Finding Ashley

by Danielle Steel

  “Why do you hate nuns?” There was a hardness in her that he had guessed at, and glimpsed, but never seen full on before.

  “That’s a long story you don’t need to know. I just do. My mother was a religious fanatic and would have loved it if we’d both become nuns. She got her wish with my sister, although my mother was long dead by then. There was no risk of it with me. I gave up on religion a long time ago, at sixteen.” To Norm, it sounded like she had given up on everything, people, life, her family, God. All she had left was this house. It made him realize more than ever what it meant to her, and it explained why she never let anyone get close to her. She was locked behind her walls, alone. “Do you want something to eat?” she offered. The sun was coming up by then, and she made it clear that the subject of her past was closed. He nodded, and she made scrambled eggs for both of them. They ate, talking about the fire, and then he left. He still wanted to see what he could do to help with the fire as a volunteer. He knew that Melissa was safe now, and could manage on her own. She would have done so anyway, even without him, but he was glad he’d been there with her. He admired her more than ever now, but also felt sorry for her as never before. Now he knew what she was running from, or what had driven her into seclusion in the mountains. It was a glimpse into who she was, which he had never fully understood before.

  * * *

  —

  Melissa put the dishes in the dishwasher after Norm left, a little sorry that she had told him about Robbie. He didn’t need to know. They were on friendly terms, but they weren’t close. The photos of Robbie were still in the pillowcase on a kitchen chair. The phone rang shortly after seven, and she was startled when she heard a familiar voice she hadn’t heard in years.

  “I’ve been watching the news in New York. Are you okay, Mellie?” It was Hattie. They always communicated by letter or email. She hadn’t heard her voice in six years. At forty-three, Hattie still sounded like a kid. “I’ve been praying for you all night.”

  “I don’t believe in that,” Melissa reminded her, “but it must have worked. The wind suddenly turned two hours ago, and my house was spared. A lot of other people lost their homes, though. The fire is still out of control, but it’s not heading here for now.” But that could change in an instant if the wind shifted again.

  “I’m so relieved. We were praying for them too. Did you have any damage?”

  “We might have some singed trees at the edge of the property, but it never got to the house. It was heading straight for us last night. They tried to evacuate me, but I stayed.”

  “You shouldn’t have. Are you okay, Mel? I mean other than the fire.”

  “Of course. I’m fine. How are you? Still the angel of mercy, nursing gunshot wounds in the Bronx?” The hospital where she worked was in one of the worst neighborhoods in New York.

  “Yes, I am. I miss you. I think about you a lot.” There was a long silence between them then, and neither of them knew what to say. The chasm between them was vast, and had been for so many years. It was hard to bridge that now, except with brief emails wishing each other a merry Christmas, or a happy birthday. The wound between them suddenly seemed raw again. “Would you ever let me come to visit you?” Hattie asked her, and Melissa didn’t answer for a minute.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Why would you want to?”

  “Because we’re still sisters. Our order doesn’t wear the habit anymore, except on important religious occasions. You could ignore the fact that I’m a nun.” She knew how Melissa hated seeing her in her habit.

  “How could I forget that? You’re the better person, Hattie. There’s nothing left of who I was. Robbie took that person with him. I’m beginning to sound more like Mom,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “You’ll always be my sister, and I’ll always love you. You did so much for me when we were growing up.”

  “That was a long time ago. It was nice of you to call,” Melissa said with emotion in her voice. “I guess you could come up sometime, and see what I’ve been working on for four years.”

  “Are you happy there?”

  “It keeps me busy, and I’m at peace. That’s enough for me. I’m glad it didn’t burn down last night.”

  “So am I,” her younger sister said with feeling. “I’d love to see you, Mellie.”

  “I’ll think about it,” was all Melissa would commit to. “Take care, Hattie,” and then, at the very last second before they both hung up, she whispered, “I love you too,” and ended the call. It was the most emotional thing that had happened all night, as intense as almost losing the house. It reminded her that she still had a sister, whether she saw her or not, and no matter how far apart they had grown.

  She put Robbie’s pictures back on the bookshelf then, went upstairs to lie on her bed, and thought of both of them, Robbie and Hattie. She wondered what it would be like to see her sister again. It had been a long frightening night, but thank God, the house she loved was safe. It would have broken what was left of her heart if it had burned to the ground. She had lost enough. She couldn’t lose the house too. Her mind was flooded with her memories of Hattie, all that they had been through and meant to each other so long ago. It frightened her to open the door to those feelings again. It brought so much with it that she wanted to forget.

  Chapter 3

  The fire was still raging out of control the next day, but it was well north of Melissa’s house, and the wind hadn’t shifted again. Firefighters were pouring in from Boston, other parts of Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New Hampshire, trying to get it under control. According to news reports, it was only ten percent contained.

  Norm had spent the night on the fringes of it, with a group of volunteers. It was exhausting, frightening work.

  Melissa had had an email from Carson, wanting to know if she was all right, and she had answered briefly, thanked him, and said she was. She was grateful for his concern. The fire was bringing back the people and memories of the past.

  On the third day of the fire, Rochester and Buffalo sent them additional firefighters, and they finally managed to get the fire sixty percent contained. There was no question by then that it had been arson. The fire chief had confirmed it. Three hundred homes had been lost, and nearly two thousand people were crowding in shelters that had been set up in local schools.

  The day after the fire had been mostly contained, they showed the arsonist on TV. He had been apprehended at his mother’s home. He was seventeen years old, and he looked like a frightened little boy when they arrested him. They said that he and his mother had been homeless for a while, and people who were interviewed said he had shown signs of psychiatric problems, after being bullied by his classmates in school. They had recently moved again. Given the severity of the crime, and his age, he was going to be tried as an adult. Melissa sat watching him on TV with hatred in her eyes. He had nearly robbed her of her home.

  She and Norm spoke about it when he came by to see how she was. It struck her as she looked at the arsonist that he was only a year older than Robbie would have been. She couldn’t imagine anyone disturbed and vicious enough to start a fire the way he had. The report said that he had started small fires before. He seemed terrified in the brief footage they saw of him.

  “I hope they send him to prison for a long time,” Melissa said angrily when she and Norm talked about it during his visit.

  “He’s just a kid,” he said, feeling sorry for him.

  “How can you say that after what he did? Think of all the homes that burned.”

  “He belongs in a psychiatric hospital, not jail,” Norm said compassionately. Melissa had no pity for him, with so many homes lost. They had said on TV that his mother was in a rehab facility, and couldn’t be reached for comment. And he had been living alone at her home, which looked like barely more than a shack.

  “Someone should have picked up on how sick he was a long time ago.
It’s a failure in our system,” Norm said quietly. “It sounds like he’s had a terrible life.” There had been no mention of his father, and the boy’s life sounded tragic.

  “Other people are victims of the system, they don’t go around setting fires.” There was no mercy in her voice.

  “Have you heard from your sister again?” he asked, to change the subject, and Melissa shook her head.

  “She wants to come and visit. I haven’t decided what I want to do about that yet.”

  “Maybe the two of you could make peace with each other,” he suggested gently, as Melissa looked off into the distance, thinking about it. It seemed too late for that, after so many years. And too painful to try.

  “We have nothing in common anymore. Maybe we never did. We were always different. She was much more outgoing than I was, which made it seem even crazier when she decided to become a nun. She always wanted to be an actress, and just when she started to get the right breaks, she ran away.”

  “Isn’t that what you did when your son died?” he asked her, and she looked shocked for a minute, and shook her head.

  “That was different. Our whole world fell apart. Hattie was just beginning. She was young, good things were happening for her. She had no reason to run away. It was sheer cowardice, to seek refuge in the convent, instead of dealing with life.”

  “Not everyone is as brave as you are, Melissa.”

  “I’m not brave, and you’re right, I ran away too.”

  “What kind of work did you do before?” It was the first he had heard of her career when she said she had given up her work.

  “I used to write. Articles, books. I ran out of words after my son died. Everything seemed so irrelevant after that, so small compared to him.”

  “Do you miss writing?” He was curious about her now. She had shown him pieces of the puzzle, but not the whole, which had whetted his appetite to know more.

  “Not anymore,” she said. “It was part of another life. My husband was my agent, that’s how we met. He’s still active in New York. His wife is a moderately successful mystery writer. He keeps busy with her. He tried to get me to start writing again, but I couldn’t. I’d rather work with my hands now. I have no desire to write again. My books were pretty dark. It was another time.” He had a suspicion that she had talent. She was well read and very bright. There was a look of determination in her eyes when she spoke of not writing again. She had chosen a different path.

  “Would I have read any of your work?” he asked, curious. “Did you write under your name? Fiction?”

  “I wrote under my maiden name, Melissa Stevens. It was the truth thinly veiled as fiction.”

  He looked shocked. “That’s you? I read a few of your books. They were very upsetting and haunting. We’ve all felt like that at times, enraged by the injustices done to us, and helpless to avenge the past, or forget it. You spoke for all of us, but were brave enough to say it. I read two of them twice. They were beautifully written. You’re a big deal, Melissa,” he said, impressed.

  “It felt important to me to say it. But what’s the point? The people I was angry at are all dead. My mother was a bitter, angry, mean woman. My father was weak and a drunk who wasted his life. There’s nothing left to say.”

  “It’s a shame to bury a talent like that,” he said kindly, and she shrugged.

  “I have other things that I want to do. It’s painful, stripping yourself naked like that.”

  “But it must be healing too, a kind of catharsis.” She didn’t answer. She just nodded. It was obvious that she didn’t want to discuss it. He left a little while later.

  He thought of their conversation on his way home. There was a mysterious side of her that fascinated him. She wasn’t just an interesting woman who had opted for a quiet country life. She had run away from a husband, a life, a career, fame, success, a city, even her own family ties by avoiding her sister. He could tell that she was a woman who had been deeply wounded, maybe by more than just the loss of her son. And as the author of the books he’d read, he knew that her youth and childhood had been a nightmare of emotional abuse by a cruel mother.

  Her fury at the young arsonist seemed extreme to him. Her reaction was visceral, pure rage. It seemed out of character for her. She was so distant and cool and uncommunicative, but she had never seemed that angry to him before. The boy’s youth and obvious problems didn’t mitigate the crime for her. He had jeopardized the home she loved, and she hated him for it.

  * * *

  —

  Like a moth drawn to flame, when Melissa read in the paper of the arraignment, which was open to the public, she drove to the county courthouse the morning that it was to occur. She wanted to see what would happen, and to see his face in person. She was fueled by anger and indignation as she drove to the courthouse on the appointed day. She was shocked when she saw the boy, led into the courtroom by sheriff’s deputies, in handcuffs, and shackles on his legs. He looked about fourteen years old, and there were tears streaming down his face.

  His name was Luke Willoughby, and he was represented by the public defender. Other locals had come to see the proceedings as well, and how he would be dealt with. Melissa suspected that many of the people who filled the courtroom had lost their homes. She had less reason to be there, but curiosity about him and raw anger had impelled her to come.

  The public defender requested that the judge remand him into the custody of the juvenile court system, which was denied, given the severity of the crime. He hadn’t graduated from high school, had dropped out of school that spring, and was turning eighteen in September, so technically he was not yet an adult. He pled not guilty, and the judge sent him to an adult psychiatric facility to determine if he was able to stand trial. The only words he spoke during the entire proceeding were “Not guilty, Your Honor.” He sounded respectful and looked broken, and the public defender confirmed that his parents were not in the courtroom. He explained that his father had disappeared when Luke was seven, and his mother had been sent to rehab by the court, and had been unable to come. He said that they had been homeless for several years, and he was living alone in a shack in his mother’s absence. The judge nodded and his face registered no emotion.

  The deputies walked him past Melissa when they took him back to jail, and the anger she had felt for him suddenly ebbed away like sand through her fingers. He looked so tragic and so forlorn that it was hard to imagine him committing so heinous a crime that had cost several lives and caused so many people pain. She wanted to reach out and touch him, and as Norm had said, the idea of sending him to prison with adult men seemed suddenly wrong. He didn’t appear insane either, just desperately lost. She wanted to ask him why he had done it, but she didn’t know him, and there was no chance to talk.

  His terrified face haunted her all the way home, and she was ashamed to have gone there at all. He was in a hell all his own, and no good would come of it, whatever they decided to do with him. He was precisely what Norm had guessed, a lost soul who had slipped through the system at an early age, and needed help. She might have felt differently if she’d lost her home as a result of his crime, but she hadn’t, and the steam had gone out of everything she had thought about him before. She couldn’t imagine a life like the one he had led as a child, and the punishment he had ahead of him now, either confined to a mental hospital or in prison. Either way, he had hard times ahead, little or no future, and had led a hard life until then. Seeing him had opened her heart to forgiveness.

  It struck her again that the arsonist was only a year older than Robbie would have been, and the same age she was when her mother died and she became her sister’s surrogate mother and was fully responsible for her within a year. What if her own anger at her mother had expressed itself in a life of crime? Instead she had written about it and transformed it into a lucrative career. But this was a helpless, sick boy, unable to surmount his own
pain except by starting fires, damaging property and causing people’s deaths. Her heart ached for the tragedy of his life, and it made her own anger at her mother’s coldness seem so small. The young arsonist’s life was sure to get worse now instead of better. It was truly tragic, and she felt only grief and compassion for him.

  It made her think of her sister when she got home. Her worst crime, in Melissa’s eyes, had been joining a religious order, which Melissa had been deeply critical of at the time. But apparently it suited her, if she was still there eighteen years later. Her two years in Africa nursing orphans and life as a nurse in a hospital were admirable. Suddenly Melissa wanted to see her again. Even if they had nothing in common now, they had a shared history, and still loved each other, even though things had gone so wrong.

  She sent her an email, and invited her to come up. Hattie’s response came through on Melissa’s computer in less than an hour. She accepted the invitation gratefully, said she wouldn’t spend the night, but would make the round trip the same day. It was a four-hour drive from New York, which meant they wouldn’t have too many hours together, which might be for the best for a first visit after so long. They were almost strangers to each other now.

  Hattie wrote again later in the day, and said she could come up on a Saturday in ten days. She was working every day until then. Melissa responded that the date was fine with her. She sat thinking about it for a long time after she had sent Hattie her response. She was half excited to see her, and half afraid. Being with her would open so many doors of memory again, some of them so painful, but she suddenly longed to see her and Hattie had said the same.

  She promised to arrive as early as she could. They were going to let her use one of the convent cars. Melissa thought about her almost constantly for the next ten days, and dreamed of her at night. In her dreams, they were both still children in New York, Hattie six or seven, and Melissa twelve and thirteen, always feeling responsible for her. And then, she thought about taking care of her when their mother was sick and after she died, and feeling so maternal toward her once they were alone after their father’s death. They had been so close, and then suddenly it was all broken when Hattie disappeared from her life, and gave up the world. Melissa had her own life then, with Carson, and then Robbie. And now so much time had passed. There was no one left of the people they had loved, just the two of them.