Body of Ash (23 page)

Spit flew from her mother’s mouth, spraying Katie with each word. Her mother was barely recognizable with her hair
disheveled and expression incensed. Her eyes looked hardened and cold and completely unfamiliar.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Katie whimpered in terror. Once on her knees, she tried gaining leverage, desperate for relief from the woman’s hold. 

“No,” Marge murmured, quickly dropping her hand, “of course not.”  Marge stepped back and looked down at her hands. Her facial expression shifted suddenly from infuriated to
confused
.

Katie’s head stung. Her mother’s unprovoked attack left the sensation of hundreds of slivers dotting the surface of her skin. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up, and grasped the wall for balance. Her face ached from the blow, leaving a jabbing sensation across her jawline. Running her fingers over the back of her head, an egg was forming where it struck the frame. 

Her mother stood in front of her, staring puzzled at her hands.  In slow repetition, Marge stretched out her long fingers only to curl them back into a fist. Over and over, with her head tilted to one side, she studied the continual motion.  

Eyeing her mother, Katie was unsure if her punishment was over. Marge used to hit her when she was a child, but hadn’t in years. Abuse wasn’t her style; she even avoided raising her voice. When Katie was thirteen, Marge had given her a bloody nose after she called her mother a bitch in
public, but that was the last time her mom ever laid a hand on her. The two talked out their problems, being friends first.

With her mother’s silence and bewildered facial expressions, Katie began panicking. Marge seemed relaxed, as though nothing just happened. A desperate fear welled up from the recesses of Katie’s consciousness. She didn’t want to see it; she didn’t want to give it a voice. Her mother was insane. There was no use in denying it anymore.

“I can’t stay here,” she whimpered, trying to hold back her sobs. “I’m going to go live with Dad.”

“You can’t leave.” Marge looked up from her hands, her face now passive and calm. “I need you.”

“You
hit
me.” Katie snapped.

“I thought you were a burglar.” Marge smiled, but her confusion still lingered. “Your father showed up at my job and said he’s taking you away from me. I came home to tell you we had to fight him over this, but I didn’t recognize you.” Shrugging her shoulders, her mother looked back down at her fingers.  

“What? My hair cut? That warrants what you just did to me?”

“It wasn’t me. It was stress.” Marge shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Her mother’s disorganized thinking made no sense. 

“Well, I’m sorry too,” Katie replied angrily. “I’m sorry I’ve let you treat me like shit for so long. But, you know what? No more. If you can’t put me first, I’m gone.”

Pushing past her mother, Katie ran to her bedroom and locked the door. Her eyes burned with tears as she sank to the floor. Shocked with what just happened, she tried to control her tears, but was gripped by a wave of despair. Covering her face with her hands, she tried stifling the sobs that forced their way up from within her chest.

What the hell is wrong with her?

Emotion spiraled deep inside her gut. Not so much sadness, but fear and rage. Her mother was losing her mind and having her father make demands just brought it to the surface. She didn’t know what to do.

“Katie,” her mother’s voice crooned from the hallway. “Don’t be mad, sweetie. I didn’t really hurt you, did I?”

Dragging the back of her knuckles against her wet cheeks, Katie wished there was a reply she could give that was both honest and encouraging, but she couldn’t force herself to pacify her mother this time. Feeling crushed and scared, there was no way she could pretend everything was okay and sooth her mother’s guilt.

Katie needed a plan, a way to pack her things without Marge becoming unhinged, but she couldn’t think. Her grandmother was too sick to help and her grandfather never came to visit, even when her mom was in bed for six months
after the divorce. Other than Veronica, her mother’s boss from the shop, and Brian, the woman didn’t keep close friends.

Can Jones help? Or is he making her worse?

Despite wanting answers, her mind produced nothing.

“Come on now baby, I need you. We’ve got to stick together.” Her mother’s voice sounded small and childlike on the other side of the door. “Things will get better once Brian and I are married. I know he’ll give us everything. You’ll see.”

Rocking herself in slow agony, Katie blocked out the sound of her mother’s voice. In detailed fantasy, Marge romanticized their future from the other side of the door.  Katie didn’t want any of it. If her mother couldn’t get a grip on reality, it wouldn’t matter who she married
.

3
6

RACHEL

Friday 4:10 PM

The whirring hum of industrial strength dryers incased the
laundromat
, creating a refuge from the sounds of cars and sirens that littered the streets. Other than a television in the corner and gaudy Halloween lights strung across the window, the slate grey walls and fluorescent lighting didn’t offer visual interest.
The establishment was packed with warm bodies, but it was the scent of fabric softener and detergent that permeated the room. 

Despite the humidity, Rachel felt protected from the view of passer byes on the street. For two hours, she remained seated on the bench, placed between a row of washers and vending machines. There she sat, hiding from Ernie.

Taking in a deep breath, Rachel closed her eyes. The activity around her had become familiar. Parents with small children moved in and out, transferring their garments from laundry bags to washers, then on to dryers before finally folding them in neat little piles on the provided tables.  Even as a two small children, a boy and a girl, both with dark brown hair and eyes, played at her feet, Rachel no longer monitored the front entrance, fearing who would come bolting through. Off the unfamiliar streets, she felt safe and free to explore her options. The one thing she knew for sure
was that she couldn’t hide forever; the place would be closing soon and she needed a plan.

Finding the
Whirl n’ Twirl
was pure luck. If she hadn’t, God knows how long it would have been before Ernie and Mars spotted her, maybe even forcing her into the pickup. Maybe if she put her foot down and demanded they treat her with respect, the jerks would have knocked it off. Maybe they were just testing her, but the way Ernie looked at her really scared her. The thought of being alone with the two of them terrified her, even more than returning home. 

After replaying their confrontation, she knew she might have been reading too much into their words, but she doubted it. If Jason had taught her anything, it was for her to trust her instincts and they told her to run, so she did. As soon as she had passed through the rear exit on her way to the ladies room, she hit the parking lot sprinting. For a brief moment, she thought of her backpack left in Ernie’s Nissan, but even that didn’t slow her down. Staying close to the sides of buildings, she ran as quickly as possible, even darting through alleys to avoid intersections, where she might be spotted. Wanting to be near people, she looked for a store or a restaurant, someplace she could rest and make a call.

Spotting the neon sign for
Whirl n’ Twirl
, Rachel ducked in behind a large family unloading their laundry from a
Caravan. Despite the “No Loitering” sign at the entrance, the glossy haired attendant with a Tom
Selleck
mustache behind the counter didn’t even look up as she walked past. Unsure if his lack of interest in what she was doing was because he was too invested in his John Grisham novel to ask her to leave, or because he hadn’t spotted her, Rachel sat near the children, hoping to appear like a mother’s helper if he did decided to size up the customers.

But with what to do next not being so forth coming, she buried her head into her hands, searching for answers. Her first thought was to call Jason. Knowing he could be there within an hour to get her back home was a comfort, but it wasn’t an option.
At least not yet.
If Rachel’s parents called the police, they would have told them that her boyfriend was most likely involved. If the cops had any sense, they would question Jason’s involvement. She didn’t want him to get in trouble.

Or imagine what he would do to Ernie…

Jason was short on patience, especially when it came to anyone giving Rachel a hard time. Last summer, while spending an afternoon at the lake, a couple of teens from out of town had been giving Rachel and her friend Nicole unwanted attention. Despite the attempts of the newcomers, both girls made it clear that they weren’t interested.

While swimming out to the deeper section where Jason and Nicole’s boyfriend, Bobby, were treading water, one of the guys crept up behind Rachel and thought it would be funny to dunk her. When the stranger grabbed her shoulders, she yelped right before her head slipped under water.  She emerged just in time to see Jason planting a fist in the boy’s face.

Through the hectic sounds of splashing water and raised voices, Rachel could hear Jason threatening to rip the guy’s head off if he ever touched her without permission again. Bright red blood gushed from the kid’s nose as he apologized for the joke. A quick whistle from the lifeguard and they were all thrown out of the water. The cops were called and although no files were charged, the patrol officer who came to the scene made it clear that they were all old enough to have a record if they got in trouble again. Before leaving, the officer delivered a warning that further fighting could keep them from getting into college. It scared Rachel enough to want to keep her boyfriend’s temper under control.

She knew Jason would kick Ernie’s ass. After blowing her money on drugs, insinuating that she would have to put out if she wanted a place to stay and letting his creepy friend harass her, Rachel didn’t think her boyfriend would remain all too calm. Ernie put her in danger after promising Jason he would keep her safe. They had less than a year before they could
move to Cambridge and begin college. A guy like Ernie Macy and his gross little friend Mars, weren’t worth throwing away their dreams over. Still, she would have to tell him something and she wasn’t a liar, but waiting until she was in a safer situation would help.

Rachel thought of her friends. They too would have heard she ran, but she didn’t think they would be much help. Jason was the only one who drove and both Nicole and Beth would squeal to their parents. Not that she blamed them – if they were lost in a rundown city, she would gather her parents to aid in their rescue too. The only other person Rachel considered calling was her grandmother. Sylvia Bennett was a delightful woman, but even she knew her mother’s mother wouldn’t agree with her attempt to escape. No, Sylvia was both formal and refined, a good woman to discuss college plans and homecoming corsages with, but not the kind of grandmother to run crying to. 

Suddenly, her Sidewalk Prophet’s ring tone, “Live Like That,” began playing from inside her coat pocket. As quickly as that, it was back – the nervousness, the dread in the pit of her stomach, the sense of something pending, was heavy and weighing on her shoulders. A glance at the phone and she silenced the call. It was her mother, calling yet again to demand she come home. Her inbox was filling with the messages she refused to listen to. Rachel knew her mother
wanted her home, to be the daughter they expected her to be, without caring one bit what Rachel’s wants or needs were. Listening to the guilt trips and ultimatums weren’t necessary. She already had for seventeen years and that was long enough.

Glancing around the room, Rachel noticed the attendant’s feet were now up on the counter, with his body lounging back in his chair, his book resting on his chest as he dozed. While wondering how he could sleep on the job, Rachel spotted a bulletin board by the front entrance. Gathering her wallet, she made her way over to the door, eyes darting from the street to the attendant and back, hoping neither would prove alarming.