Page 41 of The Second Ending
The heavy raindrops that had begun to fall were nothing to the cold weight that suddenly filled her bones. Talk to her father. After that horrible weekend, it was the last thing she wanted to do. All she could think of was being treated like a drudge by her mother, being ordered about by her father, being used as a political tool by Sebastian, and being forced to dance at their bidding whenever they clapped their hands. And now she needed to try to convince her father to give up on some cruel game he’d probably been laughing about for years. What horrible price would they exact from her? But…
But this was for Marcus. She’d let him down once.
“Fine.” She exhaled the word, along with every ounce of energy in her body. The rain was getting heavier, splashing off her light jacket and running down her cheeks. “I’ll try. I’ll see what I can do.”
It felt like she’d just condemned herself to death.
CHAPTER 22
DISASTER
Ashleigh tappedat the contact list on her phone. Heavens, how long had it been since she called her parents? They always contacted her, commanding her attendance. This seemed unnatural, somehow, but she’d promised, and she would not let Marcus down.
One ring, two rings, three… then the click to the answering machine and the bland statement inviting the caller to please leave a name, number, and brief message, and the Lynches would get back to you as soon as possible.
“Dad, it’s Ashleigh. Call me. I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.”
Click.
She tried her father’s cell phone, but he never had it on. Leaving a text message would be more than a waste of time. She’d just have to wait for them to get the message on the house phone.
The rain had become a storm, and thunder rattled the living room windows. The air was tense with the electricity that would, at any moment, become lightning, and she couldn’t settle down. Reading was impossible, watching television hopeless, and practising her music for choir useless. For every note she tried tolearn, three fell into her head in the wrong places, and even that pretty lilt she’d been humming last Friday was gone, dissolved into a thousand disconnected and disjointed notes, all fighting and clashing with each other.
Queen of the May, hah! The ominous grey clouds were more evocative of the angry gods of the underworld than a bright Marian hymn welcoming spring.
Frustrated and ill at ease, she went to bed early with a playlist of her favourite arias drifting quietly from her small speakers and tried to sleep.
There was no return call on Wednesday morning. She pushed herself through her briefs and factums, waiting for the unwelcome chimes that signalled her parents’ line. Nothing.
Nor did anyone call during the afternoon, as she worked on the documents for her most recent case and went through the forms to file a restraining order against her client’s abusive partner.
It was not until she’d returned home and choked down some leftover casserole that the call finally came.
“Ashleigh,” her father began. NotHello, dear, orHow are you? Just a statement of her name.
Love you too, Dad.She sighed in exasperation.
“Dad. Thanks for calling.”
“What do you want? You never call.”
This was not going to go well.
“I need to talk to you about that property you’re selling. I didn’t even know it was part of the portfolio, but I’ve found out about it, and I know what you’re doing. I need you to reconsider.”
“What? Reconsider selling? Absolutely not. I need the money. But if you’re calling to ask me to sell it to that over-stuffed construction worker you’ve been sleeping with, theanswer is no. Plain and simple. I wouldn’t take his money if it were coated in gold, and I need you to stop seeing him.”
This was going well. She tried to put on her detached lawyer voice, although her emotions were high.
“Dad, let’s be reasonable. I’ve seen the documents. You’ve signed everything, and you’re legally committed. What possible reason do you have for not completing the sale? You said you need the money, and he’s willing and able to pay it. All you’re doing is opening yourself up to a lawsuit.”
His voice came back through the line, whiny and abrasive. “Let him sue me. I’ve got another buyer lined up, anyway. By the time he gets his paperwork in and everything filed, it won’t be my property anymore and he’ll have another party to mess around. He’ll find it’s more of a headache than he wants to deal with.”
The petulant tone pulled her back to her childhood, to the scoldings and belittling that she understood, now, were a form of emotional abuse.You’re an adult, Ash, she scolded herself,don’t let him do this to you. But it was impossible to fight the tide of memory and she found herself responding through a haze of inferiority and denial.
“That’s not true—”
“Besides,” her father went on, “he’s just using you, anyway.”You’re not good enough, his words drilled again and again.You’re never good enough.
