the week before.

  He was late for dinner and she’d watched for his arrival. Before he spoke, she snapped at him. “Damn it, Cullen! That’s the second hole in the wall this month.” Two weeks before, he’d been upset over a cancelled gig and punched the bedroom wall. An indent in the shape of his fist remained there for weeks before he spackled and painted over it.

  He glared at her and tossed his guitar case onto the landing. “It’s just drywall, for Christ’s sake.” He let out a heavy exhale, ran one hand over his head and along the length of the ponytail that hung close to his waistline.

  “It still has to be fixed.”

  He held his palm toward her face. “Just don’t. Not today.”

  She had learned when to stop talking. He was upset about something that had nothing to do with home. Nothing to do with her.

  He pried his shoes off with the toes of the opposite feet and kicked them toward the rubber mat against the wall. They landed askew on the linoleum. He brushed past her and grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the top and drank most of it in three long gulps. He stood with his back to the counter, one hand gripped the edge.

  “Well, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his denim jacket. “You know that agent,” he made air quotes, “that was going to shop my demo around?”

  Mazie nodded. “The one you paid the three grand to for studio time and expenses?”

  “Yeah, that gu
y.” His lips pressed into a thin line. He looked at her, his eyes heavy-lidded. “He won’t return my calls. There won’t be any studio time.” He shook his head. “Guy’s a goddamn shyster.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I called the studio. It’s a scam. He’s not a real agent.” He rubbed his forehead with the arm of the hand that held the beer. “Three fucking thousand dollars. That’s five shows, not counting costs. And to top it all off, another gig got cancelled. They got a better act.” More air quotes. He pulled out a chair and slumped into it, leaned his arms on the table and rested his head on his arms. “I think it’s time to give up. Time to get a straight job.”

  Mazie sat next to him and rubbed his shoulders with one palm. “Don’t say that. Cullen, I can get a second job. You’re too talented to give up yet.”

  He sat up, his face red, jaw clenched. “Yet? You already planning for me to fuck this up permanently?”

  Her brows furrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “You don’t think I can take care of my own wife? You have to take care of me, support me? What am I, a child?” He stood and paced the kitchen. “What kind of man do you think I am? You think I’m a gigolo or something?”

  “No, Cullen.” She jumped up from her seat and tried to put her arms around him. “I love you. You’ll make it, it’s just a matter of time. I’ll do anything to help you see it through.”

  He pushed her away and she staggered against the table. She regained her footing just as the back of his hand slammed into her face.

  She covered her cheek with one palm and stared at him, her mouth agape.

  His face contorted and tears sprung from his eyes. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” He reached out for her and engulfed her with both arms. “Mazie Baby. I am so sorry. You know I didn’t mean it, right?”

  She pulled away and nodded. “I know.”

  He slumped to the floor and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. His entire body trembled. “You’re all I have, Mazie. You’re everything that is right in my life.” He rested his head against the cupboard door and looked up at her. “I am so, so, sorry. You believe me, don’t you?”

  He was so vulnerable, so broken. With his parents long dead and no brothers or sisters, he was completely alone. Except for her.