Page 114 of For Better or Hearse
When the conversation quiets, Ash asks, “Why didn’t youever take over Augustus’s company?” She bites her lip, hoping she hasn’t atom-bombed what little headway she’s made with Claire.
Delaney puts her phone down and shifts to face her mother, interest lighting her expression.
Claire takes on a faraway look. Like she’s shuffling through memories. Reliving the past.
“I don’t know. I suppose I had babies. And then…your father didn’t want me to work.”
“Ugh,” Delaney groans, rolling her eyes at Ash.
“Oh, trust me, I wanted Fox Hotels. I have a degree in business. But life happened.” She exhales as she sticks her feet in the foot bath. Her blue eyes return to Ash, Delaney. “Girls, sometimes it’s a shit lesson to learn this late in life.”
The curse word feels out of place coming from Claire’s mouth, but both Ash and Delaney stare, riveted.
“But…I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself rather than focusing on what others wanted of me.”
Instantly, the air in her lungs ceases, every inch of her chest stinging.
Her job, this trip, Nathaniel, those are true things. After all those years she spent searching for purpose, for herself, she’s finally found it. She’s put herself first.
“It’s never too late to unstick,” Ash tells her. “To change.”
Claire’s chin dips as she smiles. “Maybe so.”
The women settle into silence as their nail techs take their seats in front of them. Ash accepts the ring of nail colors, even though she’s going with her tried and true.
“This color,” Claire says, tapping a nail against a swatch of black. She looks at Ash, looks at the salon tech. “Like hers.”
Ash’s jaw drops.
Laughing, Delaney claps her hands. “Fuck yeah, Mom.”
Ash’s heart is a balloon on a string. Lightening, lifting. For once, she feels like Maui might just be okay. Like she can get through it. Survive.
She’ll never survive this.
Not tonight. Not this dinner.
Not this fucking restaurant.
A Hui Hou, a sleek, subterranean space located a block from their hotel, has quite the haunting history. In fact, it used to be a morgue. Bodies were carved up here. Right where upscale servers trot around with bread-and-butter carts. Not like the Whitfords know that—they’re more focused on the Michelin star and the white tablecloths—but Ash does.
It was one of the stops on Ash’s honeymoon itinerary. A morbid stop among Jakob’s parasailing and scuba diving demands. As she takes in the sign, all those old feelings bubble up until her vision swims.
The synchronicities of her life and this life are stacking up in ways she really isn’t vibing with.
“Ash?”
She shakes herself out of her daze. Delaney and Claire wait for her at the entrance to the restaurant.
She forces a smile. Slivers of anxiety slice up her gut like shrapnel. “You go ahead. Bathroom break.”
Seconds later, she’s locking herself in a bathroom stall and sending an SOS text to Tessie.
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
She’s suffocating. She’s sweating in her beautiful silk dress. Fuck. This is why she doesn’t wear silk. Because she’s the wrong kind of woman.
Despite her meltdown, she pulls it the fuck together and gets back out there.Raise hell, Ashabelle,her father always says.