Page 20 of Love From the Ashes

“Yes, I do. Experience proves it. People always treat me differently when they learn tidbits about my past. They act like I have the plague or something and can’t run away from me fast enough. I’m human like everyone else, and it hurts. And yes, I was embarrassed. Besides that, the last thing I need is one of you telling somebody what I said.” I eyed the two of them, frustrated they had found me. I had chosen a table in the courtyard that a row of planters hid from view, thinking it offered protection from their searching eyes. My effort was a waste of time.

“Della and I aren’t like that. We won’t repeat a word of what you said.” Adam pretended to lock his mouth with a key and toss it over his shoulder. “See, no worries. Your skeletons are safe with us.”

“You can trust us, I promise. And, if you need to talk, we’ll listen. It’s not healthy to keep the negative stuff to yourself,” Della said.

I studied Della and Adam’s faces. I didn’t see the pity in their eyes that I usually saw from others, and their demeanor wasn’t in line with someone who was deviously prying. But could I trust them? That was the big question. They’d already proven themselves to be friends, Della more so than Adam. If I were to trust them, I had to create limits; some of my past was too dark to share. Dean’s drinking, gambling, and constant loss of jobs were all right to talk about with a close friend. My parents’ drug and alcohol addictions were borderline appropriate. But the rest wasn’t to be spoken of, and I had to be careful.

“I’m serious. If you want to talk, Adam and I are here for you. No judgment and no unsolicited advice,” Della said.

“You’re concerned, and I get it. But honestly, my life hasn’t been that bad.” I cringed as I made the statement, knowing it was a complete lie. “I met my husband, Dean, when I was in my teens, and we married a few years later. He had drinking and gambling problems, which caused us to move a lot. That’s all.”

“You made it sound much worse than that Friday night. I got the impression his drinking was pretty ugly at times,” Della said.

“Alcoholics aren’t always the nicest people when they’re drunk.” I shrugged my shoulders, trying to downplay Dean’s drinking. In truth, he was more of a sloppy, whiny, hands-all-over-me drunk. He’d be verbally mean occasionally, but that wasn’t the norm. His gambling, lying, and stealing had been the more significant problems.

“You mentioned he died in a house fire. What happened?” Della’s voice was low, and she sounded hesitant. It was like she wanted to ask the question but was afraid to pry. Either that or she was uncomfortable talking about it, which seemed less likely.

I sat there for a moment, debating whether I should tell the truth or fabricate a response. I planned to make Boston my permanent home, which meant I could finally build relationships and have friends. For my relationship with Della and Adam to be meaningful and thrive, we had to have a level of trust between us. I decided to tell the truth, at least part of it.

“Can you talk about it?” Adam said, breaking the silence.

I nodded and put my hands in my lap. “It was four and a half months ago, right after I told my husband I wanted a divorce. I’d reached the breaking point where my health and sanity had become more important than our marriage. Dean’s response had been to bury himself in a bottle, which was his typical reaction to our arguments, and I left the house. I returned home later in the evening to find Dean in his recliner with the living room in flames. I found out later he’d started the fire with a lit cigarette that had slipped from his fingers after he’d passed out.”

“Where was the fire department?” Adam said, his pinkish complexion now white.

“They weren’t there yet. The owner of our rental had let all the trees and shrubs in the yard become completely overgrown, blocking the view of the house from the street. None of the neighbors had realized the house was on fire until it was too late.”

“What did you do when you saw the fire?” Della whispered, her face crumbling.

“I didn’t even stop to think and rushed into the house to save him. It was pointless by then, but I had panicked and didn’t know what I was doing. Dean, the chair, curtains, wallpaper, and ceiling were all on fire, and I had difficulty seeing through the smoke and trying to breathe. I was struggling to get out of the house when the fire department arrived. One of the firefighters found me and pulled me from the flames.”

“I’m sorry. That’s horrible,” Della said, looking pained. She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “It sounds like your marriage was never that great. What made you finally ask for a divorce?”

“We didn’t love each other, for one thing. Ours was a marriage of convenience, and the reason for it no longer mattered. But it was my husband’s lying and stealing and our constant moving that finally made me want to end it.” I sighed and pulled my hand back from Della. “After moving from place to place in Pennsylvania and then New York, we came to Massachusetts and settled in Quincy. I’d gotten a job that I liked and was working tons of overtime, saving money and trying to get us back on our feet. Then Dean’s boss caught him drinking on the job and discovered he was stealing from the company. He fired Dean, and things went downhill from there. Rather than pay our bills, Dean had been using the money for gambling. By the time I found out, it was too late. He’d emptied our savings account, the finance company was repossessing our car, and we’d received an eviction notice for nonpayment of the rent. It was at that point I told Dean I was divorcing him.”

“Shit, Sofie. I don’t blame you. That’s too much for anybody. What happened after the fire?” Della scooted forward in her chair, her eyes fixed on me.

“I had to go to a women’s shelter since I’d lost everything I owned when the house burned, and I had no money or job. I was a contract employee, and my employer let me go, saying they couldn’t hold my job while they waited for me to heal from the fire. Morgan Systems has an employment assistance program that partners with the women’s shelter where I was staying. That’s how I got the job here. Virginia Morgan is the administrator, and she hired me.”

“I’ve never heard of the program. Morgan Systems must keep it a secret or something. That must be why Krista had no idea the company had hired you until it was a done deal,” Della said, looking wide-eyed. “Now it all makes sense.”

“What about your parents? You mentioned them a couple of times Friday night,” Adam said, his expression somber. He was leaning forward on his elbows with his hands clasped together and pressed against his mouth.

“My dad was an alcoholic and killed himself while driving drunk on the freeway. He plowed into the concrete center divider. I was nine years old at the time. I don’t remember much about him except that he was mean and always scared me. My mom drank and had a drug problem.” I looked down at my hands, realizing that after all these years, I still hated her.

“I’m sorry your parents weren’t so great. Is your mom still alive?” Della said.

“No,” I said, which was a lie. I’d closed the door on my mother long ago, pretending she didn’t exist. The reality was I’d moved in with Dean to get out of her and her supposed boyfriend’s grasp and had hidden from her for several years. She had no clue I was living in Massachusetts and that Dean had died. At least, I didn’t think she did. Otherwise, she would have hunted me down. My cell phone suddenly rang, and I pulled it from my jacket pocket, the interruption ending our conversation. I tapped the button to ignore the call.

“You have a cell phone. When did that happen?” Adam said, sounding surprised.

“I got it yesterday, and I keep getting calls for the person who had this number before me. I lost my last phone in the house fire when it fell out of my pocket, and I didn’t have insurance. Even if I did, I couldn’t have afforded the monthly bill until now.”

“Do you want our cell numbers?” Adam said. He sounded eager for me to say I did.

“Sure, you can add them to my contact list.” I slid my phone over to Adam.

“I’ll do it.” Della reached out and picked up my phone. “I’ll send a text to myself and one to Adam from your phone. That way, you’ll have our numbers, and we’ll have yours.” Della typed out the messages and sent them. “There, easy-peasy. Now we can contact each other.”

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