"Maybe.” Eddie loped off into the kitchen, and a moment later, she heard the phone dialing.
With careful steps, Ash made her way back into the living room. Sitting down on the couch, she laid the kitten in her lap. Bright green eyes looked up at her, and a weak mew escaped its pink mouth. A tiny paw batted at the finger she reached out to it. Ash grinned. The only pet she and Colin ever had was Buster, the oversized goldfish. She used to watch him swim circles in that stupid bowl of his and wish for just a day that her boyfriend wasn't deathly allergic to all things furry.
"Now I don't have to worry about that, do I?” she murmured into the cat's head.
"Ash?” Eddie appeared in the doorway. “Friend of mine over in Tompkins Heights'll take a look at it this afternoon."
"Really?” Ash looked up, suddenly aware of the way her robe fell apart at her neck and the way her bare legs stretched out across the cushions of the couch. As she watched, he dropped a glance to her toenails—newly painted red, as of last night in front of Letterman—before turning a shade of crimson himself.
"Anyway, thanks for the help."
"No problem.” She paused. “You know, I wasn't sure what was going on down here. Thought maybe you were still entertaining your date from last night."
"Cheri?” He chuckled. “Nah."
"Things didn't work out?"
"We had a good time. But she wanted to come in, stay a while, and...” He shrugged.
"You didn't?"
"Woman stays the night, things get complicated."
Ash nodded, fingers stroking the kitten's fur as its purr regulated into a steady rhythm. “And you don't like things to be complicated."
"Do you?"
Ash shook her head. No, she answered silently. They're complicated enough already.
Chapter Eight
"Ash!” Marty stuck his head into the restaurant's kitchen.
She pulled her tips from her pocket and started to count. “What?” It had been a long week, and she couldn't wait for the night to be over. Thank God the time clock read ten minutes to twelve.
"Some guy out here says he knows you.” The manager wheezed. One arm snaked up to scratch an itch between his shoulder blades. He peered into the coffee pot, pulled some brown strands of lettuce from the salad bin, and straightened the cocktail napkins.
Ash's shoulders hunched up, and she didn't answer for a minute.
"You hear me?"
"I heard you. Who is he?"
"Dunno. He's got a couple of tattoos. Says his name's Eddie something."
Coins slipped through her fingers like water. “Oh. Tell him I'll be right out.” She bent to retrieve quarters from the sticky floor and waited for Marty to leave.
She'd only seen Eddie twice in passing, the last couple of days. Both times he'd paused, placed a large hand on her shoulder, and smiled down at her like there was nowhere else he wanted to be. The gesture made her uncomfortable as hell. It made her look forward to walking down the stairs each morning. It made her wonder who had taken over her body and replaced her with a woman who grew warm and slippery every time she saw this guy. A guy she barely knew.
Watch it, Ash, she warned herself for the tenth time since moving to Paradise. Falling for this guy—for any guy, right now—is trouble. Wrapping her apron into a ball, she admitted that as much as she wanted to avoid complications, she was still glad Eddie had come to see her tonight. She wanted to ask him how the kitten was making out. She wanted to tell him about the idiot who'd grabbed at her earlier and laugh with him about the woman who'd sent her meal back three times before ordering something else altogether. Mostly, Ash wanted Eddie to drop an arm across her shoulders or rub a hand across the top of her head and tell her she was doing okay.
Eddie sat in the bar, alone, on the stool closest to the door. An empty beer mug stood in front of him, with a few crumpled dollar bills beside it. Ash paused for a minute in the dining room and peered through the chair legs, now perched upside down on their tables.
J.T., one of the night bartenders, leaned on his elbows and told a joke out of one side of his mouth. Ash watched Eddie listen, watched the scars in his cheek dip and crease when he laughed, and she wondered again where the scars had come from, and why he hadn't erased them. The one along his jawline, especially, cut so deep that surely plastic surgery could have softened it. Then she realized she knew nothing about Eddie and his scars, not really. Maybe he'd been born with them. Maybe they reminded him of something he didn't want to forget. Maybe he didn't want softening.
She crossed the floor and snuck up beside him. “Hi there."
Eddie smiled and gave her a soft punch on the arm. “Hi, yourself. Done for the night?"
"Yeah. Finally."
"You getting used to it?"
"I guess. It's harder than I thought.” That, at least, was true. Ash had no idea her feet could ache so, or that her legs could turn wobbly after a night of running trays back and forth. In just a couple of weeks, she'd discovered a newfound appreciation for the people who did it day in and out, year after year. She knew she could never be one of them, dependent upon tips to pay a mortgage, cover car insurance, or put food on the table.
J.T. flipped on the television as he wiped down the bar. Ash tensed. Not the news, please. She eyed the clock. Just about midnight. Good. Maybe the highlights would be through. She sure didn't need any news from Boston, discussing the senator's latest statement or the opposing attorney's trial preparations. She fidgeted on the stool beside Eddie and sipped a glass of water.
"I should get going,” she said. She watched the screen and prayed no political report would suddenly appear. “I'm beat."
"You drive tonight?” Eddie didn't look at her, just asked the question sideways as he watched a preview for some new reality show.
"Um, yeah.” She always drove when she worked the night shift. Didn't matter that everyone she'd met told her she could walk down Main Street at two in the morning and not see a soul. City habits didn't die that quickly. She'd keep on driving herself, for a while anyway. Until Paradise seeped into her veins a little more.
"I'll drive you back, then,” Eddie offered. “I walked.” This time he did turn toward her, and his gaze landed on her with such intensity that for a moment she felt as though he'd burned right through the fabric of her shirt.
Stop doing that to me. Stop setting me on fire every time I get too close to you.
"How's the cat?” she asked, to change the subject.
"Better. Vet gave it some antibiotics."
"You keeping it?"
He shrugged. “Maybe."
J.T. adjusted the volume, turning it up as the final highlights from the eleven o'clock news flashed across the screen.
"Tomorrow at six,” the chipper blonde anchor announced, “tune in for the latest chapter in the Senator Kirk arrest."
Ash's throat closed up.
"We'll hear from the woman who used to work as the Kirks’ personal housekeeper, as well as tell you what's in store for this sullied senator from Boston..."
Ash set her glass down on the bar, too hard. A crack splintered all the way up one side.
J.T. frowned. “Geez, take it easy. You okay?"
"Sorry. Wasn't paying attention, I guess."
He shrugged and swept it into the trash. “Happens."
Ash buried her hands between her legs so Eddie wouldn't see them tremble.
"Can you believe that guy?” he said, still staring at the TV. “You'd think we could find one honest politician somewhere in the whole damn country. But no. Even the ones who come across as Mr. Family Man, who tell us they're gonna change things for the better—"
"Yep,” J.T. agreed, cutting him off. “Even they wind up bein’ like all the rest. Making decisions from between their legs. Kirk's no better. Another John fuckin’ Kennedy.” He pulled on the tap and poured Eddie another beer.
Ash cleared her throat. “You know, some people say that maybe he's innocent. That he was set up by someone who d
idn't want him to get the presidential nomination."
Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, sure. They're all innocent. Like JFK. And Jefferson, sleeping with his slaves."
"Don't forget Bill Clinton,” J.T. added.
Eddie laughed out loud. “Oh, yeah. Especially Clinton. He was the most innocent of all. He and Kirk are probably buddies. Probably sit around over stogies and talk about the best blow jobs they ever got."
Ash stiffened. “It could be true,” she said. “The set-up, I mean."
Eddie turned. “Kirk was busted DUI. Caught with coke and a hooker. How the hell does someone set that up?"
She didn't know. She'd been asking herself the same question every night since the arrest. But if her father said he was framed, then part of her, the little-girl part that still remembered the way he'd sung her to sleep every night as a child, had to hold out hope.
"Maybe the Republicans held him down and poured whiskey down his throat,” J.T. offered and snorted as he laughed at his own joke.
"Yeah, and maybe they forced him into the car at gunpoint with that hot little piece of tail,” Eddie continued. He tipped his head back and took a long drink. “Say, did they ever say whether his zipper was up or down when the cops pulled him over?"
J.T. snorted some more.
Ash slid off her stool. “You ready, or not?"
"Hang on. Let me finish my beer."
"I'm ready now."
Eddie's jaw twitched. “Can't you give me five minutes? What's wrong with you?"
She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted from foot to foot. “I'm tired, okay? That's what's wrong with me. My feet feel like they're going to fall off, I smell like ketchup, and I'm about sick to death of listening to the two of you rip apart some guy you don't even know. Half of what the media reports isn't even true. More than half."
She stopped to draw a breath, and silence echoed through the bar. J.T. whistled, long and low. Eddie frowned, and something dark slid across his face.
"You know, I think I'll walk after all,” he said after a long minute of staring at her. “Could use some fresh air.” He shoved some bills across the bar, scraped his stool out of the way, and headed for the door.
"Thanks, J.T.,” he said. The door slammed shut behind him.
Ash watched Eddie's shadow disappear down the block. Well, fine. She hadn't wanted to drive home with him, anyway. She tried to believe her own lie as she walked to her car in silence a few minutes later. One grimy motion light clicked on as she crossed the back parking lot. Her VW started up with a hesitation, a little cough before catching, and she thought she'd probably have to get it looked at.
Ash dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel. But where? By who? The only repair shop she knew of in Paradise was the place Eddie worked, and now she couldn't take it there.
Suddenly, she felt lonelier than the day Colin had left her.
Ash sighed. She hadn't meant to say those things, hadn't meant to lose her temper. She just couldn't help it sometimes. Not for the first time, she thought she'd probably make a lousy courtroom lawyer. Holding her tongue wasn't Ash's strong suit. She bumped her way out of the parking lot and turned onto Spruce Street, taking the long way home.
Well, she was better off anyway, keeping her distance from Eddie. Keeping her distance from all of them. She didn't need to listen to him or anyone else say things like that about her father. Randolph Kirk had screwed up, but he was still Ash's blood. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as she passed the silent town square and eased through the intersection in the center of town. A lonely yellow eye blinked down at her.
But why did you do it, Dad? Even if someone set you up, even if someone planted the drugs and spiked your drink, what were you doing in a car with a girl younger than your own daughters? Tears started up, and as Ash made her way back to Lycian Street, she braked hard and edged to the curb. She didn't know. She couldn't find the answers. And she didn't trust herself to ask her father.
Looking up, she saw a dark house. If Eddie was home, he'd turned off all the lights, even the porch one they always kept burning. Now it looked like all the other buildings on the block: lifeless and cold. She raised both hands to her face and wept.
Chapter Nine
Ash balanced a grocery bag in the crook of each arm and propped open the front door. She blew her bangs off her forehead. Where was the mild summer the weatherman had promised back in May? Each day in Paradise, she'd woken to nothing but humid temperatures that hovered around ninety. No rain, no relief, just heat and heaviness pouring down from above. At only noon on a Saturday, she'd already soaked through a T-shirt on her way back from the store.
"Ugh.” Letting the bags slide to the floor, she checked her mailbox. She'd worked well past midnight last night, thanks to a lively crowd that kept the band playing long after regular closing. She really couldn't complain, though, not with a pocket full of tips that totaled well over a hundred dollars.
Someone giggled.
Ash closed the rusted door to her mailbox and spun around. She frowned. No one outside. No one on the porch. No gaggle of pre-teen girls walking along the sidewalk.
She heard it again: a giggle, definitely feminine. Turning in a slow circle, she eyed Eddie's door.
"Woman stays the night, things get complicated..."
Ash swallowed. Looked as though Eddie had set himself up for some complications after all. She negotiated the paper bags back into her arms, wanting to get upstairs as quickly as she could. Sure, her housemate was entitled to entertain whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, but that didn't mean she had any interest in seeing who it might be. They hadn't spoken since that night in the bar, and she'd done her best to keep it that way. What would she say to him, anyway?
Ash turned away, but not quickly enough. Eddie's door opened, and a petite blonde stepped into the foyer. Eddie followed. At their feet trotted the kitten, batting at the blonde's heels.
"Y'all are too much,” she said, with a nudge at Eddie's chest. “I don't believe a single thing you say.” The words floated on the air, laced with honey and falling in drops all around her. Her mouth crinkled up at the edges as she laughed. Eddie scooped up the kitten and, with a rough pet across the top of its head, steered it back inside his apartment. The moment he shut his door, though, it began to cry, plaintive little mews that broke Ash's heart. She stared at a patch of wall behind Eddie's head, one knee propped under a grocery bag that had begun to seep something sticky.
"Oh, hi,” the blonde said. “I didn't see you standing there."
Ash felt her grip loosening. “Hi."
"I'm Savannah,” she added.
Ash fought back a smile. Savannah? Did people really name their children such silly things? Yet somehow it fit this model-thin woman standing in the entryway, smelling like Eddie's soap and flushed with morning lovemaking. Her fingers threw long, thin shadows on the walls as she adjusted her ponytail, like anemone waving in ocean breezes. Ash looked down at her own knotty knuckles and wondered if Eddie noticed hands as much as she did.
"Ash,” she said after a minute. “I live upstairs."
"Oh.” Savannah looked back at Eddie, who continued to stand in the corner without speaking. “Have you lived here long?"
"Few weeks."
The blonde's eyes widened. “You're the lawyer, right?"
Ash shot Eddie a look. He'd told his bed bunny about her? While something about that pleased her, down deep where she didn't dare analyze it too much, she didn't need too many people knowing about her past. Least of all someone who probably chattered to half of Paradise on a daily basis. Ash should have known better. She should have kept it all to herself, every last detail. It was just safer that way.
"Well, sort of. I haven't passed the bar exam yet."
Savannah shook her head. “Wow. I couldn't even make it through two semesters at JC. Too boring."
Ash's back began to ache. She glanced again at Eddie. Say something, she thought. Don't just stand there. But he
didn't. Not to her, anyway. He just put his arm around Savannah's waist after a minute and led her out into the morning.
Ash watched them go, and jealousy sparked a hot stone in her stomach. That's what he likes? That's who he brings home? A ditzy bottle-blonde who barely made it out of high school? She slid to a seat, knees rubbery. Raspberry jelly had leaked through one bag, gluing her shorts to her legs. She rubbed her temples and tried to tell herself not to care.
You've barely had a half-dozen conversations with him, anyway. He's not your type. He spent two years in college. You went to Harvard. He's spent his life in Paradise, and you're just using it as a place to hide out. He dates a different woman each week. You're trying to get over a three-year relationship. He fixes cars, and you—you what, Ash? What exactly are you going to do with yourself now that you've decided that a hundred-thousand dollar degree isn't going to work out the way you'd planned?
As if on cue, her cell began to ring.
Ash pulled the phone out of her pocket and checked the screen. Her oldest sister. Terrific.
"Hello?"
"Ashton? Where are you?” Jessica Kirk-Malloy's voice, no-nonsense and demanding an answer, spat through the receiver.
"What do you mean, where am I?"
"Don't play stupid. I know you moved out of your apartment. I saw Colin last week.” She paused, and the edges of her words softened a little. “I didn't know you two broke up. Sorry."
Like you really care, Ash wanted to say. “Yeah, well, things weren't working out."
"Mm hmm.” Jess paused. “So what happened? Dad knows you turned down the job at Deacon and Mathers, by the way. He's furious. You know he went to school with Bill Mathers, right?"
Of course she knew. It was all he'd talked about after they offered her the position. It was the other, unspoken, reason Ash hadn't felt right about taking it. She'd wanted to prove herself after law school, make it on her own. Finding out her father had pulled strings after the interview had soured her on the whole deal.
"Mom says you've been avoiding her calls."
"I haven't been avoiding them. She just calls when I'm sleeping. Or working."
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