Body of Ash

by Bonnie Wheeler

  No more waiting, I want tonight. I need him.

  Swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, she felt more brazen. It was her life and no matter what tomorrow would bring, nothing could compare to what she was experiencing right now. Shifting her weight so she could face him without tumbling off the couch, she kissed him until he awoke enough to kiss her back. With her blood coursing wildly in her veins, she slid her fingers just below his waistband and tugged until the button on his jeans unfastened.

  Jason’s body, warm with sweat, was long and hard. His dark skin stood in contrast to hers, his flesh soft beneath her fingers. A trail of dark hair ran from his naval to just underneath his boxers. Tracing it with her finger tips, a throaty sigh passed his lips. In response, her own body fluttered with sensation, sending heat through her belly.

  “Hmm,” he whispered. “That’s nice, but you better stop unless you want to keep going.” His voice was husky and low, the sheer sound of it enticed her.

  In a reply, Rachel leaned back and undid her own jeans before edging them down her hips. Trembling in the darkness, she could see Jason’s eyes flash with desire. Using both his hands, he worked to remove the rest of their clothing. Finding a rhythm and pleasure in their building need, Rachel let go of all thoughts about her parents, about what was right and wrong, and focused only on the breathy sounds the two made.

  22

  ANGELA

  Friday 5:00 AM

  Waiting for the sun to rise, Angela sat in Rachel’s room. Other than her husband’s constant snore on the other side of the plaster walls, the only sound was the clunk of the cast iron radiators as the furnace sent steam to the second floor. Two hours before day light, two hours before she could begin her search for her daughter, Angela wrung her hands with unease as she glanced helplessly around her child’s room.

  Where would she go?

  Despite her refusal to sleep, she was oddly awake and wishing the world would awaken with her. It was too early to make the phone calls to Rachel’s friends and even if she tried driving around, the darkness outside would prevent her from canvasing the area for any sign of her daughter. Instead of looking, she waited for daylight, spending hours cleaning her house while her thoughts poured over the evening’s events. Frustrated with her inability to make things right with her daughter and sick of Brian’s attitude, Angela scrubbed: the walls, the banisters, the carpets. Moving from one room to the next, she ensured not a single item was out of place while her mind lingered on the frail form of Rachel rocking herself on the front steps, aching for a comfort Angela was too self-seeking to offer.

  After stopping her assault on the house, she found herself in her daughter’s room. Studying the space, Angela wondered how long it had been since she spent time in there. It had been her practice to enter Rachel’s room only to collect her soiled clothing from the small hamper stowed behind the door and to return them laundered and folded in a neat stack on the end of the bed – but she never stayed. Rachel had been taught early on to do chores and was responsible for changing her bedding each Saturday and vacuuming twice a week. The teen dusted her own furniture and was meticulous about hanging her clothing in the closet. Other than laundry detail, there was no reason for Angela to convene in Rachel’s room.

  Sitting there now, she had become a stranger, visiting someone’s private space – someone she didn’t know very well. Although she had painted the crown molding a creamy beige and papered the walls a delicate Laura Ashley print of green leafy vines with small, pink buds, it was as if she was viewing the room for the very first time.

  The twin size bed, covered in a pink down comforter, had a white wicker headboard that matched the small vanity table with stool and the full length chest of drawers. The furniture, Angela now realized, had become outdated and was far too juvenile for a young woman Rachel’s age.

  Funny, she never mentioned it.

  On her bed side stand was a lamp with a simple silk shade, beside it, was her daughter’s alarm clock and a copy of J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye. A corner shelf in the room held a doll collection that Angela’s mother had started for Rachel when she was just three. Each winter Sylvia spent weathering in Florida, her mother would bring back an unusual doll to add to the assortment. When Rachel was little, Angela used to struggle with Rachel not to play with the collection, knowing it would enrage her mother if she stopped for a visit to discover any of the dolls damaged. Now that Rachel was a teen, she had at least twenty dolls that were immaculate, nice enough to pass on to her own daughter someday. Staring at their porcelain faces and glass eyes, Angela knew it wouldn’t have been the end of the world to let Rachel have one or two play with – but now her daughter was too old for childish things, and it was impossible to erase the past.

  During the day, two large windows dressed with simple sheer panels overlooked the porch roof, allowing plenty of natural sunlight to enter the room, giving the illusion of a bigger space. Between them, screwed to the wall, was a large cork board. Decorated with movie stubs, some drawings she had done with a felt tip pen and snap shots of Rachel and her friends, Angela studied the various photos for the first time.

  Although she had always known Rachel was a comely child, the pictures on her board showed a radiant side of the teen she wasn’t accustomed to seeing. Her daughter was usually quiet and timid, but the glimpses of Rachel’s life before her showed a spirited persona rarely witnessed since she was a small child.

  Some were random shots from school; perhaps the yearbook committee or the school paper had taken them. Others were posed with Rachel sitting next to Jason, the two arm in arm, smiling with bodies leaning towards each other. Relaxed and smiling in most, there were several taken of her at the beach. In each, her daughter was barely recognizable in a two piece swimsuit that Angela couldn’t recall ever seeing. With the sun gleaming off her hair and her skin lightly tanned, her daughter was stunning. When had Rachel become such an attractive young woman?

  Why hadn’t I seen it?

  Sliding one of the pictures out from beneath the collage, Angela examined it closer in the light. It was a picture of Rachel and Jason in their formal attire from last spring’s prom. Rachel had been wearing a simple off the shoulder dress of pale yellow silk. The color worked beautifully with her auburn hair. With a rhinestone barrette and a smattering of baby’s breath, just the front of it was pinned back, allowing her long curls to flow in loose tendrils around her shoulders. The orchid corsage Jason had given her, placed on the delicate bones of her wrist, matched the boutonniere on his tuxedo. Both wore matching smiles on their faces, studying the snapshot now was truly heartwarming. Rachel and Jason were an attractive couple. Breaking them up by sending her to Miss Hall’s would have been unfair and beyond cruel.

  Is it a wonder she ran? How could we have been so blind? So selfish?

  The weight of her guilt was daunting. How could she reconcile barely knowing her only child – a child that she had wanted so dearly? Initially, she hoped parenthood would bring her and Brian closer, but being a mother was Angela’s one triumph. How could she have let go of what mattered?

  Over the years, Angela lost track of Rachel, seeing her as the same little girl who wanted to play with her dolls and be at her side at church on Sundays, a girl who would do well in school and understand that everything she did, represented her parents. Rachel had grown up before her eyes and Angela missed out on learning who her daughter had become.

  Backing up, Angela’s foot bumped against a book peeking out from just under Rachel’s bed. Bending down to pick it up, she realized it was a binder. Thinking it belonged on the desk with her others, Angela’s eyes scanned the cover but couldn’t determine the subject. Flipping open the lid, her face suddenly flushed when she realized what it was, a collection of love notes and emails she had passed back and forth with Jason.

  Seeing her daughter’s flowery script in contrast to her boyfriend’s square print was unexpected. The intimate exchanges must have been meaningful for
Rachel to have kept them filed away so close at hand. Even emails were printed and hole punched, with the words between them left as a reminder that Rachel was a woman and no longer a child.

  Closing the book quickly, Angela knew the letters weren’t meant for her eyes. If her daughter suspected her mother to invade her privacy, the book wouldn’t have been left behind. Still, Angela reasoned with herself, if the writing could reveal a little of what Rachel was thinking, perhaps reading just a few pieces of the correspondence would be okay.

  Opening the first page, a crinkled piece of loose leaf paper had been flattened and carefully inserted into a page protector. From the date which looked to have been penned in as an afterthought, it must have been written early in their junior year.

  She did say they have been a couple for a year now…

  Wondering how the note had been exchanged, Angela studied the paper. Jason’s handwriting was surprisingly neat for a young man and Rachel’s signature style hadn’t changed much over the years.

  Reading the message, a lump formed in the back of her throat. Her daughter never revealed even having Jason as a part of her life until last Christmas, but he seemed rather sweet.

  Dear Rachel,

  I was the happiest guy at homecoming. You were beautiful.

  Please say “yes.”

  Jason

  Angela’s forehead scrunched. Yes to what?

  Dear Jason,

  Homecoming was wonderful! Thank you for taking me.

  I want to say yes, but I don’t know you that well yet. Maybe after our date Friday night?

  - Rachel

  (P.S. Thank you for saying I’m beautiful. You are a good looking guy yourself.  )

  Angela skipped ahead. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what Rachel was agreeing to. The thought of her daughter being sexually active was unsettling. She hoped that wasn’t what the “say yes” was all about.

  Dear Rachel,

  I’m an open book. Ask me anything. I can tell you that I really like your smile and hope to see more of it in class next period. I can’t wait until Friday.

  Yours,

  Jason

  (P.S. Please say “yes” to being my girlfriend.  )

  Angela smiled. No wonder Rachel was so taken by him, he was sweet and persistent. Skipping at least twenty pages or so, she came across a series of emails Rachel had printed. Scanning them, Angela could see her daughter’s loneliness at home showing through her correspondence.

  To. Jason Thompson

  From. Rachel Jones

  Subject: Miss You, too

  Dear Jason,

  This vacation feels like it will never end. I’m sorry I couldn’t come for your family’s tree trimming party. My parentals won’t let me leave because it is Christmas and we are supposed to be together. I don’t see how this night is any different than any other night. My folks are sitting in different rooms watching different TV programs and I am up here all alone. They haven’t even knocked on my door all day. Some Christmas this is turning out to be.

  I wish we were at your place. Save a place on your smelly couch for me.

  Love,

  Rachel

  To. Rachel Jones

  From. Jason Thompson

  Subject. Miss You More

  Dear Rachel,

  I’m sorry you weren’t able to come. I’ll have you know I pocketed the mistletoe for another night. Please don’t let your parents get you down again. The problems they have aren’t because of you. I worry about you when you are so sad. It won’t always be this hard. If you were here, I would make you smile. ;)

  Miss you.

  Jason

  Closing the book, Angela couldn’t continue to read. Her eyes didn’t belong within the carefully set pages of Rachel’s letters. The words, so intimate and soothing, were too personal for her to witness. Knowing how long her daughter had been feeling the isolation in the home was hurtful to read. Somehow, Angela had convinced herself that her dissatisfaction with Brian, with her marriage in general, was known only to herself. But she was a fool.

  Last year’s quiet Christmas had faded into just a vague memory, but Angela could still recall how sad her daughter seemed when Brian said “no” to her request to go out. With drink in hand and shirt unbuttoned, he reasoned the townspeople would question Rachel’s activities if seen out on such a holy night without the accompaniment of her parents. Like most of Brian’s explanations, Angela didn’t bother spending the energy to argue. If Rachel stayed home, Angela wouldn’t have to drive her anywhere and it would save her from having to pretend her world was perfect, especially at Christmas time.

  As she placed the book back under the bed, Angela realized she wasn’t the only one pretending to be happy. Rachel had been suffering with the dynamics of their home, too. Things would have to change – Angela would have to change. If she was going to offer her daughter any kind of life, she had to figure out what to do with Brian and the way they had become used to living.

  Staring at the darkened sky, she hoped dawn would bring more than just a new day. Rachel was out there and Angela wouldn’t rest until the teen was home safe. Perhaps then, they could try to find a new way of living. Maybe even find each other.

  23

  BRIAN

  Friday 8:30 AM

  New Hope Bible Church was down the street. It was an easy five minute walk, but Brian enjoyed beginning his days with a cruise through town. The morning was unseasonably cool. Hoping the overcast sky would brighten, he waved at the friendly faces as he passed. After all that transpired last night, maintaining his image was vital. With his daughter’s antics and Angela threatening to tell the church body that Marge was a whore, his hands were full.

  Rachel never came home. He had no clue where she was but instructed Angela to call him if she returned. It was unusual for the teen to act out. He didn’t enjoy reprimanding her and hadn’t needed to since she was a child, but Rachel’s behavior was embarrassing. He could have used some alone time with Angela last night to smooth things over. As soon as she learned Rachel took off, his wife refused to listen to reason.

  Thanks a lot Rachel. Of all nights to do something stupid, you had to pick last night.

  Angela called some of Rachel’s friends, but no one claimed to have seen her. Not wanting the news to spread, he insisted they give the girl time to calm down. But, Angela glowered whenever he opened his mouth. After George left, Angela spent the night rummaging through Rachel’s room. With no sign of a note, she began cleaning. Her uneasy movements rattled his nerves. After perfecting Rachel’s room, the roar of the vacuum headed down the hallway. With the sharp scent of Lysol drifting under the door, he knew sleep was impossible.

  By the time Brian was up and showered, he couldn’t wait to escape. Hearing his wife’s muffled voice as she made another phone call from the kitchen, he slipped out the front door.

  Weekday mornings began at Lucinda’s Diner for a cup of coffee and a croissant. Daisy, his favorite waitress, was a gem. The redhead’s smile always lit up when he stopped in. He liked that her bobbed haircut and green eyes made her look the centerfold in one of the Hustler magazines he kept locked away in his office desk. She also pretended not to notice when he lifted the paper from the counter without paying.

  Most mornings, he would sit at a booth and watch her while he enjoyed breakfast. The buttons on her cotton uniform were of great interest to him. They caused strained slits across her breasts, revealing glimpses of her taste for lace bras. But as Brian watched her bustle behind the counter taking orders, even she couldn’t get his pulse racing. Placing his order to go, he fished a five dollar bill out of his wallet.

  Daisy was a conquest for another day. He had enough women problems at the moment.

  The front of New Hope Bible Church looked exactly the same as it did when he accepted the job of Pastor there fourteen years before. With its charming white paint and manicured lawn, it
was a promising church for him to have his first full-time position. He had served as the assistant preacher in West Hartford for his first five years and did three years before that as youth pastor in Winsted.

  Having his own church was his dream – one that proved more lucrative than busting his back at a factory or growing fat behind a cubicle. Churches down south loved to send him monetary contributions to support his mission work to New England’s heathen liberals. Meanwhile he received a handsome salary from his parishioners for using his Bible-belt theology to appeal to the small community’s puritanical upbringing.

  Growing up in rural Georgia didn’t give Brian a lot of career options. With a quiet desperation to escape the family’s farm, a history of a broken femur made it impossible to enlist in the military and he didn’t have the grades for a college scholarship. His easy recall of Bible verses and friendly personality made him a favorite at his parents’ church. He was often asked to read the opening scripture before the minister began the sermon. Before long, he was drafted into assisting with communion.