Page 4 of Pieces of Ash
My mother was many things at the end, but as far as I knew, she was no longer a substance abuser. She hadn’t taken so much as an Advil or sipped from a flute of champagne since she married Mosier. I’d watched carefully every time I was with her—no bloodshot eyes, no slurred speech, no shakes. Not to mention Mosier and his goons had kept such a close eye on her, it would have been just about impossible to hide it from him.
“It doesn’t make sense, Gus.”
“I wish…” His jaw tightens as he glances over my shoulder, then takes a step away from me. “I wish we could talk more. Be careful, Ash,” he says, taking another step back. “Keep yourself safe, you hear? And?—”
“Gus, don’t go yet! Please stay!” I whimper, watching as any trace of tenderness drains from his face. He straightens his back and neck, standing as tall as he can, his eyes dark and wary.
“My condolences, Miss Ellis,” he says, his voice low and formal as his eyes flick to someone standing behind me.
“My father told you to leave,” my stepbrother Damon tells Gus.
Damon puts his hand on my lower back, and to anyone watching, the gesture might seem conciliatory or protective—a stepbrother comforting his grieving little stepsister—but mybody stiffens and my stomach churns from his unwanted touch, willing it away.
“I’m leaving,” says Gus, looking back at me, his dark eyes sorry and concerned. “Take care now, you hear?”
“Please,” I sob, tears that I didn’t feel at my mother’s grave suddenly brightening my eyes and blurring Gus’s retreating image.
But Gus, my fairy godfather, my only good memory from a fractured childhood, is already gone, and with an increase of heavy pressure on my back, I am guided away.
Hours later,in a private meeting room at the same country club, I am seated around a small conference room table with my grandparents, stepfather, and stepbrothers as an attorney reads my mother’s will. Her estate belongs to my stepfather now, but she requested that all of her jewelry be passed on to me.
I am handed a list of appraised items, and I’m surprised that Tig was able to squirrel away a small fortune’s worth of gems for me.
Tigín’s attorney, Mr. Blanchard, raises his eyebrows at my stepfather. “Is that okay with you, Mr. Raumann? That Miss Ellis keeps Mrs. Raumann’s jewelry?”
His Eastern European accent is thick when he responds with a flick of his ringed hand and a shrug of his beefy shoulders. “What do I want with women’s things?”
Vhat do I vant vith vomen’s things?He sounds like a vampire.
Long ago, Tig mentioned something to me about Mosier being from Romania. She said that he was one of eight kids born to a poor couple at a time when the government offered financialincentives to mothers of five children or more. Apparently, it was part of a program to increase the birth rate and population of the country, but it had turned a lot of women into baby machines, without the disposition, resources, or desire to raise their offspring.
Mosier, like many others of his generation, had ended up in a state-run orphanage, and God only knows what had happened there to turn him into the man he is today.
“Fine.” Mr. Blanchard looks at me and nods. “The jewelry is yours, Miss Ellis. You may claim it at any time.”
I feel the heat of my stepfather’s gaze against my cheek, but I don’t look at him. I nod at the lawyer, then look down at the table. Modesty and composure are of paramount importance at my private school, and after five years, I project both effortlessly, my face a veneer of peace and grace, no matter what’s happening inside my head.
“Your late wife also asked that some of her remaining assets pay for the rest of Miss Ellis’s schooling. I believe she attends…” He shifts some papers. “Ah, yes. The Blessed Virgin Academy? Just outside of New Paltz?”
My stepfather sighs. “She’s eighteen. Avoman. How much more school does she need?”
I stare at the table, clenching my jaw as these two men, totally unrelated to me, decide my fate.
“Miss Ellis,” asks Mr. Blanchard, “how much school do you have left?”
I lift my head to look at the lawyer, who meets my steady gaze. “One month until graduation, sir.”
Mr. Blanchard nods, making a note before looking up at my stepfather. “And then there’s college…grad schoo?—”
“No college. No grad school. Not necessary. Ashley will work for me,” says Mosier, his tone nonnegotiable. “I have plans for her.”
Mr. Blanchard’s expression is deeply uneasy as he softly reiterates, “I believe Mrs. Raumann wanted her sister to finish high school at the very least.”
“Fucking…” Mosier mutters a string of expletives under his breath, then huffs with annoyance. “Fine. One more month of school. What do I care? It changes nothing.”
The lawyer looks slightly relieved and continues quickly. “Your late wife also asked that her parents be cared for.”
I shift my eyes to my grandparents, who sit across the table from me. Despite the fact I am their biological granddaughter, we have never been close to one another. Whatever love they may or may not have had for my mother, they’ve had even less for me. They made no effort to hide the fact that I was Teagan’s “great shame,” and they certainly didn’t stop my too-young, emotionally unstable mother from taking me to live with her in Los Angeles when I was only five years old. Tig wanted to “try” being a mother. My grandparents were only too happy to be rid of me.
