by Ragna Goodwin
Mavis shifted uncomfortably in her chair, struggling in vain against the confines of her foundation garment. She sighed, listening with ill-concealed weariness, to the endless ills of the woman seated next to her. She managed to force a friendly, sympathetic nod in response to her companion's digestive complaints.
"I just can't seem to manage broccoli anymore!" the 78 year-old woman confided in despair. The genuine bewilderment Ava expressed in the face of advancing decrepitude amused Mavis greatly, as did their many contemporaries; those still wheezing with meager approximations of life, astonished over the daily contentions of old age. Their earnest indignation when confronted by lax bladders and gaseous intestines was almost enough to make her laugh. Ava's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I also have noticeable difficulty digesting cauliflower!"
What a foolish woman. Mavis thought dismissively, having little concern for embarrassing flatulence. I'll belch or fart as the need seizes me, thank-you very much! She had earned her temperamental bowels. Over the last forty years Mavis had wed, born two children, suffered estrangement from her daughter and survived the death of her husband, Arthur. All this, before she turned sixty-five. If she had to pass wind to get through her day, she would make no apologies.
Damn, Dorothy… Mavis thought bitterly. Doesn't she realize I have no interest and nothing in common with this woman? Her daughter-in-law was a willful and vainglorious creature for whom Mavis had equally little tolerance. She found Dorothy to be forcefully well-meaning; attentive and condescending. She was forever relating tales garnered from various senior's magazines; articles written in tribute to spry, vivacious octogenarians traipsing across the countryside having adventures. Mavis had even less interest in these anecdotes than she had in the geriatric gatherings Dorothy orchestrated on her behalf every Friday afternoon.
"Mother's having one of the ladies over for tea this afternoon!" Dorothy would announce to her husband in a delighted and patronizing simper. "Isn't that nice, dear?"
Mavis would sooner hang by her gnarled, arthritic thumbs, but Dorothy felt these weekly affairs were befitting an elderly matriarch. If that woman thinks I'll take up knitting, she's mad. Mavis thought, shuddering.
Arthur would have approved; he had been the very model of old-fashioned paragons. On their first date, he had brought Mavis flowers. Such gestures were uncommon, even back then and totally foreign to Mavis, who proudly possessed little refinement. Oh, Arthur… No, she would not think of him now. She refused to cry in front of this asinine old biddy, squirming in discomfort as her Depends bulked and shifted, knowing little of real pain.
Humph. Mavis realized she was being undoubtedly biased. “We each of us have our own demons to contend.” Arthur would say. Who was she to corner the market on regret?
"Mavis?" Ava spoke, "You still with us, old girl?"
Old girl, indeed! As though she were addressing a horse. Mavis resisted the urge to whinny.
"Yes, yes. I'm still here. I was just remembering." Mavis snapped, knowing that would be enough to satisfy. To excuse oneself on the grounds of sudden, unbidden remembrance was unquestionably pardoned.
"Don't start down that road…" Ava cautioned. "There's no turning back." Mavis resented such advice from this flimsy, ineffectual creature two years her junior. She spoke sharply; rudely.
"I was referring to the weather." she qualified. "It seems to be warmer than it was this time last year." It was early June and seemed seasonable enough. As clear in her mind as yesterday once was were decades long past, but she would be hard pressed to recount what she had done last week, never mind last year, if her life depended on it.
“Ken said just that, only this morning.” Ava nodded pleasantly. “I didn't believe him for an instant, the old fool.”
Mavis felt herself begin to choke with the injustice of Ava's living spouse. Ken was 82; alert and spry, much to his wife's dismay. Mavis did not believe the two of them had exchanged a civil word since the day they wed, though she believed it was this active and carefully nurtured hostility toward one another that kept them going. It was as if they each simply refused to die, for fear of leaving the other to have the last word. A healthy husband, still in possession of all his faculties, also afforded Ava the privilege of remaining in her own home. Mavis had been goaded into residing with her son and his family nearly ten years ago, and whereas she continually griped over the loss of her privacy, belongings and independence, in truth, she found the arrangement a reasonably comfortable one.
Shortly after Arthur passed away, Greg announced that he and his wife were expecting. Only three months prior, Dorothy given birth to their second daughter, Elizabeth. This third child was not at all planed, and scarcely welcomed. Their house was too small for the four of them, never mind five, but they lacked the funds to buy anything larger. Greg had come to Mavis with a proposition. He pointed out she was now rattling around, all alone, in a house that would surely become nothing more than a nuisance to maintain. Mavis entertained a fleeting vision of herself, circling her unkempt living room, shaking maracas in companion-less seclusion.
"If we put both our houses on the market," Greg continued, "The combined funds would be such that we could easily afford a large enough place for the six of us. You would have the master bedroom and a private bath, of course." he added.
Greg was inspiriting, as though he had on his hands a difficult debate to win. He spoke of the time this would enable Mavis to spend with her grandchildren, and of what a help she could be to Dorothy. Left unsaid was the understanding that this time would be advanced payment for the care they would inevitably be required to provide for her. I'll change your child's diapers if you change mine, she had thought. Mavis sold. How could she not? And Greg had been right; the house they had bought was grand.
Dorothy always arranged for Mavis to entertain her guests in the sun room. It was a beautiful, glass enclosed area, filled with plants and tasteful wicker furniture. It overlooked the spacious backyard where the girls had once played. Eve, the youngest, could often still be found sitting alone, overweight and melancholy, under the weeping willow. Evelyn, the eldest at sixteen, could occasionally be spotted sunbathing on the lawn in the briefest of swimsuits. The old oak tree had long been freed of the tire-swing that use to hang from it's heavy branches. The passage of time did not entirely escape her after all.
"I'm tired. Is the tea almost gone?" Mavis snapped, savoring the deliciously ill-mannered remark. She hoped that Dorothy had heard.
“Why, yes…” Ava replied, slightly taken aback. “Yes, it is.”
Mavis smiled smugly, pleased to have caught her off guard. She made an effort to stand. "It was good of you to come." She said this solicitously, taking a perverse pleasure in the contradiction.
The glass doors to the sun-room slid open and Dorothy snaked in. It seemed she had heard Mavis after all. She moved quickly, an apologetic expression on her face. "Mother, really! You mustn't rush our guest like that." she reproached. Ava still sat, gaping and unsure. "Allow me to apologize for Mother,” Dorothy offered. “She had a rather difficult night."
Mavis sank back down into her chair; her head bowed, like a scolded child. Dorothy's excuse collapsed whatever pride she had taken in her obstinacy. Ava patted her comfortingly on the arm as she shuffled past. Sensing, perhaps, that she would be next.
“Give it another two or three years, old girl! Mavis could imagine Ava saying to herself, And that'll be you!
Dorothy retreated into the main house leaving Mavis alone to sit and savior her disgrace.
***
She startled awake, not realizing she had dozed off. Mavis turned her head stiffly; she was uncomfortably warm. Dorothy was in the kitchen plotting dinner. She was a fair cook; not a spectacular one, but there had never been cause for Mavis to choke down her meals out of mere courtesy. She herself had been a sensationally wretched cook and all but delighted in her ineptitude.
Mavis slowly pulled herself out of the chair; her joints creaked and groaned. She was usually mindful to keep moving, least her withering muscles seize. She stomped her way into the kitchen, nodding curtly to Dorothy and continued into the living room. Evelyn and Elizabeth were there, lying on the floor watching television. Evelyn saw her and smiled.
"Hi, Grandma." she greeted warmly. Mavis could almost believe the girl was glad to see her.
Elizabeth's eyes did not move from the television screen. "Hey." she tossed out casually.
Mavis found Elizabeth to be an impertinent child and it pained her to admit she did not really care for the girl. She was a selfish little creature and seemed to have quite a mean streak too, given the way she tortured her younger sister. Mavis absently wondered where Eve was. She assumed the child was hiding in her room; she often did. Mavis believed there was something not quite right about Eve, though it was admittedly hard to be the youngest. Eve was none too attractive, either.
"Where is the little one this evening?" Mavis asked lightly, attempting to put Elizabeth in her place. Elizabeth was not quite a full year older than Eve, and had premature affectations toward adulthood. She disliked being reminded of her proximity in age to her sister, though Eve did seem greatly retarded in development when compared with her Irish twin.
Elizabeth favored Mavis with a quick frown. "She's upstairs." she muttered.
"Is there something you'd like to watch, Grandma?" Evelyn offered graciously. She undoubtedly knew Mavis would refuse, but the gesture was appreciated.
"No thank-you, dear." Mavis smiled and kept going, making her way upstairs to her room. She faltered slightly halfway up, having neglected to turn on the light at the bottom of the staircase. The path grew increasingly dark and she feared losing her footing altogether. She considered the spectacle she would make, somersaulting into the living room, her skirt up around her ears. Mavis had never acquired the preferred tendency women of this generation had to wearing pants. It was Arthur's unspoken preference that she wear skirts. Mavis was willing to appease him, given his benevolent tolerance of her many domestic faults, and had not really minded. She once had spectacular legs.
The staircase was suddenly flooded with light. Mavis looked up and saw Eve standing at the top of the riser, her hand on the switch.
"Oh, goodness! Thank-you, dear. That's much better." Mavis stammered in surprise.
Eve gave her a hesitant smile and nodded. She disappeared as quickly as she had come.
Mavis finally reached the top step. She believed they multiplied during the night. It seemed there were a dozen more each day. She made a mental note to speak with Greg about installing a chair lift of some sort. Mavis had little pride when it came to making her life easier.
Arthur had routinely suffered for her comforts, or so she now believed. He seldom voiced an opinion contrary to her own, and Mavis feared he had been left wanting. She tried earnestly to recall a time when she had ever heard him complain. She couldn't. Arthur would frequently joke that Mavis groused enough for the both of them.
After what seemed an eternity, She reached the sanctity of her room. Dorothy had been cleaning again. The vacuum left fresh sweep marks in the carpeting by her bed. She resented the liberties Dorothy assumed by opening closed doors, marching into her solitude, but Mavis knew she would resent it more if Dorothy left her alone, day after day, to exist in her own squalor.
***
The dining-room was filled with an awkward, anticipatory silence. The five of them sat anxiously at the table, each person's gaze studiously avoiding the empty place-setting.
"Eve! Eve, dinner!" Dorothy hollered. “Eve!”
“Really, Dorothy." Mavis winced. "I'm sure she's heard you." Her eyesight had deteriorated somewhat over the years, but her hearing was as sharp as ever. Whether or not that would last, with her daughter-in-law's propensity for howling like a bitch in heat, remained to be seen.
"Mother, please!” Greg scowled, casting a furtive glance in the girl's direction.
Mavis would not allow herself to blush. She set her jaw and raised her head slightly, as though the remark she did not realize she had spoken aloud, had been intentional.
Eve scampered into the dinning room, flushed and slightly winded.
"Eve, I expect you to answer me when I call you. I will not tolerate insolence." Dorothy glared. "Well?" she continued. "I'm waiting.” Her foot began to tap impatiently. “Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Mavis recognized the warning signs well. Her heart went out to Eve.
"I'm sorry, Mom…" the girl faltered helplessly. "I just…"
“Never mind. I haven't got the time or the patience to listen to your excuses." Dorothy sighed heavily, the weight of her daughter's imperfections dragging her down.
Eve slid into her chair and Greg favored her with little more than a curt nod. Evelyn looked on with sympathetic tolerance, while Elizabeth sat and smirked.
Eve reached across Mavis for the tuna-noodle casserole Dorothy had concocted. She succeeded in getting more on the tablecloth than onto her plate and even managed overturn her glass of milk.
"Really, Eve!" her mother snapped. "It's like you deliberately go out of your way to create more work for me." Dorothy pushed back her chair with a sigh, and went into the kitchen to get a cloth.
"Try and be more careful, Eve." Greg muttered, taking a quick sip of his scotch.
Once the milk had been sopped up, dinner continued without incident. Mavis watched as Eve mechanically shoveled forkful after forkful into her mouth. If the child paused for breath, she missed it.
"I'm glad to see you enjoying your meal, Eve." Dorothy said dryly, noting with disapproval the amount her youngest daughter consumed.
Eve blushed and consciously slowed her pace. Mavis commiserated, knowing that if the girl were to daintily pick at her dinner, her mother would call her finicky and ungrateful, then begin rhyming off every starving continent in the world, holding Eve alone responsible for their hunger all because she didn't finish her peas.
"You're such a pig, Eve." Elizabeth said to her sister, imitating their mother's scowl. "You eat as much as Evelyn and I put together. No wonder you're so fat." she added.
"That's enough, Elizabeth. Concentrate on your own meal, please." Dorothy said, surprising Mavis. Usually, she was not one to miss an opportunity to comment on Eve's expanding girth.
"There's certainly nothing wrong with having a little extra meat on your bones." Mavis reasoned, though secretly felt her granddaughter would benefit from being a little lighter.
"But she's fat!" Elizabeth interrupted in protest. "You should hear what the kid's at school say about her." Elizabeth did not like being dismissed, and seldom took it quietly.
"What? What do they say about me?" Eve cried, panicked.
"Why should you care?" Elisabeth asked. "You're not even there half the time."
"Eve, have you been skipping school?" Greg demanded, willing to participate in the conversation now that his prepubescent daughter's corporal imperfections were no longer the issue.
"No! I haven't – " Eve began in her own defense.
"I don't mean literally, Dad." Elizabeth explained patiently. "I mean figuratively." Elizabeth paused, allowing her audience the opportunity to acknowledge her metonymic prowess. Both Mavis and Evelyn rolled their eyes.
"She's a space cadet." Elizabeth continued. "She just drifts along, not even knowing where she is half the time." Eve's lower lip began to tremble.
"Shut up, Elizabeth!" Evelyn ordered. "You're being a cunt." Evelyn tended to keep her opinions to herself but when she chose to comment, she wreaked havoc. Mavis silently applauded.
"Evelyn!" Dorothy admonished. "I will not tolerate that kind of language at the table! Or anywhere else." she quickly added. "Go to your room! Now!"
"I was finished anyway." Evelyn mumbled as she pushed back her chair.
"What do they say about me, Elizabeth?" Eve pleaded.
Passing behind Elizabeth on her way out, Evelyn smacked her across the back of the head.
“Ow!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
"Evelyn, out! Elizabeth, enough! Eve, finish your dinner." Greg ordered.
Evelyn gave Eve a conspiratorial wink and left, but Mavis sensed the poor child was beyond comfort or gratitude.
"Elizabeth, what do they…" Eve began pleading.
Dorothy shot Elizabeth a look. "Nothing." Elizabeth mumbled. "I was just teasing."
Mavis realized this retraction would be no favor to Eve. Ignorance was seldom bliss.
"I wish we could all manage just one meal together without arguing." Greg said, tossing his napkin down onto his plate.
"It's not my fault.” Elizabeth pouted. “I didn't start it."
"I don't want to hear another word of it…" Dorothy warned.
"May I be excused, please?" Eve whispered.
"Aren't you going to finish your dinner?” her mother asked. Eve shook her head.
"All right, then.” Dorothy sighed wearily. “Though I'm sorry to see it go to waste. There are millions of children starving all over the world and you seem to feel you can just throw good food away. Next time, be sure not to take more than you can finish. You're excused."
At times, Dorothy would have done Mavis' own mother proud.
***
"I don't know what I'm going to do about that girl." Dorothy remarked. She was perched awkwardly on the sofa adjacent her husband's easy-chair, feigning creative aptitude by fashioning absentminded stitches in an ongoing needlepoint project.
“Hmm…" Greg muttered absently from behind his newspaper.
"Maybe it was a mistake; allowing her to have her own room." Dorothy continued. "I originally suggested it as a way of affording Elizabeth a certain amount of privacy, but I'm beginning to wonder if it's good for Eve to be so isolated."
"Um-hum…" Greg sounded.
"I just think it's unhealthy for her to spend so much time by herself." Dorothy cast a wistfully glance toward the staircase leading to the girl's bedrooms, her annoyance and frustration giving way to a maternal tenderness Mavis did not often see. "I don't think she even has any friends…" her voice broke. She put her needlepoint aside and sat silently, her eyes closed, then quickly shook her head.
"Greg…" she tried again.
"Yes, I'm sure you're right, dear." her husband replied from behind the sports section.
Mavis was overwhelmed with a sense of failure. She wanted desperately to fly across the room and take hold of her son and shake him.
"You're sure I'm right." Dorothy repeated flatly.
"Yes, dear." Greg smiled as he folded the newspaper and lay it across his lap. Mavis felt like slapping him as he casually reached into his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. Dorothy automatically stood up and walked over to the breakfront to retrieved an ashtray. She placed it on the coffee-table in front of her husband and watched silently as Greg tapped the filter of a foul smelling Camel
three times against the pack before placing it between his lips.
Dorothy took a deep breath as he struck a match, straightening her shoulders and placing her hands on her hips.
"What is it I'm right about, Greg?" Dorothy prompted. Mavis could sense her irritation building.
Greg looked up, his eyebrows raised slightly, trying to read his wife's expression. It was a look Mavis was all too familiar with. The match continued to burn, lightly scorching his fingers.
"God-damn-it!" He shook the flame out and tossed the spent match into the ashtray.
"What exactly is it that you are agreeing with me on?" Dorothy challenged, then added. "And there's no need for profanity." She looked at him steadily; waiting.
He took a long drag from his cigarette then excused his language, as though hoping to buy himself time to replay in his mind whatever it was his wife had been saying.
"It will pass, I'm sure." he said at last. "Just give it time."
Mavis was impressed with her son's remark. It was vague enough to allow for interpretation, yet still definitive enough to appear as though he had been listening. Most things passed; and time was generally thought to be the ideal curative of all woes. Greg offered what he hoped was a smile of warmth and reassurance.
Dorothy wasn't falling for it. "I don't know why I bother…" she muttered under her breath as she turned and walked away.
Greg shook his head, slightly perplexed, and looked to Mavis. "What?" he asked. Mavis shrugged, noncommittally.
"By the way,” he began casually, “I heard from Gina, yesterday."
Mavis felt a sudden chill. "Oh?" she remarked, her heart beginning to race.
"Um-hum." he muttered, making an unsuccessful attempted to refold the paper. He tossed it aside in defeat and reached for another cigarette.
"How is she?" Mavis asked, attempting indifference.
"Oh, you know Gina." Greg replied.
No! I don't! Mavis screamed to herself. If I did, I wouldn't be asking!
"Anything new?" she prompted. Is she well? Happy? Did she ask after me? Is she sorry? Am I? Her unspoken queries ricocheted painfully in her mind. Her son's staid manner was maddening.
"Not really. She's met someone new. An accountant, I think she said. Married, of course, but… " he shrugged. "She seems happy."
"I'm glad." Mavis replied, automatically; mechanically.
Greg nodded thoughtfully. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but something held him back.
"Well," he announced. "Victor is stopping by with a potential client later this evening," He crushed out his cigarette and rose from the chair. "And I have a land contract to finalize." He headed upstairs, leaving her alone to brood.
***
Mavis sat quietly in the kitchen sipping Ovaltine. Dorothy was scrubbing away at the last of the evening's cookware. For reasons unknown she insisted on pre-rinsing each pan thoroughly before relinquishing them to the dishwasher. Mavis often pointed out that it would be simpler to incorporate a little Palmolive into her obsessive scouring ritual and save on the water bill.
Elizabeth was there, circling her mother like a rabid terrier nipping at her heels. She was prattling on about something inane. A party. Or a concert? Something about a boy.
"But Mother, all the other kids are going!" Elizabeth implored in her shrill, irritating mewl. "It's not fair!"
"No one ever said life was fair, dear." Dorothy countered.
"But if I'm the only one not going, I'll be ostrich sized!" Elizabeth wailed.
Mavis attempted to mask her sudden laugh with a raspy cough. Elizabeth caught it and scowled at her.
"Ostracized, dear" Dorothy corrected with a hint of amusement. "And I'm sure you won't be."
"But it's only-"
"We will discuss this later." Dorothy cut her off.
"But-"
"I said later!" Dorothy snapped. She sighed and loaded the virtually clean casserole dish into the Maytag. "Now, please… Go and gather up your things from the living room before your father's client gets here."
Elizabeth sensed defeat. She dug in her heels. “I didn't think there was any swampland left in Florida." she sneered. "What's Daddy going to dupe the suckers with now?"
Dorothy threw her wet sponge into the sink with so great a force it caused water to splatter onto the the counter. "All right, that's enough!" she thundered. "I don't know where you pick up phrases like that, but I will not have you disrespecting your father that way. Go to your room!"
"Fine!" Elizabeth hollered back, storming out of the kitchen. Mavis could hear her stomp up the stairs, slamming every door she passed.
"Good Lord, where did I go wrong?" Dorothy muttered. "Is it any wonder I suffer migraines?"
"She's an impudent little chit." Mavis decreed. "You're too lax with her. What she needs is a good spanking."
"Thank-you, Mother. When I want your archaic advice on child-rearing, I'll ask." Dorothy finished loading the dishwasher and turned to leave. "I have a splitting headache." she said. "I'm going to bed." She purposely turned off the kitchen light as she headed upstairs.
Mavis was left to sit in the dark, sipping. Greg's client shortly arrived, accompanied by a man named Victor. She listened with embarrassed mirth as her son and his associate bantered and flattered, playing up to a narcissistic, middle-aged boy with ambitious dreams of utopian acreage. She could detect a slight note of wheedling desperation in Greg's tone as he persevered with his pitch on the wonders of the Sunshine Estates in south Miami.
Not quite swampland, but the girl wasn't too far off. she thought grudgingly.
Mavis and Arthur once dreamed of living out their golden years in some distant paradise; basking in sunshine and decadence. Life seldom worked out as planned. Once the initial shock of her husband's untimely demise faded to it's existing and endless ache, she revisited the idea of retreating to warmer, gentler shores, but had been counseled against it. It was the first time since his passing, Arthur had appeared to her in a dream. It was not the last. She had been pleased to see him but not surprised, and began readily detailing her tentative plans. He smiled sadly and shook his head.
"No." he said gently. "I'm afraid you're needed here."
"Here?" she asked. "How am I needed here? There's nothing left for me…" As Arthur began to fade, receding into the dark nothingness, he promised they would see each other again.
When? Mavis wondered bitterly, now. I'm tired…
Someone quietly entered the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. Time had passed. How long? Mavis wondered, not wanting to draw attention to herself by turning her head and looking at the clock. Was it Eve? Sneaking food, no doubt. Mavis surmised. But it wasn't.
Through the darkness she could scarcely make out Elizabeth's slight form. The girl went over to the fridge and opened it, squinting at the faint light. Her eyes seemed puffy and her face blotchy, as though she had been crying. She took out a heavy glass pitcher of lemonade and placed it on the counter. Mavis sat quietly in her corner, unnoticed. She watched as Elizabeth stretched up on tiptoe, reaching for a glass. She looked very young in her pale pink, baby-doll pajamas. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back off her hand.
Mavis sensed rather than saw the man slowly entering the room. He made no sound. Elizabeth, with her back to the doorway, heard nothing. Does no one turn on lights anymore? Mavis marveled.
In the brief, dim light cast by the closing refrigerator door, Mavis recognized him, vaguely.
Victor, something. she thought. That salesman of Greg's. He was a man Mavis was not particularly fond of, without really knowing why. "Slick Vic," Greg called him.
Victor advanced toward Elizabeth softly. He stood behind her for a moment then encircled her waist with his arms. The young girl gasped in surprise and tried to turn around.
"Shh. Lizzy, doll. It's just your Uncle Vic." he whispered against her ear.
Elizabeth stiffened against him. Mavis could almost feel her granddaughter''s mounting fear.
"I've missed you, Lizzy. Where've you been hiding yourself?' he murmured.
Mavis went cold with dread.
"I… I've been…" Elizabeth trailed off helplessly.
Victor began massaging her shoulders. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you've been avoiding your ol' Uncle Vic.' he said seductively.
No. Mavis thought. Oh, God. No. Time stood still.
Victor's hands slid from Elizabeth's shoulders and trailed lightly across her chest. His right hand cupped her small breast. Elizabeth struggled to free herself. Victor pulled her tightly against him and moaned.
"No." Elizabeth's voice was small and afraid. "Please…"
Something inside Mavis snapped. Every instinct she had screamed in outrage. With a strength she did not know she possessed, she shot up out of her chair.
"Take your fucking hands off my granddaughter!" she growled, more animal than human.
Victor leaped back in shock. Elizabeth pulled away and bolted to the door. She hit the lights.
Mavis shook with an inconceivable rage. She advanced. Victor backed away from her slowly.
"Look," he began feebly. "This is just a misunderstanding…"
"You son-of-a-bitch! " Mavis snarled. Her eyes fell to the carafe of lemonade. The cold glass pitcher had begun to sweat slightly, leaving a ring of condensation on the counter. Without hesitating she picked it up and swung. Lemonade drench them both as she brought the pitcher down on Victor's head. Hard. He fell to one knee.
"No. Please… " he threw up his arms in attempt to ward off a second blow.
Mavis swung the pitcher sideways and smashed it against the side of his face. She heard the cheekbone shatter. Elizabeth began to cry.
Victor was lying unconscious at Mavis's feet when she felt the crushing pain. The pitcher dropped from her hands. She sank to the ground clutching her chest. Elizabeth was beside her, sobbing.
"Grandma, are you okay? Grandma!?" Mavis faintly heard her calling out to her father.
The room began to darken once more. All Mavis could hear was a dull roar, punctured with Elizabeth's sobs. She felt herself begin to drift.
"Grandma." Elizabeth whispered. "'I'm sorry… "
Mavis pushed past the pain radiating through her left arm and reached for Elizabeth's hand. With her last breath she whispered, "Not my granddaughter… Not my little Elizabeth…" Time began began to recede into a fine, gray mist. Mavis closed her eyes and smiled. Arthur held open his arms and told her it was time to come home.
Writer's Bio: Ragna Goodwin, a native of Scarborough ON, circa 1973, is an avid reader who has spent a lifetime exhausting friends and family with her poetry, screenplays, and assorted fictional works. A graduate of Queen's University, Ragna first discovered her passion for the short-story genre while studying Alice Muno's “Lives of Girls and Women” during a introductory English course. The experiential reflections and devastating honesty of Munro's characters, like Rose, in “The Beggar Maid”, immediately established her as one of Ragna's all-time favourite authors. As befitting a typical introvert wary of social medias, Ragna currently lives in relative obscurity in Peterborough ON, with her two amazing sons, Kaden,12 and Ian,11.