Body of Ash (18 page)

It stunned Angela when her mother began doting on Rachel after Ralph died. Although she was happy one of her parents finally thought she did something right, Angela couldn’t help but feel jealous of the bond her mother and daughter shared.  Angela approached the conversation once. Sylvia suggested that Rachel had a part of Perry’s spirit in her. Hurt that her mother found yet another way to wedge her dead brother between them, she vowed to never ask again.

Holding the phone to her ear, Angela’s heart raced as the line rang on the other end.

2
8

BRIAN

Friday 2:00 PM

After ensuring Marge’s car was finally out of the parking lot, Brian sat down at his desk and opened his laptop. Scrolling through his documents, he found what he wanted and hit print. His sermon was now prepared for Sunday. In fact, all of his sermons for the next few years were prepared thanks to having purchased a backlog of forty-five minute lectures from Pastor Carpenter before he retired to Louisiana. Over his thirty years of preaching, the old man kept meticulous notes in bullet form that Brian could review
before taking his place behind the podium. Brian felt his timed use of metaphors and old antidotes gave his congregation lessons with a certain appeal, even if he wasn’t the one to pour hours of research in to them. It was plagiarism for the greater good. 

With his office leaving him feeling claustrophobic, Brian decided to head out for the rest of the afternoon.  He thought of Rachel and wondered if she had finally dragged her ass home.

I suppose Angela would have called if she had…anything to point out my failure as a
father.

He hoped his daughter wasn’t so stupid to have gotten herself hurt. Hell, she could have broken her neck climbing down from her second story window. Worse would be her being found drunk at a party or in the back of some guy’s car. He wondered how he would spin that tale if she ended up arrested or something. 

The actions of a preacher’s kid always reflected back on the parent. He had drilled into her head the importance of representing him. He had thought she understood that, but her antics last night proved that she was as headstrong as her mother.

Another damn woman to make my life hell.

Maybe he should have been more like his old man. Brian would never have considered pulling a stunt like that. When he was a child, each time he misbehaved, whether it was moving too slow, too fast, rolling his eyes, or back talking – his father dealt a heavy hand. The delivery was the same. Jim Jones wore a heavy brown leather belt. As he removed it from his waist, he would quote scripture, before forcing Brian, pants down, over his knee.

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.

2
9

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 persuasion. She could make Angela see what they both wanted. Marge deserved a shot at a good life with Brian, too.