Save Me: A dark romantic thriller (Novel) (30 page)

“Ashley’s not an alcoholic,” Troy had argued. “She’s just going through a really difficult time. And talk about being miserable, Sarah, you’re the one who complains all the time. At least when I was dating Ashley, we had a lot of fun. I can’t say the same thing when I was with you.”

Sarah had muttered something angrily, and then had pushed her partially filled shopping cart around the store for a while, before eventually returning.

“Now what do you want?” Troy demanded.

“I just came back for a minute,” she declared heatedly, “to let you know Troy, that, even if you wanted to give us another try, I decided I would tell you no! You see, you’re just not cut out for me. I don’t think you’re cut out for anyone. I mean, look at you. In a few years, you’ll be forty and you still haven’t given serious thought about when you might want to start a family . . . How screwed up is that? It’s like you want to remain a bachelor forever.”

“Would you please shut up!” he had snapped, while scowling.

“Shut up! What do you want to be alone for the rest of your life?”

“No. I just don‘t want to spend the rest of my life with you. Now go way! I have work to do.”

That said Sarah finally did leave.

Troy was relieved!

***

“So do you have a pen or something?” Ashley asked.

“Umn. Yeah. I should. Hold on a second.” Frantically, Troy began to search his apartment. After sifting through his desk drawer, he located a pencil.

“Did you find something?”

“Uh huh. Now I‘m looking for something to write on. Okay. I‘ll use the back of this envelope. Go ahead.”

Slowly, Ashley recited her email address.

“I’ve got it . . . So Ashley, what kind of computer did you buy?” He did not want to hang up just yet.

“A Dell desktop.”

“And you said before, that you have your own website?”

“Not yet,” she explained. “I will though soon. Definitely by the end of the month.”

“Cool. I‘m really excited for you.”

As they were about to bid each other farewell, Ashley at last acknowledged that she was happy to hear from him.

This long-awaited confession put a huge, encouraging smile on Troy’s face.

He was anxious to go online and send Ashley what would essentially be a long romantic letter.

All week long Ashley felt like a new woman, an artist that might soon become someone to be reckoned with.

Weeks ago, she had had a critic from the
New York Times
write highly of her. Now Stephen was going to help her get her own art show. She felt so encouraged.

Then, yesterday, when Troy had called, Ashley thought she might be dreaming.

Originally, she was in shock.

Then, once she had learned how Troy had acquired her new number, Ashley had undergone a feeling of elation. Evidently, Troy was having difficulty moving on.

Ashley realized what a decent person he was, even though, with her, Troy had made the kind of blunder that often destroyed even the strongest of relationships.

Oh well. The past was the past.

Why should she keep dwelling on it? Focusing on the past wasn’t going to re-script what, between them, had happened.

For a while, as they spoke, Ashley had been persuaded to invite Troy to her beachfront cottage.

Something however, a deep-rooted instinct, had advised her to reconsider. This internal voice had warned her to remain guarded, and not rush back into anything.

After all, that is how Ashley had been burned in the first place, because she had moved too fast? Had assumed too much, believing that Troy had been her steady boyfriend, when, in theory, he was still with someone else?

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Ashley said to Kimberly about an hour before nightfall.

The baby, fidgeting on the couch, looked up from the cushion with naïve eyes. Drool dribbled from her tiny mouth like gooey string.

“C’mon,” Ashley said, gently picking up her daughter. “Let’s take you for a stroll before it gets dark. Your mommy could use a breath of air. But first, we need to get your jacket. It’s cold out. Brrrhh!”

Ashley pushed the stroller around the block, stopped by the Cromwell’s to say hi.

At the door Lavern asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a bit? I could heat up some soup. Get you warmed up.”

Ashley smiled. “No thanks.”

“Awe, c’mon,” Blake urged. “At least watch some TV with us. Keep us old goats company for a little while.”

Oh, all right. I suppose I can stay for maybe forty-five minutes.”

“What kind of soup would you like?” Lavern asked. She had a distinctive Katherine Hepburn quality, particularly the way her voice sounded.

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you make will be fine.”

In the recreation room where the TV was, Blake said, “I hope you like the History Channel, kid. Because other than that there’s not much else on.”

Ashley sat down with the baby on her lap.

“I love the History Channel,” she said, watching Blake browse through the TV Guide. “I watch it all the time. Or I used to anyway. Lately, I haven’t had much time to watch TV in general.”

“If you want,” Blake said warmly. “I can call the cable company and have them install more channels. I’m sure you’d probably like to have more programs on art and culture, that sort of thing.”

Ashley was amazed by the Cromwell’s kindness. She figured part of it likely had to do with the fact that they were older and possibly lonely. Still, she cherished them all the same, and was glad that they had met.

Suddenly Blake asked Ashley about Stephen, specifically if he was her boyfriend.

“No, no,” she replied, blushing. “As I told your wife recently, Stephen Sorbello is just a friend. A friend with many important connections.”

Blake winked naughtily, as he continued to flip through the TV Guide. “Connections, oh, I get ya.”

“Yes. He’s in the process of trying to introduce me to the right people. I need that. Because I don’t care what anyone says, if you don’t have the right connections in the art world, your chances of making a name for yourself are virtually nil. It’s a cutthroat business. Not much different from the music industry.”

Lavern walked into the room.

“Don’t mind my husband,” she said, smirking. “Blake tends to be overly nosey at times.”

“That’s okay,” Ashley said. “I don’t mind talking about Stephen.”

“Anyway,” Lavern added, giving her husband a ’You Should Know Better’ look. “I decided to make cream and mushroom soup.”

“Great.” Ashley smiled. “Sounds yummy.”

They ate the meal there in the living room. Stephen’s name wasn’t mentioned again.
Thank God
.

When Ashley returned to the cottage, she turned on her computer, and saw that there was an email from Troy.

His message was rather extensive, like a letter:

Ashley,

Excuse me for being nervous.

If you take away that half hour conversation on the phone the other day, it feels like it has been forever since we last spoke.

And not to sound like a Hallmark card, but I did want to make mention, that without you in my life, there seems to be something missing.

I realize now, that when I hurt you, I had also hurt myself.

So now, I guess all that is left to say is, ‘I want to see you again!’

I also want to see that cute baby of yours. I miss pinching Kimberly’s chubby cheeks. Remember how that always used to make her giggle?

Just being around your kid used to make me wonder what it would be like to be a parent myself.

Obviously, raising a youngster requires a lot of patience, and sacrifice.

But Ashley, like I said to you over the summer, the rewards far outweigh the downside.

One day in the not-so-distant future, you will realize that all the hard work you keep complaining about, will pay off.

Who knows, maybe your daughter is destined to become someone great, like you. I am not just referring to you maybe becoming known as a top painter, I also mean great as being a great human being.

Anyway, please call me. Or respond to this email.

Maybe we can start over again, go somewhere and get a cup of coffee.

Okay?

Don’t be afraid. I want to prove to you that you can trust me. In order to do that, though, you have to give me another chance.

I promise I won’t let you down.

Love always,

Troy.

***

Rather than reply to Troy’s email with a straightforward response, Ashley typed a verse of poetry, which she had taken from her diary:

Troy, to hear you voice

Picture your face

And to forever remember

your enthralling embrace

Was all I wished

Before the sunset signaled goodbye

The portrait of expectation has changed.

I’m sorry.

***

When Troy read Ashley’s reply to his email, he was confused.

Was the poem her way of letting him know that they could never again be that their love had no hope?

Oh, how he wished he knew the answer to that.

Throughout the next few weeks, Ashley, clean and sober, had completed a remarkable fourteen more oil paintings, and had also taken part in an art exhibition in Manhattan, thanks to Stephen.

She sold both of the pieces she had put up for auction and had not only received more favorable reviews in the New York Times, but also in the New York Daily News, and other media outlets.

In addition, Stephen had some of her paintings made into prints. Consumers had already begun to buy them online, via Ashley‘s website, Stephen’s website, and on EBay.

Ashley had been working on her drawings around the clock, as if she were possessed.

There was more encouraging news.

Stephen did what he claimed he would do, had gotten Ashley her own art show, in London.

Ashley could not believe it.

The exhibition was scheduled for the week following New Years. She and Stephen planned to stay in England for five days. Then they would fly to Paris for a brief stay to do some sightseeing. Stephen was financing the trip.

***

“Your new collection is even more brilliant than your last one,” Ashley’s mother commented on Christmas morning.

“Thanks. I appreciate the moral support. It means a lot.”

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe I have such a gifted child.”

“Maybe the talent is in my genes.”

“Could be. Your father could also draw well. Too bad he ended up cooking in a diner for a living.”

They were in the cozy sitting room, at Ashley’s cottage, listening to holiday music, presently Rudolph. Ashley’s forest-scented Christmas tree, with its blinking colored lights, gold tinsel, bulbs, and other decorations, looked lovely. In the fireplace, a Duraflame log burned radiantly. Outside it was raining.

Ashley and her mother had already exchanged gifts. Any minute now, they intended to have breakfast, steak and eggs, a Whittaker family tradition.

“What gets me Ash is how you get these works of art done so fast. You’re like a machine. How do you pull it off?”

Ashley sighed. “It’s not easy. I have to practically paint in my sleep. And it seems like if I slack off for a minute, Stephen will call me and demand that I get back to my canvas. It’s like he’s psychic or something.” She was on the couch, holding the baby.

“Well,” her mother added confidently. “You should be a big hit in London. Except I hope, you don’t like your European vacation too much. I wouldn’t want you to abandon me and become a British citizen.” Claire got up from the recliner to refill her cup of honey-flavored tea.

“That would never happen, mom. America is my country. I will forever proudly wave the red, white, and blue.”

“That’s the spirit. Woo hoo!”

Ashley put the baby down and then started to clean up the wrapping paper scattered across the floor. Most of the gifts had been for Kimberly.

Ashley was so happy that her mother decided to spend Christmas with her. She had forgotten how much she loved and needed her, and she was relieved that she had not been tempted to indulge in a drop of alcohol.

Ever since Ashley met Stephen, she’d been given hope. Realizing she could do something noteworthy with her life had caused her self-respect to flourish. No, she still did not have romantic feelings for Stephen. However, aside from becoming her business advisor, he was definitely becoming a close friend.

From the kitchen her mother uttered, “By the way, Ash, how long will you be in London, did Stephen say?”

“Oh, I thought I told you. We’ll be in London for five days and in Paris for two.”

“Kimberly will miss you.”

“No she won’t,” Ashley teased, while cheerfully rocking the smiling infant. “She probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Yes she will. Trust me.”

“Anyway, mom, I appreciate you agreeing to take care of her. As much as I like the Cromwell’s, I still feel better knowing I’m going to be leaving the baby with you.”

“I’m glad to have her. I miss the whittle bugger boo.”

Ashley entered the kitchen.

“So,” she announced, after disposing the wrapping paper in the trash. “What do you say I start whipping up breakfast? I’m hungry.”

“Me too. Do you want me to help?”

“Umn. Sure. Okay.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I’ll give you the easy job,” Ashley said, opening the refrigerator. “You can scramble the eggs while I go outside and cook the steaks.”