Mazie Baby (26 page)

He walked her to a small desk in the
front office and motioned to a chair. He leaned over her shoulder, one hand on
the back of the chair, and showed her how to log on with her own user name and
password, where to find the files she’d be working on. A stack of documents waiting
to be typed sat next to the computer.

Each time he reached over her
shoulder to poke at the monitor or sift through one of the files, the scent of
a spring meadow filled her head. Or maybe an ocean breeze. Whatever it was, it
wasn’t cologne. Only laundry detergent or soap, and the faintest hint of
vanilla she’d first noticed when he drove her and Ariel to the hotel their
first day in Cornwall.

“All right, you’re good to go.” He
straightened and patted her shoulder. “Coffee’s in the back room. Would you
like some?”

“I can get it.”

“Nonsense, let me. Dory, how about
you, refill?”

Dory glared at him and handed him
her cup. He smiled at her and turned to Mazie. “Double cream and two sugars,
right?”

She nodded.

“Coming up.”

~~~~~~~~

Mazie’s fingers soon shredded the
keyboard. The speed and accuracy of her younger years improved with each
passing day. Smiling came easier, and she could barely contain herself when she
got home. She had to tell Ariel of her daily accomplishments, the stories
spilling from Mazie’s lips and onto her daughter’s increasingly bored ears. 

Dory continued to freeze her out, didn’t
acknowledge Mazie’s presence, walked right by on her way for coffee without so
much as a smile, let alone offering to fill her cup.

Within a week, Norman had asked Mazie
to assist with research for the case of the battered woman. The case that got
her this job. The case of perfect irony.

The woman, with the sweet-old-lady
name of Betty Wardell, still wouldn’t speak to him. Wouldn’t speak to anyone,
except one particular nurse. Just sat in the sunroom in the loony bin, staring
out the window.

Mazie searched for precedent on law
websites and pored over dusty old books in the library. She read of a woman in
Hamilton who’d killed her husband and faced murder charges. Was found not
guilty. She had entered a plea of self-defence. Her lawyers brought forward
mounds of evidence proving years of the severe abuse she’d suffered at the
bastard’s hands.

Not guilty. Of murder. Not in jail.
But confined to the mental ward of a local hospital all the same. She’d never recovered.
Not from the abuse. Not from the broken heart. She missed her husband, regretted
her actions. Despite the regular beatings, the near-death traumas he inflicted,
she still loved him. Looking in life’s rear-view mirror, the woman had come to
believe the abuse was his way of showing affection. That he really did love her
and she’d killed him for it.

Mazie stared at the screen, at the
words that seemed so ridiculous, so unbelievable. So familiar.

In the last month, glimpses of happy
Cullen popped up unexpectedly amidst nightmares of the hell he’d wrought. The Cullen
she’d longed for. The handsome, young, fun Cullen. Those moments were like the
first bloom of spring breaking through the weight of a May snowstorm. He was
the Canadian prairie weather. Stormy, with just a hint of sunshine. Ice cold
for weeks, with brief Chinook winds bringing warmth and relief. Oppressive like
the heat of a late August day, cooled by the lovely evening chill of the
looming autumn.

She missed him. The truth of it was
a punch in the head.

Was he affected by weather? Could
he have been cured, fixed — normal — if they’d moved to a temperate climate?

She shook her head. That was
absurd. He was just as abusive in winter as summer. Just as thoughtless and
violent in spring as in fall. Red flags had slapped her upside the head almost
as hard as he did. But in the beginning she’d missed them all. Or chose to
ignore them.

“Charlie? You all right?”

She looked up into Norman’s face, all
scrunched up in that endearing, inquisitive way he had.

She straightened her spine and
rolled her neck. “Fine. Just taking a typing break.” She rubbed her wrists and
placed her fingertips back on the keyboard, searched the faux-mahogany desktop
for her work. But she hadn’t been typing. She’d been doing research. She
slouched back in her chair. “Sorry. This is just a bit overwhelming.”

He put his hands on her shoulders
and dug his thumbs into her aching muscles.

She groaned and rolled her head
forward.

“You’re tense as hell. Why don’t
you take a real break. Get out into the sunshine.” He dug his wallet out of his
pocket and peeled a twenty and a ten from the fold. “Maybe grab us some lunch?”

~~~~~~~~

 “Things have really chilled. I
haven’t seen a cop in two weeks.” Rachel raised a glass of white wine toward
the webcam. “Cheers to this being well on the way to the cold case files.”

Mazie raised her plastic tumbler of
five ninety-nine shiraz. “Do you really think so?”

“Well, can’t guarantee it, but it’s
been quiet. No more interviews, no more showing up on our doorstep at all
hours. I’m sure the file’s still open, but shit, there was a murder this week,
two shootings last Saturday and a knifing downtown just last night.”

“In Calgary? What are we becoming,
Toronto or something?”

Rachel snorted. “Christ, I hope
not. But they’ve got fresh meat to worry about.”

Mazie took a long gulp of wine,
then swirled it in the glass. A flash of Cullen’s mutilated skin skipped
through her head.

“You getting enough sleep? You look
tired.”

“Not really. Can’t shut off my
brain.” Mazie rubbed under her eye with one finger. “But I get these nice bags
as a reward.” And a few extra crow’s feet.

The weekly Skype-and-wine date with
Rachel had become a lifeline to home. She always knew the latest news, the
juiciest gossip. And was always easy with her laughter and her friendship.

“How’s your cutie-pie lawyer man?”
Rachel flashed her eyebrows up and down.

Mazie rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.
Like that’s what I need.” She wiped dust from the tablet with her index finger.
“I mean, he’s sweet and all. But shit, how would that work? I haven’t even
figured out how to get fake ID. The school is after me constantly to get them
Ariel’s birth certificate. Or Clementine’s. How could I have a relationship?
You’re supposed to be honest and be able to trust each other. I can’t do
either.” She slouched down in her seat. “I just want to come home,” she
whispered.

“I get that. But you can’t. So get
your shit together, woman.”

She could always count on Rachel to
tell it like it is.

“Surely your lawyer dude knows some
shady characters. Don’t you ever get to meet his clients?”

Mazie laughed. “No. Not yet. I’ll
keep your sneaky idea in mind though.”

“Look, I need to tell you
something. We’ve been opening some of your mail.”

“Oh?”

“Paying the utilities and all.”

“What? You don’t have to do that. I
don’t know when I can pay you back.”

“You don’t have to pay it back.” Rachel
sipped her wine. “But there was another letter from the bank today. Final
notice. I bet it’s your mortgage. It has been a few months. Should I open it?”

“Yes. I have no secrets from you,
Rach. Like, not a single one.”

Rachel tore into an envelope and
unfolded the paper inside. “Yup. They want payment
tout suite
or they’re
threatening to foreclose.”

“Shit.” Mazie drank the rest of her
wine and poured another glass. “Let ‘em. I don’t ever want to set foot in that
house again. They can have it.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?
There’s gotta be equity in there. You could sell.”

“How? I don’t exist, remember?”

Rachel pursed her lips. “Right.
Sorry.”

“Mom, can I talk to Polly yet?”
Ariel yawned.

“Rach, gotta give the computer up
for the girls. Talk to you next week.”

“Keep your head down. Love from
George.”

~~~~~~~~

The office sat in pure and eerie
silence. No ticking of fingers on keyboards, no huffing and snorting from
Dory’s jealous nose. No reassuring timbre of Norman’s gentle voice on the phone
or over Mazie’s shoulder.

Dory had taken the afternoon off —
thank God for small mercies — and Norman was at a client meeting.

The phone receiver was cool in Mazie’s
hand. She put it to her ear and cradled it against her shoulder. Fresh pain in
her knotted muscles coursed down her arm. The mouthpiece smelled of cabbage and
coffee, a scent that wafted through the office each time hurricane Dory rolled
through.

Mazie took a deep breath and
punched ten digits on the number pad. “Saint Lawrence Psych.” The woman’s
clipped voice reeked of efficiency.

Mazie cleared her throat. “I’m
looking for a patient.”

“We have patients. Lots of ‘em. Do
you have a name?”

“Elizabeth Wardell.”

The woman put her through to a
nurse’s station and Mazie repeated her request.

“Betty Wardell?” The nurse
snickered. “She doesn’t talk much. You a relative?”

“No ma’am. I work for her lawyer.”

“Ah. Mr. Day. He’s trying a new
tack? Didn’t the written answer thing work?”

“He — he told you about that?”

“Told me? It was my idea. I see her
scrawling notes and thoughts all over the place. Sometimes it’s gibberish,
sometimes it’s just her husband’s name. Once she did permanent marker on the
sunroom wall. A heart with BW plus TW. I think all those beatings he gave her knocked
the sense right out of her.”

Mazie winced. “Well, in your line
of work, you ought to know how devastating the lasting effects of long-term
abuse are. Maybe a bit more kindness and understanding are in order.” She put
her hand over her eyes. Did she just scold a mental health professional?

“Look, lady, if you saw the shit I
deal with every day, maybe you’d throw me a little kindness and understanding,
eh?”

“I’m very sorry.” Mazie took a deep
breath. “Can I please speak with her?”

“Hold the line.”

She was going to have to practice the
fine art of drawing information out of the unwilling. Without pissing them off.

Mazie rifled through Dory’s drawer.
Seven pencils with broken leads later she found one with just enough tip to
write with. The pencil stood poised above the yellow lined pad of paper, ready
to record every word Betty spoke.

The phone clicked, something
rustled on the other end. And then breathing. Just breathing.

“Elizabeth Wardell?” No response.
“Betty, is that you?” Mazie cleared her throat. “Betty my name is Charlotte Smyth.
Charlie if you like.”

Betty remained silent.

“I work for Norman Day.”

Betty’s breath became heavy.

This wasn’t working. She didn’t
need a lawyer, she needed a friend. A confidante. Someone who got it. Someone
just like her.

Mazie twisted her head to one side
until a loud crack relieved some pressure in her sore neck. “Look, Betty. I
just want you to know that I understand. I’m sure a lot of people say that to
you, right?”

No response.

“My husband beat the shit out of me
for years.”

A huff of air was her reward for
that confession.

“He choked me too. Usually during
sex. Until I passed out. I thought he would kill me.”

A whimper. A sniff.

“So you see, I really do
understand. Everything. I broke free too, Betty. Completely free. I get it. I
understand.”

The phone went dead.

Mazie slammed the phone on its
cradle. “Damn it.” She tapped the pencil against the paper, then pitched the
yellow stick across the desk and covered her eyes with the heels of both hands.

The phone’s shrill ring sliced
through the silence. She jumped and stared at the ancient handset. When Norman
got back, she would insist he upgrade and get caller display.

She picked up the receiver like it
might morph into a snake and bite her. “Hello?”

“Is this Norman Day’s office?” The
gruff voice of the angry nurse bit her ear.

“Yes. This is Charlotte Smyth.”

“Well, Charlotte Smyth, I don’t
know what the hell you said to her, but Betty, here, wants to meet you.”

“What, in person?”

“She hates phones. Must say, I’m
impressed. She didn’t even write it down, whispered it right in my ear.”

Mazie reclined in the chair and
pumped her fist in the air. “I’ll have to discuss it with Mr. Day and get back
to you.”

“Shit, you don’t have to make an
appointment with her or anything. She’s always available. Just drop in.
Visiting hours are nine until four.”

Mazie hung up the phone, crossed
her arms in front of her chest, grinned and nodded. Now how would she tell
Norman she’d done something so bold and stupid?

~~~~~~~~

 “So, that case in Kingston.” Mazie
stood in the doorway to Norman’s office, her shoulder against the jamb, arms
crossed.

He pulled his attention from
whatever case he was enrapt with. Or maybe it was a porn site and he was into
bondage. A flash of him slapping her face darted through her mind.

“What about it?” The arch of his
eyebrow seemed familiar. Yet not at all.

“I spoke to her.”

He cocked his head. It was a habit,
maybe a tick. It made her smile. He looked like a puppy trying to decipher its
master’s words. “To Betty Wardell?”

“Yes.”

He pushed away from this desk. His
chair rolled until the back of it hit the credenza. “Did she speak back?”  

“No. Just a lot of breathing. But
the nurse said that she wants a meeting.”

He inched his laptop cover shut,
his eyes never leaving hers. “When?”

“It’s already after four. What is
it, a two hour drive? So I was thinking first thing tomorrow morning?”

He leaned back in his chair, the
ergonomic lumbar support squeaking as it accepted his thin frame. “I’ve been
trying to get a meeting for weeks, but she keeps refusing.” He opened his
calendar, flipped a couple of sheets, and ran his finger down the page. “I’d
have to shift some meetings, but I can swing tomorrow.” He sat back, swivelled
her direction and eyed her, stroking his chin with the tips of his fingers. “I
should be pissed at you for making that call.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s the kind of
gumption this practice needs. I’m impressed.”

She looked at her feet. “What if I
went?”

“You?” His eyebrows squished
together. “Charlie, you’re not a lawyer. You don’t know what to ask, what to
look for.”

“I know. But she said she wanted to
talk to me. Maybe you’ve never been able to get a meeting because the last
thing she wants is to speak to another man in authority.” She shifted her eyes back
to her feet and waited for him to scold her, tell her she’s stupid to even
consider it. That she’s not qualified and never would be.

“That could work.”

She jerked her head up to see if he
was joking, but he wore his serious face, had reopened his laptop, and his
fingers flew across the keyboard.

“Really, I can do it?”

He glanced up. “Yeah, I believe you
can do it.” He pointed at his screen. “Let’s review her file, find parallels
with the case you found in Hamilton.” He pulled a notepad from the top drawer
of his desk and snatched a pencil from a cup overflowing with erect yellow
sticks, all sharp and ready for action. “I’ll draft the questions so you have a
guideline.” He glanced at his watch. “We might be here a while if you’re
leaving early in the morning. Do you have a sitter for Clementine?”

“She’s thirteen. She’d be pissed at
me if I got her a babysitter. I’ll just call and let her know. There’s
leftovers in the fridge. She’ll be fine.”

“Perfect. You can take my car.” He
stood, turned his chair, and swept his hand over it like a magician about to
say abracadabra and pull a rabbit out of a hat. “Have a seat and start reading
and making notes. I’ll order in Chinese and make a pot of coffee.”

She sat at his desk and looked at
the huge monitor. Three different law websites, two depositions, email, and a
spreadsheet. No porn.

Mazie scanned the files and scratched
notes on the long, lined pad. Her life had some eerie parallels with Betty’s.
They’d both married young. Both packed up and moved across the country — in opposite
directions — to be with the men they loved. Men who would evolve from caring
husbands to evil fiends, who’d turn their hate and anger and disappointment in
themselves on their wives until they were forced to make a life-or-death
decision.

The big difference was
documentation. Betty’s abuse was all over the police files. Restraining orders,
nine-one-one calls, hospital reports. Betty didn’t lie about it when it
happened. Hell, she told everybody what the bastard did to her. She just wouldn’t
talk about it now.

Mazie sat back and crossed her
arms, tilted her head and stared at the ceiling. Brown water spots stained the
tiles. Gobs of greasy dust hung from the air-conditioning vent. She grinned. Just
who cleaned this place anyway?

She sat up, her elbows on the desk.
She’d kept her own abuse private. Hid it under makeup and clothing. Lied to the
whole damn world. To Ariel. To herself.

Why hadn’t she done more to protect
herself? Told the doctors the truth about her bruises and broken bones? Why
hadn’t she spoken up the one and only time the police were involved and let him
rot in jail? Maybe he’d still be there. Maybe she wouldn’t have sliced him to
bits. Maybe her daughter could be home, in school with her friends.

Maybe they could quit being Charlie
and Clementine.

Norman placed a cup of coffee at
her elbow. “I ordered my usual. Hope you like Kung Pao chicken, dumplings, garlic
veggies, and chow mein noodles?”

“I love all of it.”

He rested his hand on her shoulder.
“Perfect.”

A palpable tension hung thick in
the air. He didn’t move his hand. She held her breath.

She wasn’t ready for this.

She cleared her throat, swivelled the
chair, and his hand dropped away. “So there are some similarities. A lot of
documented abuse. Neither of these women hid their torment.”

He nodded. “Right.” He put his cup
on the desk and pulled a monitor from the top of a filing cabinet. “Let’s plug
into this, then we can see both cases side by side.” He connected the second
monitor to the laptop, clicked the mouse with practiced confidence. The second screen
flickered to life. He dragged one of the cases to the second monitor so they
were side by side, then rolled the spare chair over and sat beside her.

They pored over the two files, made
notes and devised questions until the jarring clang of the night bell announced
that their dinner had arrived.

Mazie unwrapped chopsticks from
their paper covers and pulled them apart to split the wood where they were
connected. An old habit, she ran the two sides together as if she were about to
start a fire.

He took lids off of aluminum
containers and dug paper plates and soy sauce packets from a second bag. All
the while, he watched her out of the corner of his eye “Why’d you do that? You
a girl scout from way back?” His amused half-grin gave him a youthful
appearance, despite the flecks of grey at his temples.

“It smooths the rough edges. Just
need one splinter in your lip and you’ll never forget to do that again.”

He nodded. “Got it. No slivers.”

She focused her attention on the
monitors, but Norman focused his on her. After years with Cullen, her peripheral
vision had become her ninja power. She could see an entire room while looking
at just one point too far from her real focus for him — or anyone — to notice.
She’d learned to sense him beyond sight, to pick up on the subtleties between him
simply moving across the kitchen and moving with the intent to slam her into
the fridge.

Norman didn’t have malicious intent
in his bones. He was gentle in his words, in his actions. There were no red flags.
He never got angry. Not even when she’d deleted a file she’d spent two days
working on. When she got up the nerve to tell him, braced herself for
punishment, he told her not to worry about it and found the file in the desktop
recycle bin. Even made a joke that they were lucky they weren’t on some big
server set up or he’d have to restore from back up. Laughed and said maybe he
should back up this week. Thanked her for the reminder.

“So, Charlie.” He chewed and
swallowed, stared at the next bite of noodles dangling from his chopsticks.
“Why am I paying you cash?” He shoved the food in his mouth.

She closed her eyes and listened to
her heart beat in her ears. “Why do you need to know?”

“I’m putting myself out there. It
is pretty unethical. And as a lawyer, I’ve got a high ethical standard to
uphold.”