Page 57 of Pieces of Ash

“She died two weeks ago.”

“Oh, man.” He flinches. “Fuck. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

I reach for my mug and take a sip of my tea, quietly accepting his sympathy.

“Were you…being hounded? By the press?”

It would be a lie to nod because, for most of my life, the press has left me alone, especially since Tig got married and retired. But I am not prepared to tell Julian the specific reason I’m hiding here. Besides, Gus hasn’t given me permission to talk about it, and I wouldn’t want to put him and Jock in danger by saying too much.

I take a deep breath and lower my cup. “I just needed to get away.”

“Yeah.” He nods slowly, though he’s still scanning my face like he has about a hundred more questions for me. “I get that. It’s tough to lose someone.”

“It was sudden.” The words spill out of my mouth, though I didn’t feel them coming.

“What do you mean? Like a sudden illness?”

“The coroner said she overdosed on heroin, but she was clean. She got married a few years ago, and she hasn’t…I mean,she wasn’t doing drugs anymore. I don’t…I don’t know why she’d backslide.”

His face changes a little as he absorbs this news. “She was an addict?”

“Years ago,” I say. “But she was clean. I’d know if she was using.”

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on the counter as he looks into my eyes, and I don’t know why, but I keep talking.

“I saw her at Easter,” I say, the words falling from my lips in a nervous rush. “She seemed fine. A month later, she overdosed. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I’m sure it’s a painful time for you, but…” He sighs softly. “It’s hard for addicts to stay clean. It doesn’t take much for them to?—”

“No,” I say firmly. “She took her sobriety seriously.”

Julian’s eyes widen. “Okay. Then what do you think happened?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I was at school. I…” My voice trails off. When I find it again, it’s thick with emotion. “I don’t know.”

“How ’bout those cold beers?”

Noelle bounds back into the kitchen, headed for the refrigerator. She takes out three amber bottles and places them on the counter, looking back and forth between me and her brother.

“Whoa. Who died?” Suddenly she flinches, which means that, unlike her brother, she read somewhere about my sister’s death. “Fuck! I’m an idiot, Ashley. I saw the news on Twitter. Sorry.” She blows out a breath, wincing at me. “God, I’m such an asshole. Sorry, again.”

“It’s okay,” I say, watching her pop the caps off three bottles.

“Do you drink?” asks Julian, glancing at my untouched beer while he and his sister clink bottles in cheers.

“No, thanks,” I say. “I’ll stick to tea.”

For most of my childhood, I had a front-row seat to the ravages of addiction. I have no interest in setting off down a similar path. Because I like the way some wines pair with specific foods, I will occasionally drink it with a meal. But only then in moderation.

Julian draws a bottle to his lips, sipping as he stares at me. When he sets the bottle back down on the counter, he asks, “So…what do you like on your pizza?”

His voice is warm—almostkind—and something inside me sighs, feeling lighter, better, easier, than it did when I came downstairs half an hour ago. I’m not entirely certain what’s prompted the change in his demeanor—learning that my “sister” was a supermodel? Finding out that she recently died?—but right this second, I don’t really care. Right this second, he doesn’t hate me anymore, and I’m surprised to discover that’s all that matters.

Chapter 12

Julian

As I sit across a picnic table from Ashley, staring at her sister-of-a-supermodel face in the glow of a flickering citronella candle, I admit to myself that I’ve enjoyed tonight. Perhaps more importantly, I’veallowedmyself to enjoy it.