Page 84 of The Space Between Heartbeats
Downtown comes into view with its brick-lined streets and white clapboard storefronts. Picturesque, like something out of a 1950’s TV show. Small town charm, they say in all the travel reviews. They’re not wrong. Even in my grief fog, I can’t help but let the nostalgia wash over me. Ashford’s always been the same, my entire life. The same wrought iron lampposts line Main Street, the same flags hang from the old firehouse, the same bistro tables crowd the sidewalk outside Marcello’s, where we’d go for pizza on Friday’s.
It’s a perfect June morning, warm and bright. It feels so wrong. The weather should be gray and miserable, not this gorgeous display of blue skies and sunshine taunting me. People are out riding bikes along the riverfront path, couples stroll hand in hand with coffee cups chatting animatedly, a group of teenagers laugh outside Ashford Playhouse. Life just continues on for the rest of the world.
I hate them for it.
We pass the train station, where people are already gathering for the afternoon trains into the city, and I remember that summer day when Knox dared Owen to jump off the platform onto the tracks. Owen did it, of course. He’d do anything to prove himself to his older brother. Such dumbasses. I was so mad at them both. Owen ended up in the emergency room for stitches and a tetanus shot since he landed on dirty broken glass. I held his hand the whole time while he put on a brave face.
God, we were just kids then. Twelve, maybe thirteen. Back when the three of us were inseparable, before everything got complicated.
Mom’s finally gone quiet too, lost in her own memories of life in Ashford. Selling our home and leaving town for the outskirts was harder for her than anything else, I think. Leavingher community, the place she’d been since she was a young newlywed.
My phone buzzes again. I breathe in before swiping it open.
Knox: Reporters are outside the church. Use the side entrance on Pleasant.
Well, that’s nice of him. Practical. That’s all it is. He’s trying to keep things calm and collected. He’s not actually thinking about me.
But he texted. He didn’t have to do that.
St. Mary’s comes into view on the corner of Main and Pleasant Street. Its white steeple rises high above all the buildings around it. The parking lot to its side is already packed, luxury SUVs and sedans crammed into every available space. A news van is parked across the street, and there’s a reporter with a microphone waiting near the entrance just like Knox said, her cameraman beside her.
As we’re making our turn, I watch Richard Aldrich come bolting down the church steps, blocking the reporter before she can get any closer to the entrance. His posture is rigid, his suit perfectly tailored, looking as always like the powerful businessman he is, even on a day like today. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but his body language is crystal clear.Back off or else.The reporter argues for a moment, gesturing at her cameraman, but Richard points while saying something in return that has them retreating to their van.
“Vultures,” Mom mutters under her breath, pulling into one of the last remaining spots near the back of the lot.
My stomach churns. Of course the media is here. A roller coaster accident that killed the son of one of Ashford’s most prominent families? That’s headline news. Add in the fact that I was there—David Thorne’s daughter, the embezzler’s kid—and itbecomes a scandal worth camping out for. There’s no moral high ground when it comes to a good story.
“Ready?” Mom asks, grabbing her purse from the backseat.
No. I’ll never be ready for this, but I nod anyway, and we get out of the car.
Every click of my heels on the uneven pavement might as well be a cymbal crashing. Heads turn to look at us. Even with my gaze downcast, I feel their eyes on me.
I clutch my purse tight enough that my knuckles ache.
“Head up high, sweetheart,” Mom whispers, placing her palm on the small of my back to steady me. “They aren’t worth it.”
I wish I believed her.
There’s already a line of people entering the church, so we join it, standing behind my old high school English teacher and his wife. He doesn’t turn around, he’s busy looking straight ahead, past the threshold and into the small open area before the church’s interior. My eyes follow the same path and I see what he’s looking at. Who he’s looking at. The Aldrich family gathered near the open door like something out of a photo shoot.
Victoria stands in the center in a black Chanel dress and pearls, hair perfectly blown out and curled. She’s nodding and receiving handshakes and hugs, her eyes hidden by large sunglasses. Richard is beside her, having just returned from dealing with the reporters, his jaw set as he shakes hands with people who approach to offer condolences.
Knox is next to him wearing a black suit that fits him perfectly. He looks…Well, he looks terrible really. His eyes are vacant and exhausted, even as he accepts kind words and hand shakes. His hair is pushed back from his face with some kind of product, long and curling at the nape of his neck. His bruises are fading, though, barely visible from where I stand.
And there’s Ella next to him, wearing a knee-length, fitted, black dress with a simple black cardigan, hair pulled back to show off gorgeous diamond studs. Did Knox get those for her?
I watch as she rests her hand on his forearm and leans in to whisper something in his ear.
My chest constricts so violently I almost stumble.
Mom’s hand presses more firmly against my back. “Steady. You can do this.”
“Yeah,” I say, not believing it.
Knox hasn’t seen me yet. He’s nodding at whatever Ella is saying, his expression blank, and I can’t tell if he’s actually listening or just going through the motions of the attentive partner. Kind of like my entire morning with Mom.
Then Ella turns to greet someone, and his eyes lift, scanning the crowd of people still arriving.
