Seasons of Her Life (58 page)

“That's right, blame it on me. Your fucking husband is all over me, and now it's my fault. Get away from me! Oh, God, oh, God,” she wailed as she turned and rolled back into the water.

The rain came then, torrents of it bucketing downward as streak after streak of lightning whitened the sky.

“Get out of the water!” Dixie screamed. She reached out her hand. Ruby grabbed it and pulled herself upright, hardly aware of the storm raging overhead.

“I want to go home,” Ruby blubbered. “I have to go home.”

“I'll drive,” Dixie said in a shaky voice when they approached the car. She helped Ruby into the passenger seat. Rain pelted her as she walked around to the driver's side of the car. She was crying as hard as Ruby was when she backed the car out of its parking space to make a left turn. It was all her fault. She couldn't do anything right. Hugo had always said she was stupid. Her shoulders were shaking as violently as Ruby's. He was in the car with them. She knew he was still stuck to Ruby. Some of the ash had flown at her, too; she'd felt it. Now she'd never be rid of him. He was all over the damn place. She'd never be able to drive over that bridge again.

Dixie squared her shoulders with effort. She wasn't stupid; she was emotional, dealing with a situation the only way she knew how. Ruby was out of control, and all because of her. She had to take charge and make things right, but she didn't know how. She tried to imagine how she would feel if the situation were reversed and it was Andrew Blue's ashes all over her. The thought nauseated her. There was nothing she could do to make
this
right. Nothing.

 

“We're home,” Dixie said a long time later. “I'll bring the car back in the morning, unless you want me to come in with you. Ruby, I'm sorry. I'd trade places with you if I could. I mean that.”

Ruby got out of the car. In a voice that wasn't hers she said, “Don't ever bring this car back here. Junk it. Give it to the sanitation department, paste a sign on it that says Hugo Sinclaire's remains are in here, but don't you ever bring it back here. Leave me alone. Get away from me,” she shrilled as she ran up the driveway and into the garage, where she ripped at her clothes. She was about to kick off her sandals, when she realized she was barefoot.

She ran then, sobbing hysterically, through the kitchen, around the table in the dining room, down the hall to the stairway, where she took the steps two at a time to the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower.

She didn't bother with a bar of soap; instead, she poured shampoo over her entire body and let the scalding water bubble and froth. She rubbed and scrubbed, her eyes burning. She had to clean her eyeballs, soap her ears, clean her nose. She stuck her finger down her throat and forced herself to throw up. She watched the dinner she'd eaten swirl down the drain. She poured more shampoo until the bottle was empty. She cried and sobbed as she bubbled and foamed, her fists pummeling the tiled walls. When the water turned cool, she got out of the shower and reached for a towel. Shivering and shaking, she walked into the bedroom for her robe. She was trembling so badly, she could hardly fit her arms through the sleeves.

Back in the bathroom she dropped to her knees by the toilet and again stuck her finger down her throat. She gagged and retched, but Hugo refused to erupt. Ruby beat at the toilet seat.

She was crazy, she knew it, and she didn't care. She struggled to her feet as she tied the belt of her robe so tight, she squealed in pain.

She ran, she paced, she stormed about the upstairs rooms, going first to Martha's old room, then to Andy's room and back to her own. Looking for what, she didn't know.

Coffee. Coffee was what she needed. She walked jerkily down the stairs, holding on to the railing for support. In the kitchen she measured out the coffee, filled the pot, her eyes glazed and blank.

Ruby leaned against the stove, staring at her puckered fingers. They looked dead, all shriveled and white. Her eyes went to the clock—ten—fifty. The phone rang. Dixie? She reached out a trembling arm to pick up the receiver. She listened to the operator say she had a collect call for a Miss Ruby Blue.

Ruby's jaw tightened. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Collect!” she shrilled in the voice she'd heard herself use earlier, the voice that wasn't hers. “Collect! No. Now, hang up this phone. I don't want any collect calls, tonight or any other night. Get off my line!” She slammed the phone into the cradle so hard, her ears popped with the sound.

Five minutes later, when the coffee bubbled double time, the phone rang again. She stomped her way to the counter, yanked at the phone, and screamed, “I said no more collect calls!” She was about to rip the telephone wire from the wall when she heard Andrew's crystal-clear voice say, “What the hell are you screaming about?”

Ruby blinked. Andrew. She told him, sobbing and sniffling.

“Jesus!” Andrew said softly.

“Oh, Andrew, what am I going to do? My skin is crawling. I can't . . . oh, God, I can't believe this happened to me. I have to hang up, I need to take another shower, there must be hot water by now.”

“Ruby, I can take the next plane out if you need me. I can be there in eleven hours if I can make connections.”

He sounds worried, Ruby thought. Worried about me. “That's silly,” she said, “what are you going to do, scrub my back? Did you call for a reason?”

“If I did, I can't remember what it is,” Andrew grated. “Go take your shower and I'll call you later.”

Ruby replaced the phone and stared at the coffeepot. She poured the coffee, drank it in three gulps. It bubbled out of her throat almost immediately. Her hands flat on the countertop, Ruby braced herself to stop the wild shaking that was turning her into a puppet. She drew in her breath, backed away, and reached under the counter for a can of Drano. She poured half the contents down the drain.

In the pantry she looked around wildly for a bottle of shampoo. She had everything but shampoo. When the kids were home she always had five or six extra bottles, but these days she went to the beauty parlor and rarely bought shampoo. Her frantic eyes raked the pantry shelves. She reached for a box of Tide and carried it upstairs with her, the Drano under her arm.

Ruby showered again, this time with Tide. She did more than bubble and froth with the strong detergent. She foamed, she itched, and she burned. Her scalp felt as though it were on fire. Her eyeballs ached and burned. She danced under the shower, trying to rinse herself off. Foam spilled over the sides of the tub onto the tile floor. When the toilet was completely covered in suds, she climbed from the shower and dried off. She marched down to the bathroom between Andy's room and Martha's and stepped into the bathtub. She continued to suds up. “Oh, God!” she wailed. “Oh, God!” She got out of the tub and into her robe.

She was sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor when she heard the kitchen door open and close. Dixie?

“Yo, Ma, you up there?” Andy called as he rushed up the stairs.

He dropped to his knees and gathered his mother into his arms. “Pop called me, he said to get over here, that you needed me. He told me what happened.”

Andy stroked his mother's wet head as he whispered soft words of comfort.

Mother and son were still sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor, asleep, when the sun came up. Ruby awoke and tried to open her eyes, but they were too swollen. Her face felt twice its normal size, and she itched and burned. Andy. Andy was with her. Then she remembered. Trembling violently, she tried to free herself from her son's tight grasp. She had to take a shower.

“Ma?” Andy said groggily. “Wait, let me look at you. Oh, Jesus,” he said, his eyes filling. “What the hell ... what did you do?”

Ruby sighed. She tried to shrug, but she itched too bad. “I took ... I poured Tide all over me.. I had to ... I tried ... I have to take a shower.”

“I'm calling a doctor for you. Can you stand up?”

“If you help me. It's . . . he's . . . all over me ... I can't . . . I know he ... God, I had my mouth open ... I threw up once and then the coffee came up ... oh, Andy, what am I going to do?” she cried.

“Sit down here, Ma,” Andy ordered. “I'm going to ... what I'm going to do is see if anything is ... stuck to you.”

“Oh, Andy,” Ruby cried, “I don't want you to ... touch me.”

“Listen, Ma, I'm going to do it, so sit still,” he said with forced cheerfulness. His thin fingers at first were merely going through the motions, but as he parted the strands of her hair, he realized how serious the situation was. He stared at her red, blistered scalp, trying to see any signs of Hugo Sinclaire. He checked his mother's ears, looked up her nose, and made her open her mouth. He pressed down her tongue with a toothbrush. He leaned back on his haunches. “You're clean, Ma. It's all gone.”

“Andyyyy,” she whimpered.

“Ma, I have never lied to you.”

“Oh, Andyyyy,” Ruby continued to wail.

“I'm getting you to bed. Come on, Ma, up and at 'em.” Ruby did her best, but she was so weak, she stumbled. She felt herself being picked up and lowered gently onto her son's bed. “You wait here, I'll be right back.”

Nick Palomo, M.D., an old friend of Andy's, whistled soundlessly when he ushered Andy from the room. “Go make us some coffee, because I'm going to give your mother a shot. Then I can spend seven and a half minutes with you.”

Andy had the cups on the table, the pot of coffee on a hot plate, when his friend walked through the door. “She did a number on herself, I can tell you that. But she'll be okay. I left some ointment on the dresser and a prescription you'll have to have filled. I've given her a shot, so she'll sleep through the day. Best thing for her. Three days, four, and she'll be right as rain. Twenty-five bucks, Blue, and I don't take checks.” He cackled. “Were you bullshitting me or did she really ... you know . . .”

“Yeah, they did it. Look, it's a long story, and hey,. you know mothers. They gotta do what they gotta do. Remember that time your mother took the trim off the garage and we fixed it for her so your father wouldn't know? Mothers ... hell, you can forgive them almost anything.”

Nick's round chocolate eyes warmed. “Yeah, I know.”

When the ornate clock on the mantel struck twelve, Ruby shifted
her weight in the cocoon of blankets to get more comfortable. She felt so alive, so wonderful, so satiated. She was curled in one of the back-to-back sofas so she could bask in the warmth of the fire. A monstrous cherry log was still burning and would continue to burn for another hour or so. It smelled woodsy and fragrant. The television was playing softly, had been for hours. All Ruby was aware of was muted voices. It was sound, nothing more.

Ruby jumped in her cocoon when the cherry log snapped in two, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney and against the fire screen. She wished Calvin were there enjoying the fire with her. Calvin was alone in the daybed he said he slept on, and here she was, curled up on the sofa, just as alone as he was. It didn't seem fair.

The phone on the table at the other end of the sofa rang. “Calvin!” Ruby cried. She almost killed herself getting untangled from the blankets she'd wrapped herself in. She was certain she'd pulled a tendon in her arm when she struggled to reach the ringing phone. “Hello!” she said breathlessly.

“Ruby, is that you? You sound delirious,” Andrew said jovially.

“Andrew, it's midnight. What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. I just called to talk. The way you do sometimes. I don't give you the third degree when you call. And no, no woman's husband is gunning for me. That was last week.” He laughed at his own joke. Ruby made a face at the phone.

“What do you want to talk about?” Ruby asked carefully. With Andrew, talking could mean any number of things. “I'm glad you called. I planned on calling you this week myself. Also to talk.”

“About what?” Andrew asked suspiciously.

“You called me. You go first.”

“I flew over to Maui last week and I think I can make a deal with one of the big hotels going up there for a concession to rent out Jet Skis to their guests. It's big money, Ruby. I checked around and the rental on a ski is sixty-five dollars for half an hour. I think I can make deals all down the strip. Three or four other hotels are going up. I have to lock it in now, though, and place the order stateside for the skis. I'll need some trailer hitches, a van or a truck of some kind, and a couple of prefab buildings on the beach. The hotels won't go for anything crappy-looking. What do you think, Ruby?”

“Are you asking for my advice or for money?”

“Both,” Andrew answered promptly. “Well?”

“Are you going to be the exclusive ski rental? If so, I'd say it sounds good. I presume you've really thought this through. How much?”

“I can send you the paperwork. I'm not really sure how much yet. I might have to come back to take a course in maintenance so I can train people over here. Usually maintenance contracts boost the price. You think it's a good idea?”

“What about insurance?” the ever-practical Ruby demanded.

“Hotel property, they pick up the tab. I'm just providing the entertainment.”

“Then it sounds like a good idea. Does this mean you're actually going to work? And by the way, why aren't you using your own money?”

“Aw, Ruby, you know I live beyond my means.”

“I know this is a silly question, but what do I get out of this?”

“You're the beneficiary on my insurance policy. I never took you off,” Andrew said smugly.

“Get off it, Andrew, I pay the premiums. I'll tell you what. I was going to sell a block of stock tomorrow. Instead, I'll sign it over to you and you tap it as you need money.”

“Thank you, Ruby. And listen, I have something else to say. I'll probably never get up the nerve to say this again, but when you called me and told me your good news about the Fortune 500, I was stunned. I was honest-to-God happy for you. I truly didn't even think what it meant to me until a few days later. When you thanked me for being such a louse, I had to sit back and take a good, long, hard look at myself. And the real reason I called you tonight wasn't the business with the Jet Skis, it was to tell you I'm sorry about everything, the whole ball of wax. I'm sorry you had to go through that Hugo business. I'm splitting the profits on the business with you. I'll be as fair with you as you were with me.”

This can't be Andrew, Ruby thought crazily, not this gentle-sounding, fatherly voice she was hearing. “Well, thank you, Andrew.” She couldn't think of another thing to say.

“I know that tone.” Andrew laughed. “You're wondering what I'm up to and you think I'm out to put one over on you some way, but you're wrong. Of course, only time will prove what I've just said. You're okay, Ruby, and I'll punch anyone in the nose who says differently.”

Tears pricked Ruby's eyes. “Thanks, Andrew.”

“Hey, that's what ex-husbands are for,” he responded huskily.

“We aren't divorced. What's your feeling on that, Andrew?”

“Whatever it's worth to you. Ask me when you're serious. We'll discuss it.”

“Good night, Andrew. Stay well,” Ruby said softly.

“You, too, Ruby. Regards to the kids.”

Ruby added another log to the fire before she wrapped herself back into the colorful afghan. Regards to the kids. Ruby shook her head to clear it. Andrew had been nice. He'd been considerate and he'd warmed her heart when he mentioned the kids. He'd sounded happy, too. These last years they'd had a testy, long distance relationship that had gotten steadily better. The old animosity was gone. They were actually friends these days. She knew in her gut he would make a success of the Jet Ski business simply because it was as cockamamie as her and Dixie's going into the cookie business. She felt good that she could help him.

A long time later, when the logs were glowing embers, Ruby dozed off, a smile on her face. She dreamed of a forest of trees with Calvin running from tree to tree, carving their initials. In her dream she smiled and clapped her hands ecstatically as each tree was finished. She shouted over and over in a loud, clear voice, “I'm happy! I'm happy!” Calvin worked faster, muttering, “Me, too, me, too!”

 

Monday, a new day, a new week, Ruby thought as she backed into her private parking slot. She sat for a moment, the way she did every morning, and stared at the building her son had designed. She always smiled, and she smiled now.

Mrs. Sugar, Inc., was a long, low, sprawling brick building that resembled a Hansel and Gretel house, complete with flagpole and flag. Andy had had the company flag made to order. It was a heavy sailcloth and carried the company logo—a baker's hat and rolling pin. Andy had even designed the landscaping and oversaw its planting. Tasteful and cozy. She often observed people slow their cars just to stare at it.

The parking area was virtually empty with the exception of the night guard and janitors, who left at seven-thirty just as the office staff arrived. Dixie had been the one to institute an early start to the day, saying people liked to get home early to do things in their homes, especially in the winter, when it got dark early. She'd always been an early riser, so she'd enthusiastically endorsed Dixie's idea.

William, the night guard, held the door for Ruby. “You're early, Mrs. Blue. Your fire is ready and the coffee is on. Cold this morning, isn't it?” he said respectfully, doffing his visored cap.

“Thank you, William. It certainly is cold. Mrs. Sinclaire isn't here, is she?”

“You're the first one,” William said, locking the door behind her. It would be another forty minutes before the building was officially open for the day's business.

Ruby walked down the corridor to the wide center door marked PRESIDENT. Her office was on the left, Dixie's on the right, separated by a foot-high brick planter filled with plants.

It was a beautiful office, and Ruby felt more at home there than she did at her own house on Ribbonmaker Lane. She loved the butcher-block desk, the fieldstone fireplace which blazed with warmth, and the huge copper cauldron that held simmering vanilla and cinnamon. It was William's job to add fresh water and spices when he started the fire. It was also his job to fill the cavernous hole in the spring and summer, when the damper was closed, with fresh, colorful flowers.

Solid-oak rocking chairs with red-and-white checkered cushions beckoned invitingly. Soon the matching oak table would hold plates of freshly baked cookies, which were brought in three or four times a day. The bow window at the end of the room was diamond-paned, allowing for the early morning sun. The low, wide window seat held colorful checkered cushions in the same red and white motif that was a Mrs. Sugar theme. All around the office were green plants in shiny copper pots. Dixie watered them every Monday morning. An alcove to the right of the fireplace held a small television, a stereo, and a coffee machine. Underneath was a portable bar and refrigerator.

The oak floor, so shiny that it gave off one's reflection, was partially covered with an original hooked rug Andy had commissioned in the Amish country.

What delighted Ruby more than anything was the specially designed wallpaper Andy had installed. Fat little gnomes wearing bakers' aprons and hats scurried across the walls with trays of cookies and wide, happy smiles on their faces.

Ruby walked around the planter to Dixie's side of the office. She found herself smiling sadly when she looked down at the low wicker basket on the hearth. Inside was a family of calico cats that looked so real, she'd bent down to pick one of them up the first time she'd seen them. Dixie had hooted with laughter. Everyone commented on them at one time or another. This time she did pick up one of the stuffed animals. She brought it close to her face. She imagined she could smell Dixie's cologne. She replaced it in the basket, tweaking its spiky whiskers as she fought her tears.

Ruby walked back to her own side of the room to pour herself a cup of coffee. She sat down in the rocker to enjoy her first cigarette of the day. She wanted to think about all the things Andrew had shared with her the night before.

Ruby's private telephone chimed behind her. She'd deliberately picked a chime instead of a loud, ringing bell; it was more in character with her cozy work area. She reached behind her to pluck the receiver off the old-fashioned wall phone, the kind her grandmother had had in her kitchen long ago.

Fully expecting to hear Andy's or Martha's voice, she put a smile into her own and said, “Hello, we're all out of cookies.”

“That's not why I'm calling,” Calvin's voice drawled. “Good morning, Ruby. I wanted to start off my day hearing your voice.”

“Calvin! How wonderful of you to call. I was thinking about you just a minute ago.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I dreamed about you all night.”

“I hope it was a nice dream.”

Ruby laughed. “Ah,
mon général,
it greatly pleased me,” Ruby said lazily. “Where are you, Calvin, it sounds noisy.”

It was Calvin's turn to laugh. “I'm at the Marriott. My car sort of headed here on its own. I can't talk any longer, Ruby, I have to leave. I'll call you around five-thirty. I love you Ruby,” he said softly.

“And I love you. Bye, Calvin.”

Her day was off to a wonderful start.

Her secretary, Olga Peters, poked her head in the door to announce her arrival.

“Did you get all the messages I left on your desk, Mrs. B.?”

“I saw them, but I didn't go through them. Is there anything important?”

“A man named Conrad Malas called eight times. He wouldn't tell me what he wanted, just that it was personal. I told him you'd be in the office today, and he asked for an appointment. He's due shortly. I can say you're still out of town if you don't want to see him. I wasn't sure if I should make the appointment or not. He sounded so mysterious. He didn't leave a phone number, but I had the impression he was elderly. His voice kind of quivered.”

Ruby hesitated only a moment. For some reason, she had a good feeling when she heard the man's name. “When he arrives, bring him in. Did Dixie call, Olga?”

“She called on Thursday and again on Friday. I told her you'd be back Monday. She sounded like she had a cold. She hasn't come in this morning. She hasn't called in, either.”

“She's probably under the weather. I don't think I'll be here all day myself. If I don't get to the grocery store, I'm going to starve,” Ruby said lightly. “Close the door when you leave, Olga.”

The secretary's eyebrows shot up. Her eyes twinkled. “Yes, ma'am.”

Behind her desk, Ruby leafed through the stack of messages. There was nothing urgent. She wished Dixie would come back. It had been two weeks since Hugo died, and Dixie had yet to make an appearance. Ruby felt terrible about all the things she had said to her friend on that awful night with the ashes, but she couldn't help herself at the time. She prayed Dixie would forgive her.

Ruby's fingers drummed on the desk as she watched the hands of the clock creep toward nine. Damn, she'd forgotten to ask Olga what time she'd set for Mr. Malas's appointment.

Ruby managed to fritter away an hour doing absolutely nothing. She felt as if she were waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop and didn't know why. Maybe it was all the coffee she'd been drinking. She was ready for any kind of diversion, when Olga opened the door just wide enough to inch through.

“Mr. Malas is here, Mrs. Blue.”

“Already?”

“He seemed very eager to see you. He's carrying a paper bag, you know, one of those waxy kind you get in a bakery.”

“Bring him in,” Ruby said, her curiosity piqued.