It was as if she could read my thoughts. I watched her slump, seemingly defeated. It bothered me, but not enough to cough up the words, even if I knew they were what she wanted to hear.
“I know it’s hard for you,” she said. “Because of your mother. You should find her. When you get out. Find out what happened to her. Get some closure.”
“What are you talking about? My mother is most likely dead.”
“But you don’t know that. Not for sure. It could help you. Maybe if you found her, talked to her, you could put the past behind you and really move on.”
“That’s never going to happen,” I said, emphatically.
My mother? The heroin addict who’d left me time and time again. Who couldn’t fucking stay clean long enough to regain custody of me. Because if she had, then, there would have been no George, no estate in Harborview, no Ash and no…prison.
Shit. Was it happening? Was I starting to resent everything about Ash because I was stuck in this place? While she was out there in the world with that monster who hurt her.
“I don’t know why we’re talking about my mother,” I said, pulling myself out of those thoughts. Me being in here wasn’t Ash’s fault. “Tell me what that fucker did to you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, looking away from me. Toward the windows that overlooked the grounds where we were allowed to walk a couple hours each day.
I focused on her bruised flesh. The yellow and purple colors of it. Her skin was normally so pale. Her body always a little fragile. How could anyone think about hurting someone who could so easily break?
“Ash, look at me. Talk to me.”
She turned to me and smiled. It might have even cost her some pain to do it. “I do love you. I have since you drank that grape soda I offered you. You were the world to me, and I wanted to be so much for you, but it all fell apart. If I’d known what kind of bastard my father was, I would have told you to run away. Run as far away as you could from me. I promise I didn’t know it would end like this. Because if I had, I would have pushed you away instead of constantly trying to hold onto you.”
“Ash, what the fuck are you talking about? What end? Are you saying you’re leaving him? That’s good. Get the fuck away. Take some of his damn money and head for the south of France or some fancy place like that. Somewhere he can’t find you.”
She smiled again, but this time it was much sadder.
“I’m so sorry. For everything. Just know that. At least, that. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” I said, not understanding any of what she was saying.
Then she lifted her hands as if to suggest the very room we were sitting in was all her fault.
It wasn’t. It was her father’s. It was Sanderson’s.
What if you hadn’t gone to work for Landen? What if you’d minded your own business and let Ash stay in Switzerland?
Thoughts I’d had before came back, but again I pushed them away. There was no changing the past. There was only seeing our way forward. I already had a month and a half behind me.
“Ash, you’re hurting and you’re sad, but you need to stop talking like we’ve lost.” Because it sounded wrong. Ash was always positive. Always hopeful. Always the one trying to change my mood, my attitude. She didn’t give up. Ever.
So why did it feel like she was now?
She stood and arranged her scarf around her face, covering up the black eye as best she could. We still had twenty minutes left of visiting time, but she was leaving early. I stood as if to stop her, but she held her hand up, signaling me to stay back.
“I can’t. I can’t make this any harder on myself. I have to…I have to protect myself. I’m sorry, Marc. For everything. Please know I will never stop loving you. In my heart, I will never leave you.”
“Ash, you’re not making any sense to me. What the hell is happening here?”
“Goodbye.”
Before I could tell her to stop or wait, she was weaving through the other tables and visitors in the room, and scrambling out the door. Out the door, out of the prison. Away. Where she knew I couldn’t follow her.
I sank heavily into the seat, and, for the first time, wondered if I was ever going to see Ashleigh again. It was unthinkable. She would come back. She wouldn’t be able to stay away. She said she would never stop loving me. Those were her words. No, I couldn’t return them. But it didn’t matter.
It had never mattered to her. She loved me. It was constant. It was steady. It was a damn nuisance, too, but it was always there. Which meant she wasn’t going anywhere. And that goodbye wasn’t the last one.
I refused to believe it.
I refused to believe it until the following week.
Fort Dix
Seven weeks after the wedding
Marc
I sat at the same table where I’d been with Ash last week. The sense of dread in my stomach was making me nauseous. It wasn’t her week to visit. I knew that, but still, part of me wanted so bad to see the visitor door open. To see the flash of blond hair. To know last week hadn’t been as final as she’d made it sound.
George would give me an update. Even though he was no longer working for Landen, he still kept tabs on Ash. They would have had lunch together at some point this week. He’d probably been just as furious over the bruise as I was.
Together we could plan. We could figure out a way to convince Ash she needed to leave that asshole before he did some serious damage to her.
That helped push the dread away. Having a plan of attack. Feeling like there was some control.
The door to the visitor room opened and I could see George enter. I lifted my hand to show him where I was. His shoulders were slumped, and it felt like each time I saw him he was getting grayer and more broken down. When had George become an old man?
He’d probably kick my ass for even suggesting he was old, and, as he sat, I thought about making a joke about Grecian Hair Formula for Men, when his expression stopped me.
“What?”
His head bowed and his shoulders shook. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it. Ashleigh…Ashleigh’s gone.”
“Gone? You mean she left Sanderson? That’s awesome news. Why are you so broken up about that?”
George shook his head. He pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket and used it to blow his nose.
“No. She’s missing. The police suspect…the evidence indicates… God, Marc, she could be dead.”
Dead. It was almost like the word had no meaning. What was dead? Was it an adjective, a noun, a verb? What was this word and what power did it have?
“Her car…found…side of the road. Her purse…credit card…stolen. Some…struggle…blood. They’re…searching…body…Hamptons it’s all marsh and inlets...”
“Stop,” I barked. I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t make out what he was saying. It wasn’t making sense. It was like only every other word was penetrating, and the picture wasn’t forming in my head.
George stopped talking and waited patiently. Then I played back what he said, and my heart started to pound in my chest.
“Sanderson did it. Sanderson killed her.”