Secrets at Silver Ash Manor

Chapter 3 ~ Aspen Curio

It was a rather rainy, gloomy day for June when the return letter came from Shep. That familiar scrawling handwriting. The no-nonsense business-size envelope. The most basic of basic stamps: An American flag. Aspen set aside the box of cannolis she'd been working her way through—she swore she was going to kick her slight bulimia problem sometime soon, but everyone was doing it. Could you blame her? Supposedly even Princess Di did it—and examined the envelope. Her name and address were practically carved into it. She'd forgotten how Shep attacked the basic tasks of life like she was trying to puncture someone's lung.

Aspen tossed the accompanying sunglasses brochure, department store fliers, and overdue electric bill aside and carefully tore open the letter. She quickly scanned it to see if Shep was going to single-handedly solve her housing crisis, but instead of the response she'd been hoping for (something along the lines of 'So sorry you're about to be homeless! I have the cutest beachfront bungalow I'd love to lend you!), Shep had gone on and on about someone named Mida, old baseball curses, boarding schools... Aspen threw the letter on the floor and burst into tears.

After a couple of minutes of blubbering, she leaned over and picked up the telephone to call Mr. Houlihan and beg him for the zillionth time to reconsider, but when she placed the phone to her ear it was strangely silent. She pressed some buttons on it then looked over at the outlet in the wall to make sure it was plugged in. It was. She pounded the receiver on the floor a couple of times and then held it up to her ear again.

"Shit," she whispered, realizing it must have been disconnected. "What's next?" she said to herself, just as all her lights went out and the comforting buzz of the refrigerator gurgled to a stop.

What had happened to the plan for her to be kicked out at the end of the summer? She'd counted on having another couple months to lounge around and sulk before having to seriously address matters.

Completely defeated, she tossed the rest of the cannolis and all the little piles of mail that were sprinkled about her apartment, including Shep's letter, into the trashcan in the kitchen. Then she went into the bathroom, prepared to take measures even more drastic than selling furniture. She was going to have to stay with her sister—she had no other choice, apparently—and that meant being ugly. Her sister wasn't going to let her live under her roof if she looked as beautiful as she did now.

Aspen opened the medicine cabinet and took out a pair of scissors. There were no windows in the bathroom, and with her power having been turned off she was a bit at a loss to see, but she figured the worse it looked the better. She chopped off her beautiful long blonde hair, then leaned forward, grabbed the front portion of what remained and chopped it again. Insta-mullet.

"Damn," she murmured, examining her reflection. "I just can't lose." She looked rock star chic. Very Heather Locklear. She chopped some more until there were bald spots and tufts here and there. Okay, now it just looked crazy. She tidied it up into something more along the lines of someone recently released from the army or an institution. "Good enough," she decided.

With that accomplished, her mind went back to the letter from Shep. She figured the least she could do was to sit down and give it a good thorough read. So she went back out to the kitchen, retrieved the letter from the trashcan, sat down at the kitchen table, and read it. Finally paying a little attention to something other than her own problems, Aspen felt herself starting to soften up a little. And then, since the box of stationary happened to be sitting nearby, she penned a letter back:

June 23, 1989

Chicago

Hey Shep,

And to think I was afraid you wouldn't even respond to me!

Where to begin... Can you hear me pouring myself another cup of coffee? Well, if you can't, at least appreciate this ring of it I'm leaving on the page for you. Poor me; the coffee's gone cold. You see, my power's been turned off. Oh well, you know what they say: What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

So many memories in this letter from you! You always were a good storyteller, Shep.

I'd forgotten all about Mida! Now that you bring her up, it all comes rushing back. I never took the time to get to know her. I never realized she took care of her mother. I guess I was too absorbed in my own problems (seems to be a recurring theme in my life). I should have given her a chance. Do you still keep in touch with her?

Back then (and, who am I kidding, now too) I was too absorbed in my own worries to learn much about anyone else. That included her. And you. When I went home to visit my family and you stayed behind, you always had your reasons. "Oh, I'm waiting for an important mail-in rebate," or "The UPS man is going to deliver my new blow-dryer." I believed you because I wanted to. I was lazy and too concerned with missing my bus to ask you how a mail-in rebate could keep you from visiting your family. Then I'd get on the bus and some part of me would know you'd been lying, but I'd brush it away.

So, tell me now. The truth. Why didn't you visit your family? And how come they never visited you? You say you're so bad (a monster???) but I never saw it.

Wouldn't you know it? Stormy and Normy are yelling for me to make them some lunch. The duties of motherhood call!

P.S. There's no particular reason for my kids' names—I just liked that they rhymed and one was good for a boy and one was good for a girl. If only I'd realized that there were plenty of other options. Sammy and Tammy. Dan and Ann. Bill and Jill. What can I say? I was never the sharpest knife in the drawer.

P.P.S. About getting a job: It's on my to-do list. Right after power-washing my sweet AMC Eagle and getting all my cavities filled.

P.P.P.S. You wondered how many godmothers the twins have? Ever since my favorite hairdresser died from an allergic reaction when she was giving someone a permanent, just one: YOU, Sheppy!

I'm glad we're back on speaking terms.

Your old friend Aspen

As she affixed a stamp to the envelope and forgave herself for the lie about having to make some lunch for the kids—they were a couple floors down, playing with some neighbors—her refrigerator sputtered back to life and her lights flickered on. She breathed a sigh of relief, silently thanking her ex. If he could even be called that.

Then she cursed herself for cutting off all her hair. Apparently, that could have waited a while. The worst part of all? She'd gotten hair all over the bathroom. Gross. She shook her head at her impulsiveness. How light and breezy it felt.