Page 75 of Pieces of Ash
“Thank—” I’m grinning at him, but my eyes widen at his unexpected compliment, and I immediately look back up at the sky. It’s dark out so he can’t see my blush.
His chuckle is soft and low beside me, and maybe I’m wicked for not feeling more guilty, but I feel my smile grow as I trace Orion’s belt. I don’t dare look at him, but I feel Julian step closer to me, the warmth of his chest radiating against my back. If I moved slightly, one step even, his body would be flush against mine, and the shiver down my arms has nothing to do with the night chill.
As though he can read my mind, he whispers, close to my ear, “Not unless you ask.”
I close my eyes and say a prayer for strength and virtue, which, sadly, works, because the next thing I hear are his footsteps receding.
“Good night, sweet Ashley,” he says to my back, his voice a low rumble.
My eyes open slowly to the glittering heavens.
“Good night, sweet prince,” I whisper to Julian’s stars.
JULIAN
She’s tempting.
She’s so very fucking tempting.
But I gave her my word, and no matter how much I fucking want her, I can’t have her until she says so. My come-on was gentle and playful enough but pushing her any further would have been obnoxious and off-putting. Nothing about her posture invited a repeat performance tonight. It seems I might have a wait on my hand before I get kiss number two.
I stop by the kitchen to discover the dishwasher running and the serving bowls drying beside the sink. Noelle’s finishedthe cleanup without me, and Ashley’s advice from earlier today circles in my head.
Make up with Noelle. She’s your sister.
The thing is, Noelle’s not just my sister. Our brother–sister dynamic was irrevocably impacted by my father’s death. Sure, I’m her brother, but I was also her guardian. I was her de facto parent for two years. I don’t want to tell her about the most embarrassing, most regrettable chapter in my life. I don’t want to fall from grace in her eyes. I don’t want her to be ashamed of me. My silence is as much for her protection as my own.
That said, she’s leaving for school tomorrow, and I don’t want to leave things like they are between us, with Noelle freezing me out because she wants the truth about what happened in Washington, and me refusing to give it. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to one of us while she was away, if we were at odds when parted.
I hear the front door open and close. Ashley’s footfalls are light on the stairs, and I can hear her singing as she heads upstairs to her attic quarters. As I walk to my bedroom, words to match the melody pop into my head, like they’d been sitting somewhere in my psyche all along.
Stars fading but I linger on, dear,
still craving your kiss.
I’m longing to linger till dawn, dear,
just saying this…
I lean against the wall of the dark corridor that leads to my bedroom and close my eyes because my memories of this song go further back than tonight. Suddenly, like time has no meaning whatsoever, I hear the soft, low tone of my father’s voice singing the same song in his workshop.
“Des souvenirs comme ça, j’en veux tout l’temps. Si par erreur la vie nous sépare, je l’sortirai d’mon tiroir.” My father sings off-key, but with gusto, spinning the rod deftly while Ietch a spiral into the vase we’re making together. “Zis song, Julian. Oh, mon coeur, zis song.”
At fourteen, I am not interested in his dopey music, and even less so when it’s in French.
“You understand it, son? Ze words?”
“Something about memories?” I ask, concentrating on my work, not on translating.
Since my mom left, Noelle spends a little time with Mrs. Willis up the street every weekend, watching movies or baking cookies or other girl stuff. I think it’s because she misses our mother. As for me? I don’t miss her. She left us. Not the other way around. And anyway, sometimes while Noelle’s hanging with Mrs. Willis, my dad invites me into his workshop and teaches me how to make something cool out of glass.
“Listen, son. She sings, ‘If we should ever be separated by mistake, you and I, I’ll take my memories from ze drawer and remember you,’” he says, a very French sigh heavy in his voice.
My dad is the greatest man I’ve ever known, but he’s also so completely cheesy, it’s crazy.
“Okay, Dad.” Whatever.
“Julian,” he says, drawing out the “j,” which he pronounces with a mash-up of the “j” and “sh” sounds, “you know zat your mama, she left me, not you. You know, right?”
