Seasons of Her Life (40 page)

It took Ruby an hour to rewrite the letter to Amber. She didn't experience any wild rush of elation when she closed the mailbox. Obviously, only one wild rush of elation was allotted to her on any given day, and she'd gotten hers with Dixie's letter.

A week later she received a letter from Amber, chastizing her for not forcing her tenants to move a month ahead of schedule. She said she wasn't going to be responsible to some damn bank and an Egyptian Gypsy. Ruby scribbled off a reply that told her sister to take it or leave it. Amber didn't respond, but the bank informed Ruby that Amber and her family had moved in an hour after the tenants moved out.

A week later she received a telegram from the bank confirming that her parents had agreed to her terms. Three days after that, she received a hateful letter from her father, which she tore into shreds.

Nothing, not even Andrew, could dampen Ruby's spirits now that she had Dixie's friendship again. She wrote twice a week and called as often as she could from one phone booth or another. Both women were determined to keep their friendship secret. Men, they agreed, simply could not be trusted or depended upon. Their last conversation still rang in Ruby's ears; she had confessed to Dixie how she'd been filing amended tax returns every April and keeping secret all her business dealings. Dixie giggled and said if she was ever in serious trouble, Ruby was the one she'd go to.

Ruby's spirits were so high that she found herself being more tolerant of her husband. She went out of her way to be accommodating and responsive. Andrew's reaction was to accuse her of having an affair, which he used as an excuse to withdraw even more from their family life. Ruby hardly noticed.

Her life these days was her children, Dixie, and her sister Opal.

Once again Ruby Blue was happy.

It was a dreary, stormy afternoon. Rain slashed at the windows,
and Ruby hated the sound. Today, she hated everything. Dr. Ainsley, the base shrink, had just called to render his current evaluation of Martha, who had been seeing him for over a year. God, what was it he'd said? She needed continued therapy, but therapy could go only so far. If Andrew wasn't prepared to come in for counseling, treatment would take years. Martha, it seemed, was seeking her father's approval. He'd also suggested that if she was certain Andrew would not make the effort, she should think seriously about taking the children and leaving her husband. Her own sessions with the doctor always left her feeling morose and withdrawn. She'd done everything she could for her child. She'd argued and tried to assert herself for Martha's sake and Andy's, too. Andrew's response was that Martha needed her ass whipped, and this psychological shit was from Ruby's kooky side of the family. “Go ahead, Ruby, tell that jerk about your old man and then come back and tell me I'm to blame.” She had talked about her father, with tears streaming down her face. The doctor hadn't said her daughter's problems were her fault or that anything was hereditary, but neither had he again asked to see Andrew after that session. That was two years ago.

She was smoking these days, something she swore she would never do. It gave her something to do with her hands. It also seemed to help her twanging nerves. She used cigarettes the way Martha still clung to her security blanket. That blanket was another thing. Andrew had forcefully ripped it from Martha's arms on the first night she'd wet the bed at the age of seven, which happened to be also the first time she'd come close to winning her first star. Ruby had fought him like a wild woman. She'd even gone so far as to pick up a butcher knife from the table, and in a voice so terrible she still remembered it, ordered her husband to give Martha the blanket and never to touch it again. He'd thrown it at the child and advanced with his hand raised to strike her, but Ruby had whipped the long blade upward, murder in her eyes. She doubted now that she would have had the guts to lash out at her husband; she wasn't a violent person. But Andrew obviously believed she was capable of harming him.

At least she had some power over him. In general, she wasn't strong anymore; she was weak, jelly in her husband's hands. She even found herself getting upset over his extramarital affairs. Because she wanted to blame someone, she blamed Calvin for her present state. In the end, though, she put all the responsibility on her own shoulders.

Martha and Andrew weren't her only problems these days. In the three years Amber and her family had lived in her house on O Street, Ruby had heard from her twice. Both letters were full of complaints. Now, according to a letter she received from Rena, there was a problem. Ruby was behind in her mortgage, and the bank was threatening to foreclose because Amber hadn't paid the last six months' rent. The house was a shambles, according to Rena, with holes in the walls and stains on the carpets that would never come out. Dog and cat stains. She'd underlined that sentence. The same animals had chewed the molding and door frames. There were six broken windows, and the cellar door was off its hinges. They never mowed the grass, and the flowers and shrubs were all gone. Two of the boards on the back porch were missing, and the house smelled like cat piss: She'd underlined that sentence, too.

Ruby burst into tears that came out in hard, racking sobs. Her shoulders shook and her stomach heaved. She jerked upright when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“What's wrong, Mom?” Andy asked in a shaky voice. He'd never seen his mother cry, and he was scared. “Did I do something wrong? If I did, tell me and I'll fix it.”

“I'm just having a bad day, honey. Sometimes mothers get weepy and things bother them. It has nothing to do with you, Andy, or Martha, either.”

Not satisfied, Andy demanded, “Is it Dad? You know, Mom, he has demons in him. Not real ones, but . . . when people act the way Dad does, that means he can't handle things. I learned that in Bible class. You can't let Dad get under your skin. You have to learn that his bark is worse than his bite.”

Ruby stared up at her seven-year-old son. He was a handsome, sturdy little boy with blond curls and incredible blue eyes. A smattering of freckles danced across the bridge of his nose. These days all he worried about was how long it would take for his two front teeth to come in. “How did you get so smart?” she asked playfully. “How is it you are so in tune with me?”

The little boy pondered the question and then shrugged. “You're my mom. I'm always going to be a good boy so you'll be proud of me.”

“Oh, Andy, I am proud of you. I think I love you more than life. Martha, too.”

The phone rang and Andy raced to answer it. The call was for him. He started to jabber excitedly about tin cans tied to strings that could be stretched between houses. Ruby smiled.

Ruby squared her shoulders. Andy was okay, and she would keep him that way. Martha would heal. Martha would be fine. Whatever she had to do to ensure that end, she would do. Now, though, she had to deal with the problem of Amber.

She left at seven o'clock, the moment Andrew walked through the door. She babbled some lie about a family emergency and did her best to avoid looking him in the eye. Not that he was able to focus. There was alcohol on his breath.

Andrew followed his wife out to the carport, squawking at her the whole way: she was crazy like her old man, and who did she think she was, taking off in the middle of a rainstorm?

Ruby closed and locked the trunk. She felt revolted when she stared up at her drunken husband. Thank God she'd sent Andy to sleep over at a friend's house. Martha was at a friend's, too, something Ruby always arranged carefully so the child wasn't home on weekends when there was a chance Andrew would be home.

“Who am I, Andrew? Your wife, but then, you seem to have forgotten that these past years. I'm the person who cleans up after you when you vomit your guts out and you miss the bowl. I'm the person who bore you the two wonderful children you're bent on destroying. I'm the person who cooks and cleans and goes to your shitty meetings so you can get ahead.
I'm the reason you're where you are
. I didn't know that for a long time, but I know it now. Do you want to know how I know, Andrew? Martha's doctor told me. You're the one with the problem. We're normal, you aren't. I tried, Andrew, my God, how I tried. I gave one hundred and ten percent. I don't care anymore. When I get back, you and I are going to have a long talk, and if we can't bring this marriage together, for us and for the children, I'm leaving. I want you to think about that this weekend. Think about it
all
weekend and not with your snoot in a bottle. I mean it, Andrew, I'll leave.”

“Over my dead body,” Andrew blustered.

“If that's what it takes,” Ruby snapped. God, why was she even talking to him? He wouldn't remember any of it once he slept off his drunk.

“You aren't leaving. I'm up for promotion. I'll grind you to a pulp before I let you leave,” he slurred.

Ruby climbed into the car and rolled down the window. “Don't threaten me, Andrew. And always remember what happened to Hugo. That's something else I found out about. The same thing can happen to you, and I'm the one who can do it.” Ruby stuck her head out the window. She enunciated each word carefully. “I will do whatever it takes to make our daughter healthy. I will make her well, with or without you. Now, get the hell out of my way before I run you over.”

The car roared backward with such force that Ruby was certain she had given herself whiplash.

As she drove across the state on Route 10, she muttered under her breath. She was still muttering hours later when she swung the Pontiac north on Route 95. She wasn't tired. In fact, she felt exhilarated. She drove with the windows wide open and the radio at full blast.

It was six o'clock the following day when Ruby carefully maneuvered the Pontiac down the narrow alley behind Rena's house on Monroe Street. She had driven all day and night without stopping. She smiled tiredly when she saw the garbage cans. The old metal ones had been replaced with large heavy plastic but were still flowered and beribboned. She blinked at the long white Cadillac. Rena was doing well.

Five minutes later she was wrapped in Rena's small arms with Bruno waiting impatiently for his turn. “Oh, it's so good to see you. I've missed you both. Ah, more diamonds.” Ruby giggled when she noted a rather small stone, by Rena's standards, studded into her pinky nail.

“Never mind. Come inside. You look tired. When did you leave?” Rena demanded as she pranced about the kitchen, opening and closing drawers while Bruno fussed with uncorking a wine bottle.

“About seven-thirty last night. I am tired, but I had to come,” she said, a note of apology in her voice.

“Of course you did. That sister of yours . . . she is so ungrateful. She is also rude, and her children are like little savages.”

The tiny woman threw her hands in the air to indicate there was no describing them. “Eat, eat. Leave nothing. Tomorrow we will go to your house and you will evict that ungrateful wretch. Make her pay for the damages. Bruno will fix everything, for a small fee. The cat piss . . . I don't know if you can ever get that out . . . it's a disgrace.”

“I wish you had written sooner,” Ruby muttered as she bit down into a delicious chicken sandwich.

Rena forced a second sandwich on her while she consumed two glasses of wine. A slice of banana cream pie that was still warm completed Ruby's meal.

“Who lives upstairs?” Ruby asked, lighting a cigarette.

“A nasty couple from Alabama. Can you believe this, Ruby? They had the gall to change the locks on the door so I couldn't go in to check on my property. They took me to court, and the judge said they had to give me a key. I want to evict them. They talk like they have marbles in their mouths. Just last week they said they were changing the wallpaper. Out they go the minute their lease is up!”

Ruby sighed wearily. She was so tired, she had barely heard a word Rena had said.

“You are asleep on your feet, little one. Come, I have your bed all ready. Bruno has just given me the signal that he has turned down the covers.”

Ruby stumbled down the hall, twice lurching against Bruno's broad shoulder. She sat down on the bed fully clothed. Bruno removed her shoes and covered her with a blanket. “Sleep, Ruby,” he said gently. “Tomorrow my wife will help make things right for you.”

Nothing Rena said prepared Ruby for her first look at the house on O Street. She drew in her breath in a sharp hiss. The doorbell was hanging by a wire, and the door itself was scuffed and dirty. Even the brass kickplate was streaked and tarnished. Tactfully, Rena said nothing.

Ruby knocked. She was forced to stand back in order not to be trampled when a horde of children exited, screaming and yelling. Then a dog streaked through, skidded to a stop, sniffed at Ruby's and Rena's shoes, and bolted down the steps.

Rena pushed Ruby inside. A thirteen-inch television blared from the living room, while strains of music echoed from the kitchen area. Rena was right, Ruby thought as she started to breathe through her mouth. The cat urine was so strong, it made her eyes water. She walked gingerly through the toys and clothes that littered the floor.

Ruby looked around in amazement at the holes in the walls, at the dirty drapes and curtains and the stains on the beige carpet. The parquet floors were scarred; all signs of the finish were gone. The furniture sagged and was filthy; the slipcovers were full of holes and stains. The watercolors on the wall hung askew, giving the living room a drunken appearance. Ruby shuddered.

From somewhere upstairs a baby wailed. Ruby's eyes widened. Amber hadn't said anything about a new baby.

“And she's pregnant again,” Rena said under her breath.

Ruby felt her eyes roll back in her head. By sheer will alone she forced herself to calmness. She would deal with this as she dealt with everything.

“Is Nangi working?” she whispered. Where was Amber? Certainly she wasn't cleaning, she thought nastily. The dog was back, along with a cat, circling like vultures. Ruby was suddenly afraid to move.

“Yes. Bruno himself checked out the downtown firm he works for. Your sister told me they're saving all their money to return to Saipan.”

“Not at my expense,” Ruby grated.

“Amberrrrr!” she shrilled at the top of her lungs.

This couldn't be Amber, not this slovenly, unkempt, pregnant woman with a dishtowel in her hands. This creature couldn't be the persnickety, meticulous girl whose wardrobe matched, right down to her underwear and the bobby pins in her hair. Upstairs, the baby continued to wail. Amber seemed oblivious as she stared at Ruby. There was no hello.