Water from Stone - a Novel by Katherine Mariaca-Sullivan Page A

pushes a stray blonde curl back from the little girl’s forehead, watching as it catches momentarily before gently slipping away. She bites her lip to try to stem the tears, but they slide down her cheeks regardless. “What am I going to do with you?” she whispers. Lizzie looks up, frightened by the sadness in Mar’s voice, and launches herself into her arms.
    Mar’s arm tighten around Elizabeth and her heart thumps heavily. Can she do this? Would Lizzie be better off, safer even, with a mother and a father? Will life finally give Mar someone she can hold onto? She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. The smell, the sweet baby smell of Lizzie, talcum powder, baby sweat and all the good things that little girls are made of. Rose, she thinks, Rose and gold and powder-puff clouds of yellow and white . She knows then that there will never be a day that she won’t fear losing Lizzie. But that, she guesses, is probably how every parent feels. She kisses Lizzie’s precious neck and smiles. “I’ll do it,” she whispers.
    “Well, hale-fucking-luyah.”
    Fourteen
    Mar.
    Mar stands in front of the open refrigerator and groans. The light. The light is going to kill her.
    “Mar? Where are you?” calls a voice from the gallery.
    “Ssshhhhh,” Mar whispers as she closes her eyes and leans her forehead against the cold egg basket. That feels a little better actually. Maybe she can stand here all day.
    “Oh, there you are! What are you doing in the fridge?”
    “Shhhh, you’ll wake the penguins,” she mumbles.
    Diane picks up the empty bottle of wine on the counter. “Hangover?”
    “From hell.”
    “Well, then, go sit down. Let me whip you up something. How about eggs?”
    Mar’s stomach convulses at the thought. “I’d really have to kill you.”
    “OK, but sit down. I know just the thing. Christ Almighty, Bart used to tie one on every now and then. He was a big man and could drink enough to drown a cow. Now where’s the Arm and Hammer?”
    “Could you not move so fast?” Mar squints at her. “You’re hurting my head.”
    Diane reaches around Mar and plucks the box of baking soda from the refrigerator door. “You’ll be amazed at how quickly this helps.”
    Mar rolls her head back and forth and moans.
    Diane reaches for a glass and fills it with water.  She then measures two tablespoons of baking soda and stirs it into the water. “Ha! Drink this.”
    “It looks like sewage.” Mar moves to the island and slips onto a counter stool. She sniffs the glass Diane hands her and makes a face.
    “Drink it, it’ll help. Did you take aspirin already?”
    “Two. Yuck! This is disgusting.”
    “Drink it. Trust me. If you live through it, you’ll feel a lot better.”
    Mar holds her nose and drinks. Today, of all days, is not a day for a hangover. She lays her head on the table and is surprised to be woken up awhile later by Diane. She smiles sheepishly. “Oops.”
    Diane, cradling her cup of coffee, shakes her head. “You didn’t eat again last night, did you?”
    Mar tries to think back. She’d bathed Lizzie and put her to bed before going up to the studio to paint. At some point, she’d wandered down to the kitchen to wrap the presents for Lizzie’s birthday, a date chosen after much meditation and a Tarot card reading by her friend, Sioux, and confirmation from Dylan and Dr. Barnes that the date was in the ballpark, according to Lizzie’s physical and mental development. In any case, Mar hadn’t been hungry, so she had put Sade on the stereo, poured herself a glass of wine, and started to wrap. Near the end of the bottle, she’d realized that she’d probably bought too many presents. “Unh-uh.”
    Diane returns from the oven and places a plate heaped high with spaghetti in front of Mar. When the scent of the garlic in olive oil hits her, Mar moans. She’s famished. “Oh, you are a goddess.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
    “That oughta help, anyway. Oh, here, I forgot the