Page 97 of Pieces of Ash
But despite these logical reasons for keeping my distance, I can’t help how I feel. I care about her. And even though I’ve heard that feelings can deepen quickly under stressful conditions, that doesn’t make mine any less real.
I hold her closer and rest my lips on her head, wondering how much time we have and how all of this will end, and hoping that falling for someone all over again won’t cost me as much as it did last time.
ASHLEY
When I wake up, my room is dark, and I can tell, from the deep and even way his chest rises and falls under my cheek, that Julian is asleep.
I’ve never slept beside a man, and I allow myself to marvel in the wonderfulness of it for a moment, keeping my dark thoughts at bay until they won’t be held back any longer, and they crash around me.
My mother died suspiciously, and I’m starting to wonder if Mosier killed her.
Father Joseph is also dead, and it seems likely that Mosier killed him too.
He’s scorching a path to my door, burning down anyone who would stand in his way of having me. I should feel terrified, but profound sorrow overtakes my fear. My breath catches as my mind plays a montage of memories about my beloved Father Joseph.
I remember the first day I arrived at the Blessed Virgin Academy—how warmly he welcomed me and how, over time, he became a cherished friend and stand-in grandfather. I remember him blessing meals and wearing his Mets cap at softball games. I can hear his voice of absolution in my head, forgiving my transgressions. I think about his face when he drove me to the train station in Poughkeepsie and said goodbye to me. He died keeping me safe, and I will be forever grateful.
“Thank you, Father,” I whisper, “for everything.”
Julian sighs in his sleep and mumbles, “You okay?”
“Mm-hm.” I nod against his chest, feeling a little shy. I lean up to go to the bathroom, but he reaches for my wrist, grasping it hard.
“Where are you going?” he demands, his eyes wide open in the darkness, shiny in the moonlight filtering through my window.
“Just to…pee.”
He relaxes his grip. “Of course. Sorry.”
I blink at him, a little surprised that he grabbed me. “Areyouokay?”
“Yeah. I just…sorry,” he says, letting go of me to reach up and rub his eyes. “Vivid dreams.”
“Bad?”
He nods. “Not great.”
I pee and wash my hands, then splash some cold water on my face because my eyes and cheeks are swollen from so many tears.
When I return, Julian is lying on his back, holding his phone over his head, the glow lighting up his face.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Checking the news,” he says. “I found Father Joseph’s obituary on the school website. Sounds like he was a great man.”
“I can’t go to his funeral,” I say, a sad realization. I would have liked to honor his memory by attending the service.
“When all of this is over,” says Julian, “I’ll drive you to the cemetery so you can pay your respects.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, sitting with my back to him.
Julian clears his throat, sitting up behind me. “Do you want me to go? Give you some space, maybe?”
“No!”
“No?”
“Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.”
