After dinner, I took her to a popular make-out spot on the outskirts of town. It was a romantic place up in the mountains where I often brought girls when I wanted to get high or have sex. There was even a name for it, something like 'Make-Out Point' or 'Hot Spot Hill', or something stupid like that.
"You're so beautiful." I said between kisses as I unbuttoned her blouse. I wasn't completely lying. She was cute with her ebony complexion and huge, gorgeous, white smile, but I don't think I was thinking about her that night, which was proven by what I said next.
"I love you, Ruthie."
"What did you say?"
Rosalee
quickly pulled away from me.
"What? I said I love you."
"What did you call me?"
"Rosie. I called you Rosie." For a moment I honestly believed I did say Rosie instead of Ruthie.
"The hell you did. You called me Ruthie.
Again."
"No, I didn't. And what do you mean 'again'? I've never called you Ruthie."
"Last week, at that French restaurant, you called me Ruthie." She was getting angry. She was already buttoning her shirt and simultaneously getting out of the truck. She had every right to be angry. I knew what I had done. I didn't know why I did it. She didn't look like Ruthie. She didn't smell like her, feel like her, or taste like her. No one did. No one could replace my Ruthie. But I was doomed to spend the rest of my life searching for someone to fall in love with that reminded me enough of my sister.
"
Rosalee
, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Get back in the truck."
"Look, if you're so in love with Ruthie then be with her. Don't mess around with me." I wish it were that easy. She had no idea how much I wanted it to be that way. It frustrated me the way she treated the situation so nonchalantly.
"You should just shut the hell up about things you know nothing about!" I yelled at her. Something in my voice really scared her. She started backing away from the truck.
"Just stay away from me," she said.
I was turning into some sort of monster and I knew it. I had to get myself together. Somehow I convinced her to get back in the truck and I drove her home. The next day she dumped me. I can't say I blame her.
I continued in this cycle of sabotaging relationships and alienating myself from every other human being until about a week ago. Then everything changed.
It wasn't coincidence; it was fate that led me to the town’s ice cream parlor last week. It was the same place Matthew used to take us when we were kids. For some reason, I couldn't get Matthew or Ruthie out of my mind that day. I sat in a window seat and let my sundae melt as I stared out the window, watching the street. That's when I saw her.
After two years, my Ruthie looked exactly the same. Her brown hair had been straightened and it hung down her back. She almost glowed in the yellow sundress she wore. With her friends,
Rosalee
and Adelaide, on either side of her, she laughed and giggled as they entered the dress shop across the street.
I was so mesmerized by the sight of her, I don't even remember leaving the ice cream parlor and crossing Main Street. But moments later, I stood in front of the dress shop as Ruthie exited.
She froze in front of me. We stared at each other in silence for an eternity. My heart felt like it was in my throat.
Finally,
Rosalee
said, "Ruthie, we're going on to the pharmacy. You can catch up with us there." Then she pulled Adelaide away, leaving Ruthie and me alone. I thought I sensed a little hostility from
Rosalee
. We didn't exactly end on a good note.
"Hi." I don't remember which one of us said it, but the isolated salutation just hung in the air for several seconds.
"Adelaide is getting married this weekend," she said finally.
"A Fourth of July wedding.
She wanted me to be a bridesmaid."
I nodded. That explained why she was in town. But it didn't explain why she hadn't contacted me. That's what I really wanted to know.
For two years I had thought about what I'd say if I saw her again. I constantly replayed possible conversations in my head. But in that moment, nothing came to me.
"How are you?" I said, resorting to polite conversation.
"I'm fine.
You?"
I nodded. I wasn't quite sure what to say. I knew I didn't want to tell her that I really wasn't fine. That my life had crumbled and I'd turned into a shell of my former self that rarely left the house. I'd basically turned into my mother.
"Are you growing a beard?" she asked, touching my chin.
I covered her hand with mine. "I just haven't felt like shaving in a few days."
She smiled slightly,
then
she jerked her hand away and shoved it into her pocket as if suddenly remembering where she was. She looked around self-consciously.
"I miss you," I blurted. It wasn't the wisest thing for me to say, but I couldn't hold it in. It just came out.
Ruthie turned away and started blinking rapidly. She was holding back tears. In that moment, I knew she missed me, too.
By the time I got home that afternoon, my father already knew Ruthie was in town.
"Do you think she'll join us for dinner?" he said to no one in particular as he paced the living room. He downed the Scotch in his hand,
then
reached for another.
"Who?"
I knew exactly who he was talking about. I think I just felt like being obstinate.
"Mabel." He shut his eyes and held the glass of ice to his forehead. "Ruthie. I mean Ruthie."
"I highly doubt she will ever step foot in this house again," I said through gritted teeth as I stormed off to my room.
"Well, why on Earth not?
I'm her father," he said from the other room. He had completely lost his grip on reality. Did he think he could have a real father-daughter relationship with her?
After I lay down in bed, I heard my father leave the house. I wondered if he was going to search out Ruthie and invite her to dinner. I knew she wouldn't come. I knew she would stay as far away from this house as possible. But a part of me wished she would come over. I longed to see her again. Though the sight of her was painful, it also filled a crushing void inside of me. Being around her again would be exquisite torment.
I fell asleep to memories of our time together. For some reason, I didn't feel the shame that I should have.
What felt like seconds later, I heard an unexpected sound -- the
doorbell.
We never had visitors. I couldn't remember the last time I heard someone use our doorbell. It rang several more times before I finally dragged myself out of bed in order to answer it.
When I swung open the door, I thought I was staring at a ghost. "Matthew?"
"What's up, little brother?" he said, reaching out to hug me.
I was so shocked I couldn't respond. I hugged him back firmly, afraid that if I let go he might disappear. I didn't know how it was that fate brought Ruthie and Matthew back into my life on the same day, but I didn't question it. I just held on to my older brother.
"I've been outside for a few hours, but I didn't want to come in until Theodore left," he said, pulling away.
I just stared at him with my mouth open.
"Stephen, what's wrong?"
"I...I...I thought you were dead."
"Dead?
Is that what he told you?"
I thought back to that day thirteen years ago when he disappeared. I had concentrate in order to remember what my father actually said.
"No, he said you joined the Navy." I took a step back and looked at him. He didn't look like he was in the Navy. He was scruffy and unshaven. His long, stringy hair would definitely not have been permitted in the military. He was wearing a long tie-dyed shirt - the kind that hippies wore in the 60's - and tattered jeans.
"The Navy, huh?
Well, that's creative."
"Where have you been?"
"I was -"
"Who's there?" My mother asked as she walked into the living room, rubbing her eyes. She had been in one of her comatose sleeps, even though it was only 5:00 in the evening. She took advantage of the fact that my father was out of the house. Anytime he was there, he would work her like a slave. She needed the rest. When she saw Matthew, she stopped dead in her tracks.
"Oh, Matthew!" she cried as she ran into his arms. He picked her up and swung her around. I hadn't seen
her this
happy in years. In fact, I hadn't seen
her this
happy since Matthew left thirteen years ago.
"I missed you so much," they said simultaneously. They started talking fast, firing questions back and forth. What are you doing here? How are you? Are you all right? Is he treating you any better? Why did you cut your hair? Do you still have that bracelet I gave you?
"Where's your luggage?" I interrupted. They both looked at me.
"I'm staying at a motel.
Didn't want to be a burden."
What he meant to say was that he didn't want to stay under the same roof as our father. I can't say I blame him for that.
"Stephen, go get Matthew a drink." I knew she was just trying to get rid of me, so I pretended to comply.
"What’s going on here?" he said when he thought they were alone. "You two look horrible. What has he done to you? Why is Stephen so thin and pale?"
"He's been through a lot, recently. He and Ruthie fell in love and ..." My mother started sobbing.
"Good God, no one told them Theodore was Ruthie's father?"
he
said as he held her and kissed the top of her head, trying to console her. Matthew knew, too? How is it that everyone knew but me? Or maybe I just didn't want to know. I had ignored all the signs.
As I watched Matthew hold my mother,
our
mother, something inside me shivered. They way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the way they looked standing next to each other…I don't know. There was just some unsaid connection between them that I had never noticed before. "You have to get out of here," Matthew said. "Come with me to Phoenix.
Both of you.
I have a place out there."
"You know I can't do that."
"I'll protect you. I swear I'll kill him if he touches you again. I've thought of you and Stephen every day for thirteen years. I couldn't stay away any longer. I don't care what he does to me; we just have to get you out of here."
Thirteen years. Matthew disappeared thirteen years ago, when he was twenty-two. That would make him thirty-five years old right now. I didn't know how old my mother was when she had him, but she would at least have to be fifty years old right now, right? I took another look at my mother and brother. Somehow, both of them looked forty. How was that possible? Maybe my mother just looked young for her age and Matthew looked old for his. But I would think with all the abuse my mother endured, she would be the one to look older than her true age. I was completely confused.
"There's something I have to tell you," my mother said as she wiped tears away from her sad, yet still youthful, face.