Body of Ash (24 page)

Countless business cards were tacked to the board. Everything from babysitting services to construction, web design and tax professionals. There were bulletins for
organizations offering fuel assistance and tag sales, area fundraisers and food banks. Scanning the information quickly, her eyes spotted what she hoped for: church tracks.  Passing up the Watch Tower and LDS’ flyers, Rachel knew what to look for. Denominations were diverse, but if she could find a local evangelical church, it was possible she could find help.

One caught her eye; “Heaven Is Real” adorned the cover. Scanning the inside, the six steps to salvation were similar to
what New Hope always taught with a slight difference here or there.  A phone number and church address were listed.

Finding her way back to the bench, Rachel studied the booklet. Having grown up with the teachings, she could have written it herself by the time she was seven-years-old. To believe Jesus was the son of God and died for our sins, was the only guarantee that one would go to Heaven after they died. But what did it mean if her father wasn’t a real Christian? Could he be if he didn’t follow the teachings he taught others? If so, what did it say about her? She always believed because her parents were Christians, she was too. Now she didn’t know.

Paul Becker, the preacher’s name, was listed on the back. What would she say if she called him?

She knew churches offered charity to the poor. Her father preached the importance of donating to the Benevolence Fund all the time. One night, when she was home alone while her parents were having dinner with the McNally’s from church, Rachel had taken a call from Bud
Dupont
, a parishioner that once attended New Hope. Sounding desperate and upset on the phone, he told Rachel that he was on the streets of Bridgeport, hungry and with no place to go. His car had been towed and he had been kicked out of the boarding house he had been staying in. Without any means of his own, he
wanted to know if Reverend Jones could help him. Even if all he could do was call a church in the area and ask they put him up for the night until he could check into the local homeless shelter the next day. Rachel took all of his information and promised she would have her father call him back as soon as he returned from his evening out.

It was impossible to imagine anyone in such a terrible position, especially a brother in Christ. As soon as Brian and Angela returned home, she pleaded Mr.
Dupont’s
case to her father and expected him to drive straight down to Bridgeport and rescue the man himself. Instead, her father went into his office to make a few calls. It wasn’t until the next day when Rachel overheard her mother talking about the
Dupont
family, and how far Bud had fallen, that Rachel learned the truth. Her father didn’t think the man was worthy of help, so left him on the streets to fend for himself.

Is that what will happen to me? Will I just be turned away?

Rachel looked around at the patrons folding laundry. With high-pitched children swarming around their feet, most of them looked as frazzled as she did. It was almost dinner time and their kids were getting cranky. They weren’t in any position to help her. She could ask where a local mission or homeless shelter was, but she would have no point of
reference or understanding of landmarks to even follow directions. Plus, Ernie and Mars, or someone with worse intentions could spot her and she didn’t want that. Her knowledge of church kindred was all she had.

I need a story, something they will believe…without asking questions.

Rachel figured she could pass for eighteen. Maybe even a college freshmen heading home for the weekend. Torrington was big and must have a train station and plenty of bus stops. Perhaps she could tell them she was taking the trip to a friend’s house up near Boston and that she missed her connecting ride, that another wasn’t scheduled to come through until tomorrow and that she left her money and ID on the bus. She could offer them a fake name and claim to be a member of a church from down south.

Over the years, she had visited congregations all over the South, when her family took their yearly trip to Georgia. Her father loved to visit the churches that supported his New England mission work. Whenever he told them he was stopping for a visit, the congregations would either put them up in a fancy hotel or offer guestrooms in their loveliest of homes. They were treated like foreign dignitaries and Rachel actually enjoyed meeting some nice families.

I could try it…if they get too suspicious, I’ll just have to run.

Tomorrow had to be better. Hopefully Jason would hear what her parents were expecting to do, and maybe even get his parents to help. Anything else was too much to consider. Reaching for her cell phone, Rachel offered up a short prayer and hoped God was actually listening.

3
7

ANGELA

Friday 4:30 PM

Wrapping herself in a terrycloth towel, Angela stepped out of the claw foot tub. Failing to lay down a bathmat, beads of water pooled at her feet. It was a simple precaution she had preached for years, always chastising Rachel when the teen forgot. Staring at the floor, Angela no longer cared where the
small rivers flowing between the grout tiles went. After all that had been said and done over the last twenty-four hours, a little thing such as that seemed pointless.

Staying up all night left Angela exhausted.  Her muscles ached and a slight headache gnawed at the base of her skull. With finger-like tentacles, the pressure fanned out until it wrapped around her temples. Drinking coffee didn’t help. The caffeine left behind jittery nerves and a nauseated stomach. Hoping a shower would refresh her body and awaken her mind, she found it did just the opposite. The quiet lull of the spray made her sleepy, knocking down her defenses until tears began to fall.

Despite the pain of Brian screwing Marge Finch and her fear of Rachel being hurt and lost, Angela hadn’t allowed herself to cry. She didn’t dare give herself such a freedom. She had to be tough because Brian wasn’t strong enough to carry them through. Coupled with her fatigue, his insistence that he was going to find their daughter chipped away at her resolve. Once she began to weep, every damn feeling she had been trying to ignore forced itself to the surface until all she could do was sit in the water, her body pruning up while it racked with sobs. 

It didn’t help that he touched me like that….

Angela wanted to believe his touch. She desired nothing more than an act of tenderness from him instead of his usual arrogance. It reminded her of what it was like when they first started dating – when he made her feel like she was safe and loved by him. Or when they decided to start their family, lying in bed for hours after making love and coming up with baby names and joking they wouldn’t stop popping them out until they had enough children to fill their own little league team. But, she was too old to dream and Brian had disappointed her too often to believe his hands wanted to hold her.

Shifting her thoughts to the scene she walked in on helped her remember the truth about him. That was the real Brian – the man her husband had become. Self-centered and self-pleasing, he wasn’t caring. No amount of hot water and shower gel could scrub the image from her mind of him jerking off in the living room while watching that filth. Angela hated how Brian found it so easy to excuse his behavior. Worse, that he could make her feel guilty for his actions. 

Frigid?
He made me this way a long time ago.

Angela looked at herself through the streaks of the steamed up mirror. She hadn’t wanted a celibate life, even she longed for passion, but the closest she could find it was
within the dog eared pages of a Nora Roberts or Daniel Steel novel. Many afternoons, once the house was cleaned and the errands were completed, she would slip off her heels and curl up on the couch or on the front porch rocking chair, lost in a steamy romance. Her favorite plots were those in which the hero would defy all odds to win the heart of the heroine.
Heroes who were faithful and determined; the kind that would go to the ends of the Earth for their one true love.

I wanted that. I wanted to be loved.

Was something missing inside of her – something that she had at one time, but lost along the way?  Maybe if she could find it, find
herself
, Brian would change. Then again, she was an unlovable child who grew into an unlovable woman. Perhaps that was why God didn’t see fit to give her more than one child when she had desired a house full. They would have been damaged by her lack of love and left forced to seek it elsewhere.

Discouraged, Angela ran her hand over her foggy reflection. She wished the years could be wiped away and the past could be rewritten so that her life was like one of the novels she found an escape in. Was a happily ever after too much to ask for?

Rachel’s life has to be different. She can’t relive my mistakes.

After applying a liberal coat of Lancôme lotion to her arms and legs, she slid on simple cotton panties and a bra.  Working a wide pick comb through her tresses, she untangled the curls that were beginning to knot.  Not wanting to miss a call from Rachel or Officer Barry, Angela worked quickly.

Leaning to plug in her ceramic hairdryer, Angela heard a knock on the bathroom door. Bristling at the thought of her husband wanting to join her, she froze in place. Too much time had passed since he last saw her clad in so few clothing. With her skin moist and flushed from the heated water, she felt too vulnerable for his viewing.

Did he think because he touched her face without her recoiling that she would welcome him now? Or that all could be forgiven because he held her hand while whispering that he needed her? With a huff of disbelief, she reached for her blouse and tugged it over her head. She agreed to work with him to find their daughter, but healing their marriage would take time and couldn’t be skipped over by pretending everything was alright between them.

Another wrap on the door resounded through the room, this time louder and closer together.

Realizing he was waiting for her to answer, Angela responded, “Be out in a minute. I’m getting dressed.” 

Irritation crept through her. He should have gotten the message the first time.

“May I come in?” a familiar voice carried from the other side of door.

Lost in her reflection, Angela’s face paled. “Yes, mother.” 

3
8

BRIAN

Friday 4:35 PM

Stepping out on to the porch, Brian carried his bottle of whiskey with him. The hairs on his arms stood in response to the cold, but he refused to get a coat.  Sylvia Bennett was in there and he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to deal with her.

When the doorbell rang, he assumed it was a neighbor or George Barry. Instead, his mother-in-law brushed past.
Tossing her purse on the cherry console table, she placed both hands on her hips before leveling her knowing eyes on him. Not an inch over five feet tall, Sylvia’s domineering presence reminded Brian of the nasty toy poodle his mother owned when he was a kid. Confident, feisty, and suffering a Napoleon complex, Sylvia wasn’t happy unless she was the center of attention. Although he bent over backwards to please her over the years, the sixty-six-year-old remained a bitch.