Body of Ash

by Bonnie Wheeler

  Just the sound of leather snapping could trigger the memory of his father’s earthy voice reciting Proverbs 23:13-14 “Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell.” It was the first Bible verse Brian had memorized. His older brothers were just as cruel, if not nastier. At least his father had a purpose for dishing out a punishment, Jonah and Ethan did it for kicks.

  Brian grew up knowing fear. He hadn’t wanted that for Rachel, instead leaving her discipline to his wife. Now that she was seventeen, he couldn’t change how they raised her and wasn’t sure if he would anyway.

  At least she had a childhood.

  Brian closed up the office and made sure the lights were off in the sanctuary before locking the building. He wanted to make his escape before any of the elders stopped by with their concerns about anyone’s salvation, especially his if rumors about him and Marge truly did start making rounds. After all, it would be their responsibility to call him out on his sins if they did think he was doing anything wrong.

  Brian began to think of his last conversation with Martin McNally. The devout Christian had asked him to put together a sermon on the importance of resisting the flesh. Brian had thought McNally was hoping to encourage his teenage sons, but a doubt began to take hold and niggled at the back of his mind. Could others have heard rumors that he was seen leaving the motel with Marge? Was the fifty-year-old trying to warn him it was becoming known that Brian’s own flesh had faced temptation and given in?

  Brian scanned his memories of last Sunday. He noticed Nettie Parsons avoiding eye contact during the sermon, but chalked it up to her nervous personality. Edith, Martin’s wife, kept leaning over and whispering to Betsy Bunts. Perhaps his clandestine pursuits weren’t as carefully hidden as he thought.

  Has Marge been making others aware of our affair?

  If the church became aware of his transgressions, they would not let him stay. Maybe he could bribe one or two men into keeping his vices secret, but only if he had something on them. The congregation as a whole couldn’t permit him to continue to preach if he had been unfaithful to his wife – Marge wasn’t even the first. But the other things he had done, taking money from the church and pretending to be out doing mission work while slipping off to the casinos or the strip bars in southern Connecticut, were just as unforgivable. Perhaps he was about to be called out.

  What would Brian do if he lost his job? What kind of work would he qualify for if he couldn’t obtain another preaching position? He would lose his house. There would be no way he could afford the mortgage payment working for some factory or at the Home Depot running a cash register. The Cadillac would have to go, maybe the Subaru, too.

  Angela had money, but he wasn’t sure how much. After her father died, Sylvia gave her daughter a manila envelope full of cash that had come from Ralph’s safety deposit box. Although he had inquired, Angie wouldn’t discuss the amount her mother had given her. When he mentioned the exchange Sylvia, the old bird snapped that the money was for Angela in case of an emergency or to use for Rachel’s college tuition if he failed to save for her education.

  Brian could only imagine what either woman would say if he lost his job. Sylvia had always found him lacking, but Angela never admitted what she thought – to him or to herself. Still, even if his wife had money put away, Brian didn’t believe she would give it up to save him.

  Angela hadn’t always been cold. He still remembered the first time he saw her at a church sponsored singles retreat in West Hartford. When he spotted her across the room, with a mane of chocolate brown hair spilling around her shoulders and lovely tan skin, he realized she was the woman he wanted to marry. Although shy, when Angie spoke, her eyes lit up and the result was stunning. When he maneuvered it so he could sit next to her during the first luncheon, Brian was convinced he could sway her into being his bride by the end of the year.

  Angie hadn’t been a Christian very long, but had begun attending services regularly with her friend after her brother died. To Brian, their union was the perfect match until after Rachel came along. He wasn’t sure what came first – if Angela picked up on his restlessness or if she closed herself off to him because she wasn’t able to conceive another child, but he began sleeping with other women before their daughter was even old enough to walk.

  Staring up at the overcast sky, it was clear that the day would not warm up. The chill didn’t help his toxic mood. If the town learned the truth about him, his life was totally screwed.

  As he climbed in his Escalade, Brian knew exactly where he wanted to go. There was a package store right on the state line and the owner, Stanley, never asked questions or tried to make annoying conversation. He was going to slip home and make a spot for himself on the recliner where he would get wasted and wash away every damn worry until tomorrow.

  29

  MARGE

  Friday 2:00 PM

  With trembling hands, Marge rang up her third order for the afternoon. Trying to smile, she wasn’t sure how effective her false pleasantries were sounding. The woman standing before her complained nonstop for twenty minutes before finally settling on a bouquet of fresh cut carnations. Marge just wanted her to leave.

  The day was going badly. Veronica made snide remarks about Marge’s revealing outfit before finally making her put on a work smock and Brian hadn’t accepted a single call from her all afternoon.

  Lilly’s usually had a calming effect on Marge. Waiting on customers while breathing in the floral aroma made her work pleasant, but as much as she tried, Marge couldn’t let go of her anger. She felt snippy, especially when Veronica kept watch from the backroom.

  As the elderly woman made another disparaging comment about incompetent help, Marge watched her stuff the change from her purchase into her pocketbook.

  So much for a tip… Thanks a lot, you old bitch.

  Exiting the shop, the woman didn’t even say thank you. Marge hoped the lady would trip on the sidewalk, or better, get hit by a bus. Smiling at the thought, she couldn’t help that her resentment kept building. If she was Brian’s wife, she would not be treated like an ordinary cashier. Instead, she would be the owner of a place like Lilly’s where she could sit in back while paying some poor fool minimum wage to wait on miserable customers.

  Or better yet, not work at all.

  Marge would be given respect like Angela. Frustrated with the situation, Marge dropped to the stool by the register and checked her phone once again. Still no texts or messages, she slammed her cell on the counter.

  Brian wasn’t with anyone. There were no prying eyes at the church to judge them. Marge wasn’t just some woman. She was his lover, the one person who made him feel alive. Why hadn’t he taken advantage of their opportunity to be alone in his office?

  Angela was the reason for her pain – the reason for Brian’s dismissal of her.

  She would be the kind of woman to interfere.

  Brian wasn’t changing. He just refused to stand up to the bitch. Perhaps he felt he owed Angela or felt sorry for her. Did she blackmail him? Maybe threaten to take the house or turn Rachel against him to make him pay for loving Marge and wanting a new life? Marge would not let him sacrifice their happiness to appease Angela.

  He just needs my help.

  Maybe it was because he was a religious man, but Brian tended to be too refined. The only time he allowed himself to talk dirty was when he was in bed. She bet her lover never did that with his wife.

  Checking to make sure Veronica wasn’t looking, Marge removed the small bottle of rum she had stowed in her purse. She didn’t usually indulge at work, but needed just enough to make it through the work day. The booze was strong without Coke, but a few swallows helped her focus. Screwing the lid back on, she stashed it back into her bag.

  Feeling calmer, Marge considered her relationship issue. If there was something holding Brian back, she could intervene and be the voice of persuasi
on. She could make Angela see what they both wanted. Marge deserved a shot at a good life with Brian, too.

  I didn’t fight for Will. I’ll be damned if I let Brian go.

  Angela may have won last night, but she wouldn’t allow the bitch to disrespect her again.

  Marge glanced beneath the counter. The metal lock box was still there. From the coat of dust strewing the cover, she knew it hadn’t been touched since the day Herman, the store owner’s husband, insisted on giving her and Veronica a demonstration. It was the only time she held its content, mesmerized by the power the pure weight of the Ruger held in her hands. Herman insisted they keep it in the event they were ever held up, making each woman practice swiping off the safety with their right thumbs while pushing the lever down into the firing position. Once they mastered that, he demonstrated the proper stance necessary when shooting, followed by how to take aim at their target.

  Veronica laughed at the idea of using a weapon as self-defense in a flower shop, but Marge secretly loved the option of pulling out the pistol if the need arise. With a fully loaded magazine ready to go, it would be nothing to fire off at will.

  No one would ever suspect Marge had access to a gun.

  Lifting the box, she knew Angela could be convinced.

  30

  KATIE

  Friday 2:15 PM

  After doing some well thought out shopping, Katie brought home the grocery items and put them away. Another week of ramen soup and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches would have to do. While looking for her mother’s tampons, Katie found exactly what she needed for her costume – a box of Clairol, Nice and Easy in brilliant red.

  Studying her purchase laid out before her on the coffee table, a thrill of nervous excitement sent goose bumps peppering across her skin. Once the idea had taken hold, Katie couldn’t get the image out of her mind. Longing for change, doing something as drastic as cutting her hair and coloring the blond a rich red was the perfect beginning.

  A rebirth of sorts…

  She wasn’t going to dress as Daisy, but she was going to copy the waitress’s hair. She loved the movie “Fifth Element” and thought she could pull off Milla Jovovich’s look with the new do. Her mother owned a pair of skin tight leather pants and a black mesh shirt she could wear over her red tank top. It would not be exactly the same as the film, but futuristic enough.

  I just want to feel different.

  Turning the box over in her hands, Katie wondered how hard dye was to put in. From the picture on the back, it didn’t appear difficult. Cutting it may prove a greater challenge, but she had seen people on TV put their hair in a ponytail and cut it just under the elastic.

  Mom will have a flaming fit.

  Marge had an unhealthy obsession with her hair and insisted it was important for sex appeal. Katie found the routine of washing and styling it every day to be tedious. Whenever she mentioned the desire to go short, her mother would insist it was a mistake because men preferred women with long hair. As much as the teen bemoaned her mother’s insistence, the woman failed to let Katie experiment with her look.

  Maybe she’ll notice me now.

  A knock at the door startled her from her plans. Glancing at the time on the cable box, she knew it was too early in the day for her mother to be locked out or friends from school stopping bye. Unless…

  Please don’t let it be Davey.

  Moving to the door, Katie considered pretending she wasn’t home. Just because she skipped school didn’t mean she was lying around doing nothing. Maybe the boy decided to blow off the rest of the day to see if she changed her mind. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Davey, because she truly did. After watching her mother unravel over men, Katie just couldn’t allow herself to get lost in another person.

  Edging up on her toes, Katie spied through the peephole. Her father’s familiar face popped into view.

  What is he doing here?

  In the three years that Katie lived in the small apartment, Williston had never ventured further than the driveway. Never had he asked to come up, nor did she make the offer to invite him in. The cramped space was supposed to be her mother’s territory – it was an unspoken arrangement she thought her father understood.

  Opening the door, Williston’s expression softened when he saw her.

  “You’re okay,” he said, stepping past her into the living room. “I was worried.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Katie watched as he studied the room. She knew the apartment was nothing like the house she had grown up in. According to her mother, her father was devastated when he was forced to sell, but Williston didn’t seem as upset about it as Marge made out. He moved into a large contemporary with Thomas on the outskirts of town.

  “Why does it smell like smoke in here?” Williston’s nostrils flared, sniffing the air.

  “Mom smokes,” Katie replied, unwilling to admit that she did too on occasion. A gentle pull on a cigarette helped numb her appetite.

  “She shouldn’t do it in the house. Why is it so hot in here?”

  Disliking the tone in her father’s voice, Katie placed her hands on her hips, refusing to answer him. He had no right to judge their home. They were doing okay without him.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I got a call from Liz Donorfio at the school. She said it has been four days since you came to class, so I assumed you and your mother either took off to parts unknown or you were on your death bed. Either way, I was concerned.” Her father considered her, looking for signs of illness.

  “Well, as you can see I’m fine.” Katie knew she sounded petulant. Biting back the rotten reply that was itching to come out, she stated, “You could have just called.”

  Picking a spot at the end of the couch, Katie motioned for her father to take a seat in the rocking chair. Suddenly, she didn’t feel like fighting with him. Williston was obviously worried or he would not have come across town to see if she was okay.

  “Are you fine?” he asked. “Because the counselor said you aren’t going to pass this quarter unless you really make a significant effort. She also said you’re borderline truant and that you’ve exceeded the number of days allowed for excused absenteeism.”

  Katie ran her hands through her hair. She knew he was right. He was saying the same things her teachers had been lecturing her about since the beginning of the year.

  “I know. I do want to change,” she paused, trying to find the words, “I just don’t know what my hold up is.”

  “Do you want to graduate? Go to college?” He leaned forward on his elbows, his expression rich with worry.

  “Of course,” she answered.

  Do I?

  “Then you have to work harder,” he said. “You can do this. You’re a bright girl.”

  “I know.”

  Williston reached out and put a hand on Katie’s knee. Giving it a light squeeze, his encouragement felt somewhat familiar. She remembered him using the same tone of voice when he removed her training wheels so many years ago.

  He used to be good like that.

  Katie watched his eyes narrow. Following his line of sight, she realized he was looking at the box of Clairol still sitting on the coffee table.

  “Halloween,” she stated without him needing to ask. “I thought it would be fun to go red.”

  “Is it permanent?” Her father asked, scratching his chin.

  “Yes. I like red hair.”

  Reaching into his coat, Williston removed his billfold. The rich leather looked expensive. Counting out five twenty dollar bills, he offered the cash to his daughter. “I’m not an expert when it comes to women’s hair, but I think you better have a professional do it.”

  Katie stared at the one hundred dollars he was offering over so easily. Her mother would never be able to give her so much. It would require weeks of budgeting for such a luxury.

  Of course he doesn’t have a teen to feed.

  Agitation began to mount. It didn’t seem fair that her father had it so
easy.

  “Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Take it.”

  “That is five times what we had left after the bills to buy groceries for this week.”

  Minus the cancer sticks…

  Life had come easy for him since he left, but not for anyone else. She hoped her comment would make him feel guilty when he returned to his nice life with Thomas.

  Williston shifted in his seat. “Why did your mother only have twenty dollars for groceries?”

  “Veronica doesn’t pay much and you only send $200.00 a month for child support.”