30. Mary

Mary clenched the racquet until the rubber grip tape let out a faint squeal. Her knuckles were white. With a careful toss, the ball rose into the air, reached its peak, and fell. The ball hit the floor and bounced, lower and lower until it just rolled, slowly, to a stop. She stood, staring across the empty court, breathing hard. It was late. She needed to go home.

•••

Scraping around the edges of the jar for what was left of the peanut butter, the sound of the serrated knife dragging across the plastic made her skin crawl. When she had collected a decent dollop, she spread it over a slab of bread, trying to make the second sandwich as robust as the first. Even the bread felt heavy. She craved a shower. Instead, at almost two in the morning and still wearing her tennis gear, she stood in the kitchen making sandwiches.


A key turned in the lock; the front door opened and closed. Mary heard someone set a briefcase down and sigh.
“All the lights are on. Are you still up?” Her husband's voice was soft and tired.
“Yeah, Ben. The kids. They need lunch for tomorrow.”
He came into the small kitchen and leaned on the far counter. His tie was in his pocket, his top button undone. “Oh, Mar. The rec centre?” She nodded. He frowned. “That twenty-four hour membership is making a wreck of you.”
“I couldn't sleep. The tournament starts tomorrow, I need more practice.”
“I forgot about that. Sorry, work is so crazy, this case.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve been searching the library for precedent judgments since noon. Nothing’s in our favour, it’s a sinkhole.”
“It's okay.”
“I'll see you upstairs.”
“Wait, Ben.” She moved her hand toward him, but he was out of reach.
“What is it?” He half-turned.
Whatever she had hoped for, this wasn’t it. “Nothing.”
“Well, night.” Looking at his feet, he walked out of the kitchen. Mary finished and went up to the bedroom, and finding him already asleep, got into bed, careful not to create a noticeable disturbance.

•••

Boundless energy. The kids, Brian and Sophie, both in late single-digit years, had truly reached the age of exploration. The noise of their shouting woke Mary before her alarm went off, and she rose from bed as though the children had been chanting a spell to summon her. She remembered the days when they would sleep until she woke them, gently, cradling Brian in her arms or kissing Sophie on the forehead. Now they galloped down the stairs the instant dawn’s light crept in the window. Ben had given them their own alarm clocks to teach them punctuality. Ben was a heavier sleeper than Mary. She headed downstairs, towards the coffee machine.

“I had a dream I made a car out of spaghetti,” Brian said. “It had meatballs for wheels!”
“That sounds fun,” Mary said, punching the switch on the percolator. “Did you—“
“I had a dream too, Mommy!” Sophie interjected. “I had a dream we had a puppy!”
“That’s nice, dear.”
“Can we get a puppy?” Brian asked. The puppy had been an issue with Sophie for some time, and when she finally agreed to stop asking, her brother took up the cause. The coincidence did not go unnoticed. ‘That’s how they should make peace in the Middle East,’ Ben had said, ‘have an eight-year-old kid broker the treaty. Maybe someday she’ll be a diplomatic envoy for the United Nations.’
“Not now,” Mary said plainly. “Today’s a school day.”
After corralling the kids in the white sport utility and enduring their sweet interrogations — questions answerless and unanswerable, questions that weren’t questions at all, innocuous and innocent and occasionally incomprehensible — she dropped them off in the school parking lot. How do the deer know to cross at the deer crossing sign? Do cows tell each other apart by their spots? Who decided that red should be the colour for barns? Mary didn’t know. Did anyone?
“Be good, kids. I love you.”
“Love you too!” Brian effusively blew a kiss towards the car window. Sophie shouldered her backpack.
“The bell’s ringing, Mommy.”
Was Sophie outgrowing that kind of verbal affection, Mary wondered? Still, if it was time already, they were running late, and she had her own job ahead of her.
“Remember, Bethany Wooten’s going to pick you up today, right? You’re going to go to Bryce and Kendall’s house after school?”
“I know, Mommy. Bye-bye!”

•••

A Spanish-style adobe coating covered the front wall of the regional veterinarian’s office, but every other side was plain cinder-block. It was at the edge of the suburbs, and the rows of identical houses ended here, with farmers’ fields stretching into the distance. Mary looked across the parking lot towards the wide open swaths of land. Heavy machinery occupied the next field over, signaling that suburban expansion had begun.

The bell above the door jingled as she entered.
“Good morning, Mrs. Perdue.”
“Good morning, Doctor Waldner.”
Mary and the doctor had fallen into routine over the years she’d been working there. He was a pudgy, happy man, seemingly able to smile and joke through everything. Within the hour, the good doctor had inoculated a tomcat named Ringo against feline leukemia and taken a claw on the arm for his trouble. “He’ll thank me later,” he said with a chuckle, rubbing the scratch with an alcohol pad.

The phone rang. “Doctor Waldner’s office, regional vet,” Mary said. A man’s voice was on the other end. He spoke quickly.
“It’s Aaron Samuels, we got a big problem. Saffron got her leg under the truck,” his voice was tense, tinged with fear.
Mary’s heart began to pound. “Can you move her?”
“I think so,” he said. “I don’t know, she’s panicked.”
“Wrap her in a blanket if you can,” Mary said. “We’ll be ready when you arrive.”
Dr. Waldner came out from the examination room. “Who was that?”
“Aaron Samuels. You remember Saffron, his German Shepherd? I think they just ran over her leg.”
“Oh, my. I’ll prep for surgery. Could you clear the schedule for the rest of the day?”
“Already on it.” Mary had the appointment book open and was looking down the list.

•••

“Sorry, we have to reschedule Cotton’s appointment. There is an opening on Friday.” Mary heard a vehicle pull in to the parking lot and jotted a note in the book. “Thanks very much, bye.” She dropped the phone and ran outside.
Mr. Samuels, a heavyset man with a farmer’s broad shoulders, was already carrying a white-blanketed bundle. Saffron poked her nose out from under the hem of the blanket, whimpering.
“How is she?” Mary asked. No reply. She looked at Mr. Samuels. Creases of worry showed around his eyes and cheeks.
“Sorry, Mary,” he said, “can you help me with the door?”

“This way, please. Put her down here.” Dr. Waldner helped Mr. Samuels set the dog down on the stainless steel table. Whining, Saffron tried to move, but the doctor held her down.
“It’s okay, girl,” he said, hushing her.
When the blanket came away, Saffron’s right foreleg dangled over the edge of the table at an impossible angle. Mary felt sick. “Hold her, hold her,” Dr. Waldner was saying. “Mrs. Perdue, bring me the Butorphanol, please? Second shelf, nasal spray.”
Mary found the bottle for the doctor, and he inserted the nozzle into Saffron’s nose. The dog relaxed immediately. “Now, diazepam, please?” Mary brought that bottle and the doctor placed a pair of tablets under Saffron’s tongue, held her mouth shut and stroked her throat. Saffron lay still.

“I was just on my way out, and Saff must’ve run up to the truck while it was moving. Next thing, she’s crying bloody murder, one leg under the back wheel. I didn’t know whether to move the truck the rest of the way or what.”
“The leg is very badly damaged. The bone is shattered completely.”
“So, can you fix it?”
“Well, even if the bone heals adequately – which, frankly, is unlikely – she’ll never be able to use the limb. The nerve trauma is too severe.”
“Jesus.”
“The best option, in this case, is amputation.” Dr. Waldner removed his spectacles, folded them up, and put them in his pocket.
“Jesus Christ,” Mr. Samuels said again.
“Do you need some time to think?”
“The kids love that dog. They don’t know any of this,” he gestured towards the unconscious animal. “What kind of life could she have, if she couldn’t run? She’s a farm dog.”
Mary heard, and understood what he was saying. She interjected. “No, no no no. She can still have a full life, have you ever seen a three-legged dog? They don’t feel sorry for themselves at all! They aren’t like us, their limitations don’t bother them, they can still be happy!” She stopped to catch her breath. Dr. Waldner and Mr. Samuels were looking at her with surprise. Her eyes began to feel hot as tears brimmed in them.
“Mrs. Perdue… It’s not our decision to make.”
Hiding her face, Mary walked briskly out of the room.

•••

“This is Ben Perdue, attorney at law. Please leave a message and I’ll return your call.”
She wiped the tears out of her eyes and closed the phone. The kids want a dog. They want a puppy, but they’ll take a full-grown dog. Saffron is good-hearted and beautiful, they’d love her. They won’t discriminate. Mary thought about how she could plead Saffron’s case, and she pressed redial.
“This is Ben Perdue, attorney at–”

The bell above the door jangled as she came in.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I just got a little emotional, that’s all.”
“Mrs. Perdue, you look exhausted. Would you like to take the rest of the day off?”
“Doctor Waldner, I –“
“Please, call me Terry. The schedule is clear, and I wouldn’t mind closing up early myself. I understand about Saffron.”
“Are you sure? I could help you finish up.” Mary wiped her eyes again.
“If you wish. It will only take a few minutes. I’ll need the Somulose. It’s in the same cabinet as the other sedatives. You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Going to the cabinet, Mary found the box Dr. Waldner wanted. He was still talking to Mr. Samuels about disposal options as she opened the diazepam bottle and slipped a couple tablets into her pocket.

•••

“Hi Bethany, it’s Mary. You’re still picking the kids up after school, right? No, nothing’s changed, I just wanted to confirm. And you can watch them for a while? I don’t want to be any trouble, it’s just I have this tennis tournament, and Ben’s working… Yes, thanks, I just wanted to make sure it was still okay. Nothing’s wrong. Thanks. Bye.”
Mary hung up the phone and touched her face, rubbing at the tightness in her forehead. Stress would give her wrinkles, she thought, if it hadn’t already. The pill was easy to swallow. She poured herself a glass of orange punch and walked to the living room, sat down on the couch, and looked up at the ceiling. The fan was motionless. She stood up, pulled the chain once, and sat down in the same position she was in before, watching the fan spin.

•••

She abruptly realized she’d been asleep, probably for several hours; the dying light of the day was painting the room a deep orange. That was refreshing, she thought, maybe I’ll have a bath now, before the tennis tourna-- the tennis tournament. What time was it? She sprang from the couch and ran to look at the microwave. Ten to seven; she had time. Not much, but enough. She scrambled for her gym bag.

Nausea crept over her in waves; her stomach danced a jig as she drove. Come on, she thought, I need this. The clock read three minutes after seven when she crashed through the doors of the rec centre and into the registration desk.
“Mary Perdue,” she said, “singles tennis tournament.”
“Oh, you’d better hurry,” the receptionist said. “They can’t exactly start without you.” Mary was already running down the hall.

She walked onto the court, out of breath. The blonde woman on the other side of the net was spinning her racquet impatiently, and when she saw Mary, she strutted over.
“Hi,” she said. “Karen Wallace.”
“Mary.” They shook hands. Karen was younger than Mary, pretty, with straight white teeth. The umpire tossed a coin for first serve. Karen won, and smiled. Mary saw something she did not like in that smile; something conniving. They went back to their ends of the court. She wished Ben were here.

The first rally crossed the net a half-dozen times. Karen was good. She won the point and served again, a drop shot that Mary had to scramble for, barely able to return it before the second bounce. When it came back, it was too fast and too far away. The graceless way she stretched her racquet towards it in vain embarrassed her.

As her opponent readied another serve, Mary began to feel overwhelmed. The rally went on, and Mary fought, but the score climbed to forty-and-love. She tensed herself for the next serve, and Karen aced her. From across the court, she saw her smile. Mary made up her mind to win the next set. She won’t break my serve, she told herself.

The ball rose into the air, and at its peak, Mary swung. She could tell right away it was a mis-hit; the ball sprang off the edge of the racquet and into the net.
“Fault one,” the umpire called.

Grinding her teeth together, Mary began to doubt herself. She’d always thought she was capable of fulfilling her ambitions; she’d resisted compromise, determined to find the time and energy somehow. This Karen probably doesn’t have kids, Mary thought. She has the kind of toned body married men fantasize about. That porcelain smile flashed from across the court, and the racquet handle squealed as Mary clenched harder.

Slam. The force jarred Mary’s arm and the green blur shot across the court. Karen moved to volley it back but missed, and the ball ricocheted off the service line, launching directly into the centre of her face. Her racquet clattered to the floor. It was a moment before Mary caught herself smiling, and when she did, she felt ashamed.

“Are you alright?” She called out.
The blonde ponytail shook ‘no’ from side to side. The ball-boy gave her a handful of ice, which she pressed to her face. Blood dripped from her nose. She whispered something to the umpire as she walked off the court.

Mary stood still, her mouth agape. The umpire addressed the room. “The winner by default, Mary Perdue!”