Ashland
The large dreary room feels cold, figuratively and literally. The first day of summer is approaching, though Mother Nature doesn’t seem to know. Normally by this time of year, we would be seeing temperatures in the nineties, but it’s a cool seventy-six degrees right now. In here, it feels more like forty-six. With this being a government facility, I’m guessing it’s run on an automatic heating and cooling system, which doesn’t account for the chilly nights we’ve been having. There aren’t even any windows allowing the light of the sun to stream in to warm it up.
It’s a very depressing space. No plants, sunlight, or joy. Only old, dirty government issued furniture, gray walls with those hideous rubber bases, and hospital tile floors. You would think, given this is a mental health facility, they would want their patients to feel comfortable and maybe a little joyous.
My head shoots up when I hear the heavy metal doors open, and two women step through. One is Ashland Martin—the reason I’m here today. Her head is down, her greasy auburn hair hanging forward as she shuffles her feet toward me. The other woman is an employee, and I’m happy to see they were at least smart enough not to put a man in charge of Ashland. From the things I’ve already heard about her story, that would be cruel.
Ashland meets my gaze as she takes the seat across from me, her mahogany eyes sunken in and shoulders slumped.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today, Ashland.”
She shrugs as her eyes roam around the room, as if to say she had nothing better to do. When she agreed to do an interview with me, I wasn’t sure what to expect. If you believe the media, I’m sitting in front of a stone-cold killer. But this isn’t the vibe I’m getting from her at all. She has black circles under her eyes from what I can only assume is lack of sleep, and she looks much thinner than she had in all the photos from the news coverage, indicating she hasn’t been eating much either. If she truly were a psychopath, killing Jim wouldn’t keep her from eating or sleeping.
Then again, it could be because she’s locked up in this God awful place. The prosecution didn’t have enough to convict Ashland for Jim’s murder, so her lawyers were able to work out a plea bargain that landed her in the looney bin instead of prison in exchange for her confession. I’m not so certain she’s better off here, though.
“Can I ask why you chose to let me interview you? I’m sure you must have gotten hundreds of requests.”
“Your sister,” Ashland answers.
My forehead creases. “My sister?”
A month ago, when I told Julianna I was interested in writing Ashland’s story, I was worried she wouldn’t support it—that she would feel like I was trying to cash in on something tragic that happened to her. But she’s been so supportive and helpful.
“She wrote me a letter telling me what Jim did to her, apologizing for not saying something. She told me you wanted to write my story to get the truth out there. Everyone else is looking for the gory details.”
I nod my head. “That’s all I want, to reveal the truth about Jim. I think we can change the narrative of the story.”
She sucks in a long breath before blowing it back out. “You might want to hear my story before you get too excited. Even when people know the full story, it will be subject to interpretation. They’ve never seen a story like mine on Law and Order, and likely never will. I don’t fit into any of their preconceived notions of what classifies someone as a victim of sexual assault.”
“That’s even more of a reason why this story is so important. Just because it hasn’t been told before doesn’t mean there aren’t women out there who have been or are going through the same things you did.”
“All right. Where should we begin?”
“The beginning is always good,” I say, pulling out my pad of paper, pens, and tape recorder. Once I’m all set up, I look to Ashland, who’s visibly tenser.
“Okay…” She lets out a heavy breath, her eyes glossing over as they bounce around the room. When they land on me again, a heaviness settles on my chest, and I find myself wishing I’d brought some Kleenex. “I met Jim after he started dating my sister…”
As I approach my exit off the highway, I contemplate increasing my speed instead of slowing down, reconsidering my whole you-can’t-escape-your-troubles stance. It would be so much easier to run. If I keep going, I could put some much-needed distance between Steven and myself. Unless what they say is true and distance really does make the heart grow fonder, which would be bad.
Although, being in a new place, far away from Paul Eastman and the people who idolize him, would certainly provide some relief, I know it wouldn’t solve anything. So, I ease up on the gas pedal and put my blinker on.
“A book?” The worried tone in Steven’s voice causes me to picture him with a furrowed brow and frown on his face, and I stifle a laugh.
I thought my answer sounded confident enough, even though I’d only just now decided to write a book about Ashland’s story rather than one simple article for a small county paper. Still, this could be great. Scary as fuck, but awesome at the same time. This could be the story that finally gives me the courage to follow my dream of becoming a published author. Only…telling Ashland’s story would be even better than I dreamed because I’d be doing something meaningful for other women in the same place.
“Yes, a book. I think Ashland’s story needs to reach farther than Ruth County. There’s so much people don’t know. Like, did you know he was dating her sister while he was repeatedly sexually assaulting her? Because I haven’t heard one mention of that. People need to know what kind of sick fucker he really was, not the good guy, loving husband act everyone wants to believe.”
There’s so much I can relate to with Ashland’s story. Everyone believes Paul is this great guy as well. They have no clue the kinds of things he’s capable of. To be fair, if someone would have warned me Paul was going to abuse me, I’m not sure I would have believed them either. People don’t often see beyond the surface.
Steven lets out a long exhale. “Even if they know about all that other stuff, it won’t change the fact that she murdered a man. His wrong doesn’t make hers right.”
My eyes roll as I press my lips together and shake my head, groaning. “I’m not saying it’s okay that she murdered him. Though, I can’t say I’m sad he’s dead. I personally think he got what was coming to him after everything Ashland told me today. The only thing that would have been better is if he ended up in prison having men do the things to him that he did to Ashland. But that would never have happened because the law doesn’t protect women like her.”
“I know this is really important to you, but—”
“Yes,” I say, cutting him off. I don’t have it in me to go down this road again. “You do know how important it is to me, and you know damn well why too. But now that I know Ashland’s story mirrors mine, I feel like this is something I need to do. It might be the closest I ever come to telling my story. It won’t be easy, but I really think this could be good for me.”
He sighs, and it’s as if I can feel his heavy breath on my skin. “All right. A book it is. What will you call it?”
A smile lights my face and a warmth settles over me, grateful he’s relenting even though he’s worried for me. It’s not all that surprising, though. If I can count on anyone to support my decision, it’s Steven. Not only because he knows my secret, but that’s simply the kind of man he is.
Humming, I muse over the title for Ashland’s story, then blurt out the first one that comes to mind. “Illusions of Ash.”
He laughs. “Did you come up with that on a whim?”
“Yep.”
“That mind of yours seems like a scary yet beautiful place.”
My face and chest flush, and I go quiet, making things awkward, just as I do every time he says anything remotely nice or complimentary toward me. Navigating our friendship is a little tricky for me. I trust him more than I do most—maybe even more than I should. But I’ve always felt this odd connection between us. Which isn’t entirely appropriate given he’s dating Cat.
“So, are you on the way to your parents’ house now?”
I groan. “Yes, unfortunately. It’s the last thing I feel like doing, but Mom has been on me about coming over for dinner for weeks now. I might as well get it over with.”
“All right. Drive safely. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yes, sir, Officer,” I mock.
Julianna hands me a bottle of beer, and I nod in thanks. “Where’s Eric?”
She takes a seat on the sofa across from me, and I notice all the subtle changes she’s already made to the apartment since she moved in. There’s throw pillows, candles, and even an area rug in the living room now. The changes she’s made in Eric are a little less subtle. He’s like a new man, a better man, a happier man. So, even though I still don’t know Julianna all that well, I’m certain she’s a good person.
“He got held up at the studio, but he should be here shortly,” she says, eyeing the door a little uncomfortably.
Eric and Julianna invited all of us—Lizzy, Brenden, Cat, and myself—over for a couples’ night, but I showed up a little early and unannounced hoping to talk to Julianna about Lori’s plans to write a book about Ashland. As much as I want to support her, I’m also very concerned for her. We haven’t directly discussed the things Lori confided in me last month, but it’s been weighing on me—especially knowing Ashland’s story is hitting so close to home for her. I’m the only person Lori has ever opened up to about that situation, and I know she still feels very burdened by all of it. I worry writing this story and dealing with all the backlash sure to follow isn’t the best thing for Lori.
“That works out, actually. I was hoping to talk to you about something.”
She nods, tucking her feet underneath herself. “Okay…”
My eyes fall to the arm of the couch as I rub my palm up and down it, trying to organize my thoughts, and my gut churns as I reconsider the topic altogether. After all, it does relate to something awful from Julianna’s past. I take a big swig of my beer, then meet her gaze. “Did Lori tell you she’s planning to make Ashland’s story into a book now?”
Julianna’s cheeks pale a little as she nods her head again. “Yeah, she called me on her way to our parents’ house tonight to tell me the news. She said the story is even more complex than she imagined.”
“Does that worry you at all?”
She shrugs, her lips pressing into a thoughtful pout as she shakes her head. “Worry me in what way?”
“I don’t know.” I loosen a long breath. “I mean…a book could bring national attention. I guess I’m anxious about the possibility that people will feel the need to personally attack her.”
She smiles, her brows knitting as she studies me, and she relaxes into the couch. “So, you’re worried about Lori?”
“Yes.”
She tilts her head and smirks. “I bet she loves that.”
I chuckle, thinking of all the times she’s told me to take my concern and shove it. “Not so much.”
“Yeah…well, Lori isn’t used to anyone fussing over her the way you do. It’s kind of funny really. The way I see it, you’re her karmic retribution. She’s always being overly protective of the people she loves.” She gives me a pointed look as the word “loves” slowly rolls off her tongue. “It’s about time she had someone looking out for her in the same way. I’m really glad the two of you are friends.” Again, her eyes slightly narrow in on me, her voice fluctuating. I get what she’s trying to insinuate here, and she’s not totally off base. The more Lori lets me in, the more I care for her and the stronger I feel a connection to her. I’m just not entirely sure what any of that means for my relationship with Lori, or Cat. But I don’t think now is the appropriate time to discuss how I feel or don’t feel about Lori. Anyway, it’s not the point.
I take another big gulp of my beer, then run my free hand through my hair. “I want to be supportive, but I also don’t want to see her get hurt.”
She gives me a sad smile. “I wish I could tell you your unease is unwarranted, but I’m sure there will be some people upset with Lori for telling Ashland’s story. Jim’s family for one. Still, I believe Lori is capable of handling whatever anyone throws at her.”
Pulling at the hair on my chin now, I smirk. “I’m sure you’re right. Lori is tough as nails. Maybe I should be afraid for anyone who comes at her,” I joke.
The corners of Julianna’s lips turn up, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she studies me. “I think you should tell Lori how you feel.”
“About her writing the book?”
She gives me a knowing smile, one eyebrow raising, and I get the feeling she’s talking about something on a much deeper level. It makes me wonder what, if anything, Lori has told Julianna about our history, and if Lori has been questioning her own feelings as well.