Page 289 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

The only time my life had been simple was when I’d dropped out of high school to take care of dad’s bar. I’d worked, slept, and bullied the neighbor girl. Once I’d left Cullowhee, things had just gotten messier and messier, more and more complicated every day. That didn’t make it bad... but my life hadn’t been simple in a long time.

I think that’s why I always came back to Cullowhee during my time off. It was a chance to get away from all the complicated shit, and focus on nothing but simplicity: food, friends, and afternoons at the lake.

But I knew what she was really asking:do you miss your life from before me?

“No. Boring doesn’t suit me.”

She stared at a photo in the scrapbook “Who are these people?”

“That’s my grandfather, my dad, and me.” We were all standing in front of my dad’s bar, still called “Reuben’s Place” before I’d rebranded it to just “Reuben’s.” My mom had written, “I, II, and III” above the photo.

“You’re athird?”

“You think my dad named his bar afterme?”

“Your dad didn’t like you?”

“I wasn’t planned or wanted. And I was too much like him. He didn’t like himself, let alone a kid who reminded him of himself.”

“Your mom liked you, though. Right?”

“Yes... my mom did.”

“Do you want kids?” She asked as she turned the page. Another photo of the three of us men, awkwardly sitting at the table. We all looked uncomfortable.

“No. And I took care of that possibility a very long time ago.” One of the first things I’d done as an adult with finances and health insurance was get a vasectomy. No need to further the Weston line of fuck-ups. “Besides, I have plenty of little girls to take care of. Do you want kids?”

“Hell no. I’d be a horrible mom. People like me shouldn’t have kids. We just break them. My mom sure did.

“I was planned, but they didn’t like me very much. Scarlett was an accident, but they liked her.”

“What was she like?”

“Cute. Obedient. Hugged everyone. Shy. She liked it when I told her stories and sang to her.”

Alice’s eyes strayed from the scrapbook, becoming unfocused. She traced her fox tattoo on her leg with one finger.

“It’s probably a good thing she died.”

I stared at her in concern, waiting for her to explain herself.

“She was perfect, Reuben. Perfect from the day she was born. But mom had already started hurting herself before Scarlett died. Eventually, things would have fallen apart and Scarlett would have gotten hurt. Or broken, like me. At least...” She looked down at her tattoo, and then back at the scrapbook in her lap, turning the page.

Somehow, I knew what she was thinking. At least she died while she was perfect.

Sometimes I thought the same thing about Robin. I’d often wondered if something horrible would have happened to her had she lived. She’d suffered her entire life, and I’d often wondered—and even hoped—that her death was an escape from some worse fate.

But that was probably just my darkness trying to soothe my conscience.

The next page in the scrapbook was me sitting outside on the porch step, a pile of fishing tackle by my side. Alice smiled at the photo and continued. “They threatened to put me up for adoption a few times, and just keep Scarlett, because I was such a bad kid. I started being really good after that... In hindsight, I’m pretty sure it was an empty threat, but it scared me into being good for a pretty long time.”

I felt my blood pressure rise. What kind of asshole parent threatened to put their kid up for adoption? Even made as a joke, a child like Alice who couldn’t regulate her emotions would see that as utter betrayal.

She flipped the page and I was confronted with a photo of my parents sitting in this very room. Dad was trying and failing to hide a smile, and mom sat beside him, her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips pressed into his cheek.

I recognized the look in his eye. Satisfaction, content, and the surreal peace that came from having your person by your side. I was reminded that even though my dad hadn’t particularly liked me, he had loved my mom. Until she’d hurt herself, anyway. Once she was no longer able to carry him through his depression and accommodate his needs, he had used alcoholism and shouting at people as his coping mechanism.

“You look like him.”

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