Chloe (3 page)

“What is this?” he demands.

Maud gestures towards the meal, offering as much of a smile
as she can manage. “Tuna sandwich, baby.”

Trevor skews his jaw and narrows his eyes. “For dinner?”

Maud can feel a storm coming. Dealing with Trevor is to
constantly walk on eggshells. She changes tactics and softens her voice,
speaking as kindly as she can. “It’s all we—”

Trevor thrusts his arm out and sends the plate sailing off
the table and onto the floor. Trevor surges to his feet, knocking his chair
over on the linoleum floor with a clatter. He seizes Maud by the wrist. He
lodges the cigarette into the corner of his cracked lips and speaks in a deep,
dark, dangerous voice.

“Is this your way of rubbing in the fact that I’m jobless?”
he hisses, the odor of alcohol heavy on his breath.

Maud calls tension to her arms, but makes no move to pull
away from him. That will only escalate an already precarious predicament. “No,
baby.”

He laughs mirthlessly. “You love pointing out my weakness,
don’t you? Showing up all my faults! Useless witch.” He raises his hand, as
though he plans to backhand her. “I might as well—”

Just then, Cleopatra walks into the kitchen. Trevor sees her
and releases Maud. Father and daughter share uncomfortable and intimidating
glances, balanced on the precipice of molten hatred. Cleopatra fists her hands
defiantly. By the same token, Trevor fists his bottle of Jack by the neck and
leaves with a primal grunt.

Cleopatra stares him down until he turns the corner and
hears the door slam in his wake. “You ok mom?” she wants to know.

“How was school?” Maud asks, stooping down to pick up the
sandwich bits.

Cleopatra takes a deep breath. There is no hope of reaching
her mother when she blatantly refuses to discuss her troubles. Cleo might as
well move right along to troubles of her own. “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh?” Maud says, distracted by the mess. Cleopatra goes to
her, takes her hands, and leads her to the couch, spotted with stains and
cigarette burns. They used to have a dog until he chewed through the back of
it. Cleo sits her mother down. Maud stares at her, her forehead creased with
curiosity. Cleopatra is rarely so stark and serious.

Cleopatra starts to speak several times, but fails to. She
knots her hands into the fabric of her skirt. She clenches and unclenches her
jaw. Quickly, “Please don’t freak out or overreact.” She waits for some sort of
acknowledgement or silent promise from her mother that never comes. I—I’m
pregnant.” Maud’s expression melts away into a vacant, blindsided stare. An
uncomfortable moment of silence follows. It drags on, like deadweight.

“Well, say something!” Cleopatra prompts out of desperation.

Maud purses her lips and averts her eyes. She starts to
wring her worn hands. It is a habit of hers, namely when the air is thick with
tension… or she is plotting something. “I told you to stop seeing that boy.”
This is not exactly the something Cleopatra wants to hear, but at least is it
something. Maud doesn’t know about the incident. She’s doesn’t know that the
baby…

“But I love him,” Cleo insists.

Maud is hardly satisfied with that. She stands and begins to
pace across the den. As if Cleopatra has not already run the scenario through
in her head a hundred times, “You just started college. This will ruin
everything.”

“You’re overreacting,” Cleopatra reminds her, watching.

Maud wheels on her, spreading her hands. “Which is a
perfectly normal response to something like
this!
” Maud resumes pacing
the room. She posts one hand on her boney hip and the other on her aching
forehead. She curses under her breath. Her nostrils flare. “Never wanted this
for you Cleopatra.” She stops and folds her bruising arms, her mind reeling.
“Your father can’t know.”

Cleopatra expected as much. She glances down at her stomach.
She slouches over, bracing her elbows on her knees. Dryly, “Eventually it’s
gonna be hard to hide, mom.”

Maud taps her fingers against her lips thoughtfully. Trevor’s
reaction to this would probably cripple them both. They can hardly support
themselves, let alone a baby. Moreover, being pregnant means that, eventually,
Cleopatra will be unable to pull her own weight around the house, whether that
means chores, work, or school. Trevor, while quite the deadbeat himself, cannot
stand idleness from other people.

Maud faces her daughter. “Is there a friend you can stay
with?”

“Just Patrick,” she states, as if the answer should be
obvious.

Maud frets about this for a moment more. Cleopatra has
mentioned this Patrick several times. Never in detail, but several times. The
boy cannot be much older than Cleopatra and likely still lives at home. “Would
his parents approve?”

“… They’re dead.”

This takes Maud by surprise. Cleopatra has never mentioned
that before. She blinks herself out of the stupor and forces herself to see
their absence as a blessing. One less thing to worry about. In that event, the
boy probably collects money from their life insurance. He should be able to
take good care of Cleopatra.

Maud nods, convincing herself that this is what is best for
everyone, especially with future events in mind. “Pack your things and leave
tonight. For good.”

Cleopatra finds her feet. Her eyes dart to the ruined
sandwiches and then back to her mother. She struggles to find the right way to
voice her concern. It finally emerges as, “And leave you here alone… with him?”

Maud flits her hands through the air, dismissing her
daughter’s concern with fluttering fingers. “Don’t worry about me. My season of
peace is coming.” They leave it at that.

Maud hurries her daughter along to her room. Maud leaves
momentarily, having remembered something helpful, and returns a moment later
with two old duffle bags she stored under her bed. Originally, she planned to
save them until the day she left with Cleopatra. But the possibility of that
day is long gone. There is no such escape now, not for Maud.

•

Cleopatra climbs the stout steps to Patrick’s front door,
lugging along two large bags that, combined, feel as though they weigh more
than she does. But all things considered, it is a small sum. It is times like
these she is grateful for her scarce amount of possessions. There are few girls
that she knows who could fit their entire wardrobe, toiletries, and shoes into
just two duffel bags.

She gathers her courage, knocks, and waits. There is a shard
of Cleopatra’s heart, a piece chipped off the night of the incident, that
wonders if he will turn her away. She swallows hard.

Patrick opens the door dressed in pajamas. He normally wears
boxers and a t-shirt, but tonight he is in athletic pants. He glances behind
him at the mounted clock on the far wall reading 3:05 AM in big red block
letters. He looks groggy.

“Sorry to wake you,” she apologizes meekly. “Had to leave
when he was asleep.” By
he
, Patrick surely knows, she means her father.
Cleopatra stopped calling him dad a long time ago. Now, he is
him
or
Trevor
.
As a matter of fact, she does not mind using course language when referring to
him either.

Patrick shoulders the doorjamb, smiling understandingly. He
is devastatingly handsome, even at three in the morning. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

He is lying for her sake, she can tell, but it makes her
love him all the more. Cleopatra nods. Her eyes keep darting away from his
face. Maintaining eye contact is still difficult. They gaze at one another
tentatively. The entire situation crashes into her as she realizes that she is
leaving her home and her family, namely her mother. More than likely, she will
not see her again for some time. Trevor rarely lets Maud out of the house.

Willing herself not to start crying again, “I have nowhere
else to go,” she admits.

Patrick steps forward, places his warm hand on her cheek,
and kisses her forehead. “I know, baby. Come on.” Patrick takes her bags into
the same warm hands and they head inside.

Patrick rearranges a few of his drawers to make space for
her things. Cleopatra decides to unpack tomorrow. After the journey here, she
does not have the energy. She changes into a spaghetti strap and a pair of
flannels.

They lie down together in Patrick’s bed, a place they have
been many times before, and with considerably less clothing on. Cleopatra does
not understand why this time feels so different to her. No matter how late it
is, or early, at this point, neither one of them can sleep. Instead, they both
stare at the ceiling as though it is a map that will guide them through the
trials ahead.

Something Maud said earlier resurfaces in Cleopatra’s mind.
“Think your parents would approve of me?” Cleopatra asks, mindlessly drumming
her fingers on her stomach.

Patrick turns his head enough to look at her. He smiles,
admiring the beauty of her profile. “Yeah,” he answers. Patrick’s eyes return
to the ceiling. “Think yours would approve of me?”

Cleopatra struggles with how to answer. Her parents are
still alive, therefore she is expected to be honest. Patrick totally cheated.
“Mom, eventually. Trevor, never.” But then again, Trevor would never approve of
anyone she brought home. She does not know if his anger comes from feeling
possessive over her, or intimidated by other men… namely the successful ones.
Trevor has been out of a job since he was laid off at the cereal plant. Times
are tough. They are always tough for her family.

Patrick breaks her concentration with, “You are lucky to
have both parents alive.”

Cleopatra all but laughs. Patrick knows her circumstances,
but they are difficult to fully grasp unless one actually lives her life and
sees what she sees. To Patrick, who has lost his parents, having an abusive
father and a fickle mother is better than none at all. Cleopatra has a thing or
two to say about that.

“You’re the lucky one,” she reminds him. “Wish I had what
you have. At least your parents died leaving you this house… and enough money
to get you through college.”

Patrick knows what she means. There is no way he would be
able to afford college without the financial cushion his parents left him. He
has had to sell a lot of the furniture though, as it reduces the insurance
payments. It has been a long time since their death. Although that wound is not
recent, it still bleeds. Quietly, “I’d rather have them.”

They lay in silence for a few long moments, each considering
life from the other’s perspective. They are synonymously a great match and the
most unlikely couple. They are polar opposites with the same heart.

“Still not convinced we’re doing the right thing,” Cleopatra
declares. “Worried about ma’ mom.”

Patrick rolls over on his side. He presses a tender kiss to
her bare shoulder, slipping his hand over hers and lacing their fingers
together. “Your mom can take care of herself.” And she believes him… until she
receives a phone call later the next night.

•

Red and blue lights whirl in the darkness. People gasp and
gawk under the roar and scream of the sirens. Police cars swarm the property.
Cleopatra’s house has been cordoned off with yellow tape and security
personnel. Their neighbors stand outside the perimeter, looking in like
scavengers for a piece of juicy gossip.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Trevor lies dead as a door nail
in a pool of blood, eyes open and bulbous against his chalky completion. There
is a kitchen knife protruding from his chest. Police men and women comb the
house, collecting evidence, though there is no need.

Cleopatra forces her way through the crowd. She breaks the
perimeter in an effort to reach the house, but a police woman seizes her and
reels her back.

“That’s ma’ house!” she screams, thrashing about. “Let me
go! This is ma’ house!” The officer starts apologizing and quoting protocol,
but Cleo is not listening. She stops struggling. Her eyes are fused with the
image of her mother being escorted off the premises in handcuffs.

They meet eyes from across the yard.

My season of peace is coming.

It has arrived. And Maud is smiling, finally.

The cell door slams shut; its damning sound reverberating
throughout the concrete corridor.

Maud surveys her bleak surroundings, ignoring the chatter
coming from the other cells. The room has one bed: a slab of concrete jutting
out from the wall and supported by bolted chains. It is made up with linens
that cushion the stone only slightly and a pillow. Then again, when one is in
prison, comfort should be the last thing expected. There is a toilet and sink.
Aside from these three things, the room is bare.

Utterly desolate.

And yet, it feels as though she possesses more in this tiny
space than she has in 18 years.

She feels not only like she can claim ownership of these
amenities, but over herself and her own body as well. Maud belongs to no one.
She answers to no one anymore. She can express her thoughts freely and
entertain an array of opinions that can float around inside her head with no
fear of Trevor’s wrath. She can dream whenever she wants—laugh whenever she
wants—cry whenever she wants. She does not have to walk on eggshells anymore.

Hell. She can stomp around, flail about, scream at the top
of her lungs, and make a ruckus, for all she cares.

A smile blooms over her dreamy face, eyeing each inanimate
object with the utmost sincerity and affection. Indeed, this must be her season
of peace. No matter how small the space or how confining the chamber, how
rigorous the regimen or dull the routine, she has more freedom now than ever.

Maud replays the scenario over in her head once again as she
sits at the edge of what is now her bed. Trevor had raised his voice at her for
the last time. He had lashed out and struck her for the last time. So, when he
sat down to eat the dinner he had been berating for the past hour and she had a
black eye and a potentially broken wrist, she seized a cleaver from the kitchen
cabinet.