Body of Ash Page 4

  Her mother has probably never allowed her to use makeup, poor girl.

  Marge imagined going up to Rachel’s room and sitting with her on the bed. She would take the girl’s hand and explain why she was her new mother. They would have so much fun together, even share clothes. Marge was youthful and exciting, all of Katie’s friends wanted to be just like her.

  The steering wheel was cold and the cigarette she held didn’t offer much warmth. She had been debating for days whether or not she should force his hand or wait a little longer.

  Marge knew Brian wanted her. It didn’t take much to give the pastor of New Hope Bible Church a hard on. He was like most men, a little flattery and the willingness to put out and they became infatuated. The fact that he had a cold wife at home made seducing him easier. Knowing she hated Angela Jones’s guts made it fun.

  Brian’s wife walked around town like she was God’s gift to New England. Marge didn’t understand why anyone liked her. With her Coach handbag and designer clothes, everyone gawked when she walked by. It wasn’t that Marge didn’t try to befriend her, but the woman would not give her the time of day.

  She treats me like I’m a cashier.

  After getting over her divorce from Williston, Marge took a job answering phones and taking delivery orders at Lilly’s Florist. Every single Friday, Angela would stop by the shop and order fresh cut flowers for Sunday’s service. Marge tried making conversation. The first time, she asked about Angela’s afternoon plans. The second time, she asked about her scarf, but Angela hardly spoke in return.

  When Marge set her eyes on Brian, she found satisfaction in stealing the snob’s husband.

  Now whose high and mighty?

  She had planned to give Brian a little more time. He liked his ego stroked and she didn’t mind showing him how pleasurable a life with her could be. But when Katie commented at dinner that he stopped by looking for her, a sense of unease killed her otherwise optimistic mood. As Marge pressed the teen to give more detail, Katie blurted that her friends agreed Marge was disgusting for sleeping with a guy like Brian. The forceful comment made her worry.

  Since the divorce, her daughter liked to run her mouth. It wasn’t Marge’s fault that Williston decided he was a homosexual. Marge should have suspected that her ex’s friendship with the local tax collector was unusual, but that was the extent of her guilt. Katie was pissed off just the same. She had always been an outspoken girl, but now she didn’t have a filter. She spoke whatever came to her mind.

  The teens comment suggested she may have told a few friends she caught her mom with the married man. This awareness swamped her thoughts with the need to take action. Brian always insisted they keep their passion quiet for the time being. If she waited, the preacher might panic and repent to his wife.

  Angela could talk him into staying.

  Despite Katie’s disappointment that Marge was breaking their plans, after dinner she downed another shot of tequila and doused herself in her Brittney Spear’s perfume. She rummaged through her closet until she found her tightest jeans to wear over her new lacey underthings and paired them with a low neck tank. She didn’t care if she froze; she wanted to take Brian’s breath away.

  Opening her car door, Marge stepped out and inhaled the cool October air. After stomping her cigarette butt out with the toe of her boot, she straightened her clothing and made sure her boobs were up high. Her body was hot and she had all of the ammo she needed.

  It’s time to throw Angela Jones off her pedestal.

  10

  KATIE

  Thursday 8:35 PM

  Kicking off the fleece throw, Katie’s bare legs drooped over the side of the couch. She was restless. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get comfortable. The living room was hot. Despite three calls to the maintenance man who was supposed to fix things, the thermostat failed to regulate. Confined to the miserable apartment, rather than late October, it felt like July.

  It wasn’t smart to have skipped school again, but after sleeping in until noon, Katie couldn’t see the point in walking the twenty minute trek to the high school, only to be dismissed in another hour. After awaking to Brian Jones’s looking for her mom, Katie suffered from an acute case of boredom. She cooked a frozen pizza in the toaster oven, changed her outfit a couple of times, and fussed with her hair.

  Pulling on her tresses, Katie was ready to chop it all off. It was a nuisance her mother insisted she keep long. Katie didn’t think so. She wanted to look like Ashley Green or Natalie Portman, actresses who were fearless about going short. Instead she felt like a golden retriever - over fluffed and over rated. Running her fingers through it had become a nervous habit. She didn’t even notice she was doing it until the long blond pieces flapped around her face like a Barbie doll.

  When her mother came home from her trip to Winsted, Katie had hoped Marge would keep her promise to take her shopping for a Halloween costume. Dreaming of an escape from the stifling apartment, she had been looking forward to fresh air all day. She was tired of being home, tired of being by herself, night after night. When Marge only half listened to anything Katie had to say during dinner, she knew her mom would be making excuses to leave again.

  Another night alone – I’m glad I’m so special.

  Stretching across the couch, Katie thumbed through a dozen channels. Nothing looked appealing. There were a few good movies listed on HBO and Cinemax, but her mother couldn’t afford a bigger cable package. Marge could barely scrape by with her flower shop salary and the child-support check that Katie’s loser dad sent over once a month. Asking the woman to fork over an extra fifty bucks for good TV seemed wrong.

  It was hard thinking of her father. It was his fault that she was alone all of the time. If it wasn’t for the divorce, they would still be a family – with descent cable.

  Instead, Katie spent most evenings and weekends alone. When her mother wasn’t at work, the woman was out drinking and dancing, trying to find a man to take care of them.

  Even gross men like that horn dog Jones.

  Her father, who she preferred to call Williston, despite his constant annoyance when she did, phoned every Sunday afternoon.

  Like his weekly check in could make up for the fact that he walked out…or failed to take me with him.

  Katie was thirteen when he moved. At the time, she picked up on some of the details. Through the commotion of packed boxes and angry tones, she knew change was happening, but her lack of life experience couldn’t prepare her for the world to suddenly be a different place. As hushed sobs sailed from behind her parents’ bedroom door, she heard her mother plead for him to stay and be the man he was supposed to be. In an angry rebuttal, her father argued that none of them even knew who he was.

  The terrible night was followed by a terrible year.

  It took months before her mother got out of bed. When she finally did, Marge’s savings account was empty so they moved into a cramped apartment on High Street. Rents in Canaan were pricy and there wasn’t much to choose from. Her father lived in the house for a little while, but eventually it had to be sold. The furnishings, toys, pieces of her childhood, were packed up and left in a storage facility.

  The worst part wasn’t losing her home – it was witnessing her parents take on new identities. Her once affectionate mother had morphed into a stranger bent on finding a new husband by bleaching her hair and having her breasts upgraded to a size D. Meanwhile, her Dad suddenly had a “partner” named Thomas who he began playing house with.

  I changed, too.

  A few times, Williston suggested she come by his place for a visit, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t because her father was gay, she believed homosexuality was genetic and he didn’t have a choice. No, it was because he made everything different. Williston couldn’t be the nice guy now, even if he claimed to be happier. He hurt them too much when he left.

  Tired of the television and her memory forcing her to relive a four year long ache, Katie reached for her cell phone. If there
was one thing the divorce taught her, it was that nothing really good ever lasted. Being seventeen and having the apartment to herself on a Thursday night could be interesting if she wanted to get creative. Her mother had a bottle of Absolute Vodka just waiting to be enjoyed. Katie might as well make the best of a crappy situation.

  Scrolling through her contacts, she wondered who might be free tonight.

  Davey Shaw had been looking good lately and she hadn’t fooled around with him since summer. After a few years on the wrestling team, the boy had an upper body to drool over and a well sculpted butt that was quite the turn on. Plus, he could score a little weed from his older brother to give the night even more of a kick.

  Davey wasn’t her first choice. She had a thing for Jason Thompson, but Katie knew it would never happen between them. He was a good guy – too good for her. The senior had been dating Rachel for a year. Although she doubted a churchy kid like Rachel could be meeting Jason’s needs sexually, the two had something special. They were always holding hands and gazing at each other when they should be listening to Mr. Davis in homeroom.

  She found it ironic that her mother would turn to Rachel’s father to have an affair. When Marge mentioned her desire to find religion, Katie thought she meant the kind with Jesus in it. Having an affair with a married man was one excess Katie turned her nose up at. Love never lasted, but she didn’t want to be the reason it ended for anyone.

  People screw their lives up on their own, they don’t need my help.

  1

  RACHEL

  Thursday 8:58 PM

  The wind left a trail of goose-bumps across Rachel’s skin. Hugging her knees, she would rather freeze than go inside the house. The pink sweater she had carefully selected for the evening offered no comfort. With its sweetheart neckline, she had hoped to look older. Now, she didn’t care what anyone thought.

  How could she possibly live at a girl’s academy? She was in her senior year. A time for applying to colleges, running the yearbook committee and going to prom. The thought of trying to fit in somewhere new was unnerving. Her life was here.

  Rachel needed a way out. Even Nicole and Beth couldn’t help. They had been attending New Hope together since they were little. She never meant to distance herself from them. At one time, they spent every weekend together, but they weren’t that close anymore. In place of youth group and Bible camp, time was spent studying for the SATs or working part time jobs. Nicole’s single mom needed her to watch her younger sister and Beth worked weekends and after school at her family’s deli. Rachel spent most of her summer with Jason. Once school began, the ease of their friendship had become outgrown. Now that she needed a girlfriend to confide in, it felt too late.

  A flash of movement just beyond the walkway caught her eye. For a brief moment, hope sprang through her that Jason had come back. Could he have talked to Shannon and Carl? Was he willing to fight for her? Holding her left hand to her chest, she clasped her ring to her heart, making a wish.

  Please God… I would let anyone take me, but let it be him.

  But, as the figure stepped under the street light, she recognized the platinum blonde hair. Dragging the back of her hand across her cheeks, she pulled herself up. Rachel’s face was wet from her tears and the breeze twisted her curls into knots. Her butt ached from sitting on the steps and her throat suffered from the pressure of crying. Holding in a pit full of hurt in the center of her chest, the last thing she wanted to do was talk to Katie Finch’s mother.

  Did he really sleep with her?

  The woman looked like she never ate. She wasn’t unattractive, but her skin hung loose around her jaw and her collar bones jutted at sharp angles from her body. Rachel imagined she was the kind of woman who had a cigarette and a Coke and called it a meal. When Ms. Finch smiled, her teeth were too big for her face and her eyelids were painted a thick cobalt blue.

  Why would my father want her?

  Rachel knew adults got divorced. All of her friend’s parents had gone through it. She just never thought her parents were susceptible. They liked each other well enough and even though they were old, they weren’t a hideous couple. The two didn’t even argue.

  When Katie cornered her in the girl’s locker room and said she caught the Reverend having sex with her mother, Rachel didn’t believe her. The girl was a drama queen and loved embarrassing Rachel whenever she could, especially when Katie had her nasty friend Darla hanging around. She also knew that Katie had a thing for Jason and was jealous. Her boyfriend always said he had no interest in her. She dressed too skimpy and wore too much makeup – just like her mother.

  At lunch, Katie would sit on the guy’s laps and let them feed her bites of their food. With a suggestive show of sucking on their fingers, she made sure everyone knew who her latest conquest was. There was even a rumor that she would take select boys into the band room closet for a “good time.”

  When Katie dropped the news on her, she said it so matter-of-factly that Rachel thought the girl was just messing with her head, until the insistent blond revealed a tidbit she couldn’t have made up.

  Dad has an ugly ruby birthmark on his thigh.

  Rachel watched Marge Finch stroll up the walkway. Although she wore a hopeful smile, her glossy eyes were locked on the front entrance. Rachel couldn’t imagine why she would be stopping at their house, especially this time of night. Her parents had a strict “must call first” policy when it came to visitors. Even the cable man couldn’t drop in without her mother vacuuming the rugs and polishing the furniture.

  Rachel considered telling Marge her parents had gone to bed.

  Maybe I should just have Dad come out?

  Dinner with her parents was a nightmare. The two adults hardly spoke to each other. By the time Jason announced he better be leaving, her folks didn’t encourage him to stay or invite him back, rather an audible sigh of relief echoed through the living room. The show was coming to an end and they were clearly tired of their audience. No, Angela and Brian would not want company, especially if Marge was coming between them.

  Why do I care? It’s not like they do.

  Despite her misery, a note of satisfaction poked at her consciousness.

  After the hellish evening they gave me, it’s only fair I repay them.

  Katie’s mom stopped at the bottom of the steps. Her odor was a strange mix of cheap perfume and tobacco. As Marge tilted her head, Rachel noticed the woman’s teased hair didn’t move. The hairspray molded it to her skull like a football helmet.

  “Hello Rachel.” The woman’s voice had a raspy quality. “Are your folks at home?”

  “Of course,” Rachel answered, forcing a smile. “You’re Katie’s mom. Come on in.”

  12

  ANGELA

  Thursday 9:00 PM

  As she met the eyes of Marge Finch, Angela’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel her cheeks burning as bolts of adrenaline coursed through her. Tears felt like coming, but she wouldn’t surrender to them. No, handling Brian’s prostitute would require a calculated coolness.

  Angela whipped her head around at Rachel. Without so much as a word, she pointed to the stairwell until the girl shuffled past. It was after eight and they weren’t expecting company. The teen should have known better than to invite her in.

  Trash belongs on the curb.

  Standing within the silk-screened papered walls of the foyer, Marge looked the same as she always did, pathetic. With her thrift shop clothing, Marge didn’t belong in a room with a Tiffany lamp and an exquisite Persian rug. Her presence mocked the family portrait hanging in the carved antique frame. Marge’s over processed hair billowed out from her face, framed by large hoop earrings.

  Does she think that looks tasteful?

  Angela touched her own locks. After being pinned back all day, her curls flowed loosely down her back. She also wore a silk Hermes blouse that cost more than Marge’s entire outfit.

  The corner of Angela’s mouth went up.

  Marge would
need more than perky breasts and brass balls to threaten her in her own home. Squaring her shoulders, she waited for the sound of Rachel’s bedroom door to close.

  The television rattled on in the next room. Brian was drowning in front of another stupid evening program. It was his fault the woman was here. He violated the sanctity of their marriage. His filth stunk worse than the perfume Marge bathed in.

  “What do you want?” With a practiced control, Angela’s voice remained steady.

  “I’ve come to see Brian,” Marge offered with a tilt of her chin.

  Marge may have tried to show confidence, but Angela noticed the slight tremble of the woman’s shoulders.

  Angela considered her options. She could humiliate Marge and send her on her way, or she could let Brian come in so they could suffer together. It wouldn’t take long before the two were sick of each other and babbled like fools.