Body of Ash (2 page)

A belly laugh resonated from deep in his chest. Ra
chel loved the familiar sound.
When he let one roll, it was contagious.

“Can’t blame me for trying.”
Pulling her to him, he kissed her before she could reply. “Now get on my bike before we’re late.”

2

ANGELA

Thursday 8:30 AM

As the market doors slid open, Angela Jones steered the grocery cart to the produce section. In her hand was a slip of paper that contained a list she had spent the morning trying to create. Glancing down at her familiar script, she could barely make sense of the items she had penned. It was only a birthday dinner she was cooking with just one extra guest; why she jotted down possible
hors d'oeuvres
and additional desserts baffled her.

Surely Rachel’s boyfriend doesn’t eat that much.

Angela rarely cooked anymore. Putting together fancy spreads used to come easy. When Rachel was little, dinner was set aside as a part of their daily routine. Now, her
daughter would eat alone in her room and Brian, her husband, ate in front of the television. Only Angela dined at the table, her only company a paperback to get lost in. 

Glancing at the array of lettuce types, she wondered what the kids even liked. She tried remembering if her daughter had a particular favorite. When Angela was growing up, she and her brother ate what they were told to. Harboring the same attitude that children should eat a little of everything, Angela never encouraged Rachel to be fussy. The night wasn’t going to be easy; a careful dinner menu was the only thing she could control. 

Rachel had commented that she and Jason had been a couple for a year.

Could they have been dating that long?

There hadn’t been a point to invite him over before now. It was difficult having guests in their home. With Brian’s position in the community, they were always being watched. Keeping the home silent and free from suspecting eyes made life less stressful.

Rachel seemed content spending her time with friends. She never asked to host sleepovers or movie nights and Angela was fine with that.  It was a good thing that Rachel
developed independence early on – it would make leaving home easier.

Settling on romaine, Angela glanced around for the croutons.  Her eye caught the sunny wave of Chris
Theriot
, a regular at Sunday’s service. In a fleece jacket and jeans, his ruddy complexion suited him. With a casual nod, Angela hoped she had taken care with her appearance. Pulling her hair back into a perfect up-do, ironing her clothes, and applying a subtle amount of perfume – it was all a show. Getting out of bed was difficult enough. Ensuring the townsfolk she was a vision of serene Christian living was downright painful.

Please God, get me through today.

As she strolled through the store, Angela recalled her own seventeenth birthday. It was the last birthday she celebrated with her brother. Although she didn’t know it at the time, Perry would leave in two months for basic training and never return.

Angela could still recall her brother’s mischievous smile as he slipped
a whoopee
cushion under their mother’s bottom before taking her seat that night. Sylvia, a self-appointed spokesperson for maintaining proper mannerisms at all times, turned white and her mouth dropped open in shock as the air
blasted out from the gag toy. Her petite body shook with rage as she demanded their father scold Perry for his childish prank. Ralph Bennett was a stark man, but even his grey eyes held a hint of amusement as he sent Perry to his room.

Later that night, Perry knocked on her door, confessing the fart cushion was a cliché, but embarrassing their mother should be worth a lifetime of laughs and make up for the fact that he didn’t have a gift to offer her for her birthday.  Her brother couldn’t have known that because of him, Angela couldn’t stomach the sight or sound of the stupid things. It wasn’t laughter that visited her, just regret.

Dropping a Stouffer’s lasagna into the cart, Angela wished Rachel had someone like Perry. Someone who could soften the hard edges in life, a confidant who knew your secrets and was trusted to keep them, no matter how easily they could annoy you. Rachel was Angela’s sole child. Her womb knew before her heart that another child wasn’t meant to be.

At first her infertility was a shock, but it didn’t take long for her to realize that Brian’s seed was being planted elsewhere. For all she knew, her husband fathered a litter of bastards throughout the northwestern corner of the state.  But, Rachel was all that Angela had for her own, a daughter that would carry on the family bloodline and Angela’s dreams.
Knowing that the only part of her husband that was worth anything, he poured into their daughter during her conception, made her only child more
precious. Unlike so many other children, the teen never asked for a baby brother or sister, instead finding comfort in her playmates from church. The lack of conversation made forgetting she once planned on having a houseful of children easier.

Tonight all Rachel
will have is Jason.

Knowing the only gift they had for their daughter would come with a price, Angela’s hatred for her husband rekindled inside until it replaced the pools of sadness she wallowed in with a fiery rage.
Heading to the line at the front of the store, Angela’s teeth clenched behind her fake smile.

I hope the damn meal gives the son of a bitch a heart attack.

3

BRIAN

Thursday 11:55 AM

Pulling up in front of 155 High Street, Brian dusted off the breakfast crumbs from his tie and tucked his New International Version Bible under his arm.  A quick look in the visor mirror revealed an even row of white teeth. With a flick of his finger, he freed a poppy seed left behind by his morning bagel. Approving the adequate job a quick shave in the shower gave him, he ran his hand along his jaw line. His bronze hair was well groomed and his suit still smelled fresh from the drycleaners.

For a man in my forties, I look good. 

Usually, he entered the complex through the back of the building, where the Finch women had a second story entrance. Visits during the day were unusual, he preferred waiting until the street had grown dark, and eyes weren’t as quick to pry.

But, today, his mood spurred boldness and an unexpected cancellation in his schedule left him free to make house calls.
With scripture as a prop, he decided to make an impromptu visit to see Marge. She wasn’t expecting him, but catching her unaware added to his excitement.

As he worked his way up the front stairwell, the smell of cat urine and kitchen trash permeated the carpets. Marge wasn’t a pet owner, but he bet her neighbors were. Maybe even the filthy kind that rescued felines by the dozens, just to leave them shitting all over the damn place and infesting each other with fleas.

As a pastor, Brian had been in a few dumps like that. It wasn’t difficult to judge whether someone would be accepted as a new member of the church. If their houses were dirty and they dressed in rags, they would not be able to offer much to the congregation. He expected his parishioners to give ten percent. If they couldn’t, he sent them down the road to the Church of the Living God. The preacher there was willing to live off pennies as long as his flock got to Heaven.

Reaching apartment 2B, Brian knocked on the door. He wondered what Marge was wearing. She dressed like a woman half her age, usually with her jugs hanging out and the crack of her ass showing. He would strangle his daughter if she ever came home in a getup like that. As a pastor’s kid, Rachel needed to dress conservative. His wife Angela did a
good job raising their daughter up in the respect. Marge was a different conversation.

Knocking harder, Brian began to sweat. Tugging at his collar, he remembered Marge down on all fours last Tuesday. Just the memory of her smell and her quick gasps for air, sent blood flowing to his organ. What he liked best was that Marge wasn’t picky. She would jump right in to whatever fantasy he had at the moment.

Not Angela though. His wife was too dignified to cut loose. Over the years, their intimacy had shriveled down to nothing. She was still sexy. Her body lithe and sensual, even after turning forty last year. It was Angela’s attitude that made his balls hurt. She couldn’t understand his needs and turned her back on him years ago.

Holding his breath, he heard movement from the other side of the door. Puffing out his chest, he leaned against the frame, wanting to wow her.

With a click of the lock, the door swung open.

Brian’s words caught in his throat when he realized it wasn’t Marge, but her daughter Katie standing there. With a sleepy expression and blond hair hanging lose around her
shoulders,
the girl was a spitting image of her mother.
Surveying her body, the only noticeable difference was the girl’s smaller breasts.

Give her a year or two and s
he
’ll be a hot little thing.

“She’s not home,” Katie said, motioning to the room behind her.

Brian tried smiling. He knew the teen wasn’t happy to see him, especially after she caught him in bed with her mother a week earlier.

“Hi Katie.
Looks like I waked you.”

“Yeah, so what?
She’s not here.” Katie shrugged.

“It’s her day off. Do you know where she’s at?”

It took a moment for Katie to respond. Running her hand across her forehead, she breathed out a deep sigh. “You spend enough time with my mother. Try doing the same with your wife.”

Stepping to the side, she closed the door.

Amid the putrid smells of the hallway, Brian stood staring at the door, unsure what to do with his afternoon.

4

MARGE

Thursday 12:15 PM

Marge held a pair of lace panties to her hips, unsure if she needed a size six or a size seven. On sale for five dollars a pair, she didn’t want to pass up the deal. She hated that the Wal-Mart in Winsted never let you try them on. For a woman with curves like hers, fit was essential. If she brought the undergarments
home and they were too big, she would end up having them fall down
inside her pants
all day. If they were too small, she co
uld give them to Katie, but her daughter would complain about Marge’s spending habits.