Chapter 180 She left

Chapter 180 She left
CALUM
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I tell her. 

Ashley sighs. She steps away from the hug but my arms linger on her shoulders. “Me too. We had a long time to prepare for it. I guess that makes it better.” I doubt it does, but I’m not a killjoy, so I nod. “I’m so glad you showed up today, Calum. Thank you.”

Jerking my head towards her family’s house, I mutter, “Your friends don’t share in that sentiment. They almost kicked me out.” 

“Jason can’t hurt a fly,” Ashley replies. But he can hurt a grown man. My face must have conveyed my true feelings. She steps out of my reach. “Wait, Jason or Cathy?”

“Both?” I say. 

Tucking her hair into a headband, Ashley checks out herself on my car window. Does she have any idea why Cathy cut her hair? Is it a message to me? I’ve heard of women cutting their hair to show they were done with bad relationships, to signify a new era.

“Death sucks, you know? And people deal with it differently.” My reflection offers her a tight smile. Cathy is dealing with it a bit harshly. “Do you want to come inside?” 

“I don’t know if Cathy would like that.” 

“She needs time and space. But we will be in my room,” Ashley offers. I jump back. Ashley Greene is pretty and used to have a crush on me, but I’m not here for a hook-up. Understanding dawns on her, and she snorts with laughter. Rolling her eyes, she says, “It’s not what you think. Amelia was so sure you would come, so she left you some letters. I want to give them to you.” 

Ah. Okay. 

We cover the short distance to her house in silence. I’ve been inside the Greene’s house but it was from such a long time ago. A time I didn’t have to explore. Ashley enters before me, charging straight for the staircase. My eyes are drawn to the pictures of the Greene sisters on the walls. Their parents are present in some of them. But they have another side of the wall dedicated to pictures of only their parents. 

There’s a figure sprawled on the couch with his forearms crossed over his face. Jason. 

Ashley stops at the foot of the stairs. “We are processing this differently,” she mutters, as if asking me to sympathise with Jason. Like I can. He’s the enemy, a thief. 

Her brown eyes remind me of her sister and they watch me as I approach her. We continue up the stairs. When we are almost upstairs, I say, “I don’t understand Cathy.” 

Ashley doesn’t offer me an answer until we stop in front of a door. She unlocks it and steps in. I follow behind her, a bit sceptical. 

She drags a chair from the vanity for me to sit. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious now.” 

“Oh, I am,” I say. I accept the chair without sitting on it. Ashley sits on the bed, her hands stretched out behind her. In the comfort of her room, she lets down her guard. The vulnerability and sadness of a girl who lost her baby sister becomes clear. I turn the chair back and sink into it slowly. “I’m so, so sorry for your loss, Ashley.” 

She laughs. It’s so bitter it feels like whips digging into my skin. “Yeah. We all are.” Her fingers brush a stray tear from under her eyes, she tilts her head back and sniffs. “When are you leaving? How’s the new tour coming along? It’s in Europe this time, right?” 

“Right,” I reply. “It’s coming along fine.” 

It will start in two months. 

“Cool.”

We sit in awkward silence for another minute. Then her face lights up. “Your letter.”

“Yeah,” I reply.

Scooting to her wardrobe, she ransacks it for some minutes, leaving me to wonder what’s wrong. When she finds what she’s looking for, she stalks back to me with a smile. 

“Amelia left this for you. Sorry, it’s just one letter,” she says. I accept the envelope and she lets out a soft sigh. “I don’t know when you’ll be leaving town to prepare for your tour, but if it’s not too much to ask, please hang around for a bit. At least until you talk to Cathy. She could use another familiar face around here.” 

My head bobs before the words are out of my lips. I’ll regret this but I still say, “Yeah. I’ll stick around. Maybe we might play catch-up.” 

“Thank you for coming.” Ashley opens the door. I walk out. Before she shuts the door, she says, “Amelia would have appreciated it.”

I stare at the envelope in my hand, then at Ashley’s door. I’m alone on this floor. Eyeing the staircase, the urge to run builds. Where is Mace? Does he look like Jason or Cathy?

She has a son. It still doesn’t ring true to me.

I rip the envelope open, and two pictures fall out. Without a glance at them, I shove them into my pocket and smoothen the handwritten note. I’m guessing the pictures will make sense after I read Amelia’s letter. 

The first line of the letter steals my breath away. I stagger to the stairs and my knees buckle. Slumping down on the top of the stairs, I place the letter on my knees. The handwriting is unfamiliar. It must be Amelia’s. The dry patches on different spots give the impression she cried when writing it. The realisation hits me so hard that my eyes sting and my heart aches so badly for Cathy. But how can I help her? 

If you’re reading this, then I guess I’m dead. 

Hi, Mr Dissick. 

Only two lines in, and my heart is hurting. I fold the letter. I’m not sure I can do it. Locking my fingers behind my head, my feet drum on the floor and the pictures in my pocket dig uncomfortably into my skin. I pry them out. Will I understand without reading the letter? 

The edges of the pictures are wrinkled, I smoothen them and frown at the first one. There’s a picture of a kid. A blue-eyed boy. 

How did Amelia get my baby pictures? 

One look at the timestamp of the picture and I shake my head slowly. It looks like baby Calum but it’s not me. I may have assumed it was if the timestamp didn’t say otherwise. What’s Amelia trying to tell me? I drop that one to pick up the second. It’s a picture of Cathy and the same boy.

No. 

No. It can’t be. 

It’s a coincidence.

But I rush down the stairs without pausing to catch my breath. The living room is empty except for Jason. I walk over to him and grab him by the collar, squeezing so hard I’m surprised he can still breathe. 

“Where’s she?” I demand, breathing hard on his face. 

Jason glares at my hands and I slowly unhand him. I retrieve the letter in my pocket, but before I get a chance to ask questions, he says, “Who? Where’s who?”  

“Cathy? Where’s she?” 

“She left.” 

I take a deep breath. I’m not breathing right. I’m not thinking right. 

“The kid, the kid...” Jason rotates his neck. I wet my parched throat and try again. “You’ve seen her kid, right? Is he yours?”

“No.” 

The blunt knife in my chest pushes deeper into my heart. Standing in front of him, back stiff, I sweep my hand across my body from head to toe. 

“Just take a look at me. A really good look, yeah? Do we look alike? Does her son look like me?” Jason delays by a second but nods. All the air in my chest rushes out. I unclench my fist and Amelia’s letter drops to the floor. I don’t want to believe it. It’s impossible. “This kid, Mace, how old is he?” 

“A little over a year?”