The Haunting of Ashton David (7 page)

“Wow, that’s hurtful. And so untrue.”

“Untrue? Your face said it all. When I got the state wrong and didn’t recall the name of your degree you narrowed your eyes at me.”

“I narrowed my eyes at you because I …” She tucked her head to her chest. When she raised it her eyes swam with tears. “I was upset that you didn’t even know where I was or what I was doing.”

She wiped a stray tear from her eye and gathered the trays. “Let me know if you need anything. I have those painkillers.”

He felt guilty watching the sway of her hips on her way out, but he couldn’t help himself. Confused, he pondered her admission.
How or why would he have known what was going on with her
? They hadn’t spoken in almost ten years.

The days passed, but their cohabitation never got any easier. Harmony had cleaned and dusted and painted so much that her hands had become raw. And still the house needed more work. She’d rented a sander for the floor and couldn’t wait to restain the den. She’d also made some gains at the little cottage. The inside had been completely cleaned and the door restored. The flowerbed was in full bloom and she’d picked out paint colors for the inside.

Today the cast was coming off and though Ashton hadn’t been told, a physical therapist was coming to the estate to do an assessment and give the all clear.

Hearing a knock at the door, she went to greet the therapist. She walked the nice man named Nathan Brown to the patient’s room.

Using her knuckles she lightly knocked on the open door. “Dr. Olivier, Nathan Brown is here to complete the assessment.”

In the front entry, Harmony plugged in the floor sander. She flicked the switch and the low hum of the motor purred to life. The gratification that came with each pass was satisfying and she found the work pleasant. The floor had been so worn that it didn’t take long before she had a quarter of the room sanded.

“Harmony, would you give us a hand in the den please?” Jackson asked.

“Oh, sure.”

Nathan sat writing in a file, but stood when Harmony entered. “I’ve assessed the patient. He handed her a sheet with various printed images depicting range of motion exercises. He’s to do these four times per day. He’ll need help with numbers three, seven, and ten. I’ll be back to reassess in a month when I predict he will be ready for discharge.”

“Okay, we’ll start today.”

“No, we won’t.” Mr. Brown, I’ll pay you cash money to come out here and do my physical therapy.”

“I don’t have room in my schedule for this. You can do these exercises without me. There are people that can’t walk who have more need of my services than you do. I’m only recommending physical therapy so the ankle doesn’t stiffen on you as you age.”

Ashton grumbled something under his breath. Jackson shot Harmony a consoling look.

Nathan collected his things. “I’ll see you next month.”

“Thank you.” Harmony countered.

“Once again Harmony, I leave him in your most capable hands, though I can’t figure out why you’ve signed yourself on for this torture.” Jackson gave Ashton a salute and left.

“Well why don’t we go ahead and knock out one of the four sets?”

“I can do it without you.”

Harmony balled up the sheet of exercises and threw it at the back of his head before she slipped out of the room.

She hummed as she settled into a rhythm with the sander. She was recalling their shared night in the little cottage when the motor stopped. She bent to flip the switch, but it didn’t whir to life. “Hmm.”

“What are you doing?”

She turned on her heels at the sound of a low, measured voice. “What does it look like I’m doing? Plug it back in.”

“Harmony, I know you have zero respect for personal boundaries, but I need you to understand something.”

“What?”

“This—Is—Not—Your—House!”

His yell was so loud her ears rang. He jerked the cord around his hand, forming a neat circle. “I’ve been asking you for weeks to leave. Now that I’m walking I’ll only ask you once more—get out of my house.”

“This isn’t a house. It’s a sprawling dilapidated black hole where cowards go to hide.”

She disengaged from the machine, intent on storming out.

“That’s rich coming from you. Rest assured, your conscience can sleep easily tonight. Your guilt has been assuaged. I assume that’s why you stayed during my infirm, to atone for your family’s sins.”

She felt nothing but sorrow at his words—for him, for her, for them. If that’s what he truly thought then he was more gone than she’d thought. To hurt him with a hasty rebuttal would be like offering candy to a child only to withdraw it as they reached for it. “Ashton, I’m not here to ease my guilt. I came because I saw on that day back in March that you were so broken I hardly recognized you. I only left because you had built up so much hatred against me. I thought with time your wounds would heal a little. I was wrong to leave you alone. You’re tormented and I had hoped to help you through it, but you’ve shut me out. The reason I couldn’t go through with my wedding is because I’ve never stopped loving you.”

His grimaced as her admission cut her deep. I’m sorry your father got behind the wheel that night and I’m sorry that it was my father that wrote the report that solidified his fate, but it wasn’t me. I’m here and I want to help you. I still love you, even through it all.”

His jaw was so tight she thought he would shatter teeth. “Don’t you get it? We can never be together because every time I look at you all I see is the noose around my father’s neck.”

She gasped. Nothing more needed to be said, for that statement hurt more than if he’d said he had no love for her.

***

Ashton stood at the front door, listening for the Hallelujah strains, but they never came. A pattern had begun to emerge. Whenever he thought about, desired, or was happy about something she’d done, the song would play. Footsteps creaking overhead would accompany his father’s sickening laughter. Now that she was gone, his father’s ghost had become contented.

Message received, Dad. Please go away now
.

Now that he could walk, relatively, he planned to do a lot of it and the day drew him out. He didn’t want to spend another minute inside, cooped up with the ghost of his father.

He’d dressed in his usual jeans, T-shirt, and boots. Walking, he took it slow and easy. He’d found a stick and carried it to assist with his shifting weight. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the property. It had been a long six weeks. He’d slept little. Whenever he’d think or dream about her he’d be awakened by that song or the footsteps overhead. He thought maybe tonight he’d set up a tent out on the property just to take a break from it all and attempt to get some much-needed sleep.

Most of the land was extremely flat, but after walking for about thirty minutes, his ankle started to throb. He should have done the stretching exercises before setting out on his inaugural march.

He needed a place to sit and take his weight off of it, but currently he was deep in the woods. Recalling the cottage nearby, he set his course for the little building he’d avoided for years.

Once in a while he’d pass the cottage on horseback or when in the truck, but he’d always look the other way. He hadn’t wanted to resurrect those memories.

When he stepped from the dense grove of trees he was awarded with his first glance at the old living quarters. It reminded him of those too-sweet paintings that his mother had liked, but he’d never taken a fancy to because he thought they were a gross misrepresentation of American life.

Flowers bloomed yellow, orange, and blue in the flowerbeds that he was sure he’d burned beyond the ability to grow ten years ago when the sight of their flowering had made a mockery of his pain.

The entire place had been cleaned—the years of caked on mud and mold gone, making the little house more pristine than he’d ever known. Pavers had been laid between the beds and led up to a bright green door that drew him like a bear to honey.

The warm copper door clutch sizzled in his hand as he depressed the plunger to open the door.

Honeyed eyes met his. Her anxiety at his presence hit him in waves. She jumped up from elbows and knees where she’d lain among a sea of pillows.

“Ashton.”

Dirty Dancing played on the television. He’d stepped into the past. His mind was playing games. Shaking his head he looked at the woman in the center of the room. It wasn’t the child from his youth, but the woman he’d come to know over the last few weeks. He walked toward her and turned off the television. That’s when he saw the rug—
their rug
. She had all the snacks scattered around in a circle: bugles, squirt cheese, Nutter Butter.

Even the walls had been painted and the windows replaced. His eyes scanned the living area before landing on her. Her head was lowered as she picked at her nails and chewed hard at her lower lip.

“
Monet
.”

Looking up she let out a gasp at the sound of the name he’d called her so long ago.

“You did all of this.”

She nodded, her cheeks reddening. He sat on the sofa—the newly acquired velvet blue sofa that matched silk curtains.

“Are you living here?”

She tentatively perched on the edge of the couch, as far away from him as possible in the small space.

“No I just … I wanted … It was our place—the last time we were happy and when I saw it looking so broken and dejected I …” She sighed, and then turned, seemingly wiping at her cheeks. “I had to fix it. I had too.” She swallowed hard and cast her gaze upon him. “I’ve failed you. I’m sorry. I wanted to help, but instead I’ve made things worse.” She stood and gathered her shoes, and then she walked toward the door.

“Don’t go. Monet.”

She turned and her eyes flashed liquid honey. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“That’s who you were when I last held you here.”

“I’m not that girl anymore.” She turned back to the door.

“No. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your curves. You’ve become a beautiful woman. You’re also very kind, patient, and smart. I owe you an apology. I’m sorry, Monet. Sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I’ll leave so you don’t have to.”

“Why can’t we both just stay?”

“Why can’t we? Come start the movie.” She complied, starting the movie from the beginning and taking the seat next to him on the couch.

Once the movie started, they didn’t speak a word. At the water lift scene their hands found each other and laced together. The softness of her skin in his calloused hand made him realize all of the ways she was his opposite. She was forgiving, patient, and kind to him when he’d been unyielding, inconsiderate, and hurtful. He swallowed back the lump in his throat as he watched her from his periphery.

Her long graceful neck was held by a rigid back—such was his effect on her. He wanted her to relax so he began to rub circles into the palm of her hand. “I’m so sorry. I was blinded by pain and …” If he told her about the paranormal activities she’d think him completely insane. She was after all a scientist. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Ash.”

Ash
… it had been too long since he’d heard that name from her lips. His fingers closed around her upper arm. He needed a better connection to her. Her eyes watched his fingers as the tips explored her smooth skin. “I don’t deserve it, but I need you.”

She moved toward him and with the hold he had on her he pulled her across his lap, cradling her head on one arm. With the other his fingers traced her face, around her brow, temples, cheeks, and chin. Their connection held by their burning gazes. She swallowed and his fingers traced lightly down her neck.

Their love had lingered and was very much alive in the cottage. Away from the house he heard no interference from forces that were beyond his control. Their lips came together like magnets, the pull of longing for her so strong he could no longer deny it. She tasted of watermelon bubblegum—a flavor he’d remembered and he smiled against her lips.

She pulled back slightly, “What?”

“You wear the same gloss?”

“Oh yeah, I do.”

“And the same vanilla perfume.”

“Yes.”

“God, I’ve just realized how much I’ve missed you.”

“I meant what I said. I still love you, Ash. Never stopped.”

“But I don’t deserve your love.”

Her hand cupped his jaw. “You deserve every ounce of it. What you don’t deserve is to be tormented by your father.”

His body jerked. “You know about that?”

“I could hear you at night. I tried to go to you, pull you out of there, but you and him pushed me away.”

He scooped her to him, squeezing her as close as possible without smothering. “You did pull me out, I’m here now. I don’t want to go back.” He shuddered and let his nose inhale the scent so concentrated behind her ear and along her neck. “Say you won’t leave. I don’t deserve you, but say you won’t leave. I love you, Monet.”

“I’ll never leave you, Ash. I’m here now. Make love to me on our rug.”

Her words cut him to the bone. They’d never had one another. Not because he didn’t want to, but because she’d been so young. She whispered in his ear, “I want you.”

He led them down to the carpet and pillows, resting her gingerly on her back and propping her head on top of a pillow. He lay on his side next to her, tracing her collarbone with his fingers. His shoulder throbbed, but there was nothing short of a nuclear attack that would remove him from her side.

“I don’t have contraception.”

“I need you.”

“I need you too.”

He was anxious to see her, but he vowed to unwrap her slowly like the present she was. He removed just her tank top, and then unbuttoned her jeans, sliding the zipper down. His fingers lingered, discovering her waist. He watched the swells of her breast raise and lower as her breathing increased with her desire. He placed a kiss on a perfectly rounded breast, admiring her frosted pale-pink bra as he did so. Made of lace it was feminine and sexy, but innocent at the same time. Like her, he thought.

Her fingers trailed to the hem of his shirt, tugging. He assisted her efforts and pulled the shirt over his head. Her eyes widened before they evened out.