Restoring Romance (Welcome to Romance 1)

“No.”

Donna muttered something unintelligible, and Ash looked up to see her hands covering her face.

“I’m so sorry, Ash. I can’t imagine what you thought of us.” She took a shuddery breath and spoke, staring at the wall as if she could see the past. “It was the summer after Mandy graduated from high school. She and Carl were both invited to a party, and there was alcohol involved. Mandy was the designated driver, and according to the lab tests, she wasn’t drunk. But on the way home, she swerved to miss a dog. The car ran off the road and hit a tree on Carl’s side. Carl died at the scene, and Mandy never forgave herself.”

Ash felt cool air on her cheeks and knew she must be crying, though she felt rather numb. “That’s when Mom left home?”

Donna’s chin trembled and her nostrils flared. “Mark and I came home for the funeral. Mandy was understandably upset, even though it was just a freak accident. But they gave Mandy some antidepressants, and she got addicted. The next thing I knew, Mom called us in Romania in a panic because Mandy left a note and disappeared. She took a huge wad of cash—Mom’s emergency stash—and didn’t use credit cards, so we couldn’t trace her.”

“Did you know about me?”

“We had no idea what was really going on in her life. You see, at least once a year, Mom got a letter from Mandy, but somehow she postmarked it from a different state every time, with no return address. She would brag about her life with her husband Randy, and their kids—a girl named Anna and a boy named Lee.” Donna paused, raising her eyebrows in question.

“It was just me. I didn’t have a brother.”

Donna’s lips pursed and she shook her head. With a sigh, she continued. “When the letters quit coming, we didn’t know what to think. But Mom never stopped hoping Mandy would come home. I think that’s why she left the house to her.”

“Now I have the house, and I’m really not part of the family, am I? Is that why you didn’t mention you knew who I was when I came over last week?”

She gasped. “That’s not how we feel at all. Your mother’s letters were filled with bitterness. She accused us of blaming her for Carl’s death, but I swear we didn’t.” Donna caught her gaze and held it, her brows knitted with an anxious expression. “Mark and I were afraid your mother had poisoned your mind about her family. But Ash, we were thrilled you moved here. We didn’t say anything for fear we would scare you off.”

“I just wish...” Ash swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut against the painful memories. “I wish I’d known about you and my grandmother when I was younger.”

“I’m so sorry we weren’t there for you when your mom died. How old were you?”

“It was a week before before my thirteenth birthday.”

An involuntary shudder rippled through her as vivid images flashed in her mind—images she’d repressed for years. Her mother’s body, cold and white in death, a used syringe on the bed beside her tracked arm. A burning incense stick filled the room with a pungent floral scent. Ash’s heart still raced any time she was assaulted with flowery aromas.

She remembered feeling anger—not shock or sadness, but fury. She screamed at her mother for dying. For breaking her promise to get Ash’s ears pierced for her birthday. For leaving her to deal with her death.

Ash didn’t even feel like she lost a mother. Her mom had always been weak, retreating to a drugged stupor every time a crisis came, obliging Ash to handle things on her own. She became adept at lying to cover for her mother’s habits. Usually, there was a man in the picture—a provider. Her mother referred to each one, in turn, as Ash’s father.

The day her mother died, however, they were at a shelter, having been kicked out of their latest home. What infuriated Ash most was the certainty that her mother had overdosed on purpose, too much of a coward to remain alive and face her problems.

“So you went through your teenage years without a mother.” Donna reached out, tentatively patting Ash on the arm, her eyes filled with sympathy.

Ash tried not to flinch, but she felt too dirty for her aunt to touch her. These people might be her relatives, but they were nothing like her. The only thing they had in common was DNA.

“Not a real mother.” Ash couldn’t really blame any of the foster mothers for her troubled teenage years. She’d been filled with rage and determined to reject every family before anyone rejected her, as she knew they would.

“Did your father remarry? If he did, I hope you had a good stepmother.”

“I never knew my father.”

Donna’s quick intake of breath signaled her shock. “You didn’t?”

Ash clamped her hands on her thighs in an effort to control the tumultuous emotions bubbling under a tight lid, threatening to explode. “Do you mind, if I don’t talk about it right now?”

“I don’t mind at all. You can take your time. Mark and I want to get to know you, and I’m sure the boys will, too.”

“I hope so.” Ash hoped her family would be content to know the new Ash Hendrix, rather than rehash the past life of Annalee Hendrix. Perhaps they wouldn’t be overly curious. “It’s kind of surreal to go from having no family to having an aunt and uncle and four cousins... five if I count Erin.”

Donna glanced at the clock on the wall. “The rest of the family will be here soon, and I can’t wait for them to find out about you. It’s been killing me to keep it a secret.”

I wish I felt the same way.

Ash dreaded facing her oldest cousin and admitting she’d hidden her true identity. The truth was no one had ever given up an entire day to make her feel special, and she repaid him with dishonesty.