Hidden hearts, p.13
Hidden Hearts, page 13
“I won't regret it!” he roared. His hands out at his sides, almost in claws, his anger radiating off him.
She couldn’t tell if he meant that he wouldn’t regret not going or if he meant that he wouldn’t regret if his own mother died. Brandy struggled to process that, but Ash was still furious, still ranting.
“What I have regretted is every single time I have gone back. I regret every single time that I have tried.”
“Your mother loves you.”
This time he wheeled around fast enough to startle her. His glare would be deadly if she was picking a fight with him. She felt it as if it were a physical touch, as if she were the one he hated.
“No, she doesn't. I’m confident she's mentally ill and she's not capable of it.”
That struck Brandy as odd. Ash didn't seem like the kind who would be cold and unfeeling. “But if she is mentally ill, then it's not her fault. Doesn't she deserve your love?”
“No!” he said. “Look, you're right, mental illness might not be her fault, but her inability to acknowledge it, her inability to want to be better? That is. And I'm not going back. I'm done being her punching bag.”
“I get that you’re at odds with her,” Brandy tried one more time. She was in a rough spot with her own mother right now. But again, the thought of losing her, of not having made up? In fact, she was changing her own mind right now. Even as she sat here trying to convince Ash, she wound up convincing herself.
“I am not at odds with her,” Ash said, this time calm. “Marcus and Delia are more than welcome to go and take care of her. But I'm not going.”
Brandy stood up, looking him up and down and trying to reconcile this man with the warm and caring creature that she'd known. His walls were up. He was closed—an ice fortress that even she couldn't penetrate. She hated to see him like this. She tried again.
“Marcus and Delia have obviously put their issues with her aside. And it doesn't have to mean that you forgive her for everything. It just means—”
“Get out!” He growled it at her, hands clenching at his sides, eyes staring blankly out the window at the view she knew he loved, but couldn't see right now.
“Ash—”
“Get . . . Out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
He sat in the little hard chair at the little table with his head in his hands. If Ash was feeling any particular emotion, he couldn't identify it from the hurricane that roared inside him.
He was mad at his mother for still existing. Mad at her for getting into a situation that would cause his brother and sister to come to suggest that he “come home.” It wasn't home—it never had been.
Neither Marcus nor Delia had ever understood that.
Ash was furious at Brandy, too. How many times had he told her? She either hadn't listened or had simply decided that he was a fool who didn't know what he was talking about. Neither was acceptable.
Or maybe it was okay, he thought, after all. Maybe she was just somebody that he was fucking.
Still, it broke his heart. And he didn't have time to have a broken heart, not when he was stuck in the middle of the same struggle that somehow always hurt the same way. He was dealing with this same bullshit all over again.
He had left. He'd said No. He'd put his foot down and he'd stayed away. Why was it never enough? Why did they always come back and find him? Did they think this time would be different? And could he fault them? He’d gone back too many times thinking exactly that.
But it never was.
His phone rang and he wondered what shit show was finding him now.
Heading toward the sound, he found the device on the tiny counter in the bathroom. Flipping it face up he saw that it was Delia. Marcus had probably called her and told her Ash was causing problems. Perpetual middle child that needed attention.
How long had he believed that about himself because they always said it?
Decades.
But he’d also learned that he should deal with shit now.
As soon as he hit the button, he thought maybe he shouldn't have answered at all. Not put it off, but just never answer. His intent had never been to cut off his entire family. He didn’t want Delia and Marcus out of his life.
Ash still suspected he knew what Delia would say. But he answered anyway, his anger getting the best of him. “Hey, Dee.”
“Marcus said you're not coming back.”
Well, at least someone had heard him. “Marcus is correct.”
“Ash,” she chided. Not a good look when she was younger than him. “I know you and mom don't get along—”
“Then you don't know.”
Delia had been there for all of it, but she was younger. She’d seen it all through the eyes of her mother's favorite child. Though she understood some of what had happened because she'd seen some of it, she hadn’t seen anywhere near all of it. And it still hadn't quite processed for her and maybe never would.
Ash and his brother and sister had grown up in the same house but in separate worlds.
Delia, the favorite, the baby, got dance classes. When she tired of ballet mid-season, their mother had talked the teacher into taking Delia into the jazz class instead.
When Delia didn't like the piano, their mother had immediately bought her a tiny violin and hired her a tutor. When she hated the violin, her mother talked the band teacher into taking a fourth grade Delia for flute. Delia didn’t have to wait until fifth like all elementary school students are requested to do.
When Ash had wanted to play the tuba, he had been told that he didn't have the ability to stick with anything and it simply wasn't worth their investment. When he'd wanted to join the high school baseball team, his mother had reminded him how he hadn't liked T ball in elementary school, and therefore he wouldn't like this either. As if his seven-year-old tastes and ability to persevere with something would be what he was stuck with for his lifetime. His baseball just “wasn't something that the family was interested in putting their time on.”
Delia didn't know how many times his mother had simply forgotten to pick him up after high school theater practice. How many times he’d had to call his father at work and then Ash had waited and waited. Everyone else had already gone home, even the teachers had left, because this wasn't the first time, and they knew that eventually someone would get Ash.
She didn't know the number of times he'd wound up walking, because his father had been busy and no one had remembered that he'd had theater practice. His mother had showed up for the play, highlighted his name in the program, and at the end of the night, she had given him corrections. Despite the fact that she was no actress, and had no real theater experience herself, she’d spent an hour making him listen to exactly when and how she thought he'd failed to show the appropriate emotion for the scene.
The following year, when he said he wanted to be in the school production again, she complained about the amount of time that it had taken and told him he would need to find his own rides.
Delia didn't see those things. She didn't remember them. And they hadn't happened to her, so she couldn't relate. They weren’t even the whole story.
Marcus on the other hand was the smart one—always excelling in his classes. Always praised for his A's and B's while Ash’s 3.95 GPA had been brushed off repeatedly. His cords and honors at graduation given no notice.
His parents had laid a payment system to help him out with college. They’d even all written it down, and he’d had stupid, stupid faith in that piece of paper. But that, too, had simply dried up halfway through his undergrad. His father made rough excuses for his mother, letting him know that Delia had picked a more expensive school, so they needed to cover that for her.
So no, Delia and Marcus did not understand. And they probably never would.
Ash had done far more reading about what it was to grow up as a scapegoat than either of them would ever know. They knew—acknowledged that something was wrong with Mom. When their father passed away a few years ago, the three siblings had some serious conversations. But being the ones she favored had made their opinions very different than his.
They acknowledged when he showed them what he’d read, detailing how she had divided them and turned them against each other as kids. But as adults, they’d done nothing about it. So, no, they didn’t understand that his mother’s treatment of him—even of them—had been a classic case that no one had diagnosed. He’d learned lately that no one was ever going to fix it.
“I think you should come,” Delia told him softly. “Just for a few days.”
“No,” he said again, still biting his tongue at the common pleasantry that was ingrained to roll out of his lips. “Tell her I said hello.” He wasn't going to say that.
This time, he repeated what the therapist he had visited a few times had told him to tell himself. “Delia, no contact means no contact.”
“Jesus Ash! When is this going to be over?”
“When mom straightens herself out.” He laughed a sharp, harsh bark that yanked straight through him. “So probably never.”
“You're just going to live the rest of your life without mom?”
Wow, it hit him hard just how good that statement sounded.
“Yes.”
“Don't be that way.” The words were snide and too young for the adult woman his sister had become.
“Travel safe,” he told her, the best he could do before he hung up.
He needed at least three deep breaths and paced the small space four or five times before he messaged Roz.
—Need a mental health day.
She messaged back immediately.
— No worries. Plz take it.
Then another ping from her.
— need more than one?
He smiled. Why was this woman who was barely ten years older than him so much better to him than anyone in his own family?
— I hope not. I'll try to make good use of today.
But he was already grabbing his wallet and keys, shoving them in his pocket. He closed the cabin door behind him. Though it had a latch and a bolt, he didn't lock it.
For a moment, he wondered if he'd find Brandy in here when he came back. And what would that mean? How would he handle it? Would she understand? Apologize?
Ash had no answers. His insides churned but it didn’t stop him. Climbing into his car, he snapped at the key and started the engine for the first time in several days. It struck him then how infrequently they left this space.
But he hit the gas a little too hard, churning gravel as he backed up, spun the car around and headed down the long drive.
As the compound disappeared in his rearview mirror, he thought he caught a glimpse of red hair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ash headed toward Charlottesville but, on a whim, took a turn on a road he hadn't driven yet.
He wound up on winding drives tracing his way through the mountains. Something about it pulled him into the past, to a childhood he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to revisit.
He'd grown up in a small town in the mountains in North Carolina. Just beyond the neighborhoods, there had been roads like this. Places, that once he'd learned to drive, he'd explored in depth, just to get out and be away.
He hadn’t loved those times. The reason he needed to escape wasn’t lost on him. But the mountains were calming then . . . and now.
Putting the windows down, Ash let the heat of the day start to seep in. He let some of his anger seep out, too. He was mad at his mother, again. He even entertained thoughts that her car accident wasn't so much an accident as just another thing that would get her attention.
He'd learned terms in therapy for what it all was. One of them was a phrase his therapist used for his mother, a casual narcissist. Maybe the worst kind because that made it harder for everyone else to see it.
Ash was mad at Delia and Marcus, too. Mad at them for being their same old selves and never getting any better at seeing or acknowledging the bullshit. They were getting taken, too. They just still bought in. Ash tried to let that go, he couldn’t change anyone but himself, and he’d lost enough time trying to educate people who didn’t want to see.
He was mad at Brandy for being the same person he'd encountered so many times before. The ‘family first’ and ‘family above all else’ who couldn’t see some families didn’t look like their own.
He tried to let that go too. But that one was harder.
Ash put his hand out the window, letting the passing air drag at his fingers. No one else was on the road, just him and his broken wishes.
He held no real hopes for Delia or Marcus to come around. But he'd made the mistake of believing that Brandy understood him. Or that, even if she didn't, she would have his back. Instead, she sat there and told him repeatedly how wrong he was about a decision that had taken decades for him to come to. One that she knew nothing about.
Ash spotted his fingers gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white, and he didn't even feel it. Forcibly, he relaxed, letting his shoulders sink down, his jaw unclench, and his fingers loosen.
Time to turn on the GPS. He had an idea how far off track he'd gone. Once the program found him, he realized he wasn’t that far out of Charlottesville. He cut through a tiny town—if it could even be called that. It was mostly just a cluster of homes.
He was familiar with roads that held a variety of old houses. Some mansions with columns that held up dual front porches. Next to that were trailers. Then, older, sagging homes that had a junkyard in the front yard. The junkyard was never a random pile of trash. You could tell just driving by that someone who lived there collected something specific. Maybe old washing machines, VW bugs, or lawn mowers—usually machinery of some kind.
He passed by the neighborhoods that sprawled through Albemarle County, just outside the city limits of Charlottesville. Some of the houses were still being built.
Tiny bedroom communities beckoned him in. But he didn’t heed, instead he headed toward the shopping area. He needed new running shoes. Today was as good a day as any to get them.
It startled him as he pulled up to realize the store wasn't even open yet. How had things gone so wrong before ten a.m.?
He considered hitting the coffee shop where he'd taken Brandy. Though he told himself he wasn't that immature to avoid it just because she had been there, it was still difficult to go back and relax there when he was specifically still mad at her from just an hour ago.
He found a new place where the coffee wasn't quite as good. Somehow, he'd lucked into the best one first. Next, he found the stores open and bought the running shoes. He grabbed a new phone charger and a few other items that he didn't really need but wanted.
Aside from the occasional grocery run, and a little bit for gas, he was mostly saving his salary from working at the sanctuary. He had no housing to pay, no utility bills. Though the actual salary itself was definitely on the low end, most of it was going into his pocket, which was a welcome change from the meager money when he worked with Dr. Dickens at the barn. It was also a change from making good money doing his stint in Redemption, Nebraska. Zadie had paid him well, but Ash had empty weeks on either side that he'd had to save to cover.
He ate lunch on the patio of an Italian place, stuffing his face with amazing pasta and enjoying the slightly too hot day. The patio was mostly empty, people preferring the air conditioning. But Ash knew this was about to be the last of the warm days. The mountains got cold, fast.
After his late lunch he went to see a movie by himself. How long had it been since he'd done that? The sun was setting by the time he emerged, so there was no glaring brightness to shock him into squinting. As Ash headed toward his car, he realized he didn't know what to do next.
He wasn’t ready to go back. There was still too much evening to cover, and he wasn’t ready to talk. Wasn’t ready to make nice. He was hoping to arrive late enough not to run into anyone.
There were hours between now and then. He sat in the car for a moment, before looking up the name of the nearest veterinary clinic. He wound up with three of them to check out. Not that he was intending to leave Jade River Sanctuary. He wasn't even sure he would leave when his contracted two years were up, but he also wasn't sure that Jade River Sanctuary would still be here in two years.
He didn't discredit Roz. She was doing her absolute best. It was a startup and startups sometimes failed. He told himself he needed to be ready if that happened. He would need a plan.
He headed toward the nearest one and pulled into the parking lot. He didn't go inside or introduce himself but sat for a moment and looked up the website. How many veterinarians did they employ? What did the pictures of the inside rooms look like? How up to date was the equipment?
He told himself he wasn't making plans, but then he looked up two more clinics. Not that he would necessarily stay in Charlottesville, he told himself, but he was discovering there was something about the mountains that felt like home.
Sitting at the fifth office with two more on his growing list, he got a ping on his phone and saw a new text.
— Heard you were out today in Charlottesville.
Ash frowned at the phone. He didn't recognize the number. Not only was it someone who knew he was out today but knew that he might be in Charlottesville. Who would even ask that? Zadie was still in Redemption, on the other side of the country as far as he knew. Also her number was in his phone, it would have said her name. He had told her he'd moved to a place just outside of Charlottesville.
Brandy’s number was listed with her name and a picture of her smiling. One that he'd snapped when she hadn't noticed. He rolled his eyes at himself as he pulled out of the lot, taking the next turn his GPS told him to.
Why had he not admitted to himself he was so far gone? They might be casual, but he clearly wasn't. He’d let it go too far without saying anything and now he was stuck.
A second text popped up.
