Seasons of Her Life (26 page)

“Son of a bitch!” Andrew groaned as he leapt off his chair to drag his new wife to the bathroom. He dropped to his knees and held his wife's head while she emptied her stomach. Between her retching, she kept saying over and over, “I'm sorry, you don't understand; I'm so sorry, you just don't understand.” Then she leaned back on her heels and stared at Andrew with tear-filled eyes. “I didn't think it was going to hurt this much. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry.” She was far from sober; even so, she knew she was saying too much. If she'd had the strength, she would have run and hidden somewhere to cover her shame.

Andrew picked her up and laid her on the bed, then returned to the bathroom for a washcloth. He wiped her face gently as he crooned soft words. “I'm sorry, too, Ruby. I should have been more aware of what you were feeling. It's okay. Go to sleep and tomorrow we'll talk. We have to talk, I see that now. I'll sleep on the chair or the floor; it doesn't matter.”

Ruby struggled to a sitting position and held out her arms. Tears streamed down her face. She wanted to say something, needed to ... do what? “I'm sorry ... there's no way you can understand ... I wanted ... I tried ... it just hurts so muuuuch.”

 

Andrew sat on the side of the bed for a long time, his wife cradled in his arms. From time to time he brushed her hair with his chin. He liked the clean, sweet smell of her. A surge of protectiveness rushed through him. How vulnerable she was now, asleep like this. Rather like an infant or a puppy. He didn't know what it was exactly that he was feeling for this young girl in his arms, but it was something he wanted to think about. He moved carefully then, not wanting to wake her. He managed to lay her back on the pillow. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. He hadn't noticed the dark smudges under her eyes before. Something stabbed at his heart. How pale and fragile she looked and that look in her eyes before . . . he kissed her other cheek, then he covered her with a soft pink blanket from the closet.

Throughout the long night Andrew watched over his sleeping wife. Each time she moaned or moved, he was off his chair in an instant, rushing to the bed to smooth the hair back from her brow or to pat her gently on the shoulder. He wished he knew what was wrong so he could try to make it right.

A long time later Andrew shifted his gaze from his sleeping wife to the gray dawn creeping through the window like a ghost struggling to come alive. He should shower now and change into a clean uniform. His watch told him they had four hours before they boarded their flight to North Carolina. He wondered uneasily if he would be traveling alone. The thought bothered him, and he didn't know why. He'd told himself over and over that he could take marriage or leave it. But he needed Ruby. That knowledge felt strange; he'd never needed anyone before, and he'd die before he'd admit it to another soul. A marine didn't need anyone but himself, right? It was bullshit, and he knew it.

 

Three hours before flight time on the following morning, Andrew and Ruby were seated in the hotel dining room with a huge silver pot of coffee in front of them. Ruby, badly hung over, spoke. “Andrew, I'm sorry about last night. I don't know why I ... did ... acted the way I did. I'll try to make it up to you.”

Andrew poured the coffee with a steady hand. “Put a lot of sugar and cream in it,” he said in a fatherly tone. “It's okay.”

“No, it isn't okay. Why didn't you stop me from drinking so much wine? I'm not used to drinking, and I hadn't eaten anything. I ruined everything.”

“I did try to stop you, but you insisted. I suppose I could have administered an uppercut, but that's not my style. We need to talk, though. You acted as if our wedding was all a mistake. Do you still feel that way? If you do, we can eat our breakfast and then I'll take you back to Monroe Street. You can file for an annulment. You said a lot of things I didn't understand, but the rule of thumb is, when a person is drunk, he says what he means.”

“What did I say?” Ruby whispered.

“You really went to town on me, both personally and as a marine. You kept saying I didn't understand and that you were sorry. And then you said something I still can't figure out. You said it wasn't supposed to hurt so much. Would you mind explaining that to me?”

Ruby sipped her coffee. She willed it to stay in her stomach.

“I'm sorry, Andrew, I don't remember. I can't even begin to imagine what I meant. I suppose I was apologizing for drinking so much. What started me off?” she asked hesitantly.

Andrew grinned. “I know exactly what happened and I'm taking the blame. I forgot to carry you over the threshold, and you let me have it with both barrels. It went downhill from there. So, if anyone is sorry, it's me. Which brings me back to what I said in the beginning; if you think we made a mistake, it's not too late to rectify it.”

“It wasn't your fault, Andrew. We're both sorry. No, I don't want to back out. If ... if you feel it's a mistake . . .”

“Hell, no. There is one thing, though, Ruby, I want your promise that you won't say degrading things about the marines or the Corps. It's not just me that's an officer,
we're
an officer. You're an extension of me, and what you do and say reflects on me. You have to understand that.”

“Of course. Last night was . . . it's over. You don't have to worry about me.” An extension of him? She wasn't sure she liked that at all.

 

Seated by the window, because Andrew preferred being by the aisle, Ruby fastened her seat belt. Her heart thumped to a cadence that would have pleased any drill instructor. She planted her feet firmly on the floor of the plane, knowing she would brake with her feet and then sprag, a term the children of Barstow used when they were going downhill too fast in a wagon.

Ruby looked around. No one appeared as frightened as she was. Weary travelers, military personnel, and even small children were settling themselves as though going for a Sunday outing. Mind over matter, she told herself.

“Think about how much faster we're going to arrive by flying versus taking a bus or a train. If you relax, you'll enjoy the flight,” Andrew said, an authoritative tone in his voice which Ruby found herself resenting.

“You know, Andrew, it's okay for me to be anxious and nervous. I've never flown before. It's not as if I'm whining or complaining. I'm trying to make the best of this. There are times when ... like now, when I have to handle it in my own way, and I will handle this fear.”

“I'm only trying to help. That's what husbands are for. Of course, I'm not really your husband ... in the true sense of the word,” he whispered. “I hope tonight will be better.”

“I'm sure it will be,” Ruby said quietly.

 

Amazing. I'm still alive, Ruby thought as she walked down the steps of the plane.

“Wait by the door, Ruby, while I get the bags. We'll take a cab to the base. This is our last leg, and then we'll be in our new home.”

Ruby's stomach lurched as she walked to the door of the airport. Everyone seemed to be wearing smiles, happy that they were there meeting people—parents, grandparents, and friends. An elderly lady smiled at Ruby as she dragged her heavy case through the door. Ruby rushed to hold the door and offered to carry the bag to the curb. She smiled then, a smile that embraced the woman like a warm spring day.

“Thank you, my dear, it was kind of you to help me.”

“Can you manage now?” Ruby asked anxiously. The woman nodded.

Andrew came up behind Ruby and hissed in her ear, “I thought I told you to stay by the door. Inside doesn't mean out here helping some decrepit old lady who should have someone else helping her, not you. I told you, Ruby, you wear my rank the same as I do, remember that!”

“Are you telling me you wouldn't have helped that old lady?” Ruby snapped in return.

“Oh, for Christ's sake. Forget it, just forget it, Ruby.”

“No, I won't. Do you want to fight right here? If you do, I'm ready. I don't like your attitude, Andrew. You have no compassion, and I'm beginning to wonder if you have any feelings.”

“People are staring at us, Ruby. I don't like that. I'm wearing my uniform and my rank, and like I told you, you're wearing them, too, but yours are invisible.”

Ruby deflated under Andrew's tongue-lashing. She waved to the old lady, her own face miserable, her eyes hot and prickly.

 

The taxi ride to the base was made in silence. Andrew sat, stone-faced, the palms of his hands flat on his knees. Ruby cowered in the corner, her stomach railing its distress. The drumbeat in her head seemed to be increasing its tempo. She wanted to remember this ride, to watch the miles go by. She wanted all these memories to stitch into what she called her memory sampler so that someday she could tell her children how it was. All she could see was a blur of trees and a flat highway and the back of the cab driver's head. She felt like a sick, wounded puppy. A sick, wounded puppy who needed love and compassion and a kind word.

What seemed like a long time later, Ruby felt herself being jolted forward when the taxi driver pulled up to the gate. Andrew showed his pass and the corporal on duty saluted smartly. Ruby blinked at her husband's snappy return salute. She wondered if she was supposed to salute, since she was wearing her husband's rank. She didn't realize she'd voiced the thought aloud until Andrew muttered, “That's the dumbest thing I ever heard come out of your mouth, Ruby.” The look of pure disgust was almost more than Ruby could bear. She shriveled into herself.

Nothing in the world could have prepared Ruby for her first sight of her new home. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach rushed upward so fast, she had to clamp her hand over her mouth. Andrew strode forward, but she hung back, trying to take in the line of mean-looking apartments that were stuck together. She looked for trees; there were none. The few shrubs around were straggly and unkempt, nothing more than naked sticks waving in the wind. Her eye fell on a rusty red scooter minus its front wheel on the front lawn. A few feet away were equally rusty roller skates, long forgotten, as though their owner departed and didn't care if they were left behind.

“Are you planning on standing out here all day?” Andrew called over his shoulder. “I thought you wanted me to carry you over the threshold!”

Ruby's feet moved of their own volition. She thought she saw a curtain move in the apartment next to theirs. She wanted to cry.

Ruby watched as Andrew thrust open the door. He dumped the bags and whirled to pick her up. The next thing she knew, she was inside a square box of a room. The door closed with a loud bang, and she was on her feet almost immediately. She looked around, her eyes registering disbelief at what she saw. Andrew appeared oblivious as he bent down for the bags he carried into what she surmised was the bedroom.

Ruby fought the scream building in her throat. She couldn't live here. She didn't
want
to live here. Not in this ugly, mean-looking place. The windows were bare and so dirty it was impossible to see the outside world through them. There was no sign of a broom or dustpan.

Ruby turned to see the kitchen. It was as ugly as the rest of the apartment. As first glance the stove looked hopeless. She knew the refrigerator was supposed to be white—they didn't come in any other color—but it looked more like it was yellow and gray. She slammed the door so hard, the window rattled.

Linoleum that defied any color description caught in Ruby's heel. She stumbled and then righted herself without touching anything. She looked down and gasped. The floor covering was cracked and bubbled with large chunks missing in the middle. Crayon marks in the form of a hopscotch pattern graced the floor. With her foot, Ruby pried open the sink door and ran screaming when a family of rodents ran for cover. Shivering uncontrollably, Ruby ran straight into her husband's arms. “Mice!” she gasped. “A whole family of them!”

“We'll set some traps. Listen, Ruby, I have to check in. I'll be back in a couple of hours. Why don't you see what you can do with this place? Housing must have screwed up. The apartments are always spotless.” His tone was cheerful when he said, “Fix it up like you did the other places you lived. You girls know how to do that. I'll see you in a little while. I'll bring something to eat so you won't have to worry about dinner.”

Ruby's eyes were wild as she watched her husband leave. Fix it up! How? Dear God, tell me how.

Her answer arrived twenty minutes later in the form of her next-door neighbor.

Ruby flew to the door, thinking, praying, that it was Andrew returning to help her. When she saw the smiling face of her neighbor, the tears that had been held in check spilled over.

The woman held out her arms and Ruby fell into them, sobbing and sniffling. “I'm sorry.” She gulped. “This is an awful way to meet someone for the first time. It's just that this ... this ...”

“Is so overwhelming.” Her neighbor laughed then, a sound of pure mirth. “Actually, it's downright disgusting,” she said, looking around. “You got here before the cleaning crew. Not to worry. Soap and water, some paint, and it will be fine. Trust me.” She smiled. “I'm Dixie Sinclaire, and I know you must be Mrs. Blue. My husband said he'd heard you just got married.” It was all said in one breath.

Ruby grinned, feeling better immediately. She liked her new neighbor.

She was plump but not fat, and she had the most cheerful countenance Ruby had ever seen. Her eyes sparkled and her crisp, dark curls crowned her round head like a halo. She was pretty, her flashing smile her best feature; it warmed and welcomed at the same time. When she talked, her hands moved constantly to accentuate or make her point. She was smaller than Ruby, coming only to her shoulder.