Seasons of Her Life (44 page)

When Andrew Blue returned from Vietnam his family met him at
the airport, wearing smiles. Their arms were waving frantically to gain his attention.

Andrew took a full three minutes to take the sight of his family in. Martha was Ruby's look-alike; even from this distance, they looked like sisters instead of mother and daughter. And Andy, he was taller than Martha—eleven, going on twelve. How mature he looked. Ruby had said he took his position as man of the family seriously. Ruby looked different, too. She'd put on weight, but it wasn't unbecoming. Her hairstyle was different—soft and wispy. She looked more womanly, certainly no longer girlish. His family. He felt choked up. They were glad to see him. Damn, he was glad to see them, too. He ran then, his long legs pumping. He leapt the Cyclone fence and gathered them in his arms.

Things were on track. He was glad now that he'd put in his time by writing once a week to each of them. He knew who they were. He knew all about Martha's corn on her little toe and how she hated her period and loved her first training bra. He knew that Andy was scared when he got up to bat at Little League, knew that he included his father in his prayers every night. Only things a father would know. But he didn't know any more about Ruby now than when he left. Oh, she'd written faithfully, twice a week, but the letters contained nothing about her. She always closed by saying she missed him and was looking forward to the day when he returned. That was as personal as she got

“We're having turkey in honor of your homecoming,” Martha said happily. “I made the stuffing. Mom said it came out good.”

“Can't wait to taste home cooking,” Andrew said, hugging her.

“How about you, sport? What did you contribute? Tell me you made an apple pie,” he said, ruffling his son's hair.

“Aw, c'mon, Dad, guys don't cook. I set the table.” He grinned self-consciously.

“That's good. It used to be my job.”

Ruby smiled warmly. The anxiety she'd felt building up the past month began to ease. Andrew was trying; the children were happy. They were a family now. It was going to be all right. She leaned against her husband, enjoying the smell of his aftershave. He was as handsome as ever. She felt a tingle of desire for him. It must have showed in her eyes, because Andrew whispered, “I can't wait, either.” She laughed then, a sound of pure delight. She caught the wink he gave Martha and saw the way he poked his son's shoulder.

It was wonderful. She said a prayer that it would last.

It did. For a while.

 

Two years and two months later the Marine Corps packed up all the Blues' belongings and moved the family to Rumson, New Jersey. Ruby was so thrilled, she thought she would burst on the drive up the Atlantic coastline. Martha chattered all the way about the scholarship to Princeton she was sure she would get. When she took a deep breath, Andy plunged into a long discussion about cars. Would he have one when he was old enough to drive? Andrew yessed them to death as he concentrated on the sandy roads. Sand was as treacherous as ice, he told them. Ruby smiled. She'd never been happier.

They were really going to buy a house, one with an upstairs and a basement. A garage, too, and a yard with trees. A nice, residential neighborhood that she hoped wouldn't be too far from where Dixie lived.

Her eyes sparking, Ruby Blue marched into the autumn of her life, certain her happiness would last forever.

1975

 

Andrew Blue sat behind the wheel of his new Buick Special, his
eyes glued to the greasy windows of the Knife & Fork Diner, where he'd just had his breakfast. It was the same diner he'd eaten breakfast at for the past five years. The waitresses called him by name; the owner always poked him on the shoulder playfully when he paid his check. Routine. His routine.

He should move along. Sitting here like this was out of character for him. He knew the waitresses were watching him through the steamy window. The thought was enough to make him turn the key in the ignition. He backed out of his parking space in front of the building and drove around to the back, where the produce trucks were already lined up for their morning deliveries. He cut the engine and slumped against the seat. Today was not going to be a good day, he thought shakily.

Until this very minute, he hadn't really noticed how chilly it was, but then he saw steam escape the mouths of the truck drivers as they hefted crates of lettuce and eggs. He turned on the heater. A blast of stale air hit him in the face. He turned off the heater and rolled down the window. The cold air felt good against his freshly shaven face. He felt perspiration bead his forehead and wondered, not for the first time since getting out of bed, if he was getting sick.

Andrew lit a cigarette and blew smoke out the window. Christ, how he hated New Jersey. He hated this frigging diner and he hated the Sears, Roebuck store, where he was supposed to be this very minute, getting ready to take inventory.

With the cigarette clamped between his teeth and the smoke spiraling into his eyes, Andrew took stock of his hatreds for the day: his job, his home life, his routine, the bucket of bolts that he was sitting in, the waitresses in the diner, Ruby, Martha, his job selling Rototillers and garden supplies, his boss who reminded him of his last commanding officer in the marines, New Jersey, Rumson in particular, the house on Ribbonmaker Lane, his thinning hair, his four root canals, his paunch, his age, and his gambling. The last two were the kickers. Ruby would divorce him on the spot if she ever found out about his gambling problem. On the other hand, she didn't seem to care that he was within a hairbreadth of turning fifty. Fifty goddamn years! And what did he have to show for it? A house that was mortgaged to the hilt because he'd forged Ruby's name to a second mortgage and used the money to gamble. There was every possibility they could lose the house in the next few months if he didn't come up with some ready cash. He'd even gambled away young Andy's college tuition. Come August, when the bills came in, Ruby would find out there was no money in Andy's account. He ticked off the months on his fingers—seven and a half to come up with the kid's money. He could feel the sweat rolling down his back. He started to shiver, not with cold, but with fear. He owed Stan three grand and another two to a bookie in Asbury Park. They were starting to crowd him, making noises he didn't like. The jungles of Vietnam hadn't evoked the kind of fear he was feeling now.

He'd never gambled in Vietnam. Oh, maybe a little poker once in a while, but nothing like what he'd been doing the past two years. He couldn't even remember how it started. A bet on a football game, then two bets, then on to baseball and basketball. Finally the horses. Inside of three months he was betting on anything that moved.

Andrew risked a glance at the Rolex on his wrist, the only thing he owned of any real value, and it wasn't his in the sense that he bought it or even earned it. He'd taken it off a smelly little Vietnamese who probably didn't know what it was. Sometimes it bothered him that he was wearing a dead officer's watch. It was top of the line, an eye-catcher, a real conversation piece when he was rolling dice or propping his arm on the bar. Maybe if he had it cleaned and polished, he could pawn it and get enough money to keep the sharks at bay until he could fall back and regroup. But he was kidding himself and he knew it. There was no way he could come up with enough money to keep the house and pay Andy's tuition.

Fifty goddamn years old! Jesus, wait till Ruby found out he'd borrowed on their life insurance. He started to sweat again. His hands were trembling, too, something he noticed lately when he lit his cigarettes. He wondered what his blood pressure was right now, this very second. Sky-high, even with the pills he popped every morning with his orange juice in the diner.

What he should do, what he should have done four years and nine months ago, was go to Sears and slit his boss's throat. Beady-eyed Alvin Demster had promised him the managership of the entire store within a year of hiring him. “You'll start out in the garden department, and we'll move you steadily every six weeks or so.” Alvin had been a marine, so Andrew had believed him. Rototillers and lawn mowers were big sellers, Alvin said. So were lime and fertilizers. What it boiled down to was he was selling shit by the truckload. He should have quit, but jobs had been hard to find and the commission checks weren't that bad. Ruby banked the money, paid the bills, and managed to save enough to send Martha to Rensselaer; where she graduated with top honors. He'd wanted to kill his own daughter when he calculated the cost, and kill Ruby,- too, when he saw her cutting their budget six ways to the middle just so the ungrateful kid could have what she wanted. It didn't matter that she graduated summa cum laude. He couldn't attend her graduation because he'd had to work that day. A lawn maintenance company was sending one of its men to order a dozen sit-down lawn mowers along with leaf blowers and Rototillers. He'd made a couple of thousand on commissions alone that day, enough to buy Martha a Gucci watch, which she thanked him for and never wore.

Andrew burrowed deeper into the car seat. He was in some deep shit with nowhere to turn. Nowhere but to Ruby. Somehow Ruby would find a way to get him out of the mess he'd put them in. Rightly so. If it wasn't for Ruby, they wouldn't be in this stinking town, and he wouldn't have this stinking job.

It had been so easy-to take over the bills and the checkbook. All he'd said, in his best military-sounding voice, was, “I can do this better, and I don't want to hear another word.” The first checks to stop were the ones to St. Andrews'. He gave her food and gas money every Friday, the same day he banked her check from the card and gift store where she worked part-time. He remembered how her eyes filled with tears when she handed over the household bills in their neat folder along with the checkbook. The whole shebang was in the trunk of his car. The only things Ruby cared about these days were her friend, Dixie, and young Andy. That was another thing, the kid. He'd expected Andy to be a chip off the old block, and he was, but off Ruby's block. The kid had ethics and morals and a streak of decency equal only to his mother's. He worked, too, all through high school, in a supermarket, and during summers for a construction company. The kid's bank balance had stunned him. What stunned him even more was the fact that the boy had paid cash for his first car, paid for his own insurance, paid his own taxes, bought his own clothes, and paid half his tuition and room and board to Rutgers University. There was only one name on young Andy's personal bankbook and it was his own. Ruby had opened a separate account for him when he was eight or so, but all that was gone now, thanks to his own father. The kid would forgive him, Andrew thought irritably, because Andy was just like Ruby.

Fifty years old. Over the hill. Half a century. Shit!

Andrew backed the car away from a produce truck and inched his way through assorted milk crates and garbage cans to the side street that would lead him onto the highway and the Sears store. If he took the U-turn, he could head for Asbury Park and a pawnshop or a jewelry store to see if he could sell the Rolex. Or, he could cross over the highway, return home, confess to Ruby, and hope for the best. He pondered his options for a full five seconds, as long as it took for the red light to turn green. He crossed over the highway. He really loved his Rolex watch.

 

Ruby hung up the dishtowel to dry and stepped back to view her sparkling kitchen. She loved all of its green plants and copper pots. The solid oak table and chairs, which she polished every day, gleamed. The red checkered place mats with their delicate fringe matched the checkered curtains on the window and back door. All had been made by her. The braided rugs by the sink and refrigerator had been made the first winter after they moved into the house. The entire contents of the house had been purchased with Andrew's discount. She remembered how she'd chortled with glee when she tabulated the savings. They'd been like two kids just starting to keep house.

It had started off wonderfully, this move to New Jersey. Andrew had gotten a job almost immediately, and he'd given his okay for her to work in the gift store, the same store Dixie worked in. She'd saved money, kept the house looking beautiful, and managed to send Martha to the college of her choice. She'd done well and felt proud for almost three years. Then things started to sour. Andrew began complaining about his boss and the long hours he put in. She saw a pattern emerge, but she was too wrapped up in her part-time job, her friendship with Dixie, her children, keeping up the house that she dearly loved, and Andrew to pay much attention.

Andrew was drifting away from her. He had his nights and Saturdays out with the boys from the store. Sundays he either slept the day away or put in extra hours at work. It was an easy, comfortable life, and neither of them complained. Occasionally they slept together, but it was obvious to both that the passion was gone, and neither tried to activate it. They were pleasant to one another, pecking each other on the cheek from time to time or patting one another's shoulder in passing. They settled without complaint into complacency.

Ruby described it to herself as contentment, while Andrew saw it as sheer boredom.

Ruby looked up at the kitchen clock. She had exactly twenty-five minutes till it was time to leave to pick up Dixie for work. All she had to do was put on her makeup, brush her hair, and write a note to Andrew, telling him there was a casserole in the refrigerator if he got home before she did.

The house was always tidy these days, she thought as she bent down to pick up a white thread from the staircase. With the kids gone, there was little housecleaning to do, except for the daily vacuuming and dusting.

Twelve minutes later, Ruby locked the back door to the kitchen. She was raising the venetian blind over the sink so that the thin winter light would aid her windowsill plants, when she saw her husband swerve into the driveway. Her heart thumped twice before it settled down to its normal beat. Andrew never came home for lunch. Andrew never came home in the middle of the morning. Andrew never looked the way he looked now, haggard and drawn. Maybe he was sick. Ruby's heart thumped again. Something was wrong, very wrong. She knew without talking to Andrew that whatever it was, it was going to change her life. She had been relying on her gut instinct for so long where Andrew was concerned, she'd honed it to a razor-sharp edge.

Ruby unlocked the kitchen door and opened it just as Andrew turned the knob. “What's wrong?” she asked anxiously.

“Is there any coffee left?”

“No, I washed the pot. You know the doctor said you were permitted only one cup a day, Andrew. Is your blood pressure up again? Did you have a doctor's appointment this morning? Is that why you're home?” Her eyes went to the calendar on the side of the refrigerator, but the date was clear of appointments.

“In the space of five seconds you've made two statements, asked three questions, and checked out the calendar at the same time,” Andrew said sourly. He smiled, as if to take the sting out of his words. He shook his sleeve down over the Rolex. “I'll have a glass of juice. It's fresh, isn't it?”

Ruby nodded and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Here,” she said lightly, setting the glass in front of him. “Sorry I can't stay around to chat, but this is my week to drive, and I have to pick up Dixie. If I don't hurry, I'm going to be late, and Mrs. Harris doesn't like to fiddle with quarter hours on our time cards.” She had her coat on and her hand on the door leading to the garage, when Andrew spoke. Damn, what made her think this was going to be easy?

“I need to talk to you, Ruby. Not later,
now
.”

“Andrew, can't it wait till this evening? Mrs. Harris specifically asked both Dixie and myself to come in early to help take inventory. I promised, and Dixie is waiting.”

“You always have something to do. You never have time for me. So what if I want to discuss the weather or the price of pork bellies? It's your job to listen to me. If you made a fortune working in that crappy store, I could see it, but you make only minimum wage. I think it's time you got a real job, like selling real estate or something.”

“Is that why you're home in the middle of the day? Do you want to talk about me getting a full-time job? If so, Andrew, we can discuss it this evening. I really have to leave.”

“Let Dixie walk to the store. Call her and tell her you can't pick her up. After we have this little talk, you won't feel much like going to work anyway. Have her tell that old biddy you're sick. Dixie is a good liar, or have you forgotten?”

Ruby didn't like the look on her husband's face. She called Dixie and said, “Andrew's home and needs to talk to me. I'm sorry, Dixie. Tell Mrs. Harris I'll be late.” She took off her coat and tossed it on one of the oak chairs. She sat down, her back stiff, her hands folded in front of her.

“We're going to lose the house. There's not enough to pay Andy's fall tuition. That's it, Ruby.”

Ruby felt the color drain from her face. She didn't ask her husband to repeat his words; she'd heard him quite clearly. She wondered why she felt so calm, so detached. She knew she was supposed to say something. She couldn't think of a thing. They were going to lose the house. They'd have to move. How could she have been so stupid as to believe that her life on Ribbonmaker Lane in this wonderful old house was going to last forever? She could feel her eyes start to burn when she thought about Andy and how hard he was working at college. Her part-time wages had been going into his college fund from the first day she started to work. There had been more than enough to cover his tuition. But suddenly, she didn't want to know why there was no money. She got up, her movements awkward, and slipped into her coat. She was at the door leading to the garage when Andrew said, “Don't you want to know the reason?” She shook her head. “Goddamn it, Ruby, that's just like you.”