Ashen Inheritance

Frail hands, stained by nicotine and time, reach out shakily for the third cigarette in the space of an hour. The man of my dreams is reliably consistent when it comes to his smoking habits. A young man of 82 years and everything I could and have ever wanted in a husband.

“Please,” he croaks as I hold the cigarette just out of his reach.

I sigh before relenting, “but darling, you really know you shouldn’t. The Doctor…”

“Pah, the doctor knows nothing.” He sucks in a deep lungful of smoke and holds it in his chest, savouring the burning sensation before blowing it out in a steady stream.

“Just like your daughter?”

“Just like my daughter and just like you.” He spits with more venom than initially intended. “You women all know nothing.” He takes another drag, visibly relaxing, letting go of some of the pain that his old bones are holding.

The night is warm, the summer heat emanates from the broken, uneven bitumen below my high-heeled feet. Orange bollards wilt around the parking lot from the daytime heat. I wipe my sweaty hands down my white gown. “You never know when those things will kill you.”

“Just leave it be woman.” He thrusts the cigarette back in my direction, which I take from him with a smile.

I know it makes him feel young, and after today I hardly blame him. His friends make him feel old, and my friends don’t help either. Smoking out here in the parking lot, reminds him of times gone by. Courting girls in large swing dresses, hearing the bellow of jazz music flow through the doors of the same City Hall we are standing out the front of now. Smoking cigarette after cigarette while the girls giggle coyly at him, knowing that he’s a ‘bad boy’. Those days are gone and cannot be retrieved. But for now, standing here with me, I think he feels like he’s 24 again, and for him it is good enough.

I take a last drag from the cigarette before dropping it to the ground. “My feet are tired,” I hear the inflection of the whine before I can stop myself.

“Your feet are tired? What about my bloody feet? The way you bitch and moan my dear, you’d think I treat you like a slave.” He clutches my hands with his own in sudden desperation and pulls me forward into his arms. His hands snake their way to my waist, coming to a rest on my behind. “And you’re not a slave are you?” He squeezes my rear painfully.

“No,” I squeak quickly before waving enthusiastically to someone who in the doorway of City Hall. “No, no, not a slave.”

He looks around at the person who I’m waving to, “who is that?” he asks, backing away from me before clicking his fingers, demanding yet another cigarette, forgetting his prior thoughts.

A pair of diamond earrings, a gift he gave me on our wedding night, catch the street light glare as I shrug my shoulders, “one of your friends. Michael? Eric?”

“Are you screwing him too?” He growls squinting, I know he can’t see who I’m waving at, he hates his aged eyes. “Does he buy you pretty things? Makes you feel needed?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about dear,” I look to the ground, it would have been nice to feel needed, to feel loved again. Maybe with time, “you know you’re the only one for me.”

Without further warning he slaps me across the face. A younger man would’ve caused more damage, but even in his age his strength leaves a red mark on my cheek. “Give me my damn cigarette.”

I re-adjust the glasses that frame my eyes and tuck my short grey hair behind my ear, not daring to show my frustration. Frustration aimed only at myself for not giving him the damn cigarette earlier. I dig through my genuine Louis Vuitton handbag and take out my custom, matching cigarette case. I flip it open and grab the slightly disfigured cigarette from the holder, but before I can hand it to him, his sister walks between us. Her timing impeccable, just like her dress. Bright red, figure hugging, flawless on her aging but slender body, covering her arms, which was her only request.

“You should care to be more discreet.” She whispers harshly at her brother. “Slapping your wife in a parking lot covered by cameras.” She does not care for my welfare, only for their reputation.

“Cameras don’t operate out here anymore, not while there is construction going on.” My old man can’t stop the smile caressing his lips, “and don’t get too carried away. She doesn’t mind being my plaything do you?”

I recover a smile from deep within and shake my head. I thought I could wait but I can’t.

“She’s not a child, she’s not your daughter, she is your wife.” His sister whispers harshly.

“How did you know we were here?” He wipes a hand down his face, he doesn’t want another argument with her, he has been avoiding her all day.

“Your daughter pointed me in the right direction.” She waved him away dismissively and pauses “I notice that you don’t have a cigarette.” She looks me up and down as though she is disgusted, “I thought you’d treat him better than that, it’s the least you can do for him Even if it is the dirtiest habit.”

With a raise of a single eyebrow he responds, “the dirtiest habit is it? Pot, kettle.” He laughs briefly before a rasp takes over and he begins coughing. She sneers and snatches the disfigured cigarette out of my hands.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” His sister glares at me, she wants a word alone with her brother, she doesn’t trust me.

“Leave her alone, before you came along we were about to head home.” He licks his lips leaving a trail of white spittle behind, his mind going to the darker places.

“It’s ok.” I smile sadly, my eyes tracking the cigarette in the older woman’s hand. “I’ll let you both talk, I know you didn’t get a chance before –“

“-before it all went wrong.” She looks pointedly at her brother, “luckily there is no harm done, even with all this, celebration.” He hisses the word as though it tastes dirty in her mouth. “At least we have put protective measures in place so that outsiders can’t harm our family.”

“Now why would you bring that up again. I took your advice and she is still here” He says with a sigh.

“It’s ok,” I grab his hand and squeeze it once as his sister lights the cigarette, “I’ll give you a moment.”

I see one of my friends waiting for me in the doorway of City Hall. She looks stunning in her own red dress, she waves me over, she has been watching me the entire time. The fairy lights twinkle behind her, beckoning me like a beacon. My wedding should have been magical, should have been special, should have been with someone my own age, with someone like her.

But it’s ok, it’ll soon be all over. My perfect man, my perfect rich, horrible man will find his use to me.

As I approach she takes my hand and we go to the ballroom together. The police will find me enjoying my wedding, and I won’t know how it happened, all I will know is that my husband and his sister left the party to talk and then he never came back. I’ve been with my friend this entire time. My new husband will be dead soon. I never looked back to see his sister pass him the cigarette, but she will. He will fall to the ground, heroin coursing through his old veins. His body, already riddled with lunger cancer and heart disease won’t be able to cope with the laced cigarette. A young man may have recovered, he will not. There won’t be anything his sister can do to help him. Especially from her cozy jail cell after becoming the number one suspect in his murder. These things happen when Wills are changed at the last minute in her favour. Everything to be left in her name, unopposed by me. Especially as an ex-heroin addict herself. Growing up rich sometimes leads people to seek higher highs and she was no exception. The court case will be long and arduous, but after she is found guilty, his assets will go to his young and loving wife. And then I will be able to enjoy the remainder of my 20s with my friend, his daughter, going where-ever and doing whatever we please.