Where She Was Loved
Sarah Tomlinson
Copyright © 2019 by Sarah Tomlinson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by Sarah Tomlinson.
Photos from Deposit Photos.
Contents
Dedication
Ashley’s Poem
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Review
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever struggled to break free from a bad situation, but found their strength and came out stronger than ever!
Thank you for taking a chance on this labor of love! I hope you love Ashley and Eric's journey as much as I loved writing it. They deserved to have their story brought to life.
Disclaimer- Where She was Loved was previously published as a shorter work under the title Autumn's Dance. Now, it has been completely revised and extended into this beautiful story. Also does have abuse scenes that are sensitive, recommended for Adults 18+.
Ashley’s Poem
Ashley’s Dance
See how she moves
So fragile, such beauty
She hides the pain of veiled truths.
With such strength,
She camouflages the scars
Buried within her soul,
Innocence in her eyes
She gazes towards the sky
As Ashley’s dance becomes a memory.
That girl becomes my all.
-Sarah Tomlinson
Chapter One
Ashley - June 2010
The sound of tires hitting a rough patch of pavement jolted me wide awake from my dreamless slumber. I stretched lazily, trying to unknot my aching muscles from being slumped in the seat, or maybe it was the fact that the cars suspension was like riding a rollercoaster. I speculated I had been napping for the past one hundred miles or so, in a deep, much-needed rest. I tended not to sleep all too well when we were on the road, finding it hard to relax when we pulled over at the truck stops along the way to wherever we were headed.
Looking outside the pickup's grimy window, I saw the early summer trees, their leaves a bright, verdant green. I daydreamed about walking amongst them, the branches keeping me cool from the summer heat that was fast approaching.
My father reached across the front seat, punching my forearm with his large, bear-like fist. "Have a nice sleep?" he asked gruffly, a hint of sarcasm lacing his croaky smoker's voice.
It wasn’t like my father had a right to be snooty with me, after all, I had done the majority of the driving for the past year and a half. How we both managed to still be in one piece, when my father was mostly drunk or hung-over all those years when I wasn't even old enough to drive, was nothing short of a miracle.
"Just entering Ligonier!" My father's voice boomed above the radio, interrupting my silent mind mutterings. I peered out the window again and smiled to myself.
Ligonier, Pennsylvania was the one town we came back to every year like clockwork. The long drive from Virginia in the heat and the return to familiarity contrasted steeply, making it both exhausting and bittersweet.
"Why do we come back here?" I asked.
My father just laughed, and not the sweet kind either, but the you're-so-stupid-and-really-not-worth-my-reply kind of laugh. Why I bothered asking was ridiculous. I knew it got me nowhere; I had asked the same question over and over for years, always getting the same answer.
"It's where the summer jobs are."
My father, Liam Nash, could have gotten us a job in several other states for the summer, a fact we both knew well, but Ligonier was and always would be a constant sort of home base, even if it was one big mystery.
There were things that, even though I only had my father and he only had me, neither one of us really spoke about. Private or heart-to-heart conversations were most definitely off the table. Then there were things I wasn't even allowed to bring up, or I would suffer the consequences. Most things concerning Ligonier and our yearly visits were off the table. Another definite no-go topic was my mother, who left a long time ago.
I barely remembered her. There were times when fragments, like a sweep of blond hair or her bubbly laugh and smile that didn't reach up to her ocean blue eyes, would find their way into my memory, if in fact they were memories. I had a feeling I made them up in my head, needing something to imagine about her, someone who once loved me. Nonetheless, her face was a distant blur. Some nights, I would close my eyes tight and pray for just a glimpse of her, something to remember, but the memory of a three-year old wasn't good enough after fourteen years passed.
Our beat-up blue pick-up passed the sign announcing our welcome to Ligonier: population 1,549... for the next three months, 1,551. It was a small, historic town in rural Pennsylvania that boasted one of the country's oldest amusement parks and a large mountain resort. Summer brought the town an abundance of tourists who shopped at specialty stores along the tree-lined Main Street while children coasted on their bikes along the sidewalks.
I couldn't contain my smile as I rolled down the window, letting the warm breeze hit my face as a thought formed in my mind: home.
We drove through the main part of town as the pharmacy, local grocery store, post office, and floral boutiques flew past our windows; I rolled my eyes knowing instinctively where my father was headed. Not daring to turn my head and risk giving him a deep scowl, I heard the click of the blinker as he signaled, pulling the truck into a parking spot right out front of his favorite bar, Pesky's. The ashen-colored brick façade and welcoming golden lights had a hypnotic hold on my father.
Turning off the car, he stretched as he got out and slammed the pick-up's rusty door without so much as a word or a backwards glance at me as he marched straight toward the bar.
"Typical," I mumbled to myself.
After the long drive between job locations, my father could barely make it to the next bar. And I damn well knew his drinking habits were well on the unhealthy side, along with his taste for gambling. It was also a very real part of my life, never seeing or knowing Liam Nash to be any different. His addictions were another thing I never ever brought up.
I unbuckled the seatbelt and got out of the truck, slamming the door shut with force, taking my frustration out on the old rust bucket. Walking around to the truck bed, I pulled out my well worn but trusty black duffle, our sleeping bags, and the tent. Slinging the bag and tent over both shoulders and hugging the sleeping bags to my chest, I began my short trek to the outskirts of town. It was only anothe
r ten minutes beyond Pesky's bar, right before the sign announcing "Leaving Ligonier." I knew the way well, having walked it time and time again.
Sweat began to bead on my forehead as I walked down the last bit of Main Street, the late afternoon sun beating down on me and warming my skin pleasantly. Anything was better than sitting in that truck another minute. People milled about in front of the buildings, but I avoided their gazes, a natural reaction to the obvious outsider. I could feel their judgmental eyes and knew what they were thinking: tourist season. If they only knew I was there annually.
I recognized a few people, but I knew almost no one really. My father always encouraged me to keep to myself. Actually, encouraged was a nice word–threatened was the more truthful term. It was easier that way. Everything was easier when you had no one you were leaving behind. However, Ligonier was different in that it was the only place I had any friends.
Aiden and Meg were twins, easily recognizable by their harmonizing fiery orange hair and I couldn't wait to see them again, along with Ava and Sharon, the closest thing I ever had to a family, besides my father.
I left Main Street, heading purposefully towards a thicket of trees off to my left. The buildings had given way and the presence of other people had slackened. I passed a woman walking a large German Shepherd and a kid riding his bike but then I was alone. Looking to make sure no one saw me, I cut to the side, leaving the pavement and plunging deep into the foliage to find the place in the woods my father and I camped every year. It was deep enough in the woods for us to camp out and live unseen, but close enough to town for us to walk back to the car or grab any necessities we may need.
I found our spot from last year easily and started setting up the tent right away. There wouldn't be any food for the night, I was sure of that, so I just crawled inside the tent without bothering to light a fire. As the sun set, I nestled deep into my sleeping bag and pulled out a book and flashlight, reading until my eyes closed involuntarily.
Chapter Two
Ashley
I slowly opened my eyes and peered at the tent above my head, warm within my sleeping bag and feeling well-rested. The light filtering through the green canvas and the morning welcoming chirps from the birds high up in the trees brought a smile to my face. With the added noise of the occasional falling branch, the only other sound I heard was the creek, a mere hundred feet away, bubbling as it made its way over the rocks. There was something soothing, almost peaceful, about running water. I wanted to lay there snuggled up in my sleeping bag a little longer, just to listen to the traveling stream settle a peace within me I so desperately needed.
Abruptly, I heard heavy movement nearby, footsteps, possibly from my father, I assumed. My best guess, based on past experience, was my father was kicked out at closing, barely able to walk to the back of his truck to pass out, and only waking when I, or a random stranger, prodded him to make sure he was still alive. It was a sad truth, I recognized, after more nights than I cared to recount. But then again, maybe he didn't drink so much last night and was actually up early, without my wake-up nudge.
I rolled over, sticking a hand into my duffle feeling around for the Power bars I kept hidden from my father's drunken munchies. As I grabbed hold of one, I mentally made a list of groceries I had to pick up before we began our search for work later on today. Biting into the starchy, sweet food, I heard more movement outside of the tent–footsteps for sure, and then the voice of a stranger.
"Hello? Anyone in there?"
I froze, my stomach dropping with fear and panic. I quietly slid from my sleeping bag and rolled to my knees; crawling to the entrance, I unzipped the front flap of the tent slowly. Still chewing the gluey bar in my mouth, I stuck my head out and... stared into the eyes of a young man standing just inside the clearing.
He was tall, at least 6 foot in height, broad shouldered and a chest that tapered down to his narrow waist. He was dressed in a stark white T-shirt over a pair of khaki cargo shorts and he was... magnificent. He smiled at me expectantly with the whitest teeth I had ever seen and my mouth fell open. Being confronted with a stranger should have had my internal alarm bells going off, yet I felt surprisingly calm.
I had yet to speak as my eyes continued their wanderings—chestnut hair, longer on top and shorter at the sides, a clean-shaven, chiseled jaw, and the bluest, most hypnotizing eyes I had ever seen. The color reminded me of clear blue water surrounding a tropical island, warm and beautiful, something you couldn't wait to dive into.
I hadn't a clue about how long I had been staring, but I guessed a while as the handsome guy's mouth turned up at one side with a look of amusement showing. He appeared happy to wait for me to finish my perusal of his more than fine features.
Clearing my throat and coming to my senses, I snapped, "What do you want?" My voice harsher than I meant it to be, as part of my Power bar was still tumbling about inside my mouth. I tried to swallow it down, but it was too thick to attempt without choking on the damn thing.
He looked taken aback for a second from my sudden burst of aggression, but his smile was quickly placed back on his handsome face. "Ah, sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you." He raised a hand, running it through his thick locks as he took a step backwards. It looked as if he was trying to leave. I should have let him, but my interest was piqued.
"It's okay, I didn't mean to sound so rude," I replied, trying to conjure up a smile in return, finally forcing myself to choke down the last bite.
"I'm Eric," he replied, stopping his backward walk and standing still. "Eric Foster. I'm staying with my grandfather at that house... ya know, just through those trees?" He waved a hand behind him.
I nodded, knowing exactly which one he was talking about–the large, brick house on the historical register. It had a gambrel roof and was built in the 1800s, but was now owned by the town's pastor, whom I knew by sight. On a few occasions, I had attended the small church in Ligonier–to see what it was all about. I hadn't understood much, but Meg and Aiden were regulars and insisted I go with them. And the only reason I knew so much about the house was because I happened to be a regular at the town's library every summer we returned. I loved looking up the history of the place. Well, about a lot of places really. I would have remembered a young man looking like Eric frequenting the little town, yet I had never seen him before.
"Um, yeah," he continued as he ran a hand through his hair again, seemingly unsure of himself. "So, do you live here? In the woods?"
I nodded up at him a little longer than I should have. I was socially awkward at the best of times, and figured I better say something soon, before I made it even more uncomfortable. "We're just here for the summer," I finally opened my mouth and replied. He started looking around and I realized I had said "we." "My father isn't here at the moment."
"Oh," the young man replied, his shoulders relaxing. "And you call yourself?" he asked, carrying the conversation along again.
"Ashley Nash," I managed to smile while properly introducing myself.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Ashley." He crouched down, as if he was going to stay awhile, yet wasn't entirely sure he wanted to, or was welcome.
I took another bite of the bar. My heart was beating heavily in my chest and my palms were beginning to sweat a little. Aside from easily chatting with the twins, this was the first person, though a little older than my age, I had actually spoken to in quite some time.
I suddenly realized I was still on all fours, with my head poking through the tent flap. I probably looked foolish. ”Do you want a Power bar?" I offered.
"Sure, a Power bar sounds great," Eric replied eagerly, understanding I was silently asking him to join me.
I quickly ducked back inside the tent, dug inside the duffle, and pulled one out, feeling a little guilty it was all I had to offer. I exited the tent fully, still wearing yesterday's jeans and a wrinkled blue-checkered shirt, and tossed the bar to him.
I found two logs, nestled next to a large pine tree from the
last time we stayed and began to roll one out into the clearing. Eric followed me and grabbed the other one. We both sat down facing one another. I watched as he unwrapped the bar as fast as lightning and took a large bite.
It wasn't more than a few seconds before I heard, "Oh." I covered my mouth trying to hide my grin. "Now, I say this with all of the best intentions..."
"What?" I tilted my head, trying to put on my best straight face.
"This tastes like… mud” Eric screwed his face up dramatically.
"What does mud taste like? I've never tried it before," I joked.
There was silence as we both stared at one another–our faces serious. I was the first to break and we both laughed. I knew exactly what he meant about the Power bars. As the laughter died, I answered honestly.
"They have a high calorie content. Keeps me going when my dad doesn't have the time to buy groceries."
"I see," he replied, looking puzzled, but politely not asking any further questions, for which I was grateful. I didn't know him well enough for a deep and meaningful conversation. For all I knew, this was the first and last time I would ever see or speak to him.
"So, what brings you to Ligonier?" he changed the topic.
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