Body of Ash

by Bonnie Wheeler

  Brian blocked her hand from reaching the phone. Weaving his fingers into hers, he forced her eyes to meet his. “I’m going to find her. We don’t need this town knowing our business.” Wanting to persuade her, he relaxed his hold, but refused to pull away.

  Leaning in, his nostrils breathed in her scent. She had been wearing Jessica McClintock perfume for years. With his free hand, he traced her jawline with his thumb, stopping at her ear. Pulling at her delicate lobe, he felt a familiar heat flow through him.

  Turning her head, Angela shuttered at his caress. After twenty years of marriage, they were strangers.

  I need her to stand by me.

  “Look at me, Angie,” he continued. “I didn’t mean for you to come home and see me like that. I’m under a lot of pressure. I was trying to unwind and drank on an empty stomach. I lost control. After I have something to eat – and this alcohol works out of my system, I’ll find her. But, I need you to keep it together. I need you to support me.”

  Despite the influence of alcohol on his judgment, Brian could feel Angela weaken. Her posture relaxed as she stepped back, putting distance between them.

  “Promise me,” he breathed.

  Angela’s eyes met his. Her irises held tiny flecks of gold that always flashed when she was upset. If they were any judge, she was furious.

  For just a moment, Brian felt the love he once held for her. “I’ll try,” her voice flattened to a whisper. “But you have to find her tonight. I’m not doing this with you anymore if you don’t.”

  Stepping past him, Brian said nothing as Angela headed upstairs. Glancing into the living room, his eyes fell on the bottle of Jack. Rachel should be hungry enough to head home before he had to go looking for her. With his emotions stimulated, another shot would help calm his nerves.

  34

  MARGE

  Friday 3:10 PM

  Marge placed the metal box back under the counter. It was a tempting fantasy, imagining the look on Angela Jones’s face if Marge just happened to open her purse and a glimpse of steel from the pistol were to catch her eye.

  It wouldn’t be a crime as long as she didn’t pull it out – more of a gentle convincing, a statement even, that Marge wasn’t to be taken for granted or written off as some town whore. Angela would know Marge was a fighter and deserved good things – like Brian’s house and his marital vows.

  Angela had served her time and needed to move on. Marge knew that. Brian knew that. The tricky question was – how to make Angela know that? Picking at her cotton candy pink nail polish, Marge searched her mind for ways to make her point.

  The gun would work, but if Veronica discovered that Marge removed it from the shop, there would be hell to pay. The woman had been riding her ass all day. Even after Marge mentioned she was having relationship difficulties and didn’t feel like waiting on customers, the store owner told her to either work or go home. Veronica knew Marge couldn’t afford to miss a day’s wages.

  I’ll remember that the next time she is bellyaching about something.

  Marge was hurting. How could she focus on taking phone orders and cleaning if Brian wasn’t answering her calls? She needed him. From the moment they first kissed when he stopped by her apartment to drop off a free Bible and gift card to the fancy food store in town, she planned on becoming his bride. She even knew which flowers Veronica kept at the shop she would have her bouquet made from. If he was suddenly going to pull away because of Angela, then Marge would have to be persuasive.

  Marge dug into her nails harder, chipping at the stubborn polish she had so carefully applied that morning when she thought she would see Brian. She didn’t waste all of her time preparing Katie for a better life by having that woman snatch it all away.

  The vibration of her phone grabbed Marge’s attention. Grinning, she put it to her ear hoping to hear her lover’s voice.

  “Hello,” she crooned, while eyeing the backroom in hopes that Veronica would not poke her head out.

  “We have to talk.”

  “Williston,” she declared. A moment of confusion caused a pause in her reply. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

  “It really can’t wait.” Williston’s voice was stronger than usual and came across more masculine.

  Ever since he admitted he was gay, Marge had noticed that he had a certain flamboyant tone when he spoke. But, not now, he sounded serious.

  Maybe he’s heard I’ve found someone.

  “I’m at work, but I can talk,” she spoke playfully. She liked the idea of her ex-husband being jealous – to feel what it is like to be replaced. Playing with her chandelier earing, she waited for Will to find the courage to ask her about Brian.

  “I’m just down the street. I’ll stop in,” his words were crisp.

  “Sure thing,” she replied, hanging up.

  Marge couldn’t help but smile. She had been waiting for this moment, waiting to see the look of regret in Will’s eyes for leaving her.

  Deep down she knew he wasn’t really gay. Why would he have married her to begin with?

  I sure didn’t get pregnant by myself.

  Marge may not have been educated, but she wasn’t born yesterday. It wasn’t hard for her to guess that no one could just turn into a homosexual overnight. Will was just exploring and thought he was in love with Thomas.

  Checking her boobs in the mirror, Marge decided to unzip the smock Veronica forced her to put on earlier. A quick dash for her purse and she was able to apply a coat of lip gloss, too. Wanting to look hot when Williston came in to tell her he was sorry, she figured she should be from out behind the counter so her long legs could show. She was still in her stilettoes and miniskirt despite Veronica urging her to change into something more work appropriate.

  Giggling, she anticipated seeing him crumble when she told him to eat his heart out because she found a better man.

  A man who knows how lucky he is….

  Striding to the door, she leaned close to the window and watched as his Volvo pulled up along the street. Williston climbed out and fished in his pocket for parking meter change. The forty-three-year-old looked good in his dark pants and brown bomber jacket. Not wanting to look too eager to see him, Marge scooted across the room to the far wall and pretended to be fussing with some of the small gift items Veronica kept for sale on a shelving unit.

  Although her day had been nothing but disappointment, Marge hoped this was going to turn things around.

  The bell over the door rang as her ex entered the shop. Turning, Marge offered him a welcoming smile.

  “Oh, hello Will,” she said, pretending to just notice him. “What brings you across town to make time to see me?” As she spoke, Marge made sure to stand as straight as she possibly could so that Will would be able to take in how fabulous she looked. “It’s been ages.”

  “I heard some news today,” he began. “I didn’t think the conversation could wait, otherwise I would not have come to your place of work.”

  Disappointed he didn’t try to give her a hug, Marge watched as Williston glanced around the shop. He seemed to be noticing everything but her.

  I don’t have all damn day.

  “Well, you look good,” she offered, hoping he only needed a little encouragement.

  “Oh,” he paused. “Thanks.” Walking over to a small table with a grouping of baby cactuses and weeping figs in hand-painted plant holders, Will picked up one and placed it back down again. “Listen, I think it is time for Katie to come live with me.”

  Unsure of what he just said, Marge smiled.

  “What?”

  Williston continued, “I talked to Liz Donorfio from the high school. She’s the social worker there. She said that Katie’s attendance is terrible and that she’s flunking her classes.”

  “Well,” she said, stunned, “that is a bit of an over exaggeration.”

  Williston’s brows narrowed, “It’s a pretty serious allegation. Do you even keep track of what she’s doing or where she’s going?”
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  “Somewhat. She’s good about telling me when she’s going to be with her friends.”

  “Is she at school right now?” His brow furrowed, challenging her.

  “It’s Friday, she should be.” Remembering her daughter still in bed when she left that morning, Marge knew where this was going.

  “Well, she isn’t and she skipped yesterday, too. That’s my point.”

  “She’s seventeen, Will. She’s not a child anymore.” Glancing towards the back door, Marge caught a glimpse of her boss shaking her head in disapproval. A sting of anger rushed through her. Veronica, Williston, the bitch from the high school – they were no different than Angela. They were all judging her.

  Williston turned back to the table of potted plants, but Marge understood he wasn’t interested in them – he just didn’t want to look at her.

  “She’s a child as long as she’s still in school. I hope you don’t make me take you to court over this. I’ll give you until next week to have her things packed. That’s it.”

  As Williston left the shop, Marge stood a moment longer next to the shelf. Her legs felt like lead pipes, unwilling to move. As the room spun around her, Marge gasped while the sound of Will’s voice repeated in her head.

  35

  KATIE

  Friday 3:35 PM

  Leaning over the side of the tub, Katie watched red swirls of water circle the drain. With one hand clutching a washcloth to protect her eyes from the harsh dye, the other hand directed the nozzle of the shower head. The streaming jet bounced across her scalp, rinsing the scarlet paste that required twenty minutes of soak time to saturate her follicles. Despite Williston’s cautious warning to seek professional assistance, Katie’s stomach clenched with nervous excitement. Compelled by the thrilling need of change, it was too late to turn back. As the water ran clear, she reached for the faucet and shut off the spray. After a quick toweling, she rose up in front of the vanity and beheld her new reflection for the first time.

  Katie was now a red head.

  It was amazing how a shade of color could make her appearance look different. Her wide set blue eyes now illuminated her face. With the light flush that covered her cheeks and lips intensified, her skin tone appeared softer, gentler. The contrast was startling.

  After brushing out the length and slipping on a hair tie at the nape of her neck, Katie trembled from head to toe. Coloring it was the easy part, but chopping it off proved scary. She wanted to be different, she wanted a new life. Why was saying it always easier than doing it?

  I said I wanted change. Here it is.

  With a renewed sense of conviction, calmness settled over her. Opening the vanity drawer, Katie fumbled through the pile of hairbrushes, cosmetics, and half-filled jars of nail polish until locating the next step in her transformation: a long handled pair of scissors.

  Reaching behind her, she lined up the blade of the sheers with the elastic that held her hair in place. Katie closed her eyes for only a second, but it was long enough to squeeze the handle on the cutters, and listen while her hair ripped away before cascading to the floor. With a shake of her head, new chin length pieces swept forward across her face. Stepping back, Katie studied her reflection in the sink top mirror with a smile. Running her fingers through it, she exhaled with delight. Gone was the weight of her thick hair. Darla would need to even out the length, but the effect was perfect.

  After a quick cleanup, Katie crossed the hall into her mother’s dark bedroom in search of leather pants and the black top she wanted for her costume. Even though she wasn’t home, entering without knocking felt weird. It still troubled her that she walked in on Marge and Brian Jones having sex. Katie would never take it for granted again that if her mother had a bedroom companion, she would have sense enough to lock her door.

  The unmade bed disgraced the room. As she shuffled past to open the closet, she avoided making contact with it. Her mother never changed her sheets and knowing Brian’s nasty liquids probably soaked into the cotton made her sick. Seeing it now forced her to recall her embarrassment at Jones’s pleased expression when he spotted her, feet frozen to the floor, witnessing the two of them going at it like pigs. Although she backed away once her brain registered what she was seeing, the image of Jones flesh hovering over mother scarred her memory. With eyelids half closed and his jaw tense with pleasure, the room smelled heady with need. It was the thrust of his hips in unison to her mother’s throaty groans, she couldn’t forget. Animalistic and base, their screwing lacked tenderness.

  Mom deserves better.

  Sliding the closet door open, the squeal of metal along the track broke the silence. Her mother’s belongings were packed tightly on hangers and in shoe boxes that lined the single shelf running overhead.

  Spotting the pants, she smiled. They would look completely badass with her new hairstyle and combat boots.

  Darla sent her text earlier that their friends would be going out around nine o’clock. A few seniors were having parties, including Davey Shaw. His parents had just renovated their old pool house into a rec room, with a stocked bar, pool table, and gaming system. Looking at the pants, she imagined what the poor guy would think when she showed up after last night’s awkward confession. Maybe jealous, maybe turned on. Katie didn’t care as long as the boy didn’t try getting all serious again. Davey was fun and she liked kissing him, she just didn’t want more.

  I’m not Mom. I don’t need lose myself in a guy.

  Glancing through the rack, she wondered where the sheer top was. Her mother found it on clearance at Fredrick’s of Hollywood for twenty bucks. Marge hadn’t worn it though, claiming the slim fitting fabric was too scratchy for her sensitive skin. Katie figured the real reason the shirt hadn’t seen the light of day was because her mother never wore anything that didn’t show off her breasts.

  Marge’s taste in clothes never used to bother Katie. But now that her mother was getting older, it was awkward being seen with the woman in public. She was unsure where the discomfort came from – maybe because her mother could still turn heads, despite being the parent of a seventeen-year-old. Or, the disturbing moments when her friends would snicker after Marge left the room. Over the last three years, she had seen a few boys stare a little too long at her mother’s body. It was unnerving.

  Tucking her hair behind one ear, she bent to look at the clothes stuffed in store bags at the bottom of the closet. There must have been at least twenty of them. Rifling through the first one, she discovered items she never had seen her mother wear: lingerie, blouses, jeans. All brand new with tags still in place. Another bag contained expensive perfumes and body lotions. As she pulled each stash out of the way, more were discovered in the back.

  Dad’s money…

  So it was true. Her father had been sending child support.

  As she surveyed her mother’s hoard, a sad awareness crept in. With Marge adamantly insisting they couldn’t even afford the basic necessities week to week, Katie had gone without – without new running sneakers for gym class, without a prom dress last spring, without lunch money at school. So many times her empty stomach clenched with hunger, but she knew the grocery items in the cupboards had to stretch. When the gnawing became too much, she dropped by her friend’s houses uninvited in the hopes their parents would ask her to stay. If that didn’t work, she would head to the service station. Some of the boys who tended register thought she was cute. With a little flirting, they usually looked the other way when she helped herself to the coffee bar. The use of heavy cream and sugar helped tide her over until she could eat again. All without complaint.

  Receipts were in the bags. Just yesterday, her mother spent more at Wal-Mart than half the cost of their rent. Target, Kohl’s, and JC Penney, the woman had been busy. As she pulled out the contents of other bags, it was all the same. Hundreds of dollars, spent on crap, and stashed in the closet, for what? Why did she need this, but only hand over twenty dollars for food?

  Standing, Katie knees felt weak from knee
ling. Swallowing the dry lump that lodged in her throat, she couldn’t bear to look at the evidence of her mother’s deception any longer.

  Williston claimed to send over money weekly and wanted to know where it went; well now she knew. Motels and shopping sprees, her mother had it made.

  All the while pleading poverty….That’s fucked up.

  No longer caring about her costume, she tossed the pants onto the pile, and turned.

  Just as Katie’s eyes met those of her mother’s, a hand struck her across the face. The force sent her flying backward, and she heard the sound of her head as it collided into the door. Too stunned to register the pain, Katie tried to move. Her shaking hands and knees could barely support her as she tried crawling out from beneath her mother’s feet.

  Marge was over her at once, dragging her nails across Katie’s scalp, digging in until she held a fistful. As her mother pulled her from the closet, Katie was unable to hold back a scream. Twisting up to reach for her hair, she feared it would tear out at the roots. Clawing in desperation at her mother’s hold, confusion and terror sent adrenaline shooting through her.

  “How can you do this to me?” Marge hissed. “How can you embarrass me, after all I have done for you?”