Seasons of Her Life (42 page)

“You need it the most. Bubba always said I would know when it was time to sell it. I guess this is the time. I brought it with me. I sort of thought you might be in financial trouble, and I didn't want to lose the house. Let's just say we both needed it. Amber, this baby is so funny-looking, she's cute. Why does her hair grow straight up in the air?” Ruby asked, chucking her little niece under the chin. The baby gurgled happily.

“It lays down about the same time they start to walk.” There was more than a hint of annoyance in Amber's voice when she said, “Are you trying to tell me my kids are funny-looking?”

“No. Well, sort of. Different, Amber. Is that why you feel you don't fit in here anymore? They're yours and I'm sure you love them as much as I love mine, but we can't pretend they don't look different.”

“If you'd married Calvin, your kids would look like mine. Is that so terrible, Ruby?”

There was a catch in Ruby's voice. “No, it isn't. I'm sorry I even brought it up.” She hugged the baby to her until she squealed. “I think it was nice of you to name two of your kids after Opal and me. I'll take care of the baby while you get all duded up for Nangi and start supper. Call him and tell him to come home. Better yet, tell him to tell those . . . people he works for what they can do with their job; you're going . . . home. Go on, Amber, do it. Is it okay to put Ruby on the kitchen floor?”

“Sure, now that you scrubbed it. I won't be long. Jeez, I hope my hair is dry. Nangi is going to be ... he's so good, Ruby, he never, ever complains. He's like Calvin in that respect. Calvin isn't happy, Ruby,” Amber called over her shoulder.

Ruby wanted to call her back, to demand to know why Calvin wasn't happy. She wanted to know everything, every detail. Perhaps at dinner something would be said. “Amber,” Ruby called up the stairs, “yell when you're finished talking to Nangi. I have to call Andrew and tell him I'm staying over another day.”

Dinner wasn't the zoo scene she thought it would be. In their father's company, the children were well-mannered and quiet, speaking only when a question was asked. She did notice that they had trouble cutting their meat, and the baked potato seemed to puzzle them.

Amber laughed. “We mostly eat rice, Ruby, but you couldn't know that Usually, I make something in one pot. That's what they're used to. This is a real treat for Nangi and me. We haven't had steak in a very long time.”

Ruby found her eyes going to Nangi, drinking in the sight of him. He reminded her a little of Calvin. She wished someone would bring up his name so she could ask questions. Nangi had seen the tears in her eyes and the picture she still carried in her wallet. Good manners would prevent him from bringing up Calvin's name. Nangi would never embarrass her. She was stunned to hear Amber say, “It's a shame Ruby won't be here when Calvin arrives. It's always nice to see old friends.”

“I know he will be disappointed at missing you,” Nangi said quietly.

“Why is he coming to Washington?” Ruby asked in what she hoped was a nonchalant voice.

“Something to do with his next tour. He said he had business at the Pentagon. I think he's going to train pilots or something like that. Calvin is usually vague when it comes to specifics. He did say he would be here for a week. He usually stays with us, but now that we're going to return to Saipan, I don't think we'll wait around for his visit. I gave my notice after Amber's call. Why don't I ring him up after dinner and you can talk to him? I have to call him anyway. I can't let him arrive thinking he's going to stay with us if we aren't going to be here. Or would you rather not talk with him?”

In one motion Ruby knocked over her water glass, while her elbow went into one of the children's plates, causing a baked potato to sail across the table and land on Nangi's plate, splattering butter on his snowy white shirt. She tried to say something, but her tongue was too thick in her mouth. Amber saved the moment by jumping up to wipe up the spill and declaring in a brisk voice, “Of course she wants to talk to Calvin, just make sure what's-her-name doesn't know it's Ruby on this end. I swear, Nangi, sometimes I have to think for you.”

Ruby found her voice. There was nothing wrong with speaking to an old friend. She wasn't betraying Andrew or even being disloyal. Calvin was in Colorado, she was in D.C., and Andrew was in Florida, miles and miles apart. Still her conscience pricked. “Well . . . I ... it probably . . . what I mean ...”

“. . . is that she'd love to. Go do it now. We can have our dessert after I clear the table.” Ruby watched as she handed out Popsicles to the kids, who were going to watch cartoons before attacking their homework.

“We'll call from upstairs. It will be much quieter.”

Ruby perched on the edge of the bed, her nervous hands busily pleating and unpleating the folds of her skirt while Nangi made small talk with Calvin in their native language. Nangi's eyes apologized. He scribbled on a pad near the phone, “Calvin always switches to our language when he asks about you. I've told him nothing.” He held out the phone and mouthed the words “I just told him someone was here who wanted to say hello. I'll be downstairs.” He closed the door softly behind him.

“Hello, Calvin? It's Ruby. How are you?” The silence on the other end of the phone drove the color creeping up her neck to her cheeks. They burned. “Calvin, are you there?”

“Yes, yes, I am.” It was the same voice that she remembered. “It's . . . I can't believe . . . how are you?” The voice was suddenly sad. Ruby's heart fluttered.

“Surviving. I think of you often, Calvin. I ... I tried to get in touch with you. I called, I wrote . . . and then Nangi said you got married. I thought . . . I waited . . .” Damn, the tears were spilling over, and here she was acting like some damn lovesick adolescent.

“It was my fault. I had too much pride. Nangi explained what happened that day, but it was too late by then. I tried to reach you when I returned to ... it was my fault.”

“And mine,” Ruby said softly. “Are you well? Are you happy?”

“Yes. No. And you?”

“Yes. No. We screwed up, Calvin, big time.”

Calvin's voice dropped several octaves. “I've thought of you every day since . . . even when I'm flying I think ... it's best then, up there all by myself. Sometimes I dream ... Nangi has kept me aware of you and your whereabouts. I always ask. And I always feel good for a week or so when he tells me news of you.”

Ruby strained closer to the earpiece. She didn't want to miss a word.

“Calvin . . . I . . .” The tears were falling, choking off her voice. “I have to hang up, Calvin, and not run up Amber's bill. I ... oh, Calvin, why couldn't you have trusted me, believed in me a little more? Damn you, I did everything, I tried to kill you emotionally, and I ... it didn't work . . . I did everything I could think of . . . I got married for all the wrong reasons, and now I'm stuck. And all because of you.” She couldn't take the feelings anymore. She slammed down the receiver. God, what if he called back? She lifted the receiver once she was certain the connection had been broken. She stuffed it under the pillow and closed the door on her way out of the room. Now he couldn't call back. Now she wouldn't make a fool of herself again and further bare her bleeding soul.

In the bathroom she sprinkled cool water on her face and ran her fingers through her hair. Now she had to get out of there before she started to blubber all over the place again.

“Thanks, Ruby,” Amber said, pecking her on the cheek. Nangi hugged her and whispered, “It will be all right in the end.” She nodded miserably, refusing to meet his gaze. She kissed and hugged each of the children. They smiled shyly.

“They're beautiful, Amber,” she said sincerely.

When Ruby had climbed into the cab, she stared back at the house. Amber was happy now. She, Ruby, had made Amber happy. Opal was happy, too. By God, she wouldn't cry, she just wouldn't.

With silly little smirks on their faces, Martha and Andy Blue
watched their father's inept efforts at the stove. Andy kept nudging his sister and whispering, “This is the third day we're eating eggs, and if the grape jelly gets on them, they turn green. I don't like green eggs, do you?”

“I looove green eggs,” Martha purred. “I even love Dad's black toast. He said I could set the table,” she said importantly.

“Yuk. You never liked to set the table before Mom went away. All you did was whine and try to get out of it.” He felt rather than saw his sister shrug her shoulders. Her eyes were glued on her father. It was okay, he decided, because these past few days their father had paid more attention to Martha than to him.

He adored Marty. It was good to see her giggle and joke with Dad. She'd gotten a kiss on the cheek today after school when she showed him her big red A on a math test. She was smart, the smartest one in her class—everyone said so. “Keep that up, and they'll give you a scholarship to Harvard or Princeton,” his dad said. Marty beamed from ear to ear. She said she'd love to go to Princeton someday, but Andy hoped she wouldn't because it meant she'd go away, and he wouldn't have a sister anymore.

“Go wash up, Andy,” his father ordered briskly. Andy trotted off to the bathroom. Boy, did he ever hate green eggs. He counted to sixty-five times as he lathered and rubbed his hands together, the way his father taught him. If he got to the kitchen one second earlier, he got a check mark on his list, which was pasted to the cabinet door. He dried his hands thoroughly, then hopped from one foot to the other and counted out another twenty seconds just in case he'd counted too fast the other five times.

The little boy took his seat, folded his hands, and waited for his father to say grace. He eyed the eggs and the mound of grape jelly on his plate. The eggs were green all around the edges. There wasn't any bacon or sausage, either. He liked bacon and sausage. He hated eggs. He thought the toast looked like tar paper, the kind they were putting on the roof down the street. If he ate it, he was going to get little black specks in his milk. He hated black specks in his milk. He hated this whole supper. He sucked in his breath and blurted out, “I don't want to eat this. I like Mom's eggs better. You're supposed to push the button on the toaster so it doesn't get like ... tar paper.”

Andrew laid down his fork and stared across the table at his son. “Did I hear you correctly?” he asked in a calm-sounding voice, one the little boy recognized as the tone he'd always used on Marty.

“Yes, sir,” Andy said defiantly.

“If it's good enough for your sister, it should be good enough for you. Do you find anything wrong with the eggs or toast, Martha?”

“Oh, no, sir,” Martha said, stuffing her mouth. “I like it this way. It's better than Mom's,” she lied. Suddenly, she wanted to strangle the little brother she dearly loved. Now their father was going to change from the kind, sweet, gentle father he'd been since their mother went away. “He ate cookies before,” she tattled, and immediately hated herself for the look of betrayal in her brother's eyes. “Well, maybe he didn't eat them, but he was looking at them. I didn't eat any.”

“Andy, did you eat cookies before supper?” Andrew demanded.

“Yes, sir, I did. I ate four. I'm glad I did, because you're going to make me go to my room without supper, and if I didn't eat them, I'd starve. I don't care. I hate this,” he said, jamming his fork into the now-cold eggs.

“Tell me exactly what's wrong with this supper,” Andrew said quietly.

Andy swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Mom always makes bacon or sausage and the toast is kind of brown and yellow, and there aren't little black things floating in my milk. I don't like jelly on my plate. I don't see any dessert.”

“Well, why didn't you say so when I started to cook? If I don't know what your mother does, how can I duplicate her efforts?” His eyes swiveled to his daughter's clean plate. “I think you . . . fibbed to me, Martha.”

Martha looked terrified. She would have eaten slime if her father asked her to, Andy thought. Didn't Dad know that?

The room suddenly boomed with their father's laughter. “Okay, kids, let's see if we can't cook up a supper like your mother does. Martha, you get the bacon; Andy, you crack the , eggs. I'll clean up this mess. Martha, do you think you can eat anything else, or are you full?”

She stared at her father with wide, adoring eyes. “I could eat some bacon, and if we're having dessert, I think I have enough room for that.”

“Okay, let's go for it. On the count of three, fall in and hut to.”

His father was neat, Andy thought as he slopped the eggs and bits of shells into the mixing bowl. Mom was right. If you tell the truth, no one is going to punish you. Jeez, he wished she'd hurry and get home. “When's Mom coming home, Dad?”

“Sometime tonight. You'll probably be asleep. She'll be here to cook your breakfast.”

“I hope it isn't eggs,” Andy muttered. Andrew laughed uproariously, nudging Martha and winking at her.

“Oh, Daddy, I love you,” Martha said, throwing her arms around her father's waist.

Andy looked at his sister and father, who was still in uniform. Martha's hands were greasy from the bacon. He was aware suddenly that the moment was too quiet after Martha's exuberant outburst. Her father had not answered. “Hey, you jerk, I love you. Do you love me?” Andy demanded, poking the egg-dripping fork he'd been beating the eggs with at his sister.

Andrew stared at the little boy in a way Andy wasn't used to. It was a nice stare.

“Hey, none of that name-calling stuff around here. Your sister is your sister, not a jerk. I love you guys. I love you, Martha, and I love you, Andy. I guess I'm supposed to say that more often, but I thought you both knew. I guess I'm not real good at this father business. I'll try to do better, how's that?”

“Sure, Dad,” Andy mumbled. Jeez, he was hungry. All this talk about being a father. For crying out loud, his dad was the same as Billy's dad, and he didn't go around promising to be a better dad. He didn't have to do that. He was already a good dad. Who cared anyway? His father never kept his promises. Like the time he said he'd be home to go to his soccer game and they waited so long for him to get home from work he'd missed half the game. Martha believed him, he could tell. Girls were so dam dumb. But she was happy. Her eyes were all sparkly and she looked so sappy, he wanted to swat her.

 

Andrew twirled the bottle of Schlitz beer between his hands. He'd been nursing it for the past three hours, and it was warm and flat now. He could get a fresh one from the fridge, but he felt too lazy to get up. It would be just his luck to be in the kitchen when Ruby pulled into the carport. If he stayed where he was, he'd at least have surprise on his side. She wouldn't expect him to be up, and that would give him an advantage. He was going to need every trick in his bag to get Ruby to do what he wanted. Getting on the good side of the kids had been the first step up the ladder. He knew Martha was still awake, waiting for her mother. She'd gone to the bathroom three times in the past two hours, but that was better than her wetting the bed.

The pounding at the base of his skull was a trip-hammer gone berserk. He needed a drink to make it stop. It was starting to worry him that alcohol instead of aspirin cured his headaches. His mind played around with the word
alcoholic
. He rejected the word. He hadn't had a real drink for four days. One or two beers a day didn't make him anything but what he was—a marine. Marines weren't alcoholics. The Corps wouldn't tolerate it.

He leaned back against the sofa cushions. He was uptight and had been in this condition for the past week. It began the day he had heard that old man Frankel wasn't going to get his third star. The rumor mill said he wasn't considered lieutenant-general material and that he was too old. That was bad enough, but when he heard a second rumor in the latrine, he'd all but puked his guts out. He would be under a new commanding officer, but then, not so new, as he'd served under him once before. And this commanding officer was headed for Vietnam. There was no way in hell he was going to another stinking, rotten Asian pesthole. He'd kissed too much ass along the way for that shit. What the hell good was having a wife with connections if you didn't use them?

Ruby was on a first-name basis with Arlene Frankel. If she cozied up to her a little more and had her put in a word or two to the general, and if she called the Querys and did the same thing, he might get off the hook and stay stateside. Christ, was it so much to ask? He'd sweet-talk her, promise her anything. Martha was the key. Ruby would do anything for Martha.

He had realized that five days ago, when Ruby, pissed to the teeth, had sailed out of the carport. She'd threatened to leave him, and Ruby, he knew, never made idle threats. A warning bell sounded in his head. He'd pushed her too far. He'd told himself that night to fall back and regroup, and that's exactly what he'd done. Yes, Martha was the key.

 

It was five minutes to midnight when Ruby arrived. A lamp burned in the living room, but the kitchen was dark.

Obviously, everyone was asleep. She felt relieved. Now she wouldn't have to talk to Andrew. Still, if he was in bed but awake, he might be waiting for the talk she said they would have on her return. She was tired now, but not the same kind of tired she was when she had arrived in Washington. Then she'd been tired
and
worried.

A hot shower was going to feel good, but first she had to check on the kids. God, she'd missed them. A peek, that's all.

Ruby was halfway down the hall when she heard her husband call her name from the living room. So he
had
waited up. She squared her shoulders. Now was as good a time as any to talk. Postponing would only make her more miserable. She'd never been one to let anything simmer if she could bring it to a boil. She walked back to the living room.

“Would it be too much trouble to ask you to make me a cup of tea?”

“Be glad to. Do you want anything to eat?”

She did, but Andrew's efforts in the kitchen left too much to be desired. “Maybe a cookie,” she called over her shoulder.

Andy was sound asleep, sprawled across the bed, his pajama legs hiked up above his knees. She pulled up the sheet. He didn't stir when she kissed him on the cheek. “I love you,” she whispered.

Martha was sleepy but awake. “Mom, oh, Mom, I'd glad you're home. Wait till you hear.” She babbled on and on until Ruby thought she would scream. The smile she was offering her daughter was sickly at best. “He means it, doesn't he, Mom? He was so nice. He kissed me and hugged me and he apologized. Isn't it just the greatest thing? I knew Dad loved me! He said he has a hard time saying it, but we should know because he's our father. He's really going to try harder. That means he's going to be better and nicer to you, too, isn't that right?” Ruby nodded, she didn't know what else to do. “I think this is the best day of my life, Mom. It was better than two Christmases and Easter, too. Nothing will go wrong, will it?”

“No, honey, it's time for sleep, it's late. Tomorrow is a schoolday. We'll talk about it over breakfast.”

“Mom, don't make eggs, okay? Make oatmeal. Andy wants farina. I can eat farina, too. No toast, either,” Martha said, snuggling under the sheet, both arms wrapped around her pillow. “Dad tucked me in and kissed me good night. You wait and see, I just know I'm not going to wet the bed tonight. I know it.”

“I know it, too, sweetie.”

Ruby's shoulders slumped. Her feet dragged on the way down the hall to where her husband was waiting for her. It was magic as far as Martha was concerned. Ruby had never seen Martha this happy, but she suspected she would pay for her child's happiness. She wondered what it was going to cost.

“Hi, honey, how was the trip? You look tired,” Andrew said quietly, handing her the cup of tea. “This will fix you right up. Sorry there are no cookies, the kids ate them all.”

“I am tired and the trip was okay. I hope you managed without me,” she said wearily.

“Hey, we had a ball. I don't think the kids are going to want eggs for a while, but no one starved. I think you taking that trip was the best thing you could have done. Martha and I really got to know one another. She's a great kid. I'm going to let up on her. Andy, too. I'll even bet you fifty cents she stops wetting the bed,” he said playfully. “You're much too protective of them, Ruby. I'll make a deal with you. You let up and I'll back off. Is it a deal?” Andrew nuzzled his wife's neck. “What do you say?”

“I'll try. You haven't exactly lived up to your word of late, Andrew. How do I know you'll . . . you'll be decent to Martha?”

Andrew straightened up. “I resent what you just said. I have never been anything but decent to that kid. Strict, yes. Children need discipline. You coddle them too much. How in the hell do you expect them to grow up to be independent?”

Ruby cringed. “What about love, Andrew? When was the last time, except for these past few days, you were within a foot of your daughter? Never, that's when. What is it you want, Andrew? I know there's more, so you might as well tell me now. Let's get it all out in the open before you break Martha's heart.”

Andrew's voice was harsh. He hated it when Ruby nailed him to the wall. Damn her anyway. “Rumor has it that Frankel is going to be passed over, and if that happens, I don't get promoted. It also means I'll get another commanding officer, namely, my old one, who is a real pain in the ass, among other things. He likes young girls, Ruby. Real young ones, like Martha. I can't work under Lackland again. If I do, I'll end up killing the son of a bitch. What this means to you is that I want you to go to the general's wife and plead my case and then hit on the Querys. I could do it myself, but if you do it, it will be better. They like and respect you. You're personal friends. He still has pull and clout. If you don't I'll have to go to Vietnam with that bastard. Remember what it was like when I was in Korea, and all the shit that went wrong for you because I wasn't here? You have two kids now. It won't be any easier.”