Body of Ash (38 page)

“You’re right,” Angela sighed. “You’re father and I had lost sight of how you’ve grown. We were too focused on our own needs when we should have been thinking of you.”

The truth was
,
Rachel had grown up. She wasn’t the little girl she used to be. It was time to encourage her to make her decisions, to see where she wanted to go in life.

“I just want to be happy. Both of us need to that. Do you realize you never smile? You always seem so depressed and
far away.” Tilting to face her, Rachel’s expression was concerned. The skin above her brow furrowed as she watched her mother. “You blew up my phone today. You must have called at least a dozen times. As angry as I was, I knew you were thinking of me,” she said. A slight smile darted across her face, but was quickly gone. “Dad didn’t call me once. Is he with Marge?”

The question hung in the air between them. After leaving the house with Sylvia, Angela hadn’t heard anything from her husband. The last she saw of him, he was carrying the mostly empty bottle of booze up the stairs, claiming he was going to get washed up and then search for their daughter. He hadn’t even asked where Angela planned to go.

“We need to be different, Mom. Life is too short to be sad all of the time. I want more than that.”

Angela wanted
more,
it just felt so hard to ask for. What would it take to find peace of mind? To be able to awaken each day to a new sunrise and look forward to what the day would offer?  Having a happy family was a start. Knowing her daughter was well loved and cared for would bring Angela joy.

But what about Brian?

As long as he was hurting them both with his selfishness, it would be impossible to move forward. As it was, Angela felt shame whenever she walked into the church at home. He had been taken advantage of the congregation for years, taking extra money on the side, using the credit cards for personal pleasure. And the women – how many of them did he see outside of the church for personal reasons? Whispers found their way around a small town, even when she tried not to acknowledge they were there.

At one time, Angela held her head proud. She knew that she was worth acceptance, especially as Brian Jones’s wife. It had been so long since she felt that assured, since she was able to believe she was enough to keep him satisfied.

As Angela thought of how far her marriage had fallen, Rachel slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. Tugging her closer, her daughter’s affection was almost too much to bear. “I want you to know, that I’m going to stand by you. If Dad wants to leave us for Katie’s mom, or if you decide you need more than what he gives you, I am going to stay with you. It doesn’t matter what our church family thinks or what the neighbors think.”

On the car ride down, Sylvia was suggesting the same thing. Angela’s mother and her daughter both saw what she had been trying to avoid. Despite Brian’s demand for a
promise that she stay with him, she had to face the truth. Her marriage had fallen apart and couldn’t be reconciled. Even if Brian broke things off with Marge, it wouldn’t be enough to heal all of the pain he had dealt her for so many years. Loving him had become too
hard,
the emotion had fallen away until all that was left was contempt. She wasn’t the same young woman that could only see his smile and believe his charm – part of Angela had faded with time.

Leaning in, she allowed her daughter to comfort her. How was it that they had never sat down and really talked before? They could have strengthened one another all of these years instead of suffering alone. Things did need to change, even if doing so wasn’t easy.

“Well,” Angela said, breathing life in with each word, “I’m thankful you’ll help me. I was thinking we could get a small place for just the two of us until you graduate. After that, I can relocate to wherever you want to go to school. But, you will help make the decisions, okay? It won’t be just me in charge.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Rachel replied, hugging tightly.

After a while, Rachel stood. Brushing off the seat of her pants, she glanced towards the doorway. “I want to go and thank them for their help. If Colette hadn’t picked me up, who knows where I’d be. Do you want to come?”

“I’ll be with you in just a minute. I should call your father and let him know you’re safe.”

“Okay,” Rachel smiled. Pausing at the door, she glanced again at her mother, “I’m going to pray for him. I don’t think he realizes how messed up he is.” With that, the teen left to join the others.

As Angela removed her phone from her purse, she wondered what she would say.

I’m sorry, but I can’t stay as promised. Living this way is too painful. It’s time we separate.

53

BRIAN

Friday 9:28 PM

The pressure was indescribable, like a bomb detonated within his rib cage.

My God, the bitch shot me…I can’t believe she shot me.

Deep holes spilled blood down Brian’s chest. The burning was too much, he tried to scream, tried to beg for the heaviness to stop, but couldn’t. Straining to drag air into his lungs, Brian tried sitting up. His pulse beat wildly in his neck. It felt wrong, it was all wrong.

I have to go. I have to get out of here.

His legs were motionless, all feeling in them gone. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, or think. The squeezing continued, like knifes twisting and turning beneath the skin. Pain shot down his left arm, the weight on that side of his body crushing him to death.

Hands were on him, pressing, pushing – making him burn. He tried forcing them away. They hurt, they were hurting him,
he
couldn’t stand it.

Please stop....Make it stop...

Voices swirled around his head – voices that turned to screams. He could have sworn it was his that he heard, mixed with the others. Straining to see, his vision was failing. It was white, all white, gone were the faces. Blood filled his mouth
with each labored gasp. Metallic and thick, it gushed from his throat, his life force seeping out.

“Are you washed in the blood…in the soul cleansing blood of the lamb…”Rachel sat on the swing, her little pigtails bobbing with the song. “Daddy,” she called, “Are you listening, Daddy?” He turns away from the woman bending over by the slide, tying a small boy’s shoe, to meet his daughter’s eyes. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “You sing just like Mommy.”

Hacking again, the cords in his neck strained painfully taut. The air wouldn’t come, his left side constricting so much that his back and arm felt as though an army tank were rolling over him, flattening him into the ground.

I’m going to die. God help me.

The fluids kept coming. Out of his mouth, out of his chest…the pool would swallow him up. He needed to move, to stop the liquid from pulling him in, but couldn’t. His body convulsed, dragging him closer.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Angie asked.
“The water is so warm.”  Standing on the beach, she clutched a towel around her. Her long hair was damp, clinging to her face as she smiled down at him. The Labor Day sun felt glorious, he hadn’t wanted to get up from the spot he had made for
himself. From his lounge chair, he could watch all of the other sunbathers from behind his shades without being noticed. Young women in swimsuits ran up and down the beach, their bodies glistening with suntan oil.  As lovely as they were, they didn’t compare to Angie. Even in her modest one piece suit, with her belly swollen and seven months pregnant with Rachel, he had never seen a woman so beautiful.  

It was a woman’s hand. He was sure of it, holding him, rocking him close. The needles that spread throughout his body were beginning to slow. Everything was slowing, his breath coming now in short,
quick
bursts. The coughing had stopped, the blood easing too. Concentrating on the rhythm, Brian thought of the hands, holding his chest, holding his hand.

Rachel must not have been more than five. As he stood in the corner of the gymnasium, her small fist clutched tightly to his. Kindergarten orientation was over and it was time for the meet and greet. She wanted so badly to join the other children, but struggled with shyness. Biting down on her lip with little white teeth, he could see her trying to find the courage to be brave. Bending down to her level, he gently tugged his hand free and gave her a kiss. As her little face looked up into his questioningly, he whispered, “It’s okay to go Rachel. I won’t leave you. I’ll be right here if you need
me.” That was all it took. Without a second thought, she ran into the group and never looked back.

The soft weeping sound was nice. It helped drown the ringing from his ears.
Sirens, phones, his head, they were ringing – calling him, forcing him to gather each breath.
But, he was tired, so very tired, he needed to rest.

“Angie?” His voice was nothing but a rasp, “Tell Rachel, I love her. I love you both.” Wanting to say more, he strained but nothing was there. His lungs lacked enough air capacity to speak.

Sinking into the blackness, Brian took one last breath and let go. 

54

MARGE

Friday 9:30 PM

“Wake up you Bastard,” Marge begged, “You can’t just lay there.”

Don’t do this to me.

Bending over her lover, Marge attempted to hoist him up. Sliding her hands under Brian’s armpits, she tried to force him to sit. As his blood drenched her bare skin, all attempts to move him were impossible. A gurgling sound passed his lips, but other than that, nothing.

“He’s hurt, Mom,” Katie shivered. Clearly distressed, Marge’s daughter kneeled on the other side of Brian. Pressing on his wounds, she tried to stop the bleeding. “I can’t feel his pulse. You have to call 911.” 

“Not yet,” Marge stammered, “I need to figure out what to do.”

Wiping her hands on her thighs, she wished the effects of the booze and pills would wear off so she could think straight. Marge needed to sober up and make decisions. Wracking her brain, she knew there must be someone she could call; someone who would know what to do at a time like this. Her mind could produce nothing.

He did this to me. He forced my hand.

Glancing from Katie to Brian, Marge shook her head.  His blood was spilling to the floor, saturating the shag carpet. The police would take pictures of it. She knew from TV that they always did. After that, they would bring Brian to the morgue and look for more proof to hold against her. “It’s not my fault. I only wanted to scare him.”

Straightening up, Marge peered around for a towel or a shirt, something she could wipe him off with.  Seeing his dress shirt, she wadded the cotton into a ball and tried soaking up some of the blood that ran from his chest onto the floor. The crimson just smeared, leaving thick trails across his ashen skin.