Page 13 of Pieces of Ash
Mosier promised I could return to school until graduation.
Which means I have exactly one month to escape his clutches.
Forever.
At dinner,Mosier sits at the head of the table, I am seated at his right, and his twin sons sit across from me to his left. The last time I visited, my mother sat between me and Mosier, but I have taken her place now, and it feels all wrong to me. I wish, just for tonight, we could have left her seat vacant in remembrance, but Mosier has already outlined his plans for our future, and remembering my mother doesn’t fit in with the fantasy he’s created.
Mosier invites Anders to say the blessing, and Anders offers it in Latin, which is standard at Raumann family dinners. Even my mother knew how to give at least one blessing in proper Latin.
“Amen,” mutters Mosier, picking up his spoon with a sigh. “Now we eat.”
Mealtimes are mostly quiet affairs, with Anders and Damon forbidden to glance up just for the sake of looking at me or my mother. They were only permitted to look at us if one of us was speaking, and even then, their expressions were carefully blank. To be honest, I was always grateful when we managed to get through dinner without conversation, which means my stomach is a mess of butterflies becauseIhave something to say tonight.
“Mosier,” I begin softly, keeping my eyes down, waiting for his permission to continue.
His spoon clinks against the side of his soup bowl with annoyance. Though he has showered and changed, he is still upset with me for vomiting on him. “What?”
I gulp, looking up. “I haven’t been to confession in two days, and my classes resume on Monday. I wonder if I may return to school tomorrow?”
He stares at me, his eyes slipping down to my chest and resting there. My breasts are covered by a navy-blue silk blouse, but the heat of his eyes makes me feel naked.
“No,” he grunts.
My whole body tenses.Is he reneging on his agreement to let me finish school? Oh, god, am I trapped here? Does my sentence beginnow?
“I have to be in Newark tomorrow,” he says. “I can’t take you back until Wednesday.”
I relax, my shoulders lowering and my swimming head clearing a little.
“Oh,” I murmur, looking back down at my soup.
“I can take her,” offers Damon.
My neck snaps up because the Raumann twins and I rarely spend any time one-on-one, and it’s a daring suggestion.
“You? Ha! And I’ll send a fox to take care of my sheep.” He shifts his gaze to Anders. “You’ll take her.”
Anders has always been the quieter son, the smarter son, the son that Mosier trusts more.
“I was supposed to join you in Newark,” says Anders softly, his handsome face tightening in protest.
“So what?” demands Mosier. “Now you’ll go with her.”
Anders clenches his jaw as he nods. “Yes,Tata.”
“Yes, Father,” mimics Mosier, picking up his soup spoon. “She ispious. Pure. Devout. She wants to confess her sins with a priest, for God’s sake! You could learn something from her devotion, you fucking mongrels.” He slurps a mouthful of soup. “Now we eat. All of you, shut the fuck up.”
I lift my spoon and chance a quick glance at Anders, surprised to find he’s doing the same, glaring back at me withnarrowed eyes. We stare at each other for a long second, for as long as we dare, before turning our attention back to the soup.
The next morning,I look out my window to see Mosier and Damon slide into the back seat of a town car and Eddie slam the doors shut. I breathe a huge sigh of relief, knowing that I won’t see Mosier again for a month. Though I haven’t the slightest idea of how to escape him, I am determined to figure out an alternate future for myself once I return to school.
I am packed and ready to go at eight o’clock when Ana arrives at my room. She tells me that Anders is on a phone call for Mosier and wants to leave at nine. With half an hour of quiet time, my mind turns, once again, to Tig.
When Tig was twenty-one, after two years of splitting her time between Manhattan, Milan, and Paris, she settled down in LA, where she was cast as a prima donna supermodel in a sitcom about a fashion magazine. That was when her addiction began in earnest. During her years of modeling abroad, she’d gotten a taste for champagne, martinis, and cosmopolitans, but it hadn’t become a problem…yet. She’d been jet-setting, she was very popular and in constant demand. Being so busy had kept her from the viselike grip of addiction. But once she settled down in LA, where she rented a bungalow and hit the club circuit every night, her behavior deteriorated quickly.
After three years onLure Me, she overdosed one night.
I found her in the bathroom, out cold on the tile floor in a pool of drying vomit. I called Gus, who called 911 and my grandparents. My grandparents stayed at a hotel near the hospital until Tig was discharged and admitted to a rehab centerin Ojai. Then they returned home to Ohio. Gus stayed at the bungalow with me. I was eight.
