Ashes - Book 1 Page 5

  I smile at the dog, who immediately takes my grin as an invitation to run up to me. I can’t help myself. I drop to the floor and give her a good petting. Ghost simply yawns and licks a paw.

  “I’ll help in a second,” I promise.

  “Actually, I think we’re almost done. I was just giving you a hard time. You really should see your face when you look at that man.”

  I wrinkle my nose.

  “Unwrinkle that nose, missy,” she says, grinning at me. “It’s not a good look, plus it’s a lie.”

  I stick my tongue out at her.

  “Seriously, Beth. You’re fighting too hard. What are you really afraid of?”

  I let out a laugh with zero humor. “Oh, let me count the ways.” When I don’t add to it, she lifts an eyebrow, urging me to go on.

  “Okay. One. Relationships ruin things for 99.9% of the people involved in them.” I point a finger at her. “You’re in the 0.1%, so don’t look at me like that. But you have to know what I’m saying. People get lazy in relationships and don’t try so hard. At first, you’re putting on make-up and shaving your legs and he’s holding in his farts. After a while, your legs look like a cactus and he’s taking a dump with the door open.”

  Stephanie howls with laughter.

  “Two,” I go on. “The other person in a relationship has the power to make you supremely happy, ready to kill someone, or have you sucking your thumb, crying for days.” I notice that Steph is looking at me more seriously now. “I’m not giving some penis owner that kind of power over me.”

  Stephanie begins to chew her bottom lip and searches through the utensil drawer for something.

  “Three,” I say, when she opens her mouth to look like she’s about to speak. “I don’t think humans were designed to mate for life. Sex with the same person all the time gets boring. Just look at my mom and dad.”

  Stephanie has been tossing the salad furiously. With that, she stops and points the salad tosser thingy at me. “No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to cling to your parent’s screwed up marriage and believe that all marriages are like that.”

  “It’s not just my parents’ marriage. It’s all their friends’ marriages too. Every single one of them were wildly in love in the beginning of their relationship.” I sneer out the word. “But then they had kids and the years keep floating by. Look at how many of them stayed married or are like my parents and are screwing everything that walks on the side.”

  I notice that Stephanie is looking pale and I mentally kick myself. “Well, there are a few of them that are still in love and are really happy,” I try to assure her. “That will be you because you guys love each other so much, and you’ve been through hell to be together.”

  She gives me a weak little smile and I decide I better shut this down. I was in bitch mode again. Not a very good friend. At all.

  “I’m sorry, Stephanie. I was just ranting because I’m afraid I’ll end up like my parents. I know they seem happy on the outside, but living at home was like living in an Arctic cave. And they aren’t screwing around behind each other’s back, I know that too. It’s just hard for me to think about my parents having an open relationship and …”

  Having sex, my mind finished for me. There are some things people’s kids just shouldn’t know.

  She begins to cut the lemon cake for dessert and I take the potatoes from the oven. “Don’t apologize, Beth. We all have the things in life that hurt us and make us lose trust. You can always share them with me and I want you to. Plus, it’s a good reminder that I should shave my legs more often. You know, don’t let the little things get lost.”

  “Or …” I wiggle my eyebrows at her “… come to the salon and finally get a wax. You keep saying you want to try a Brazilian. Why not enjoy the power of not having to shave for an entire six weeks. My treat.”

  I can tell she’s still on the fence, so I give her a little nudge over to my side. “The clinic is closed next Tuesday because Dr. Whitfield is gone. We can do it then. Please? Please? Please?”

  She chews on her lip and looks up at me. “Okay. But on a scale of one to ten, tell me again how bad it hurts.”

  I look her straight in the eyes. “Two. Three max.” I lie.

  Chapter 7 – Gage

  “I don’t know, man,” Ken says and marinates another steak. “I know a gun would come in handy and I probably could have used one a few times, but seriously man, I’m just not interested in owning one.”

  “Pussy.” I can’t help but give him hell and am rewarded with a spatula thrust in my face. I laugh and take a long drink of my beer — a real beer that Beth probably bought. “Seriously, after all the shit that went down last year, and then the break-in at the center. Don’t you think you might want to think about having a little protection?”

  We’ve had this discussion a dozen times over the past six months. I’m a strong believer in personal protection. That’s why I have a permit to carry a concealed weapon and have taken hour upon hour of defense classes. Hell, Beth and I have been talking about me teaching self-defense classes for women at HEAL. I just need to get certified and we’ll be ready to go.

  “Just come to the range with me one day, that’s all I’m asking. Learn that a gun isn’t a criminal. Criminals are.”

  He flips a rib-eye and it gives a very satisfying sizzle. The smell is wonderful. Even though I’m not hungry, my mouth is beginning to water.

  “Did I ever tell you about why I hate guns so much?”

  That gets my attention. “No, you never did.”

  “Well … let’s just say I had a bad experience when I was in high school.”

  “Spill it. Seems like the day for both of us to trot down memory lane.”

  He looks at the house, then the pool and then back at the grill. “Okay, I’ll give you the short version.” He snaps out of his fog. “It was the fourth of July and I was a senior in high school. I was hanging out on the street with a bunch of friends, probably twenty of us. We could see the fireworks from our corner, so we didn’t bother with walking to the park. We could see them good enough since we were up on a little hill.”

  “I thought you were from Ohio,” I butt in on his story, unable to stop myself from giving him hell for his flatland roots. “The biggest mountains there are bridges, aren’t they? Maybe a two story building.”

  “In the North, yeah, but I’m from the South East, Athens, down closer to West Virginia. Anyway, we were all standing around drinking beer, some of us had our parents’ liquor. Another reason we didn’t just walk to the park.”

  He smiles, looking lost in the memories and then gives the steaks a close inspection.

  “Anyway, we had some redneck families down the road and they were always complaining about us ‘city’ kids. We were too noisy, no respect. Blah, blah, blah. The noisy part was kinda ironic because they were always shooting off fireworks — holidays, birthdays, weddings, national fart day. Whatever. Well, since it was the fourth, they’d bring the whole clan out. We hated them. Their kids were sensitive as hell. Quick to want to fight, and their parents didn’t care if they got suspended. Always blamed the school, or the other person.”

  I take a drink of my beer. I know people like that.

  “Well, they were out there lighting them off before the park’s official show. Probably M80’s, but who knows.”

  “What’s an M80?” I ask, trying to remember where I’ve heard the name.

  “A damn class C explosive, like a quarter stick of dynamite. Illegal but they’re around. These bastards would light off strings of the little ones and tie the fuse to a big ass one. Thing was loud as hell, huge explosion. I secretly hoped they would try to hold one in their hand and have it blow up before they could throw it. Those things could do damage. People have been killed, especially in the illegal factories.”

  “Yeah, I think we called them something different in Cali. We had cherry bombs or salutes.”

  He nods. “Yeah, something like that.” He turns o
ff the grill and begins piling steaks on a plate, but continues with the story. “When the fireworks started, I remember being mesmerized by them. I loved fireworks, still do. I don’t know why, but the delayed boom and majestic colors always made me think of good times. I guess it stems from when I was a kid. Hannah would take me to the park and we would sit on a blanket and eat cotton candy watching the show. Man, I really miss those days of innocence.”

  He sticks the plate under the warmer and walks over to the cooler and grabs us both fresh beers. I turn him down. I’ll need to drive that damn motorcycle later.

  “I remember the sweat dripping down my forehead into my eyes and mouth; it was so hot and humid there in the summer. The saltiness was a stark contrast to the lukewarm beer we were swigging.”

  “That’s where you get your love for shitty, warm beer,” I interrupt him. “Now I get it. Continue.” I couldn’t help but get that jab in.

  He grinned. “Right after the grand finale, I heard a pop. Not the delayed sound of the firework show continuing, it was more like a firecracker. Then my good friend, Joe, hit the ground. He was always the joker, so I kicked his shoulder, telling him to quit being a lightweight; the girls were drinking more than him.”

  I think I already know the end of this story.

  “It was dark, but my tennis shoe felt odd as I moved back from him. Sticky. Then I noticed the blood. Some of the girls noticed it too and started to scream. One of the guys brought out his lighter and I could see him then. He was on the ground, eyes wide open, but nothing there. I can still remember the look of shock on his face.”

  He looks past me and lifts a hand. “Be there in a second,” he calls to Stephanie. Then he looks back at me. “I ripped my shirt off and pressed as hard as I could on the wound in his head. The blood stopped running out, but the grey matter and bone belied the truth. I threw up. My vomit mixed with his blood, turning my stomach more. The others around me just froze.”

  “Who shot him?” I ask quietly.

  He lifts a shoulder. “I noticed the rednecks weren’t in the street anymore, and the lights had gone out in their house. They never found the gun that matched the bullet, but I know, deep in my heart, one of the redneck neighbors killed him. I don’t know if it was on purpose or just an errant bullet.”

  He lifts his beer and tilts it toward me. “And that, Gage, is why I hate guns.”

  After the serious shit we’d talked about at the grill, I thought the rest of the night was shot — pun very much intended.

  But it isn’t. The girls are in a feisty mood, laughing and telling stories while we eat on the back patio. Then we have a hilarious game of Catchphrase. Thank God, Beth and I win or she would have killed me.

  The only serious moment of the evening is when Beth mentioned that the two of us looked pretty serious while hanging out at the grill. Ken and I meet eyes before he turns to his fiancé and announces, “Gage and I were just talking about when I could go with him to the gun range.”

  Hot damn.

  Beth chimes in. “What about Tuesday? Steph and I are going to go get our lady parts waxed and shined.” Stephanie turns bright red and Ken looks at her in a mixture of disbelief and awe.

  I look at Beth and pretend to wipe drool from my lips. “Can I watch?”

  She grins. “No, but you can enjoy the after effects, uh, maybe next weekend?” She gives me that little sexy ‘wadda you think’ look.

  I pull out my phone and flip through my schedule. Working Monday and Wednesday, then the following Sunday. “Sure, I’m good Friday or Saturday.”

  When it’s time to go, I follow Ken out to the garage and he pulls the bike he’s lending me from the garage.

  “What’s your schedule this week?” I ask him.

  “I’ve got Sunday and Thursday and paramedic continuing ed training on Wednesday.”

  “Range Tuesday then, while the girls get their hair ripped out?”

  He laughs. “I can’t believe Steph is going. She swore she never would after she tried some at-home kit. She cried like a baby and then stuck some on my leg and yanked it off. Hurt like a mother. I almost cried with her.”

  “You’ve got it bad, my friend.”

  He looks embarrassed but nods. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

  Looking away from his sappy face, I take a closer look at the Kawasaki Versys, and walk around it looking for the kick starter.

  Ken laughs behind his hand and then scratches his head. “When was the last time you even sat on a bike?” He strolls over and presses the button on the handle bar and the bike growls to life. I feel like a total dumbass, which I try to cover by pulling a helmet down on my head.

  It’s a 2008 model, but it looks well cared for and very fast. A little too fast, but I made my bed. The helmet is a hair too big for me, but I don’t plan on crashing anyway. “I told you, I haven’t been on a bike since my accident nearly ten years ago. I had a kick starter. Things change.”

  He gets serious. “You sure you want to go through with this? It isn’t that far to your house, but if you don’t feel comfortable, I don’t want to pick you up off the road.” He punches my arm. “Besides, I don’t want my bike wrecked.”

  The girls walk out and I know I can’t back down now. “I’ll be fine, let me just take it around the block a couple of times to get a feel for it.”

  The throttle is sensitive and I almost pop the clutch trying to leave the driveway. It is amazing how balanced the bike is and, despite its power, it rides much better than I remember my little Suzuki. I get it up to about fifty-five on Eastern, and turning back onto Steph’s street, I gun it a bit and almost overshoot the driveway, but manage to make the turn.

  I see Stephanie standing there with her hands over her face. Beth is trying to look cool. Ken looked relieved when I finally stop beside him. “What the fuck! Don’t get cocky. Let’s just take it slow and steady.”

  My legs are still a little shaky, partly from the ride, but I realize Ken is right. It was fun though. Way fun. “Okay, I got you. I promise, I won’t make this a competition.”

  I smile at the girls and give Beth a wink. “See ya next weekend.”

  She winks back. “Not if I see you first.”

  That girl. Everything’s a competition.

  Chapter 8 – Beth

  The next several days are a flurry of activity, mostly at work, but personally too.

  Hannah’s new house is ready for her to move into. And we’ve spent most of the weekend helping her get her ‘new’ furniture moved in. I don’t know why the hell I’m crying so much lately — I hate it, in case anyone’s forgotten that part. But either my eyes are burning or my nose is running or my throat is clogged with them lately. When my blue sofa was taken off the truck and hauled into Hannah’s new home, my throat clogged a little. Which was crazy, because I was supposed to hate the thing.

  My mom ‘surprised’ me several years ago, a few months after I’d moved into my apartment in the same complex as Stephanie. She’d completely re-decorated all of my rooms. I walked in the door and there she was, standing with a glass of champagne to complete my surprise. I had to clasp my hand over my mouth to hide the horror when I first saw the bright blue furniture that, to me, clashed with the antique lamps that had … oh my god… pearls dangling from them.

  Mom had redecorated my bedroom too and had purchased a new duvet set with eyelet lace and little pink flowers.

  Look at me. Do I look like a lace and pink flower kind of girl? Pearls? Glow in the dark blue? Oh … don’t let me forget the Victorian painting on the wall that had a picture of a woman whose eyes followed me everywhere I went.

  No!

  No. No. No.

  But my mom was standing there looking so proud of herself, so I’d just thrust a bright smile on my face and told her I loved everything.

  I gave it six months, then slowly starting changing or replacing one thing at a time. First things first … the creepy lady in the painting had to go. Then the pearls. Then the lace duvet cover.<
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  I’d never admit it to another human being, but the blue sofa and loveseat kind of grew on me over the years. When the Victorian touches surrounding it were gone, the furniture was kinda cool and funky. I’m really glad Hannah has them now and loves them so much. She’s painted one wall of her living room the same bright yellow of my office. The blue against the yellow is actually pretty beautiful.

  I’ve started getting closer to Hannah, not tight or best friends, but we’ve talked a lot and I’ve been helping her decide what she wants to do with the rest of her life. She’s in her mid-thirties now and feels that she’s too old to work on a dream. Between me and Stephanie, and Ken of course, we’d been helping her see that she has a bright new future ahead of her.

  One dark shadow is the trial that’s coming up later this year. Hannah had been pulled into the underworld life of Vegas. Seduced by promises of happiness and riches, she’d soon learned there were people with zero morals and even less heart who used girls and toss them away, like most people would use toilet paper.

  There has been talk of putting her in witness protection, but she’s refused it. Absolutely refused to leave the brother she’s just gotten to know again. She knows the risks, and accepts them. She had the police video record her testimony and she’s also handwritten her testimony as well. Just in case something happens to her. Still, Ken had a security system installed in her little house and she’s legally changed her name and almost constantly changes her hair color, hoping to keep people off guard.

  I worry about her though. It would be a tragedy to see someone on the brink of happiness have her life yanked cruelly from her.

  And she is doing a wonderful job for us at HEAL, working there as the receptionist. The girls who show up on our door seem to connect with her immediately. Hannah knows how to welcome people and make them feel special — helpful in the business she was once in. But she is also firm and makes people listen to her. I guess she learned that during her time as a paid dominatrix.