Page 108 of Pieces of Ash
Tonight is the two-year anniversary of the first time Anders came to me.
Two years of stolen moments, stolen glances, stolen love.
Truelove.
It’s a miracle that M has never found out.
But then again…there’s been a shift with him over the past year or so—like he’s growing tired of me. He doesn’t fuck me anymore. He never complimented me, but he doesn’t criticize anymore either. He barely speaks to me and looks at me even less. I can’t remember the last time I left this house with him. I’m positive he has a girlfriend in Newark because his appetites are strong and someone’s meeting them, but it’s not me.
If we weren’t married, I’d say we were in the wind-down phase of our relationship, and that any day now, he’d call me tohis study, hand me a check for $100,000, tell me that all the clothes and jewelry are mine to keep, and tell me to get lost.
But wearemarried.
So I don’t really know what happens next. For M, that is.
But fuck him.
I know exactly what happens next forme…
Anders has purchased a remote island in the Hudson Bay, a thousand miles north of here. He bought it in cash, under a fake name, from the Cree Nation so there’s no paper trail. There is a small house on the island. A generator. A boat. And it’s ours.
He argued that we should leave as soon as possible, in April, after the thaw, but I won’t leave without my daughter, and Ashley deserves to finish school first. I never got my high school diploma. She has a right to get hers. And my love, my reason for living, he agreed.
He’ll be here soon…and I can’t wait to see him, to touch him, to hold him, to hear more about this beautiful plan he’s been putting together for us.
I can’t wait to be free to love him, without fear, without looking over my shoulder.
And the kid—Ashley—I’d like to get to know her. I’d like for her to know me now—the person I’ve become since Anders has been a part of my life. I’m the most stable I’ve ever been. I’m not on drugs. I’m not all over the place. Now that I am loved—trulyloved, for the first time in my life—maybe I’m strong enough to be someone to her. Someone good. Someone who’s not a fucking mess.
I’d like for us to be friends. Maybe that’s possible now that she’s all grown up. Maybe she could find something about me that she could like. I hope so. I really do.
Anders is here.
Teagan
Chapter 19
Ashley
Iam lying naked against Julian in the white clawfoot tub in my bathroom, my bare back against his bare front, his arms on the sides of the tub and bubbles covering us like a blanket of clouds. While I slept, he ran the hot water and lit about a hundred votive candles, so the room is warm and soft, bathed in a magical glow that perfectly matches my mood.
The many times I heard Tig in her room having sex, with groans and grunts filtering through the walls, I never imagined that she was experiencing something as beautiful as Julian and I just shared. But then, I doubt she felt about many of those men, if any, the way I feel about Julian. And maybe, I think, that’s the difference between the emptiness I always sensed in our LA bungalow and the feeling of wholeness I’m experiencing now.
In one of her recent diary entries, Tig wrote that Anders touched her like she was loved. She said that his tenderness had the power to soothe the horrors of her life, and now—right now—I understand what she meant by that, because, hunted as I am by Mosier, I should be terrified, yet I’m not. I feel safe. And soothed. And loved.
It would be absurd for Julian to tell me that he loves me, or for me to answer,“I love you, too…so much that it’s burstinginside me every moment I’m with you!”but it’s possible tofeelloved, even if you’re not certain you’re actuallyinlove. And for me, for now, it’s enough.
I also feel a rare sense of fellowship with my mother, over the ages, through time, despite her passing. I imagine her lying against Anders in her bathtub, as I am lying against Julian now, and I am strangely happy that she knew what it was to be loved by someone. At her funeral, I wondered if anyone had truly loved her. Now I have my answer. Anders did. And I am grateful to him for giving her that gift before she died.
“My mother planned to take me away,” I say, resting my hands under the water on Julian’s thighs as he wraps his arms around me.
“How do you know? She told you?”
I shake my head. “I read it in her diary.”
“Where was she going to take you?”
“To a cabin in Canada,” I say. “With Mosier’s son Anders.”
