Save Me: A dark romantic thriller (Novel) Read Free

bedroom house won’t be big enough.”

    They sat down at the table. Using a long wooden spoon, Ashley began to divvy out the potatoes.
    “We could always move in with my mother,” she suggested, smiling. “At least for a while until we get ahead.” Claire Whittaker lived a half mile away at the same residence where Ashley grew up.
    “No!” Peter objected, reaching for the boat of gravy. “I couldn’t handle that.”
    “Why? My mom already said she’d love to have us.” At times, for Ashley, being raised without a father had been tough, especially when her peers would boast about how wonderful their dads were. When she was eight, she had lost her father Walter, a notorious hard drinker, to cirrhosis of the liver. However, Ashley, who did not have any siblings, had not been deprived. Her mother had done her best to give her a happy childhood.
    Any pet Ashley had wanted like her Jack Russell terrier Brady; her many cats, parakeets, without arguing, her mother had always allowed her to have them. Throughout her youth, Ashley also had an abundance of art supplies, so that she could paint whenever she pleased. The strong emotional connection, a child requires from a caretaker had been there for her as well.

    “Ash, I know you mean well,” Peter said, now biting into a crispy drumstick. “But the reason why I left home at eighteen was because I didn’t want to live by other people’s rules.”
    “Peter, my mom isn’t like your mother. She wouldn’t drive us crazy with constant nagging . . . Besides; she could help out with the kid.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Babysitting. That way I wouldn’t have to quit my job at the pharmacy. The last time I checked, pampers, clothing, stuff like that, hasn’t gotten any cheaper.”
    He frowned. “Nothing gets cheaper. We’ve already agreed on that.”
    “Would you at least think about it?”
    “Okay. Though I‘m not making any promises.”
     
    ***
     
    After she had become tired of using her fork to push her food around her plate, Ashley stood up and announced, “Guess what I have for dessert?”
    “Dessert? Ash, how can you be thinking of dessert when you haven’t even finished the main course?”
    “I know. I’m not hungry.” She wasn’t lying. All day, Ashley had been too wound up to think about anything other than being pregnant.
    “Then what’d you make so much food for?”
    “I didn’t know what else to do with myself.” She opened the fridge and withdrew the chocolate cake, which she had baked earlier.
    “Oh no! What’s that?” Peter asked, grinning. “Is that what I think it is?”
    “Yes, my love.”
    “Wow! You really went all out.”
    “It was the least I could do. And this isn’t store bought either. Here’s my proof.” She showed Peter the empty Betty Crocker box. Then, as soon as Ashley had found a spatula, she carried the cake over to the table. On it, written with vanilla frosting, it read, TO MY LOVING HUSBAND, WE’RE GOING TO NEED A CRIB.
    “Cut me a big piece,” Peter said, salivating.
    “All right. Wait though. Before I do, I want to go get my camera.” She went into the other room, and from her dresser drawer, located the Digital Nikon.
    Ashley had dozens of photo albums. She was the type of person that wanted to capture every special moment in life. Although she scarcely remembered her dad (Walter Whittaker used to own a local diner), Ashley was thankful her mother had supplied her with many pictures.
    Ashley also had a large portrait of her father, done in impressionistic style, which she had painted. It hung above the sofa in the living room, and showed her father in his customary diner outfit, a white t-shirt, apron and cap. The portrait, set in a nice wood frame, was an exceptional piece of art, particularly when one took into consideration that Ashley had created the painting at such a young age, about six or seven.
    She had never had lessons. Like a gifted child who could learn how to play an instrument skillfully,