Page 43
Author: Molly McAdams
I’d been fully expecting my mom to not have me in the will at all. When Mr. Buckner said I was getting her money, I thought it was a joke and she wouldn’t actually have any. No way did I expect her to have this much, or to leave it to me! Mouth still wide open, I grabbed the letter and broke the seal, and my breath caught at what I saw. My father’s ring, the one I’d clung to when he died and my mom had taken from me. I pulled it out of the envelope like it might break and just stared at it as memories of my dad came rushing back and tears instantly blurred my vision. I took deep breaths, slid the ring onto my thumb, and grabbed the letter. Unfolding it carefully, I took one last deep breath and looked down.
My dear Cassidy Ann—
Where do I even begin? There aren’t words to begin to describe how sorry I am for ruining your life. Nor are there words to tell you how much I hate myself for what I’ve done to you, as well as let Jeff do to you. You are so precious, and I don’t know how I ever let myself get so lost that I could forget that. Your father was my world. When he died, I didn’t know how to go on, so I didn’t. I was so weak, and neglected you . . . you were only a child! What’s worse is I can’t even remember you during that time, which means I can’t remember what you had to do to keep yourself alive during those times. I was being selfish and focusing on my hurt, trying to find any way to make it go away. My friends helped keep me intoxicated since they didn’t know I was already in that state at home, so I paid attention to them . . . but you? Where was I when you needed me? I don’t even know where you were. What kind of mother doesn’t know where her little girl is when she needs her the most? All I do remember is looking at you at the funeral and thinking about all the time your father spent with you; he was such an amazing dad, and I just knew I would never be able to look at you again without seeing him. And he was gone. So I did the only logical thing that came to mind at the time: I stopped seeing you.
When Jeff came into the picture, I was so far gone, I just needed someone there with me; I didn’t care who it was. Guess it helped that he was rich, since we both had an expensive habit, but he hated kids. Told me the day I met him, and I should have stopped seeing him at that, but what did I do? I married him two weeks later. And then I just . . . became a monster. I know you already know he’d reward me when I would hit or kick you, and thinking about that now makes me sick to my stomach, but at the time for some alcohol-induced reason, getting rewarded for beating you sounded like the most amazing gift. Of course you already know all that, but I had to write it, had to put it out there. And now that it is, I just want to die for almost killing you hundreds of times and beating you thousands more. Gosh, sweetheart, I hate myself. I’m sick with grief and guilt for what I’ve done to you!
I’ve been sober three months now; it may not seem like much, but it is for me. Since your father passed, I hadn’t gone longer than ten hours without drinking myself back to sleep. In these three months, I’ve finally realized everything that’s happened over the last thirteen years, and that’s why I’m writing this letter now. You, my sweet Cassidy Ann, are so strong. What child, what adult even, stands back up without a tear coming out of their eyes after being beaten down, just so the other parent can take their turn? We ruined you, we tried to break you, and gosh, sweet girl, I hope we didn’t. You deserve the best of everything. You deserve a husband who loves you, cherishes you, and treats you like the princess your father always said you were. You deserve kids who love you, and give you laughs, tears, as well as moments that make you want to pull out your hair. You deserve it all. I’ve prayed to God every day for the last three months that you’ll get that, and that you’ll know you deserve that, and I will pray it until my last breath.
Like I said, sweet girl, you are so strong, I am not. I can’t handle what I’ve done to you, and I can’t handle what Jeff’s begun doing to me now that I’m sober. It doesn’t compare to what you went through, but I still can’t take it. I don’t know how to begin to make anything up to you, actually . . . I know there isn’t a way. But I need to do this, for you and for me. If you’re reading this you’ve already been given the money; I hope it helps you get started in life. I left Jeff the house and car for a reason; I’m sure by now you’re understanding that as well. If not, please read this next part carefully and try to understand. I can’t live with this guilt, sweetheart, and I couldn’t die knowing Jeff would move on to do this to someone else. But know this: I love you, I swear I do. I’m so sorry for everything, my darling girl!
I’ve been spending a lot of time in your room the last few months, just staring at your wall. Your father wasn’t the only one passionate about the phoenix. Everything it symbolizes fascinates me. Being given the chance to be reborn and start its life anew from its own ashes . . . who can say that they’ve had that opportunity? Through these ashes, I pray you’re able to find peace, knowing that your nightmare is now over. I can’t give you a new life, but this is your chance to start your life however you want it to be, sweet Cassidy, without Jeff or I tainting it. You’re beautiful, and you have a bright light that just bursts from you. Your smile can light up a room; your father and I always said that, and it’s true. Go shine your light on the world, sweet Cassidy.
I’ll love you forever and always,
Mom
I read the letter two more times and finally folded it up, put it back in the envelope, and safely tucked it away in my purse when I could no longer see the words. She’d killed herself. Killed them. For her? For me? She left the house and car to Jeff because she knew all three of those would be destroyed in the fire. How did she do this without Jeff trying to get out? They’d been badly burned, but the coroner was certain their deaths were due to the smoke and fire, nothing else. No way he wouldn’t have fought to get out. And she just lay there and let herself be burned alive? My entire body shivered with a sickening chill. I didn’t understand how someone could be so miserable that they would want to end their life, and to willingly be burned alive? I couldn’t begin to comprehend it.
A sob burst through my chest and I covered my face with both hands. The mom in that letter hadn’t existed for me for so long, I had never expected to see or hear from her again. And even though I hated her for what she did, I hated it even more that she’d been sober nine months and had to go through it alone. At least I’d had Tyler; my mom had no one.
Another twenty minutes passed before I checked to make sure I didn’t look like a wreck and walked into the cozy coffee shop so I could allow myself to get lost in a book. Or at least attempt to look like I was. I really just needed someplace where no one was trying to bother me so that I could think about Gage.
I was one person back in line when a somewhat familiar voice called out.
“Cassidy?”
Looking to my right and then to my left, my eyes skimmed across the unfamiliar faces in the shop. As my eyes made their journey back to the front I saw a pair of uncertain pale blue eyes looking at me.
I started. “Oh my God, Detective Green?” I’d just seen him a week and a half ago, but he’d been in a suit and looked all badass and older then. Now he just looked like a normal guy in a coffee shop. Looking at him now, the sense of recognition hit full force and I struggled to remember how I knew him. He had on a blue henley shirt that did amazing things for his eyes and a pair of worn jeans that fit him perfectly. In other words . . . he looked good. Too good. My stomach fluttered, and though it took some effort, I was able to stop chewing on my bottom lip when I realized he was studying me intently.
He smiled crookedly. “Unless you want me to call you Miss Jameson, you can call me Connor. ”
Connor Green. Even his name was attractive. I watched as he ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up like he’d just rolled out of bed. God, I needed to look anywhere else but at him right now. “Please, just Cassidy . . . or some variation of that. ”
“All right. ” He chuckled. “Cassidy it is. Let me
buy you a drink,” he said as he set his cup on the counter and reached for his wallet in his back pocket.
“Oh no, that’s not necessary. ” I gave the lady at the counter my order and reached into my bag.
“I want to, please. ” He handed the girl his card and she swiped it through the machine.
The girl at the register gave him an appreciative smile as she handed his card back to him, and my stomach and chest heated. I realized I was glaring at her and mentally shook myself. What the hell? Why do I care if someone else looks at him? He’s just an overly confident detective who I must know from a past life and who’s done nothing but manage to piss me off . . . and make my heart flutter—nope! Nope . . . just piss me off.
“Uh, thanks. You really didn’t have to do that though. ”
Connor took a sip of his coffee and smiled softly. “Well, maybe this way you’ll agree to sit and talk with me for a while?” My face must have fallen because he said swiftly, “I swear, no type of interrogation, I would just really enjoy your company. ”
He’d been kind of an ass the last few times I’d seen him, so I wasn’t sure if I’d enjoy his, but I’d certainly enjoy the view. I thought about Gage and grimaced; I really shouldn’t have been thinking of another guy like this. Especially this guy.
“If you’re busy, I understand. It’s probably awkward to talk to the detective who just questioned you regarding your parents’ death anyway,” he said quietly, and looked out the window, then back to me. His mouth opened and shut again with a hard sigh and shake of his head.
I twisted my father’s ring around on my thumb and managed a shrug. “Well, I was going to sit here for a while anyway. I just got back from the reading of the will and have nothing else going on. You can join me if you want. ” I tried to act like I didn’t care either way, but his crooked grin told me he wasn’t buying it.
The guy behind the bar called my drink, and after I grabbed it, Connor led us over to a pair of plush chairs that were facing, and almost touching, each other.
From Ashes Page 43