Part One
  "There is only the right to recover what has
been lost
  And found and lost again and again: and now under conditions
  That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain
nor loss.
  For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not
our business.
  -T. S. ELLIOT, FROM "EAST COKER"



  Chapter One
  An early evening rain had fallen. In the
encroaching
  darkness, the streets of Seattle lay like
mirrored strips
  between the glittering gray high-rises.
  The  .com revolution had changed this once
  quiet city, and even after the sun had set, the
clattering, hammering sounds of construction beat a
  constant rhythm. Buildings sprouted overnight,
it
  seemed, reaching higher and higher into the soggy sky.
  Purple-haired kids with nose rings and ragged
clothes
  zipped through downtown in brand-new, bright-red
  Ferraris.
  On a corner lot in the newly fashionable
neighborhood of Belltown, there was a squat,
wooden-sided
  structure that used to sit alone. It had been
built almost one hundred years earlier; when few people
had
  wanted to live so far from the heart of the city.
  The owners of radio station KJZZ didn't care
that
  they no longer fit in this trendy area. For fifty
years
  they had broadcast from this lot. They had grown
  from a scrappy local station to Washington's
largest.
  4 
  Part of the reason for their current wave of success
  was Nora Bridge, the newest sensation in talk
radio.
  Although her show, Spiritual Healing with Nora,
  had been in syndication for less than a year, it
was already a bona fide hit. Advertisers and
affiliates couldn't
  write checks fast enough, and her weekly
newspaper
  advice column, "Nora Knows Best," had
never been
  more popular. It appeared in more than 2,600
papers
  nationwide.
  Nora had started her career as a household
hints
  adviser for a small-town newspaper, but hard work
  and a strong vision had moved her up the food chain.
  The women of Seattle had been the first to discover
  her unique blend of passion and morality; the
rest of
  the country had soon followed.
  Reviewers claimed that she could see a way through
  any emotional conflict; more often than not, they
  mentioned the purity of her heart.
  But they were wrong. It was the impurity in her
  heart that made her successful. She was an
ordinary
  woman who'd made extraordinary mistakes.
She understood every nuance of need and loss.
  There was never a time in her life, barely even a
moment, when she didn't remember what she'd lost.
  What she'd thrown away. Each night she brought
her
  own regrets to the microphone, and from that
wellspring of sorrow, she found compassion.
  She had managed her career with laserlike
focus,
  carefully feeding the press a palatable past.
Even the
  previous week when People magazine had featured
  her on the cover; there had been no investigative
story
  on her life. She had covered her tracks
well. Her fans
   5
  knew she'd been divorced and that she had grown
  daughters. The how"s and why"s of her
family's destruction remained--thankfully
private.
  Tonight, Nora was on the air. She scooted her
  wheeled chair closer to the microphone and adjusted
  her headphones. A computer screen showed her the
  list of callers on hold. She pushed line
two, which
  read: Margestmother-daughter probs.
  "Hello and welcome, Marge, you're on the
air with
  Nora Bridge. What's on your mind this
evening?"
  "Hello ... Nora?" The caller sounded
hesitant, a
  little startled at actually hearing her voice
on the air
  after waiting on hold for nearly an hour.
  Nora smiled, although only her producer could
see
  it. Her fans; she'd learned, were often anxious.
She
  lowered her voice, gentled it. "How can I help
you,
  my friend?"
  "I'm having a little trouble with my daughter;
Suki."
  The caller's flattened vowels identified her as
a midwesterner.
  "How old is Suki, Marge?"
  "Sixty-seven this November."
  Nora laughed. "I guess some things never
change,
  eh, Marge?"
  "Not between mothers and daughters. Suki gave
  me my first gray hair when I was thirty years
old. Now
  I look like Colonel Sanders."
  Nora's laugh was quieter this time. At
forty-nine,
  she no longer found gray hair a laughing
matter. "So,
  Marge, what's the problem with Suki?"
  "Well." Marge made a snorting sound.
"Last week
  she went on one of those singles cruises--you know
  6 
  the ones, where they all wear Hawaiian shirts and
  drink purple cocktails? Anyway, today, she
told me
  she's getting married again to a man she met on the
  boat. At her age." She snorted again, then
paused. "I
  know she wanted me to be happy for her; but how
  could I? Suki's a flibbertigibbet. My
Tommy and I
  were married for seventy years."
  Nora considered how to answer. Obviously,
Marge
  knew that she and Suki weren't young anymore, and
  that time had a way of pulverizing your best
intentions. There was no point in being maudlin and
mentioning it. Instead, she asked gently, "Do you
love
  your daughter?"
  "I've always loved her." Marge's
voice caught on a
  little sob. "You can't know what it's like, Nora,
to
  love your daughter so much ... and watch her stop
  needing you. What if she marries this man and
forgets
  all about me?"
  Nora closed her eyes and cleared her mind.
She'd
  learned that skill long ago; callers were
constantly
  saying things that struck at the heart of her own pal
not.
  She'd had to learn to let it go. "Every mother is
afraid
  of that, Marge. The only way to really hold on
to our
  children is to let them go. Let Suki take your
love with
  her; let it be like a light that's always on in the
house
  where she grew up. If she has that for strength,
she'll
  never be too far away."
  Marge wept softly. "Maybe I could
call her ... ask
  her to bring her boyfriend around for supper."
  "That would be a wonderful start. Good luck to
  you, Marge, and be sure and let us know how it all
  works out." She cleared her throat and disconnected
   7
  the call. "Come on, everybody," she said into the
microphone, "let's help Marge out. I know there
are
  plenty of you who have mended families. Call
in.
  Marge and I want to be reminded that love
isn't as
  fragile as it sometimes feels."
  She leaned back in the chair; watching as the phone
  lines lit up. Parenting issues were always a
popular topic, especially mother-daughter problems.
On
  the monitor by her elbow, she saw the words:
  foursttrouble with stepdaughter/ginny.
  She picked up line four. "Hello and
welcome,
  Ginny. You're on the air with Nora
Bridge."
  "Uh. Hi. I love your show."
  "Thanks, Ginny. How are things in your
family?"
  For the next two hours and thirteen minutes,
Nora
  gave her heart and soul to her listeners. She never
pretended to have all the answers, or to be a
substitute for
  doctors or family therapy. Instead, she
tried to give
  her friendship to these troubled, ordinary people
  she'd never met.
  As was her custom, when the show was finally over;
  she returned to her office. There, she took the
time to
  write personal thank-you notes to any of those
callers
  who'd been willing to leave an address with the show's
  producer. She always did this herself; no
secretary ever
  copied Nora's signature. It was a little thing,
but Nora
  firmly believed in it. Anyone who'd been
courageous
  enough to publicly ask for advice from Nora
deserved
  a private thank-you.
  By the time she finished, she was running late.
  She grabbed her Fendi briefcase and hurried
to
  her car. Fortunately, it was only a few
miles to the
  8 
  hospital. She parked in the underground lot and
  emerged into the lobby's artificial brightness.
  It was past visiting hours, but this was a small,
privately run hospital, and Nora had become
such a regular visitor--every Saturday and
Tuesday for the past
  month--that certain rules had been bent
to accommodate her busy schedule. It didn't
hurt that she was a
  local celebrity, or that the nurses loved her
radio show.
  She smiled and waved to the familiar faces as she
  walked down the corridor toward Eric's room.
Outside his closed door; she paused, collecting
herself.
  Although she saw him often, it was never easy. Eric
  Sloan was as close to a son as she would ever have,
  and watching him battle cancer was
unbearable. But
  Nora was all he had. His mother and father had
  written Eric off long ago, unable to accept his
life's
  choices, and his beloved younger brother; Dean,
rarely
  made time to visit.
  She pushed open the door to his room and saw that
  he was sleeping. He lay in bed, with his head
turned
  toward the window. A multicolored afghan,
knitted
  by Nora's own hands, was wrapped around his too-thin
body.
  With his hair almost gone and his cheeks hollowed
  and his mouth open, he looked as old and beaten as a
  man could be. And he hadn't yet celebrated his
thirty-first birthday.
  For a moment, it was as if she hadn't seen him
  before. As if ... although she'd watched his daily
deterioration, she hadn't actually seen it, and now it
had
  sneaked up on her; stolen her friend's face while
she was
  foolishly pretending that everything would be
all right.
   9
  But it wouldn't be. Just now, this second, she
understood what he'd been trying to tell her; and the
  grieving--which she'd managed to box into tiny,
  consumable squares--threatened to overwhelm her.
  In that one quiet heartbeat of time, she went from
  hopeful to ... not. And if it hurt her this
terribly, the
  lack of hope, how could he bear it?
  She went to him, gently caressed the bare top of
his
  head. The few thin strands of his hair; delicate
as spider webs, brushed across her knuckles.
  He blinked up at her sleepily, trying for a
boyish
  grin and almost succeeding. "I have good news and
  bad news," he said.
  She touched his shoulder; and felt how fragile he
  was. So unlike the tall, strapping
black-haired boy
  who'd carried her groceries into the house.
  There was a tiny catch in her voice as she said
cheerfully, "What's the good news?"
  "No more treatments."
  She clutched his shoulder too hard; his bones
  shifted, birdlike, and immediately she let go.
"And the
  bad news?"
  His gaze was steady. "No more treatments." He
  paused. "It was Dr. Calomel's idea."
  She nodded dully, wishing she could think of something
profound to say, but everything had already been
  said between them in the eleven months since his
diagnosis. They'd spent dozens of nights
talking about and
  around this moment. She'd even thought she was ready
  for it--this beginning of the end--but now she saw her
  naivete". There was no "ready" for death,
especially not
  when it came for a young man you loved.
  10 
  And yet, she understood. She'd seen lately that
the
  cancer was taking him away.
  He closed his eyes, and she wondered if he was
remembering the healthy, vibrant man he'd once
been,
  the boy with the booming laugh ... the teacher so
  beloved by his students ... or if he was
recalling the
  time, a few years before, when his partner; Charlie,
  had been in a hospital bed like this one, fighting a
  losing battle with
  Finally, he looked up at her; his attempt at
a smile
  brought tears to her eyes. In that second, she
saw
  pieces from the whole of his life. She pictured
him
  at eight, sitting at her kitchen table, eating
Lucky
  Charms, a shaggy-haired, freckle-faced boy
with banged-up knees and soup-ladle ears.
  "I'm going home," he said quietly.
"Hospice will
  help out ...
  "That's great," she said thickly, smiling too
  brightly, trying to pretend they were talking about
  where he was going to live ... instead of where he'd
  chosen to die. "I'm way ahead on my
newspaper
  columns. I'll take the week off, visit you
during the
  day. I'll still have to work the show at night,
but-"
  "I mean the island. I'm going home."
  "Are you finally going to call your family?" She
  hated his decision to handle his cancer privately,
but
  he'd been adamant. He'd forbidden Nora
to tell
  anyone, and as much as she'd disagreed, she'd had
no
  choice but to honor his wishes.
  "Oh, yeah. They've been so supportive in the
past."
  "This is different than coming out of the closet, and
  you know it. It's time to call Dean. And your
parents."
   11
  The look he gave her was so hopeless that she
  wanted to turn away. "What if I told my
mother I was
  dying and she still wouldn't come to see me?"
  Nora understood. Even a thin blade of that hope
  could cut him to pieces now. "At least call your
  brother. Give him the chance."
  "I'll think about it."
  "That's all I ask." She forced a
smile. "If you can
  wait until Tuesday, I'll drive you-"
  He touched her hand gently. "I haven't got
much
  time. I've arranged to be flown up.
Lottie's already up
  at the house, getting it ready."
  Haven't got much time. It was infinitely
worse,
  somehow, to hear the words spoken aloud. She
swallowed hard. "I don't think you should be alone."
  "Enough." His voice was soft, his gaze even
softer but
  she heard the barest echo of his former strength. He
was
  reminding her; as he sometimes had to, that he was an
  adult, a grown man. "Now," he said,
clapping his hands
  together, "we sound like a goddamn Ibsen play.
Let's talk
  about something else. I listened to your show tonight.
  Mothers and daughters. That's always tough on you"
  Just like that, he put them back on solid ground.
As
  always, she was amazed by his resilience.
When life
  seemed too big to swallow, she knew he made
it
  through by cutting it into bites. Normal things ...
ordinary conversations were his salvation.
  She pulled up a chair and sat down. "I never
really
  know what to say, and when I do offer advice, I
feel
  like the biggest hypocrite on the planet. How
would
  Marge feel if she knew I hadn't spoken
to my own
  daughter in eleven years?"
  12 
  Eric didn't answer the rhetorical question. It
was
  one of the things she loved best about him. He never
  tried to comfort her with lies. But it helped her that
  someone recognized how painful it was for Nora to
  think about her younger daughter. "I wonder what
  she's doing now."
  It was a common question between them, one they
  speculated about endlessly.
  Eric managed a laugh. "With Ruby it
could be anything from having lunch with Steven Spielberg
to
  piercing her tongue."
  "The last time I talked to Caroline, she said that
  Ruby had dyed her hair blue." Nora
laughed, then fell
  abruptly silent. It wasn't funny.
"Ruby always had
  such pretty hair ...
  Eric leaned forward. There was a sudden earnestness in
his eyes. "She's not dead, Nora."
  She nodded. "I know. I try to squeeze hope
from
  that thought all the time."
  He grinned. "Now, get out the backgammon
board.
  I feel like whopping your ass.
  It was only the second week of June, and already
the
  temperature hovered around one hundred
degrees. A
  freak heat wave they called it on the local
news, the
  kind of weather that usually came to southern
California later in the year.
  The heat made people crazy. They woke from their
  damp bedsheets and went in search of a glass of
water;
  surprised to find that when their vision cleared, they
  were holding instead the gun they kept hidden in the
  bookcase. Children cried out in their sleep, and even
   13
  doses of liquid Tylenol couldn't cool their
fevered skin.
  All over town, birds fell from phone wires
and landed
  in pathetic, crumpled heaps on the thirsty
lawns.
  No one could sleep in weather like this, and Ruby
  Bridge was no exception. She lay sprawled
in her bed,
  the sheets shoved down to the floor, a cold-pack
  pressed across her forehead.
  The minutes ticked by, each one a moaning sound
  caught in the window air-conditioning unit, a
whoosh-ping that did little but stir the hot air around.
  She was lonely. Only a few days earlier, her
boyfriend, Max, had left her. After five years of
living
  together, he'd simply walked out of her
life like a
  plumber who'd finished an unpleasant job.
  All he'd left behind was a few pieces of
crappy furniture and a note.
  Dear Ruby:
  I never meant to fall out of love with you (or into
  love with Angie) but shit happens. You know how
it
  is. I need to be free. Hell, we both know
you never
  really loved me anyway.
  Be cool.
  Max.
  The funny thing was (and it definitely wasn't
ha-ha
  funny), she hardly missed him. In fact, she
didn't miss
  him at all. She missed the idea of him. She
missed a
  second plate at the dinner table, another body
in this
  bed that seemed to have enlarged in his absence.
  Mostly, she missed the pretense that she was in
love.
  14  
  Max had been ... hope. A physical
embodiment of
  the belief that she could love, and be loved in
return.
  At seven A.m., the alarm clock sounded.
Ruby slid
  out of bed on a sluglike trail of perspiration.
The
  wobbly pressboard headboard banged against the
wall.
  Her bra and panties stuck to her damp body.
She
  reached for the glass of water by the bed, pressed it
to
  the valley between her breasts, and went to the
bathroom, where she took a lukewarm shower.
  She was sweating again before she was finished
  drying off. With a tired sigh, she headed into the
kitchen
  and made a pot of coffee. She poured herself a
cup, then
  added a generous splash of cream. White chunks
immediately floated to the surface and formed a cross.
  Another woman might have thought simply that
the
  cream had gone bad, but Ruby knew better: it
was a sign.
  As if she needed magic to tell her that she was
stuck
  in the spin cycle of her life.
  She tossed the mess down the sink and headed back
  into her bedroom, grabbing the grease-stained black
  polyester pants and white cotton blouse that
lay
  tangled on the floor. Sweating, headachy, and in
desperate need of caffeine, she got dressed and
went out
  into the stifling heat.
  She walked downstairs to her battered 1970
Volkswagen Bug. After a few tries, the engine
turned over,
  and Ruby drove toward Irma's Hash House,
the
  trendy Venice Beach diner where she'd worked for
almost three years.
  She'd never meant to stay a waitress; the job
was
  supposed to be temporary, something to pay the
bills
  until she got on her feet, caused a sensation
at one of
   15
  the local comedy clubs, did a guest spot on
Leno,
  and--finally--" offered her own sitcom, aptly
  titled Ruby! She always pictured it with an
exclamation mark, like one of those Vegas revues her
grandmother had loved.
  But at twenty-seven, she wasn't young
anymore.
  After almost a decade spent trying to break into
  comedy, she was brushing up against "too old."
Everyone knew that if you didn't make it by thirty,
you were
  toast And Ruby was beginning to think that she
  should start collecting jam.
  Finally, she maneuvered between the old station
  wagons and Volkswagen buses that filled the
1950'
  style diner's crowded parking lot. Surfboards
were
  lashed to every surface; most of the cars had more
  bumper stickers than paint. The sun-bleached
"hey
  dude" set came from miles away for Irma's
famous
  six-egg omelette. She parked alongside a
bus that could
  have come from Fast Times at Ridgemont High.
  She forced a smile onto her face and headed for the
  diner. When she opened the front door, the bell
tinkled
  gaily overhead.
  Irma bustled toward her, her three-story
beehive
  hairdo leading the way. As always, she moved
fast,
  keeled forward like the prow of a sinking ship, then
  came to an abrupt halt in front of Ruby.
Her heavily
  mascaraed eyes narrowed, and Ruby wondered--again
--if human beings could be carbon-dated by
  makeup. "You were scheduled for last night."
  Ruby winced. "Oh, shit."
  Irma crossed her bony arms. "I'm letting
you go.
  We can't count on you. Debbie had to work a double
  16 
  shift last night. Your final paycheck
is at the register.
  I'll expect the uniform back tomorrow. Cleaned."
  Ruby's lips trembled mutinously. The thought of
  pleading for this shitty job made her sick. "Come
on,
  Irma, I need this job."
  "I'm sorry, Ruby. Really." Irma
turned and walked
  away.
  Ruby stood there a minute, breathing in the
familiar
  mixture of maple syrup and grease, then she
snagged
  her paycheck from the counter and walked out of the
  restaurant.
  She got in her car and drove away aimlessly,
up one
  street and down the other. Finally, when it felt as
if her
  face were melting off her skull, she parked
alongside
  the street in a shopping district. In the trendy,
air-conditioned boutiques, she saw dozens of
beautiful
  things she couldn't afford, sold by girls
who were half
  her age. She realized she was close to hitting
rock
  bottom when a HELP WANTED sign on a
pet-store
  window actually caught her attention.
  No way. It was bad enough serving beef sludge
to
  the Butt family. She'd be damned if she'd
sell them a
  ferret, too.
  She got back into her car and drove away, this
time
  speeding recklessly toward her destination. When she
  reached Wilshire Boulevard, she pulled up in
front of
  a high-rise building and parked.
  Before she had time to talk herself out of it, she
  went to the elevator and rode it up to the top
floor.
  When the doors opened, sweet, cooled air
greeted her;
  drying the sweat on her cheeks.
  She walked briskly down the hallway toward
her
   17
  agent's office and pushed through the frosted-glass
  double doors.
  The receptionist, Maudeen Wachsmith, had her
nose
  buried in a romance novel. Barely looking
up, she
  smiled. "Hi, Ruby," she said. "He's
busy today. You'll
  have to make an appointment."
  Ruby rushed past Maudeen and yanked the
  door open.
  Her agent, Valentine Lightner, was there, seated
  behind the glassy expanse of his desk. He
looked up
  When he saw Ruby, his smile faded into a
frown
  "Ruby ... I wasn't expecting you ..."
I?"
  Maudeen rushed in behind Ruby. "I'm sorry
  Mr. Lightner.
  He raised a slim hand. "Don't worry about
it, Maudeen." He leaned back in his chair.
"So, Ruby, what's going on?"
  She waited for Maudeen to leave, then
moved
  toward the desk. She was humiliatingly aware that
  she was still wearing her uniform, and that her underarms were
outlined in perspiration. "Is that cruise
  ship job still available?" She'd laughed at it
three
  months before--cruise ships were floating morgues
  for talent--but now it didn't seem beneath her.
Hell, it
  seemed above her.
  "I've tried for you, Ruby. You write funny
stuff, but
  the truth is, your delivery sucks. And that's no
ordinary chip on your shoulder, it's a section of the
Hoover
  Dam. You've burned too many bridges in this
business. No one wants to hire you."
  "Someone-"
  "No one. Remember the job I got you on that
  18 
  sitcom? You slowed down the first week's
production
  and made everyone insane with rewrites."
  "My character was an idiot. She didn't have one
  funny line."
  Val looked at her, his ice-blue eyes
narrowed slowly.
  "Shall I remind you that the show's still on the air
  and another--less talented--comedian is making
  thirty thousand dollars an episode saying what
she's
  told to say?"
  "It's a shitty show." Ruby collapsed into the
plush
  leather chair in front of his desk. It took her
a moment
  to squeeze her ego into a tiny box. "I'm
broke. Irma
  fired me from the diner."
  "Why don't you call your mother?"
  She closed her eyes for a second, drawing in a
deep
  breath. "Don't go there, Val," she said
quietly.
  "I know, I know, she's the bitch from hell. But
come
  on, Ruby, I saw that article in People. She's
rich and
  famous. Maybe she could help you."
  "You're rich and famous and you can't help
me. Besides, she's helped me enough. Any more motherly
attention and I could end up strapped to a table in
Ward B
  singing "I Gotta Be Me." "Ruby got
to her feet. It took a
  supreme effort, considering that she wanted to curl
into
  a ball and sleep. "Well, thanks for nothing,
Val."
  "It's that sparkling personality that makes helping
  you so damned easy." He sighed. "I'll try
Asia. They
  love U.s. comedians overseas. Maybe you can
do the
  nightclub circuit."
  It made her feel sick, just thinking about it.
"Telling
  jokes to a translator." She winced, imagining
herself
  in one of those men's bars, with naked women writhing
   19
  up and down polished silver poles behind her.
She'd
  already put in her time in joints like that. Her whole
  youth had been spent in the shadows behind
another
  performer's light. "Maybe it's time for me
to give up.
  Cash in. Throw in the towel."
  Val looked at her. "What would you do?"
  Not, don't do that, Ruby; you're too talented
to
  give up. That's what he'd said six years
earlier.
  "I've got half an English lit degree from
UCLA
  Maybe it would get me a supervisor spot at
Burger
  King."
  "You certainly have the right personality for serving
  the public."
  She couldn't help laughing. She'd been with Val
a
  long time, since her first days at the Comedy
Store. Val
  had always been her champion, her biggest fan, but
in
  the past few years, she'd disappointed him, and
somehow that was worse than disappointing herself. She'd
  become hard to work with, temperamental,
difficult
  to place, and, worst of all, unfunny. Val
could overcome anything except that. She didn't know
what was
  wrong with her, either. Except that she seemed to be
  angry all the time. She should be standing on a ledge
  somewhere. "I appreciate everything you've done for
  me, Val. Really, I know it's hard to get work
for a
  prima donna with no talent."
  The moment the words were out, Ruby heard what
  lay beneath them. Hesitant, afraid, but there
nonetheless. A good-bye. And the worst part was that she
  knew Val heard the same thing, and he didn't
say no,
  don't do that, we're a long way from over.
  Instead, he said, "You have as much raw talent as
  20 
  anyone I've ever seen. You light up a
goddamn room
  with your smile, and your wit is as sharp as a
blade."
  He leaned toward her. "Let me ask you a question.
  When did you stop smiling, Ruby?"
  She knew the answer, of course. It had
happened in
  her junior year of high school, but she wouldn't
think
  about that time--not even to give Val an answer.
  Objects in a mirror are closer than they
appear. That
  was true of memories as well; it was best not
to look.
  "I don't know." She spoke softly, refusing
to meet
  his gaze. She wished she could let Val see how
frightened she was, how alone she felt. She thought that
if
  she could do that, if she could for once show a friend
  her vulnerability, she would perhaps be saved.
  But she couldn't do it. No matter how hard she
  tried, Ruby couldn't let down her guard. Her
emotions were packed tightly inside her,
hermetically
  sealed so that every wound and memory stayed fresh;
  "Well," she said at last, straightening her
shoulders,
  puffing out her unimpressive chest. She had the
fleeting
  sense that she looked absurd, a wounded
sparrow
  trying to impress a peregrine falcon. "I
guess I'd better go. I'll need to pick up some fishnet hose
and a can
  of Mace if I'm going to start hooking."
  Val smiled wanly. "I'll make the calls
about Asia.
  We'll talk in a few days."
  "I'm grateful." She would have added more, maybe
  even groveled a little, but her throat seemed
swollen shut.
  Val came around the desk and closed the distance
  between them. She saw the sadness in his eyes, and the
  regret. "You lost yourself," he said quietly.
   21
  "I know."
  "Listen to me, Ruby. I know about getting lost.
You
  need to start over."
  She swallowed hard. This sort of honesty was more
  at home in other parts of the country, where time
  was measured in seasons or tides. Here in
L.a., time
  elapsed in thirty-second spots;
true emotion didn't
  thrive under that kind of pressure. "Don't
worry
  about me, Val. I'm a survivor. Now,
I'm going to go
  home and learn to speak Japanese."
  He squeezed her shoulder. "That's my girl."
  "Sayonara." She wiggled her fingers in an
oh-so-California-darling wave and did her best
to sashay out
  of the office. It was tough to pull off, sashaying in
a
  sweat-stained waitress uniform, and the minute she
  was out of his office, she let go of her fake
smile. She
  walked dully into the elevator and rode it down
to
  the lobby, then headed for her car. The Volkswagen
  looked like a half-dead june bug, huddled
alongside
  the parking meter. When she got inside, she
immediately winced. The seat was scorchingly hot.
  There was a parking ticket on her windshield.
  She rolled down her window and reached out, yanking
the paper from beneath the rusted windshield
  wiper. She wadded it into a ball and tossed it out
  the window. To her mind, ticketing this rattrap and
  expecting to get paid was like leaving a bill on the
  pillow at a homeless shelter.
  Before the ticket even hit the street, she'd
started the
  engine and pulled out onto Wilshire Boulevard,
where
  she was immediately swallowed into the stream of traffic.
  22 
  In Studio City, the streets were quieter. A
few neighborhood kids played lethargically in
their small front
  yards. With the risk of fire so high, there was no
  wasting water for things like slip-n-slides or
sprinklers.
  Ruby maneuvered past a big, drooling Saint
Bernard
  who lay sleeping in the middle of the street, and
pulled
  up to the curb in front of her apartment complex.
  Sopping her forehead, she headed up the stairs.
No
  one came out to say hello; it was too damned
hot. Her
  neighbors were probably huddled in family
pods
  around the window-unit air conditioners in their
  apartments--the modern L.a. equivalent of
cavemen
  camped around the marvel of fire.
  By the time she reached her floor, Ruby was wheezing
so badly she sounded like Shelley Winters after her
  swim in The Poseidon Adventure, and she was
practically that wet. Sweat slid down her forehead
and
  caught on her eyelashes, blurring everything.
  It took her a moment to open her door; it always
  did. The shag carpeting had pulled up along the
  threshold. She finally crammed the door open and
  stumbled through the opening.
  She stood there, breathing hard, staring at the
  wretched furniture in her dismal little apartment, and
  felt the hot sting of tears.
  Absurdly, she thought: If only it would rain.
  Her whole day might have been different if the
  damned weather had changed.



  Chapter Two
  June was a hard month in Seattle. It was in this
season,
  when the school bells rang for the last time and the
  peonies and delphiniums bloomed, that the
locals began to complain that they'd been cheated. The
rains L
  had started in October (invariably
Seattleites swore it had
  come early this year); by the last week in May,
even the
  meteorologically challenged denizens of
Seattle had had
  enough. They watched the news religiously, seeing
the
  first tantalizing shots of people swimming in the warm
  waters farther south. Relatives began to call,
talking on
  cell phones as they stood outside to barbecue.
Summer
  had come to every other corner of America.
  The locals saw it as a matter of fairness.
They deserved summer. They'd put up with nine
solid months
  of dismal weather and it was past time for the sun to
  deliver.
  So, it was hardly surprising that it rained on the
  day Nora Bridge celebrated her
fiftieth birthday. She
  didn't take the weather as an omen or a
portent of
  bad luck.
  24 
  In retrospect, she should have.
  Instead, she simply thought: Rain. Of course.
It almost always rained on her birthday.
  She stood at the window in her office, sipping
her
  favorite drink--Mumm's champagne with a
slice of
  fresh peach--and stared out at the traffic on
Broad
  Street. It was four-thirty. Rush hour in a
city that had
  outgrown its highway system ten years ago.
  On her windowsill, dozens of birthday cards
fanned
  along the gleaming strip of bird's-eye maple.
  She'd received cards and gifts from everyone who
  worked on her radio show. Each one was
appropriate
  and lovely, but the most treasured card had come
  from her elder daughter; Caroline.
  Of course, the joy of that card was tempered by the
  fact that, again this year; there had been no card from
  Ruby.
  "You'll be fine tomorrow," she spoke softly to her
  own reflection, captured in the rainy window.
  She gave herself a little time to wallow in regret--
ache for the card that wasn't there--and then she rallied.
Fifteen years of therapy had granted her this
skill;
  she could compartmentalize.
  In the past few years, she'd finally gotten a
grip on
  her tumultuous emotions. The breakdowns and
depressions that had once plagued her life were now
a
  distant, painful memory.
  She turned away from the window and glanced at
  the crystal clock on her desk. It was
four-thirty-eight.
  They were down in the conference room now, setting out
food, bottles of champagne, plates filled with
  peach slices. Assistants, publicists,
staff writers,
   25
  producers, they were all preparing to spend
an hour of
  their valuable personal time to put together a
"surprise" party for the newest star of talk radio.
  She set her champagne flute down on her
desk and
  opened one of her drawers, pulling out a small
black
  Chanel makeup case. She touched up her
face, then
  headed out of the office.
  The hallways were unusually quiet. Probably
everyone was helping out with the party. At precisely
four-forty-five, Nora walked into the conference
room.
  It was empty.
  The long table was bare; no food was spread out,
  no tiny bits of colored confetti lay
scattered on the
  floor. A happy-birthday banner hung from the
overhead lights. It looked as if someone had started
to decorate for a party and then suddenly stopped.
  It was a moment before she noticed the two men
  standing to her left: Bob Wharton, the station's owner
  and manager; and Jason Close, the lead
in-house
  attorney.
  Nora smiled warmly. "Hello, Bob.
Jason," she said,
  moving toward them. "It's good to see you."
  The men exchanged a quick glance.
  She felt a prickling of unease. "Bob?"
  Bob's fleshy face, aged by two-martini
lunches and
  twenty-cigarette days, creased into a frown.
"We have
  some bad news."
  "Bad news?"
  Jason eased past Bob and came up to Nora.
His
  steel-gray hair was perfectly combed. A
black Armani
  suit made him look like a forty-year-old
mafia don.
  26 
  "Earlier today, Bob took a call from a man
named
  Vince Corell."
  Nora felt as if she'd been smacked in the
face. The
  air rushed out of her lungs.
  "He claimed he'd had an affair with you while
you
  were married. He wanted us to pay him to keep
quiet."
  "Jesus, Nora," Bob sputtered angrily.
"A goddamn
  affair. While your kids were at home. You should
  have told us."
  She'd told her readers and listeners a thousand
  times to be strong. Never let them see you're
afraid.
  Believe in yourself and people will believe in you. But
  now that she needed that strength, it was gone. "I
  could say he was lying," she said, wincing when she
  heard the breathy, desperate tone of her voice.
  Jason opened his briefcase and pulled out a
manila
  envelope. "Here."
  Nora's hands were shaking as she took the envelope
  and opened it.
  There were black-and-white photographs inside.
  She pulled out the top sheet. It wasn't more
than
  halfway out when she saw what it was.
  "Oh, God," she whispered. She reached
out for the
  chair nearest her and clutched the metal back.
Only
  pure willpower kept her from sinking to her knees.
  She crammed the pictures back into the
envelope.
  "There must be a way to stop this." She looked at
  Jason. "An injunction. Those are private
photographs."
  "Yes, they are. His. It's obvious that you
... knew
  the camera was there. You're posing. He's
probably
  been waiting all this time for you to become famous.
  That piece in People must have done it."
   27
  She drew in a deep breath and looked at them.
  "How much does he want?"
  There was a pregnant pause, after which Jason
  stepped closer. "A half million dollars."
  "I can get that amount-"
  "Money never kills this kind of thing, Nora. You
  know that. Sooner or later it'll come out."
  She understood immediately. "You told him no,"
  she said woodenly. "And now he's going
to the
  tabloids."
  Jason nodded. "I'm sorry, Nora."
  "I can explain this to my fans," she said.
"Bob?
  They'll understand."
  "You give moral advice, Nora." Bob
shook his
  head. "This is going to be a hell of a scandal.
Jesus,
  we've been promoting you as a modern version of
  Mother Teresa. Now it turns Out you're Debbie
Does
  Dallas."
  Nora flinched. "Not fair, Bob."
  "Believe us," Jason said. "The trailer-park
set in
  Small-town U.s.a. will not understand that their
idol
  just had to be free."
  Bob nodded. "When these photos hit the air,
we'll
  lose advertisers instantly."
  Nora clasped her trembling hands and tried
to appear calm. She knew it wasn't
working. "What do
  we do?"
  A pause. A look. Then Jason said, "We
want you to
  take some time off."
  It was all coming at her too fast. She couldn't
think
  straight. All she knew was that she couldn't give
up.
  This career was all she had. "I can't-"
  28 
  Jason moved closer; touched her shoulder
gently.
  "You've spent the better part of the past decade
telling
  people to honor their commitments and put their
  families first. How long do you think it will take
the
  press to uncover that you haven't spoken to your own
  daughter since the divorce? Your advice is
going to
  ring a little hollow after that."
  Bob nodded. "The press is going to rip you
limb
  from limb, Nora. Not because you deserve it,
but
  because they can. The tabloids love a celebrity in
  trouble ... and with sexy pictures. Hell,
they'll be
  jumpin" up and down over this."
  And just like that, Nora's life slipped beyond her
  grasp.
  "It'll blow over," she whispered, knowing in her
  heart that it wasn't true, or if it was true,
it wouldn't
  matter, not in the end. Some winds were hurricane
  force and they demolished everything in their path.
  "I'll take a few weeks off. See what
happens. Spend
  some time coming up with a statement."
  "For the record," Jason said, "this is a
scheduled
  vacation. We won't admit that it has anything
to do
  with the scandal."
  "Thank you."
  "I hope you make it through this," Jason said.
"We
  all do."
  Jason and Bob both spoke at once,
then an awkward silence descended. Nora heard
them walk past
  her. The door clicked shut behind them.
  She stood there, alone now, her gaze blurred
by
  tears she couldn't hold back anymore. After
eleven
  years of working seventy-hour weeks, it was over.
   29
  Poof. Her life was gone, blown apart by a few
  naked photographs taken a lifetime ago. The
world
  would see her hypocrisy, and so too--oh, God
--would her daughters.
  They would know at last, without question, that
  their mother had had an affair-and that she'd lied to
  all of them when she walked out of her marriage.
  Ruby had a pounding headache. She'd slept on
and
  off all day.
  Finally, she stumbled into the kitchen and went to
  the fridge. When she opened it, the fluorescent
lighting
  stabbed her aching eyes. Squinting, she grabbed
  the quart of orange juice and drank it
from the container. Liquid trickled down her chin.
She backhanded
  it away.
  In the living room--what a joke; if you were
living
  in this empty room, you were either dying or too
  stupid to keep breathing--she leaned against the
  rough wall and slid down to a sitting position,
stretching her legs
  out. She knew she needed to walk down to Chang's
  Mini-Mart and pick up a newspaper, but the
thought
  of turning to the want ads was more than she could
  bear. The job at Irma's hadn't been much--
had been
  godawful, in fact--but at least it had been
hers. She
  hadn't had to stand in a hot line, begging for a chance,
  saying I'm really a comedian again. As if she were
special, instead of just another loser in the string of
men
  and women who came to Hollywood with a cheap
  one-way ticket and a dream of someday.
  The phone rang.
  Ruby didn't want to answer. It could
hardly be
  30 
  good news. At best, it would be Caroline, her
jiber-yuppie, Junior League sister who had
two perfect kids
  and a hunk of a husband.
  It was possible that Dad had finally remembered
  her, but Ruby doubted it. Since he'd
remarried and
  started a second family, her father was more interested
  in midnight baby feedings than in the goings-on of
his
  adult daughter's life. Frankly, she
couldn't even remember the last time he'd called.
  The ringing went on and on.
  Finally, she crawled across the shag carpet and
answered on the fourth ring. "Hello?" She heard
the
  snarl in her voice, but who gave a shit? She
was in a
  bad mood and she didn't care who knew it.
  "Whoa, don't bite my head off."
  Ruby couldn't believe it. "Val?"
  "It's me, darling', your favorite agent."
  She frowned. "You sound pretty
goddamn happy,
  considering that my career is circling the hole in the
  toilet bowl."
  "I am happy. Here's the scoop. Yesterday
I called
  everyone I could think of to hire you. And baby, I
hate
  to say it, but no one wanted you. The only nibble
was
  from that shit-ass, low-rent cruise line. They said
  they'd take you for the summer if you promised no
  foul language ... and agreed to wear an
orange sequined miniskirt so you could help out the
magician
  after your set."
  Ruby's head throbbed harder. She rubbed her
  temples. "Let me guess, you're calling
to tell me there's
  a man named Big Dick who has a night job
for me on
  Hollywood and Vine."
   31
  Val laughed. It was a great, booming sound, with
  none of the strained undertones she was used to
  hearing. A client got to know the subtle
shades of
  enthusiasm--it was a skill that came with being at
  rock bottom on the earning-potential food
chain.
  "You won't believe it. Hell, I don't
believe it, and I
  took the call. I'm going to make you guess who
called
  me today."
  "Heidi Fleiss."
  There was a palpable pause; in it, Ruby heard
Val's
  exhalation of breath--he was smoking. "Joe
Cochran."
  "From Uproar? Don't screw with me, Val.
I'm a
  little-"
  "Joe Cochran called me. No shit. He
had a sudden
  cancellation. He wants to book you for tomorrow's
  show."
  How could a world spin around so quickly? Yesterday,
Ruby had been pond scum; today, Joe Cochran
wanted her. The host of the hottest, hippest talk
  show in the country. It had been patterned
after Politically Incorrect, but because Uproar was
broadcast
  on cable, the show explored racier issues--and
foul
  language was encouraged. It was a young comedian's
  dream gig. Even if she wasn't so young
anymore.
  "He's giving you two minutes to do stand-up. So,
  kiddo, this is it. You'd better spend the time between
  then and now practicing. I'll send a car around
to pick
  you up at eleven tomorrow morning."
  "Thanks, Val."
  "I didn't do anything, darling'. Really. This
is all you.
  Good luck."
  32 
  Before she hung up, Ruby remembered to ask
  "Hey, what's the topic of the show?"
  "Oh, yeah." She heard the rustle of papers.
"It's
  called "Crime and Punishment: Are Mommy
and
  Daddy to Blame for Everything?"
  Ruby should have known. "They want me because
  I'm her daughter."
  "Do you care why?"
  "No." It was true. She didn't care why
Joe Cochran
  had called her. This was her shot. Finally, after
years
  of crappy play dates in smoke-infested
barrooms in
  towns whose names she couldn't remember, she was
  getting national exposure.
  She thanked Val again, then hung up the phone.
  Her heart was racing so hard she felt dizzy.
Even the
  empty room looked better. She wouldn't be here
much
  longer, anyway. She would be brilliant on the
show, a
  shining star.
  She ran to her bedroom and flung open the louvered
  doors of her closet. Everything she owned was
black.
  She couldn't afford anything new ...
  Then she remembered the black cashmere sweater.
  It had come from her mother, disguised in a box from
  Caroline two Christmases earlier.
Although Ruby routinely sent back her mother's
guilty gifts unopened,
  this one had seduced her. Once she'd touched that
  beautiful fabric, she couldn't mail it back.
  She grabbed the black V-necked sweater off
its
  hanger and tossed it on the bed.
  Tomorrow she'd jazz it up with necklaces and wear
  it over a black leather miniskirt with black
tights. Very
  Janeane Garofalo.
   33
  When Ruby had picked out her clothes, she
kicked
  the bedroom door shut. A thin full-length
mirror on
  the back of the door caught her image, framed it
in
  strips of gold plastic.
  It was hard to take herself seriously, dressed as
she
  was in her dad's old football jersey and a
pair of fuzzy
  red knee socks. Her short black hair had
been molded
  by last night's sweat fest into a perfect imitation
of
  Johnny Rotten. Pink sleep wrinkles still
creased her
  pale face. Remnants of last night's
makeup circled her
  eyes.
  "I'm Ruby Bridge," she said, grabbing a
hairbrush
  off the dresser to use as a mike. "And yes,
you're right
  if you recognize the last name. I'm her
daughter, Nora
  Bridge's, spiritual guru to Middle
America." She flung
  her hip out, picturing herself as she would look
  tomorrow--hair tipped in temporary blue dye, a
  dozen tacky necklaces, tight black
clothes, and heavy
  black makeup. "Look at me. Should that
woman be
  telling you how to raise kids? It's like those
commercials on television where celebrities come
on and tell
  you to be a mentor to a kid. And who does
Hollywood pick to give out advice?
  "A bunch of anorexics, alcoholics, drug
addicts,
  and serial marriers. People who haven't spent ten
minutes with a kid in years. And they're telling you
how
  to parent. It's like-"
  The phone rang.
  "Damn." Ruby raced into the living room and
  yanked the cord out of the wall. She couldn't be
bothered for the next twenty-four hours. Nothing
mattered except getting ready for the show.
  34 
  * * *
  Like all big cities, San Francisco
looked beautiful at
  night. Multicolored lights glittered throughout
downtown, creating a neon sculpture garden
tucked along
  the black bay.
  Dean Sloan glanced at the wall of windows that
  framed the panoramic view. Unfortunately,
he couldn't
  leave his seat. He was--as always--trapped by the
  flypaper of good manners.
  Scattered through the ornately gilded ballroom
of
  this Russian Hill mansion were a dozen or so
tables,
  each one draped in shimmering gold fabric and
topped
  by a layer of opalescent silk. The china at
each place
  setting was white with platinum trim. Four or
five
  couples sat at each table, making idle
conversation.
  The women were expensively, beautifully gowned and
  the men wore tuxedos. The party's hostess, a
local socialite, had hand-chosen the guest list from
among the
  wealthiest of San Francisco's families.
Tonight's charity
  was the opera, and it would benefit mightily, although
  Dean wondered how many of the guests actually
  cared about music. What they really cared about was
  being seen, and even more important, being seen doing
the right thing.
  His date, a pale, exquisite woman named
Sarah
  Brightman-Edgington, slid a hand along his thigh,
and
  Dean knew that he'd been silent too long. With
practiced ease, he turned to her, giving her the
smile so well
  documented by the local society media.
  "That was a lovely sentiment, don't you think?"
she
  said softly, taking a small sip of champagne.
  Dean had no idea what she was talking about, but a
   35
  quick look around the room enlightened him. An
elderly, well-preserved woman in a
deceptively simple
  blue dress was standing alongside the ebony
Steinway.
  No doubt she'd been waxing poetic about the
opera
  and thanking her guests in advance for their unselfish
  contributions. There was nothing the wealthy liked
  quite so much as pretending to be generous.
  It was, he knew, the official beginning of the end
of
  the evening. There would be dancing yet, some serious
  schmoozing and even more serious gossiping, but
  soon it would be polite to leave.
  There was a smattering of quiet applause, then the
  sound of chairs being scooted back.
  Dean took hold of Sarah's hand. Together they
  slipped into the whispering crowd. The band was
  playing something soft and romantic, a song that was
  almost familiar.
  On the dance floor, he pulled Sarah close,
slid his
  hand down the bare expanse of her back, felt
her
  shiver at his touch.
  The crowd eddied and swirled around them. Overhead,
thousands of tiny lights twinkled like stars.
  There was a faint, sweet smell of roses in the
air.
  Or maybe that was the scent of money ...
  He gazed down at Sarah's upturned face,
noticing
  for the first time how lovely her gray eyes were.
Without thinking about it, he bent slightly and kissed
her,
  tasting the champagne she'd drunk. He could
tell by
  this kiss where the night could go. She would
want
  him. If he cared to, he could take her hand,
lead her
  out of this crush, and take her to his bed. She would
  offer no objections. After that, he would call her,
and
  36 
  they would probably sleep together a few times.
  Then, somehow, he would forget her. Last year; a
  local magazine had named him San
Francisco's most
  ineligible bachelor because of his reputation for
  nanosecond affairs. It was true; he'd
certainly slept
  with dozens of the cities" most gorgeous women.
  But what the reporter hadn't known, hadn't even
  imagined, was how tired Dean was of it all. He
wasn't
  even twenty-nine years old and already he felt
aged.
  Money. Power. Disposable women who seemed
to hear
  his family name and become as malleable as wet
clay.
  For more than a year now, Dean had felt
that something was wrong with his life. Missing.
  At first, he'd assumed it was a business
problem,
  and he'd rededicated himself to work, logging upwards
of eighty hours a week at Harcourt and Sons.
  But all he'd managed to do was make more money,
  and the ache in his gut had steadily sharpened.
  He'd tried to speak to his father about it. As
usual,
  that had proven pointless. Edward Sloan was now--
and always had been--a charming, frivolous playboy
  who jumped at his wife's every command. It was
  Mother who held all of the ambition, and she'd never
  been one to care overly about things like fulfillment
or satisfaction. Her comment had been as he'd
expected:
  I ran this company for thirty years; now it's your
turn.
  No whining will be allowed.
  He supposed that she'd earned that right. Under his
  mother's iron fist, the family business, begun
by her
  grandfather and expanded by her father, had become
  a hundred-million-dollar enterprise. That had
always
   37
  been enough for her. All she ever wanted. But that
  same success felt vaguely hollow to Dean.
  He'd even tried to talk to his friends about it, and
  though they'd wanted to help, it was clear that none
  of them understood his feelings. It wasn't so
surprising, after all. Although they were all from the
  same background, Dean had grown up in a
slightly
  different world than his peers.
  Lopez Island. Summer Island.
  He'd spent ten perfect years in the San
Juan Islands.
  There, he and his brother, Eric, had been--for a
short
  time--ordinary boys. Those remote islands had
formed
  and defined Dean somehow, provided a place where
  he felt whole.
  Of course, Ruby had been there. And before she
  went crazy and ruined everything, she'd taught him
  how love felt.
  Then she'd shown him how easily it was broken.
  Dean sighed, wishing he hadn't thought about
  Ruby now, when he had a beautiful,
willing woman in
  his arms ...
  Suddenly he was tired. He simply didn't have
the energy to spend tonight with another woman he didn't
  care about.
  "I'm not feeling well," he said, wondering
briefly
  whether it was a lie, or not quite one.
  She smiled up at him, revealing a set of
perfect
  white teeth. Her hand moved up his arm, curled
possessively around the back of his neck. They were
always possessive, he thought tiredly. Or perhaps that
  was merely his sense of it.
  38 
  "Me, too," she purred. "My place is just
around the
  corner."
  He reached up and took her hand, kissing the back
  of her knuckles gently "No, I'm really not
feeling
  well, and I've got a crack-of-dawn conference
call
  coming from Tokyo. I think I'll take you home,
if you
  don't mind."
  She pouted prettily, and he wondered if that was
  one of the things they taught wealthy young girls at
  schools like Miss Porter's. If not, it had
been passed
  down from one generation to another as carefully as
  the secret of fire.
  "I'll call you tomorrow," he said, although he
  didn't mean it. There were only two choices
available
  to a man at a time like this: hurt her by not saying it,
  or hurt her by not doing it. One--lying now--"
  easier.
  Once he'd made his decision, Dean couldn't
get out
  of the room fast enough. He maneuvered through the
  crowd like a Tour-de-France cyclist, saying good
night
  to the few people who really mattered, getting Sarah's
  wrap (fur in June???), and hurried out to stand
beneath the portico.
  Sarah made idle chitchat as they stood there
together, and he listened politely, answered at what
he
  assumed were the appropriate places.
Finally, he heard
  his car drive up. The black Aston-Martin
roared up the
  driveway and screeched to a halt. A uniformed
valet
  jumped out of the driver's seat and rushed around to
  open Sarah's door, then helped her into her
seat.
  Dean nodded at the man as he walked past.
"Thanks,
   39
  Ramon," he said, getting into his car. He
slammed the
  door shut and drove off, hitting the gas too
hard.
  It was a full minute before Sarah asked, "How
did
  you know his name was Ramon?"
  "I asked him when we arrived."
  Dean glanced at her, saw her perfect
profile cameoed
  against the blackened window glass. "What? Is
there
  something wrong with knowing his name?"
  A frown darted across her face. She
lifted a hand,
  pointed idly. "Here's my house."
  Dean pulled up the circular driveway and
parked
  beneath an antique street lamp.
  She turned to him, frowning slightly. "You're not
  what I expected. The girls ... they talk
about you."
  He ran a hand through his too-long blond hair.
"I
  hope it's a good thing, not being what you expected."
  "I she said quietly. "I won't see you again,
  will I?"
  "Sarah, I-"
  "Will I?" she interrupted forcibly.
  Dean took a deep breath, released it. "It's
not you.
  It's me. I'm restless lately. It doesn't
make for good
  company."
  She laughed; it was a practiced, silvery sound
that
  only held traces of mirth. "You're young and
rich and
  sheltered. Of course you're restless.
Poor people are
  driven and hungry. Rich people are restless and
bored.
  I've been bored since grade school, for
God's sake."
  It was such a sad thing to say. Dean didn't know
  how to respond. He got out of the car and went
  around to her door, helping her out. Slipping a hand
  40 
  along the small of her back, he walked her to the
door
  of her father's hilltop mansion. Quietly, he
said,
  "You're too beautiful to be bored."
  She looked sadly up at him. "So are you."
  Dean kissed her good night, then returned to his
car
  and raced home.
  In less than fifteen minutes, he was standing in
his
  living room, staring out at the night-clad city,
sipping
  warmed brandy from a bowl-size snifter. On the
walls
  all around him were framed photographs--
his hobby.
  Once, the sight of them had pleased him. Now,
all he
  saw when he looked at his photographs was how
  wrong his life had gone.
  Behind him, the phone rang. He waited a few
rings
  for Hester, his housekeeper, to answer it. Then he
remembered that Hester had gone to see her kids
  tonight. He strode to the latte-colored suede
sofa, collapsed onto the down-filled cushion, and
answered
  the phone. "Dean Sloan." It was, he
knew, an impersonal greeting, but he didn't
care.
  "Dino? Is that you?"
  ... Eric? How in the hell are you?" Dean was
  stunned. He hadn't heard from his brother in what
...
  a year? Eighteen months?
  "Are you sitting down?"
  "That doesn't sound good."
  "It isn't. I'm dying."
  Dean felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.
A cold
  chill moved through him. "AIDS?" he whispered.
  Eric laughed. "We do get other diseases, you
know.
  My personal favorite is cancer."
   41
  "We'll get you the best treatment. I can make
some
  calls right now. Mark Foster is still on the board
at-"
  "I've had the best treatments. I've seen the
best
  specialists, and they," Eric said softly, "have
seen
  me." He took a deep breath. "I don't have
much time
  left."
  Dean couldn't seem to draw a decent breath.
  "You're thirty years old," he said
helplessly, as if age
  were relevant.
  "I should have told you when I was first diagnosed,
  but ... I kept thinking I'd tell you when it was
over,
  and we'd laugh about it .
  "Is there any chance we'll someday laugh
about it?"
  It took Eric a moment to answer. "No."
  "What can I do?"
  "I'm going back to the island. Lottie's already
there,
  waiting for me."
  "The island," Dean repeated slowly. A
strange sense
  of inevitability drifted into the room. It was as
if Dean
  had always known that someday they'd end up back
  there, where everything had begun. Where everything
  had gone so wrong. Maybe a part of him had even
  been waiting for it.
  "Will you come up?"
  "Of course."
  "I want us to be brothers again."
  "We've always been brothers," Dean answered
  uncomfortably.
  "No," Eric said softly, "we've been
members of the
  same family. We haven't been brothers in
years."




  Chapter Three
  The scandal broke with gale force. Those
humiliating
  photographs were everywhere, and the newspapers
  and television stations that didn't own the pictures
described them in excruciating detail.
  Nora sat huddled in her own living room,
refusing to
  go anywhere. The thought of being seen terrified her.
  Her assistant, Dee Langhor; had shown up
bright
  and early in the morning--I came the minute I
heard--and Nora had felt pathetically grateful.
Now Dee was
  in Nora's home office, fielding phone
calls.
  With everything on Nora's mind, one thing kept
  rising to the surface; she should have called Caroline
the
  day before, to warn her about the coming media storm.
  But how did you tell your child something like this?
  Oh, honey, and don't mind about the pictures of
your
  naked mother that are front-page news?
  In the end, Nora had chosen to handle the impending
disaster as she handled all difficult things:
  she'd taken two sleeping pills and
turned off her phone.
  In the morning, she'd had a short respite ...
then
   43
  she'd turned on the television. The story had
been
  picked up by every morning show.
  Now she had no choice. She had to call.
  She reached for the phone, accessed the second line,
  and pushed number one on the speed-dial list.
Her
  heart was pounding so hard she couldn't hear the
  ringing on the other end.
  "Hello?"
  It took Nora a moment to respond--God,
she
  wanted to hang up the phone. "Caro? It's me.
Mom"
  There was a pause that seemed to strip away a
layer
  of Nora's tender flesh. "Well. Well. I
hope you're
  going to tell me you were kidnapped yesterday and
  the FBI just freed you from your prison in the back  
some psycho fan's trunk."
  "I wasn't kidnapped."
  "I found out this morning when I dropped Jenny
off
  at preschool." She laughed sharply. "Mona
Carlson
  asked me how it felt to see pictures of my
mother like
  that. How it felt."
  Nora didn't know how to respond. Defending
herself was pointless; worse, it was offensive. "I'm
sorry.
  I couldn't ... call."
  "Of course you couldn't." Caroline was quiet for a
  moment, then she said, "I can't believe I let
it hurt my
  feelings, either. I should have known better. It's just
  that in the last few years ... I thought ... oh,
hell,
  forget it."
  "I know. We've been getting closer ..."
  "No. Apparently I"ve been getting
closer. You, obviously, haven't changed at
all. You've been like some
  Stepford mom, pretending, saying the right
things,
  44 
  but never really feeling connected to me at all. I
don't
  know when I got stupid enough to expect honesty from
  you. And I'm not even going to get into the content of
  those photographs, what they mean to our
family."
  "Please," Nora pleaded, "I know I
screwed up.
  Don't shut me out of your life again ..."
  "You're priceless. You really don't get it, do
you?
  I'm not the one who shuts people out, not in this
  family. Maybe Ruby was the smart one--she
hasn't
  let you hurt her in years. Now, I've got
to go."
  "I love you, Caroline," Nora said in a
rush, desperate to say the words before it was too
late.
  "You know what's sad about that?" Caroline's
  voice broke. A little sob sounded in her
throat. "I believe you." She hung up.
  The dial tone buzzed in Nora's ears.
  Dee rushed into the living room, her eyes wide.
  "Mr. Adams is on the phone."
  "Oh, God-"
  "I told him you weren't here, but he screamed at
  me. He said to tell you to pick up the f-+
phone or he
  was going to call his lawyers.
  Nora sighed. Of course. Tom Adams
hadn't become
  a newspaper mogul by playing nice. He was a
good
  ole boy who had fought his way to the top by never
  giving an inch to anyone.
  She rubbed her suddenly throbbing temples.
"Put
  him through."
  "Thanks," Dee said. Turning, she hurried out
of the
  living room and went back into Nora's office.
  Nora answered the phone. "Hello, Tom."
  "Jee-zuz Kee-riste, Nora, what in the
Sam Hill were
   45
  you thinking? I heard about this godawful mess when
  I was on the crapper this A.m. If I
hadn't had the television on, I don't know when
I'da found out. My little
  woman said to me, "Gee, Tommy, your little
gal has
  herself in a pickle, don't she?"
  Nora winced. "Sorry, Tom. I was caught
off guard
  by the whole thing myself."
  "Well, you're on guard now, little lady.
Tamara tells
  me that you haven't gotten any letters yet, but you
  will. My guess is they'll start comin" in tomorrow."
  "You've got two months' worth of columns from
  me on file. That'll give me some time
to figure out how
  I want to handle this."
  He made a barking sound. "I pay you a
wagonload
  of money to answer readers' letters, and now that they
  finally got something interesting to ask about, you sure
  as hell aren't going to play possum. Scandals
sell newspapers and I mean to cash in on your
heartache. Sorry,
  Nora--and I do mean that; I've always liked
you--but
  business is business. Your agent sure understood
business when he bled me for that million-dollar
contract."
  Nora felt sick to her stomach. "The radio
station is
  giving me some time off-"
  "Don't you confuse me with those tie-wearin'
  Panty waists. I haven't backed down from a
fight in my
  life, and my people aren't going to, either."
  The headache blossomed into a full-blown
migraine.
  "Okay, Tom," she said softly. She'd say
anything to end
  this conversation. "Give me a few days. Use
what you
  have for now and then I'll start to answer the hate
mail."
  He chuckled. "I knew you'd see the light,
Nora. Bye
  now."
  46 
  She hung up. The silence that came after all that
  yelling was strangely heavy.
  Tom actually expected her to sit down
and read
  angry, disappointed letters from the very people who
  used to love her.
  Impossible.
  Ruby stood in her steam-clouded bathroom, staring
  through the mist at her watery reflection. The lines
beneath her puffy eyes looked like they'd been stitched
  in place by an industrial sewing machine.
  It wouldn't do to look this old, not in
Hollywood.
  She wanted people to think of her as young and hip
  and defiant, not as a woman who'd wasted her
youth
  in nightclubs and had nothing to show for it except
  early-onset wrinkles.
  She used makeup to take off the years. Enough
  "heroin-chic" black eyeliner and people would assume
  she was young and stupid. Sort of the way gorgeous
  celebrities wore godawful hairdos to the
Academy
  Awards; their message had to be, looks don't
matter
  to me.
  As if.
  Only a beautiful woman would even
consider making that ridiculous statement.
  Ruby dressed carefully--V-necked cashmere
sweater;
  black leather miniskirt, and black tights.
She hadn't
  had time to run to the store for temporary hair
dye,
  but a lot of gel had made her hair poke out
everywhere instead. She layered fourteen cheap plastic
  Mardi Gras necklaces around her neck and
painted
  her stubby, bitten-off fingernails a glittery
shade of
   47
  midnight blue. Finally, she put on a pair
of clunky
  black sunglasses--Rite Aid knockoffs
of the newest
  designer fashion.
  Then she took a deep breath, grabbed her
handbag,
  and headed outside.
  The sleek black limousine was already parked at
  the curb. Ruby couldn't help wishing that Max were
  here right now. She'd just love to shove past
him and
  drive away.
  A uniformed driver stood beside the car. "Miss
  Bridge?"
  She grinned. No one ever called her that. "That's
  me. I'm going to-"
  "I know, miss. The Paramount lot. I'll be
waiting to
  take you home after the taping."
  The driver came around and opened the door for
  her. Ruby peered into the dark interior and saw a
  dozen white roses in a sheath of opalescent
tissue
  paper lying on the backseat. An ice bucket
held a
  bottle of chilled Dom Perignon.
  Ruby slid into the seat, heard the satisfying
thud of
  the closing door; and plucked the card from the
flowers.
  People as talented as you don't need luck. They
  need a chance, and this is yours. Love, Val.
  God, it felt good. As if those tarnished dreams
of
  hers were finally coming true.
  She had never meant to need it all so much. It
  had begun as a lark--something she did well without
  a lot of effort. Ruby the class clown, always
making
  people laugh. But after her mother abandoned them,
  everything had changed. Ruby had changed. From
  that moment on, nothing and no one had been quite
  48 
  enough for her. She'd come to need the unconditional
  acceptance that only fame could provide.
  She scooted closer to the window, grinning as the
  limo pulled up to the security booth at the
entrance
  to Paramount. The twin white arches, trimmed in
  golden metallic scrollwork, announced to the world
  that through these gates was a special world, open
  only to a lucky few.
  Ruby hit the button to lower the privacy
shield just
  in time to hear the driver say, "I have Miss
Bridge for
  Uproar."
  The guard stepped back into his booth, consulted
a
  clipboard, then waved them through. Ruby
plastered
  herself close to the window, looking for
celebrities,
  but all she saw were regular people milling about. The
  closest she came to seeing a movie star was a red
  Sports car parked in a stall marked JULIA
ROBERTS.
  At the visitors' lot, the driver parked the car
and
  came around, opening Ruby's door. "There's your
  ride," he said, pointing to a vehicle that looked
like a
  stretched-out golf cart. A man in tan-colored
shorts
  and a matching polo shirt was standing beside it.
  "They'll zip you up to the studio. I'll be right
here
  whenever you get back."
  Ruby tried to look blase', as if she did this
all the
  time. To tell the truth, if her blood
pressure bumped up
  another notch, she was probably going to stroke
out.
  She took a deep breath and headed toward
the
  cart. Once she got in, the driver settled
behind the
  wheel and started the soundless engine. The cart moved
  jerkily between the huge sound stages. There were people
  everywhere, walking, riding bicycles. They passed
a
   49
  batallion of aliens--" that Patrick
Stewart?-and veered
  around a gathering of cowboys. Finally, they pulled
up
  to sound stage nine, a hulking, flesh-colored
building.
  Above the door was a neon sign that read
UPROAR! A
  NEW KIND OF TALK SHOW WITH JOE
COCHRAN.
  Ruby jumped off the cart and crossed the street.
She
  paused a minute, then opened the door. Inside
was a
  kaleidoscope of colored lights, darkened
seating, and
  people. That's what she noticed most of all
--there
  were people everywhere, scurrying around like ants
  with clipboards, checking and rechecking, nodding
  and cursing and laughing.
  "You're Ruby Bridge?"
  Ruby jumped. She hadn't even noticed the
small,
  platinum blonde who now stood beside her; peering
  up at Ruby through the ugliest pair of
brown-framed
  glasses she'd ever seen. "I'm Ruby."
  "Good." The woman grabbed Ruby's arm and led
  her through the swarming people, down a quieter
  hallway and into a small waiting room. On the  
beside a brown sofa were a bowl of fruit and a
bottle
  of Perrier on ice. "Do you need makeup?"
  Ruby laughed. "Are you thinking of an
intervention?"
  The woman frowned, cocked her head,
birdlike.
  "Excuse me?"
  Ruby nodded stiffly. "My makeup's fine.
Thanks."
  "Good. Sit here. Someone will come and get you
  when it's time to go on." The woman consulted her
  papers. "You get two minutes up front. You
were a
  last-minute guest, so there's no time for an
interview;
  we'll just have to make do. Be fast and be funny."
  With a quick sniff, the woman was gone.
  50 
  Ruby collapsed on the sofa. Suddenly she was
more
  than nervous. She was terrified. Be funny.
  What had she been thinking? She wasn't funny.
Her
  material might be funny, but she wasn't. It
usually
  took her three minutes into a routine before she
calmed
  down enough to make people laugh.
  So, a minute after she was finished, she'd be a
riot.
  She shot to her feet. Her heart was pounding so
hard
  she thought for a second that someone was at the door.
  "Calm down, Ruby," she said, forcing
her fingers to
  uncurl. She focused on her breathing. In and
out, in
  and out. "You are funny. You are."
  There was a knock at the door. "They're ready
for
  you, Miss Bridge."
  "Oh, my God." Ruby glanced at the wall
clock.
  She'd been standing here, hyperventilating, for
thirty
  minutes, and now she couldn't remember one
goddamn line of material.
  The door swung open.
  Bird lady stood there, pointy face tilted
to the left.
  "Miss Bridge?"
  Ruby exhaled slowly, slowly. "I'm
ready," she said,
  and though she was facing the woman, she was really
  talking to herself. She was ready; she'd been ready
all
  her life.
  She followed the woman toward the stage. As she
  got closer; she could hear the familiar
strains of the
  opening music. Then came Joe's voice; the
audience
  laughed in response to something he said.
  "Remember," the woman said in a stage whisper,
  "we want opinions, the more outrageous and
controversial the better."
   51
  Ruby nodded in understanding, although truthfully, she
didn't think she had an opinion on anything
  right now except her own shortcomings. And as an
  added bonus, she was sweating like a geyser.
Mascara
  was probably running down her cheeks.
  She'd look like something out of Alien by the time-
  "Ruby Bridge!" Her name roared through the sound
  system, chased by the sound of applause.
  Ruby pushed through the curtains, smiling to the best
  of her ability. She forced herself not to squint, although
  the lights were so bright she couldn't see anything.
She
  just hoped she didn't walk off the end of the stage.
  She went to the microphone. It made a fuzzy,
crackling sound as she pulled it off its stand.
"Well," she said
  with a bright smile, "it's nice to know I'm not the
only
  person who can come to a talk show in the middle of
  the day. Of course, it's easy for me. I was
fired yesterday. Fired, from a trendy, shit-ass
restaurant that I
  won't name--but it sounds like Irma's Hash
House. I
  won't even tell you what I thought we'd be
selling ..."
  A smattering of laughter.
  "Actually, if they were going to fire me, I'm
glad it
  happened on Thursday. Friday is
all-you-can-eat
  night. And trust me, people take that literally.
Irma's
  is the only restaurant in L.a. where they have
defibrillators on the table. Ketchup?
Mustard? Restart
  your heart?" She let silence have a beat of her
time.
  "I mean, this is the new millennium. I kept
saying to
  people, for the love of God, eat fruit."
  More laughter, deeper this time. It gave her
  confidence.
  She grinned, then launched into the rest of her
  52 
  routine, saving the best jokes--about her mother--for
last.
  At the end of her abbreviated routine, Ruby
stepped
  back from the mike. Amid the beautiful sound of
applause, Joe Cochran crossed the stage
toward her. He
  was smiling, which was definitely a good sign.
  He placed a hand warmly on her shoulder and
turned
  to face the crowd. "You've all met the very funny
  Ruby Bridge. Now, let's meet the rest of
our players
  for tonight. There's family therapist Elsa Pine,
author
  of the best selling book Poisonous Parents, and the
honorable Sanford Tyrell, congressman from
Alabama."
  Elsa and Sanford walked onstage, looking like a
  pencil and a softball. They were careful not to make
  eye contact with each other.
  Joe clapped his hands together. "Let's get
started."
  The three guests followed Joe to the artfully
arranged leather chairs on the stage. Joe sat
down in the
  center seat, then looked up at the audience and
smiled.
  "I don't know about you all, but I'm sick and
tired of
  the way our judicial system handles
criminals. Every
  time I open the paper, I read about some
psychopath
  who killed a little girl and got off because the jury
felt
  sorry for him. I mean, sorry for him. Who's
looking
  out for the victims here?"
  "Now Joe." Elsa leaned forward, her eyes
narrowed
  and hard beneath the sensible, round glasses. She was
  so thin, Ruby wondered how her lungs could fill
with
  air without knocking her over. "Criminals aren't
born,
  they're made. It makes perfect sense to understand
that
  some people have been so abused by their parents that
  they no longer know right from wrong."
   53
  "Little lady," the good congressman said, his
florid
  face creasing into a good-ole-boy grin, "that's about
  as wrong-headed as a filly can be."
  Ruby frowned at the audience. "Did he call
her a
  filly? Tell me I heard wrong ...
  Laughter.
  Elsa ignored it. "You heard right.
Congressman-"
  "Call me Sanford." He pulled almost four
syllables
  out of his name.
  "The measure of a society is its compassion."
  "What about compassion for the victim's family,"
  Joe said, "or do you bleeding-heart liberals just
want
  us to be compassionate toward the murderer?" He
  looked at Ruby. "You know something about toxic
  parents, Ruby. Is everything wrong in
your life your
  mother's fault?"
  Elsa nodded. "Yes, Ruby, you of all people should
  understand how deeply a parent can wound a child. I
  mean, your mother is a huge proponent of
marriage.
  She positively waxes poetic about the
sanctity of the
  vows-"
  Ruby laughed. "So does Bill Clinton."
  Elsa wouldn't be sidetracked by the audience's
laughter. "You were probably the only person in
America
  who wasn't surprised by the Tattler today."
  "I don't read the tabloids," Ruby
answered.
  A whisper moved through the audience, chairs
  squeaked. Joe's enthusiastic smile dimmed.
He shot a
  quick look at bird woman, who was standing just
off-stage. Then he leaned forward. "You haven't
read
  today's Tattler?"
  Ruby's frown deepened. "Is that a crime
now?"
  54 
  Joe reached down, and for the first time Ruby noticed
the newspaper folded beneath his chair. He
  picked it up, handed it to her. "I'm sorry. You
were
  supposed to have known."
  Ruby felt a sudden tension in the room, the kind
of
  hush that fell just before a bar fight started. She
took
  the newspaper from him, opened it. At first, all
she noticed was the headline: RAISING MORE THAN
SPIRITS. It
  made her smile. How did they come up with this
stuff?
  Then she saw the photograph.
  It was a blurry, grainy shot of two naked people
entwined. The editors had carefully placed black
"privacy
  strips" across the pertinent body parts, but there was
no
  denying what was going on. Or who the woman was.
  Ruby looked helplessly at the faces around
her. Joe
  appeared focused, a dog poised on the
scent. The therapist frowned thoughtfully. They were
imagining her pain.
  She tossed the newspaper down in disgust. It
landed
  on the floor with a muffled thwack. "There's a
lesson
  to women everywhere in this. When your lover says,
  "One little photo, honey, just for us," you better
cover
  your naked ass and run."
  Elsa leaned forward. "How does it make you
feel
  to see-"
  Joe raised his hands. "We're getting off the
topic
  here. The question is, how much of our screw ups are
  our fault? Does a bad parent give someone a
free ride
  to commit crime?"
  "This country's gone excuse crazy," the
congressman said, not meeting Ruby's gaze. "Every
time some
  loony bin goes crazy, we put his mother on
trial. It
  ain't right."
   55
  "Exactly!" Joe said. "Too damn bad if
you were
  abused. If you do the crime, you do the time."
  Ruby sat perfectly still. There was no reason for
her
  to speak, and truthfully, she couldn't think of a thing
  to say. She knew she'd given Uproar what it
had
  wanted--a reaction. Her surprise was icing on
the
  cake. By tomorrow, she knew her blank-eyed,
dimwitted reaction to the scandal would lead every
report. She'd look like an idiot from coast
to coast.
  She should have known it would be like this ... her
  big break. What a joke. How could she have been
so
  naive?
  Finally, she heard Joe wrapping up. She
blinked,
  trying to look normal.
  "That's all the time we have for today, folks. Tune
  in next week, when our subject will be
communicating with the dead--possible? Or just
plain fraud?
  Thank you."
  The applause sign lit up and the audience
responded
  immediately, clapping thunderously.
  Ruby rose from her chair and moved blindly across
  the stage. People were talking to her; but she couldn't
  hear anything they were saying.
  Someone touched her shoulder. She jumped and
  spun around.
  "Ruby?" It was Joe. He was standing beside her, his
  handsome face drawn into a tight frown. "I'm
really
  sorry about ambushing you. The story broke
yesterday. It never occurred to us that you'd miss it.
Every
  station covered it, and since so much of your material
  is about your relationship with your mother ..."  He
  let the explanation flounder.
  56 
  "I turned off my phone and television," she
answered, then added, "I was getting ready for the show
  He sighed. "You thought this was your big break.
  And it turned out-"
  "Not to be." She cut him off. The pity
in his voice
  was more than she could bear. She knew he used to be
  a stand-up comic himself; he knew exactly what
had
  happened. She didn't want her disappointment
cemented into words she'd remember forever.
  "You know, Ruby," he said, "I've seen your
act a
  few times. The Comedy Store, I think. Your
material's
  good."
  "Thanks."
  "Maybe you should think about writing, like for a
  sitcom. They could use your talent at the
networks."
  Ruby stood there with a fake smile pasted on her
face
  He was telling her to give up. Try something
else.
  It felt to Ruby as if she were fading away, but
like
  the Cheshire cat, she'd smile to the end.
"Thanks, Joe.
  I have to go now."
  She ran back to her chair and grabbed
her handbag.
  At the last second, she plucked up the
Tattler and
  crammed it under her armpit. Without glancing at
  anyone, she raced out of the studio.
  In her apartment, Ruby closed all the blinds and
  turned off the lights.
  She slumped onto her worn sofa and thumped her
  feet onto the cheap, wood-grain coffee table.
A half full water glass rattled at the
movement. The tabloid
  lay beside her; barely seen in the darkness.
  Mommie Dearest had an affair, after all.
   57
  It didn't surprise her; that realization, not
truly. Any
  woman who would leave her children to go in search
  of fame and fortune wouldn't think twice about
  having an affair. What surprised Ruby was
how much
  it still hurt.
  Her fingers shook as she reached for the phone and
  dialed her sister's number. It was rare that
Ruby called
  Caroline--too expensive--but it
wasn't every day
  you saw naked pictures of your mother having sex
  with a stranger.
  Caroline answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
  "Hey, sis," Ruby said, feeling a sudden
tide of
  loneliness.
  "So, you finally plugged your phone in. I've
been
  going crazy trying to reach you."
  "Sorry," she said softly. Her throat felt
embarrassingly tight. "I saw the pictures."
  "Yeah. You and everyone else in America. I was
always afraid something like this would happen."
  Ruby was stunned. She had never imagined it.
"Did
  you know about the affair?"
  "I suspected."
  "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
  "Come on, Rube. You've never once mentioned
her
  name to me, not in all these years. You didn't
want to
  know anything about her."
  Ruby hated it when Caroline acted like she knew
  everything. "I suppose you've already forgiven her;
  Caroline-the-saint."
  "No," Caro said softly. "I'm having a hard
time
  with this one. It's so ... public."
  "Ah. Appearances. I forgot about that."    
"Don't make me sound so shallow. There's more
  to it than that and you know it."
  Ruby was instantly contrite. She hated how
easy it
  was for her to say hurtful things--even to the people
  she loved. When Mom had left them, Caroline
had
  been the one who held the family together; even though
she'd been no more than a teenager herself. She'd
  stepped up and been everything Ruby needed. Without
  Caroline, Ruby honestly believed she wouldn't
have
  made it through that awful year. "I'm sorry. You
know
  how goodness brings out the worst in me."
  "I'm not so good. Yesterday, I said some really
  nasty things to her. I couldn't seem
to help myself.
  I was so mad."
  "You talked to her? What did she say?"
  "She's sorry. She loves me.
  Ruby snorted. "Yeah, just imagine if she
hated us"  Caroline laughed. "I'm going to call her when
  calm down. Maybe we can finally talk about some
of
  the things ... you know, the stuff that matters."
  "Nothing she has to say matters, Caro. I've
been
  telling you that for years."
  "You're wrong about that, Rube. Someday you'll
  see that, but for now, all I know is that this thing is
  going to get a heck of a lot worse before it gets
better.
  "Only for you, Glenda. I'm not the one who
keeps
  trying to forgive her."
  Before Caroline could respond, the doorbell
rang. It
  played a stanza of I just met a girl named
Maria ...
  Ruby made a mental note to change
the damned
  bell. Max had thought it was funny; Ruby
disagreed.
  "I gotta run, Caroline. There's someone here
to see
   59
  me. With my luck, it's probably the landlord,
looking
  for my rent check."
  "Take care of yourself."
  "You, too. And kiss my niece and nephew for
me."
  She hung up, then decided not to answer the door
  anyway. It probably was the landlord.
  She went into the kitchen. Flipping through the
  mostly empty cabinets, she found a
half-full fifth of
  gin and a bottle of vermouth, both of which Max had
  obviously forgotten. She made herself a martini
in a
  Rubbermaid container; then poured the drink into a
  plastic tumbler.
  By the third repeat of "Maria," she gave up.
Taking
  a quick sip of the martini, she padded across
the shag
  carpeting and peered through the peephole.
  It was Val, standing beside a woman so thin she
  looked like a windshield wiper.
  "Oh, perfect."
  She wrenched the door open. Val grinned at
her. He
  looked acutely out of place in the dim, ugly
corridor.
  Val leaned forward and kissed Ruby's cheek.
  "How's my newest star?"
  "Fuck you," she whispered, smiling brightly at the
  strange woman. "I never saw it coming."
  Val drew back, frowning. "I tried to call
you. I even
  sent a messenger over. You didn't answer the
door."
  Ruby would have said more, but the way the lady
  was watching them made her uncomfortable. She
  turned to her, noticing the woman's severe
haircut and
  expensive black dress. An unlit
cigarette dangled from
  her bony fingers.
  New Yorker. Definitely. Maybe
a mortician.
  60 
  "I'm Ruby Bridge," she said, extending her
hand.
  The woman shook her hand. Firm grip.
Clammy
  skin. "Joan Pinon."
  "Come on in." Ruby backed away from the
door,
  made a sweeping gesture with her hand. She tried
not
  to see the apartment through their eyes, but it was
impossible. Tacky furniture, dusty shag
carpeting, garage-sale decor.
  Val went right to Max's old velour
Barcalounger and
  sat down. Joan perched birdlike on the end
of the sofa.
  Ruby flopped down on the sofa's other
cushion. She
  took a sip of her drink. A big gulp,
actually. "I know
  it's early for drinks, but it's not every day you see
nude pictures of your mother and lose your career.
I'll
  probably get hit by a bus later today."
  Val leaned forward. "Joan is an editor from
New
  York."
  "Really?"
  "She's here because of your mother."
  Ruby took a long, stinging swallow. "Of
course she
  is." She wished she had an olive to nibble on;
she
  needed something to do with her hands. She turned
  Joan. "What do you want?"
  "I work for Cache" magazine. We'd like you
to write
  an expose' on your mother." Joan smiled, showing
a
  mouthful of smoker's teeth. "We could hire a
ghostwriter
  if you'd like, but Val tells me you're a
first-rate writer.
  A compliment. That felt good. Ruby settled
back in
  her seat, eyeing Joan. "You want a
daughter's betrayal."
  "Who betrayed whom?" Joan said.
"Your mother
  has been telling America to honor commitments and
  put their children first. These photographs prove
   61
  that she's a liar and a hypocrite, plain and
simple. We
  checked the records. Nora was married to your father
  when those pictures were taken. People have a right to
  know who they're taking advice from."
  "Ah, the people's right," Ruby said, taking another
  sip of her martini.
  "It's just an article, Ruby, not a book.
No more than
  fifteen thousand words, and ..." Val said, "it
could
  make you famous."
  "Rich and famous," Joan added.
  Now that got Ruby's attention. She set the
glass
  down and looked at Joan. "How rich?"
  "Fifty thousand dollars. I'm prepared to pay
you
  half of that amount right now, and the other half
  when you deliver the article. The only catch is:  
can't do any interviews until we publish."
  "Fifty thousand dollars?" Ruby reached for her
  drink again, but she was too wound up to take a
sip.
  For a few measly words ...
  And all she had to do was serve up her mother's life
  for public consumption.
  She set her drink down. This wasn"t something
to
  take lightly. She wished she had someone to ask
about
  it, but Ruby had always had problems trusting people,
  and that made close friendships impossible. There
  was her dad, but he was so busy with his new family
  that he and Ruby weren't as close as they'd once
  been. And her sister had spent the past decade
trying
  to forgive their mother; there was no doubt she'd tell
  Ruby to turn down the deal. Caro would despise
the
  idea of airing their family's dirty laundry
in public.
  "I don't know my mother that well," she said
  62 
  slowly, trying to think through it. "The last
time I saw
  her was at my sister's wedding nine years ago.
We
  didn't speak."
  That wasn't entirely true. Ruby had spoken
to her
  mother. She'd said, "And I thought the worst part of
  this day would be wearing pink polyester." Then she'd
  walked away.
  "We don't want cold facts and figures.
We want
  your opinions, your thoughts on what kind of a
  person she is ... what kind of a mother she
  "That's easy. She'd step on your grandmother's
throat
  to get ahead. Nothing--and no one--matters to her;
  except herself."
  "You see?" Joan said, eyes shining. "That's
exactly
  the perspective we want. Now, I'm sure
you'll understand that we need to go to press fast. While
the
  scandal's still hot. I brought the contract with me.
  Val has already had a literary agent look it
over--and
  a check for twenty-five thousand dollars." She
reached
  into her black snakeskin (appropriate,
Ruby thought)
  briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers and a
check.
  She slapped the papers down on the table, with the
  check on top.
  Ruby stared down at all those zeros and swallowed
  hard. She'd never had that much money at one time.
  Hell, it was more than her salary for all of last
year.
  Joan smiled, a shark's grin. "Let me ask
you this,
  Ruby. Would your mother turn down this offer if you
  were the subject of the article?"
  The answer to that question came easily. Her
  mother had once had to make a choice like this. She
  could have chosen her husband and her daughters ...
   63
  or her career. Without a backward glance, Nora
  Bridge had chosen herself.
  "This is your chance, Ruby," Val said. "Think
of the
  exposure. The networks will be fighting
over you.
  She felt flushed. There was this strange sensation
  that she was removed from her body, watching the
  scene unfurl from a distance. Slowly, she heard
herself
  answer, "I'm a good writer ..." That was one
thing
  she'd always believed. Now she knew that Val
believed it, too. She bit her lower lip,
worrying it. If the
  article made her famous, maybe she could
parlay notoriety into a sitcom. "I certainly
know the beginning
  of her career--who she may have fucked to get to the
  top and who she just plain screwed."
  Joan was smiling now. "We've tentatively
booked
  you on The Sarah Purcell Show for a week from
  now ... to promote the article."
  The Sarah Purcell Show ...
  Ruby closed her eyes, wanting it so much her
head
  hurt. She'd clawed and scratched through life for
so
  long, been a nobody, a nothing ...
  She thought of all the reasons she should say no--the
moral, ethical reasons--but none of them found a
  place to stick. Instead, she thought about those
  damned photos ...
  And all of her mother's lies.
  She took a" deep breath, then exhaled.
Slowly, she
  reached down for the check and picked it up. The
  numbers swam before her eyes. "Okay," she
said. "I'll
  Do it."



  Chapter Four
  Ruby cranked the Volkswagen's radio
to full blast. A
  raucous Metallica song blared through the small
black
  speakers. Her whole body was moving to the beat.
  Fifty thousand dollars.
  She wanted so badly to share this day with someone.
If only she had Max's new number; she'd
call him
  and tell him what he'd missed out on. She would
have
  spent a lot of this money on him ... on them
...
  The thought brought a quick thrust of sadness, and
  The drive into Beverly Hills. Usually, she
didn't
  pissed her off. Max didn't deserve one cent
  of this fortune.
  even drive past this area; it was too depressing
to see
  all the luxuries she couldn't afford. But today,
she was
  flying high. She felt invincible.
  When she saw an open spot on Rodeo
Drive, she
  pulled over and parked. Grabbing her purse (with the
  yellow deposit slip for twenty-five thousand
dollars
  inside), she got out of the car and slammed the door
  shut behind her. For once, she didn't bother
locking
   65
  the car; if someone was desperate enough for
transportation to steal this one, they were welcome to it.
  She strolled around for a while, passing pods of
  women dressed in expensive, beautiful clothing.
No
  one made eye contact with her. In this part
of the
  world, a twenty-seven-year-old woman dressed
in what
  could only be called "grunge" simply didn't
exist. And
  fifty thousand dollars wasn't nearly enough to get
these
  women's attention.
  Then she looked into a store window and saw a
  sheer, beaded, silvery blue dress with a plunging
V
  neckline and a split in the side that came up
to mid-thigh. It was the most perfect dress she'd
ever seen, the
  kind of thing she'd never imagined she could own.
  She held her handbag close and pushed through the
  glass doors. A bell tinkled over her head.
  Over in the corner, across an ocean of white marble
  flooring and chrome-topped rounders of clothing, a
  woman looked up. "I'll be right with you, dear,"
she
  said in one of those cultured, sorority-girl
voices.
  Ruby felt uncomfortable. She wished she could
tape
  the deposit slip to her forehead.
  Finally the saleswoman came over. She was
tall and
  reed-thin, dressed in black from head to foot. Not
a
  hair was out of place. She gave a little sniff
when she
  saw Ruby, but her voice was kind. "May I
help you?"
  Ruby pointed helplessly toward the window. "I
saw
  a blue dress in the window."
  "You have excellent taste. Would you like to try
  it on?"
  She nodded.
  "Wonderful."
  66 
  The woman led Ruby to a dressing room that was
  bigger than the average bedroom. "Would you like a
  glass of champagne?
  Ruby laughed. Now, this was shopping. "I'd
love
  some."
  The saleswoman raised her hand; just that, and
  within a minute, a man in a black
tuxedo was handing
  Ruby a sparkling glass of champagne.
  "Thanks," she said, collapsing onto the cushy
seat
  in the dressing room. The champagne's bubbles
seemed
  to float through her blood, making her instantly
  giddy. For the first time in years, she felt like
somebody.
  Someone knocked at the door.
  "Come in."
  The saleslady peeked her head in. "Here you
go.
  I'm Demona. Just holler if you need me."
  Ruby trailed her fingers down the beaded,
sheer-as-tissue fabric, then quickly undressed and
slipped into
  the dress.
  It was like stepping into another personality ... a
  different life. Self-consciously, she peeked
out of the
  dressing room. The coast was clear. She walked
over
  to the wall-size mirrors in the corner.
  Her breath caught. Even with her hair
too short and
  her makeup too heavy, and her feet wedged into
  scuffed old Reeboks, she looked ...
beautiful. The
  plunging neckline accentuated her small
breasts; her
  waist appeared tiny, and the slit slimmed her
fleshy
  thighs.
  This was the woman she had hoped someday to become.
How had she veered so far off the path?
  "Oh, my," Demona said wistfully, "it's
perfect. And
   67
  you don't need a stitch of alterations. I've
never seen
  anything fit so well right off the rack."
  "I'll take it," Ruby said in a thick
voice.
  At least she could have this moment, she thought,
  this memory of a perfect day. The dress would
hang in
  her closet forever, a pristine reminder of the
woman
  Ruby wanted to be.
  She wrote a check--almost thirty-five
hundred dollars, including the tax and shoes--and
hung the dress
  carefully in the backseat of the Volkswagen.
  Then, cranking the music back up--
Steppenwolf
  this time--she sped toward the freeway. She was almost
home when she passed the Porsche dealer.
  Ruby laughed and slammed on the brakes.
  Nora lay curled on the elegant sofa in her
darkened
  living room. Hours ago, she'd sent Dee
home and disconnected the phones.
  Then she'd watched the news.
  Big mistake. Huge.
  Every station had the story; they played and replayed
  the same footage, showed the lurid blacked-out
photographs again and again, usually followed with sound
  bites of Nora expounding on the importance of
fidelity and the sanctity of the marriage vows. What
  hurt the most were the "man in the street"
interviews.
  Her fans had turned on her; some women even
cried
  at the betrayal they felt. "I trusted
her" was the most
  common refrain.
  She was finished. Never again would someone write
  her a letter and ask for advice; never again would people
  68 
  stand in line in the pouring rain outside the station for
  a chance to meet her in person.
  She knew, too, what was happening in the lobby
  downstairs. She'd called her doorman several
times
  today, and the report was always the same. The press
  was outside, cameras at the ready. One sighting
of
  Nora Bridge and they would spring on her like
wild
  dogs. Her doorman claimed that the garage was
safe--they weren't allowed in there-but she was afraid
to
  chance it.
  She sat up. Huge glass windows reflected
the town's
  bright lights, turned them into a smear of color.
The
  Space Needle hung suspended in the misty
sky, an
  alien ship hovering above the city.
  She walked toward the window. Her reflection,
  caught in the glass, looked bleary and small.
  Small.
  That's how she felt. It was a familiar feeling,
one
  that had defined her life long ago. It was this
sense of
  being ... nothing ... that had set her on the path
to
  ruin in the first place, and she didn't miss the
irony
  that she was here again.
  If her father were alive, he'd be laughing. Not so
big
  a star now, are you, missy?
  She walked into the kitchen and stood in front of
  the makeshift "bar" she kept for company. Nora
hadn't
  taken a drink in more years than she could count.
  But now she needed something to help her out of
  this hole. She felt as if she were drowning ...
  She poured herself a tumbler full of gin. It
tasted
  awful at first--like isopropyl alcohol
--but after a few
   69
  gulps, her tongue went dead and the booze slid
down
  easily, pooling firelike in her cold
stomach.
  On her way back into the living room, she
paused at
  the grand piano, her attention arrested by the
collection of gilt-framed photographs on the
gleaming ebony
  surface. She almost never looked at them, not
closely.
  It was like closing her hand around a shard of broken
  glass.
  Still, one caught her eye. It was a picture of
her and
  her ex-husband, Rand, and their two daughters.
  They'd been standing in front of the family beach
  house, their arms entwined, their smiles honest and
  bright.
  She tipped the glass back and finished the drink,
  then went back for another. By the time she finished
  that one, she could barely walk straight; there
seemed
  to be a sheet of wax paper between her and the world.
  That was fine. She didn't want to think too
clearly
  right now. When her mind was clear, she knew that
  she'd been on the run for all of her life,
and--at last--she'd hit a brick wall. The world
knew the truth about
  her now, and so did her children.
  She swayed drunkenly, staring at the
photographs.
  On one side of the piano were family pictures
--Christmas mornings, little girls in pink tutus
at dance
  recitals, family vacations taken in that old
tent trailer
  they'd hauled around behind the station wagon.
  On the other side were photographs of a woman
  who was always alone, even in the biggest of crowds.
  She looked beautiful--makeup artists and
hairdressers
  and personal trainers saw to that. She was
flawlessly
  70 
  dressed in expensive clothes, often surrounded
by fans
  and employees.
  Adored by strangers.
  She stumbled away from the piano and plugged
  the phone into the wall. Bleary-eyed, she dialed
her
  psychiatrist.
  A moment later, a woman answered. "Dr.
Allbright's office."
  "Hi, Midge. It's Nora Bridge." She
hoped she wasn't
  slurring her words. "Is the doctor in?"
  A sniff. That was the only sound, but Nora
knew.
  "He's not in, Ms. Bridge. Shall I take
a message?"
  Ms. Bridge. Only days ago it had been
Nora.
  "Is he at home?"
  "No, he's unreachable, but I can put you through to
  his service. Or he left Dr. Homby's
number for emergency referrals
  Nora struggled to remain steady. Call waiting
  beeped. "Thanks, Midge. There's no need for
that." She
  waited an endless second for Midge
to respond, and
  when the silence began to ache, Nora hung up.
Then
  she ripped the cord out of the wall again.
  In some distant part of her mind, she knew that she
  was sinking into a pool of self-pity, and that she could
  drown in it, but she didn't know how to crawl out.
  Eric.
  He would be on the island by now. If she hurried,
  maybe she could still make the last ferry ...
  She grabbed her car keys off the kitchen counter
  and staggered into her bedroom. After cramming a
  blond wig over her cropped auburn hair,
she put on a
  pair of Jackie O sunglasses. On the
bedside table, she
   71
  found her sleeping pills. Of course it would be
bad--wrong--to take one now; even in her drunken
state,
  she knew she couldn't mix booze and pills. But
she
  wanted to.
  God, she wanted to ...
  She tossed the brown plastic bottle
in her purse.
  The only thing she took from her condominium
  was an old photograph of their family, one
taken at
  Disneyland when the girls were small. She shoved it
  in her handbag and left without bothering to check
  the lock.
  She banged along the wall, using it as a
guardrail as
  she tottered toward the elevator. Once
inside, she
  clung to the slick wooden handrail, praying there
  wouldn't be a stop in the lobby. She got lucky;
the mirrored elevator went all the way down to the
parking
  garage, where it stopped with a clang.
  The doors opened.
  She peered out; the garage was empty. She careened
  unsteadily toward her car, collapsing against the
jet-black side of her Mercedes. It took her
several tries to
  get the key in the lock, but she finally managed.
  She slid awkwardly into the soft leather seat. The
  engine started easily, a roar of sound in the
darkness.
  The radio came on instantly. Bette
Midler singing about
  the wind beneath her wings.
  Nora caught sight of herself in the rearview
mirror.
  Her face was pale, her cheeks tear-streaked.
She'd
  chewed at her lower lip until it was misshapen.
  "What are you doing?" she asked the woman in the
  sunglasses. She heard the slurring, drunken
sound of
  72 
  her voice, and it made her cry. Hot tears
blurred her
  vision.
  "Please, God," she whispered, "let Eric still
be
  there."
  She slammed the car into reverse and backed out of
  the spot. Then she headed forward and hit the gas.
  Tires squealed as she rounded the corner and
hurtled
  up the ramp. She didn't even glance left for
traffic as
  she sped out onto Second Avenue.
  Dean stood on the slatted wooden dock. The
seaplane
  taxied across the choppy blue waves and lifted
skyward, its engine chattering as it banked left and
  headed back to Seattle.
  He'd forgotten how beautiful this place was,
how
  peaceful.
  The tide was out now, and this stretch of beach, as
  familiar to him once as his own hand, smelled of
sand
  that had baked in the hot sun, of kelp that was
slowly
  curling into leathery strips. He knew that if he
jumped
  down onto that sand, it would swallow his expensive
  loafers and reclaim him, turn him into a child again.
  It was the smell that pulled him back in time, that
  and the slapping sound of the waves against barnacled
  pilings. A dozen memories came at him,
gift-wrapped
  in the scent of his parents' beach at low tide.
  Here, he and Eric had built their forts and buried
  treasures made of foil-wrapped poker chips;
they'd
  gone from rock to rock, squatting down, scraping
  their knees on driftwood in search of the tiny
black
  crabs that lived beneath the slick gray stones.
  They had been the best of friends in those days,
   73
  inseparable brothers who seemed so often to think with
  a single mind.
  Of the two of them, Eric had been the strong one,
  the golden boy who did everything well and fought
  for his heart's desires. At seven, Eric had
demanded to
  be taken to Granddad's island house on Lopez,
the
  one they'd seen pictures of. And it was Eric
who'd first
  convinced Mother to let them stay.
  Dean could still remember the arguments. They
  were hushed, of course, as all Sloan
disagreements
  were required to be, full of sibilant sounds and
pregnant pauses. He remembered sitting at the
top of the
  stairs, his scrawny body pressed so tightly
against the
  railing that he'd worn the marks later on his
flesh, listening to his older brother plead for the chance
to go
  to the island school.
  Absurd, Mother had declared at first, but Eric had
  worked on her relentlessly, wearing her down. As a
  child, Eric had been every bit as formidable as their
  mother, and in the end, he'd won. At the time, it had
  seemed a monumental victory; with age came
wisdom,
  however. The truth was, Mother was so busy running
  Harcourt and Sons that she didn't care where her
children were. Oh, occasionally she tried to do the "right"
  thing, as she called it--make them transfer
to Choate-but in the end, she simply let them be.
  Dean closed his eyes, then opened them quickly,
  startled by the sound of laughter.
  But it was only an echo in his mind, an
auditory
  memory. He hated what had brought him home
at
  last, hated that it had taken a disease to bring him
  back to his brother. Even more, he hated the way
he
  74 
  felt about Eric now; they'd grown so far apart.
And all
  of it was Dean's fault. He saw that, knew it,
hated it,
  and couldn't seem to change it.
  It had happened on a seemingly ordinary
Sunday.
  Dean had moved off of the island by then, gone to
  prep school; he'd been a senior, nursing a
heart so
  broken that sometimes he'd forgotten to breathe. Eric
  had been at Princeton. They were still brothers
then,
  separated only by miles, and they'd spoken on the
  phone every Sunday. One phone call had changed
  everything.
  "I've fallen in love, ... get ready
for a
  Shock ... " name is Charlie and he ..."
  Dean had never been able to remember more than
  that. Somehow, in that weird, disorienting moment, his
  mind had shut down. He'd felt suddenly
betrayed, as if
  the brother he'd known and loved was a stranger.
  Dean had said all the right things to Eric.
Even in
  his shocked confusion, he'd known what was expected
of him, and he'd complied. But they'd both
  heard the lie beneath the words. Dean didn't know
  how to be honest, what words he could mold into an
  acceptable truth. He'd felt--ridiculously
--as if he'd
  lost his brother that day.
  If they'd gotten together back then, talked it
through,
  they might have been okay. But they'd been young
  men, both of them, poised at the start of their
lives,
  each one faced in a different direction. It had
been
  easy to drift apart. By the time Dean graduated
from
  Stanford and went to work for the family business,
  too much time had passed to start again. Eric had
  moved to Seattle and begun teaching high-school
   75
  English. He'd lived with Charlie for a long time;
only a
  few years before, Dean had received a note from
Eric
  about Charlie's lost battle with AIDS.
  Dean had sent flowers and a nice little card.
He'd
  meant to pick up the phone, but every time he reached
  for it, he wondered what in the world he could say.
  He turned away from the water and walked down
  the dock, then climbed the split-log stairs
set into the
  sandy cliff. He was out of breath when he finally
  emerged on top of the bluff.
  The sprawling Victorian house was exactly as
he remembered it--salmony pink siding, steeply
pitched
  roof, elegant white cutwork trim.
Clematis vines curled
  around the porch rails and hung in frothy loops
from
  along the eaves. The lawn was still as flat and
green as
  a patch of Christmas felt. Roses bloomed
riotously,
  perfectly trimmed and fertilized from year to year.
  It was something his mother never forgot: home
  maintenance fees. Every house she owned was
precisely cared for, but this one more than
most. She
  Knew, or imagined, which to her was the same as
  certainty--that Eric occasionally visited the summer
  house with that man. She didn't want to hear any
  complaints from them about the property.
  Dean headed toward the house, ducking beneath
  the outstretched branches of an old madrona
tree. As
  he bent, a glint of silver caught his eye.
He turned,
  realizing a moment too late what he'd seen.
  The swing set, rusted now and forgotten. A
whispery breeze tapped one of the red seats, made
the
  chains jangle. The sight of it dragged out an
unwelcome memory ...
  76 
  Ruby. She'd been right there, leaning against the
  slanted metal support pole, with her arms
crossed.
  It was the moment--the exact second--he'd
realized his best friend was a girl.
  He'd moved toward her.
  What? she'd said, laughing. Am I drooling or
  something?
  All at once, he'd realized that he loved
her. He'd
  wanted to say the words to her, but it was the year his
  voice betrayed him. He'd been so afraid of
sounding
  like a girl when he spoke, and so he'd kissed
her.
  It had been the first kiss for both of them, and to
  this day, when Dean kissed a woman, he longed for
  the smell of the sea.
  He spun away from the swing set and strode
purposefully toward the house. At the front
door, he
  paused, gathering courage and molding it into a
smile
  Then he knocked on the door.
  From inside came the pattering sound of footsteps.
  The door burst open and Lottie was there. His
old
  nanny flung open her pudgy arms. "Dean!"
  He stepped over the threshold and walked into the
  arms that had held him in his youth. He breathed in
  her familiar scent--Ivory soap and lemons.
  He drew back, smiling. "Hey, Lottie.
It's good to see
  you."
  She gave him "the look"-one thick gray
eyebrow
  arched. "I'm surprised you could still find your way
  here."
  Though he hadn't seen her in more than a decade,
  she had barely aged. Oh, her hair was grayer,
but she
  still wore it drawn back into a cookie-size
bun at the
   77
  base of her skull. Her ruddy skin was still
amazingly
  wrinkle-free, and her bright green eyes were those
of a
  woman who'd enjoyed her life.
  He realized suddenly how much he'd missed her.
  Lottie had come into their family as a cook for the
  summer and gradually had become their full-time
  nanny. She'd never had any children of her own, and
  Eric and Dean had become her surrogate
sons. She'd
  raised them for the ten years they'd lived on
Lopez.
  "I wish I were here for an ordinary
visit," he said.
  She blinked up at him. "It seems like only
yesterday
  I was wiping chocolate off his little-boy face.
I can't
  believe it. Just can't believe it." She stepped
back into
  the well-lit entryway, wringing her hands.
  Dean followed her into the living room, where a
fire
  crackled in the huge hearth. The furniture he
remembered from childhood still cluttered the big
space.
  Cream-colored sofas on carved wooden legs
faced
  each other. A large, oval-shaped rosewood
coffee table
  stood between them, a beautiful Lalique bowl on
its
  gleaming surface.
  The room was gorgeously decorated in a timeless
  style. Not a thing was trendy or cheaply made.
Every
  item reflected his mother's impeccable taste and
  boundless bank account.
  The only thing missing from the room was life. No
  child had ever been allowed to sit on those perfect
  sofas, no drink had ever been spilled on that
Aubusson
  carpet.
  Dean glanced toward the stairway. "How is
he?"
  Lottie's green eyes filled with sadness. "Not
so good,
  I'm sorry to say. The trip up here was hard
on him. The
  78 
  hospice nurse was here today. She says that the
new
  medication--something called a pain cocktail--will
  help him feel better."
  Pain.
  That was something Dean hadn't thought about,
  although he should have. "Jesus," he said softly,
running a hand through his hair. He'd thought he was
  ready. He'd been mentally preparing himself, and
yet
  now that he was here, he saw what an idiot he'd
been.
  You couldn't prepare to watch your brother
die. "Did
  Eric call our parents?"
  "He did. They're in Greece. Athens."
  "I know. Did he speak to Mother?"
  Lottie glanced down at her hands; he braced
himself. "Your mother's assistant spoke to him. It
seems
  your mother was shopping when he called."
  Dean's voice was purposely soft. He was
afraid that
  if he raised it, even a bit, he'd be
yelling. "Did Eric tell
  her about the cancer?"
  "Of course. He wanted to tell your mother himself,
  but ... he decided he'd better just leave a
message.
  "And has she returned his call?"
  "No.
  Dean released his breath in a tired sigh.
  Lottie moved toward him. "I remember how you
  boys used to be. You'd walk through fire for one
  another."
  "Yeah. I'm here for him now."
  "Go on up." She smiled gently. "He's a
bit the
  worse for wear, but he's still our boy."
  Dean nodded stiffly, resettled the garment bag
over
  his shoulder, and headed upstairs. The oak steps
   79
  creaked beneath his feet. His hand slid up the oak
  banister; polished to sleek perfection by the comings
  and goings of three generations.
  At the top of the stairs, the landing forked into two
  separate hallways. On the right was his parents"
old
  wing; his-and-hers bedrooms that hadn't been
occupied in more than fourteen years.
  To the left were two doors, one closed, one
partially
  open. The closed door led to Dean's old
room. He
  didn't need to enter the room to picture it
clearly: blue
  wool carpeting, maple bed with a plaid flannel
bedspread, a dusty poster of Farrah Fawcett in
her famous
  red bathing suit. He'd dreamed a million
dreams in
  that room, imagined his unfolding life in
a thousand
  Ways ... and none had presaged a moment like this.
  Tired suddenly, he rounded the corner; passed his
  old bedroom, and came to Eric's door.
  There he paused and drew in a deep breath, as
if
  more air in his lungs would somehow make things
  better.
  Then he walked into his brother's room.
  The first thing he noticed was the hospital bed. It
  had replaced the bunk bed that once had hugged the
  wall. The new bed--big and metal-railed and
tilted up
  like a lounging chair dominated the small room.
  Lottie had positioned it to look out the window.
  Eric was asleep.
  Dean seemed to see everything at once--the way
  Eric's black hair had thinned to show patches of
  Skin ... the yellowed pallor of his sunken
cheeks ...
  the smudged black circles beneath his eyes ... the
  veiny thinness of the arm that lay atop the stark white
  80 
  sheets. His lips were pale and slack, a
colorless imitation of the mouth that had once
smiled almost continually. Only the palest shadow of his
brother lay
  here ...
  Dean grabbed the bed rail for support; the
metal
  rattled beneath his grasp.
  Eric's eyes slowly opened.
  And there he was. The boy he'd known and loved.
  "Eric," he said, wishing his voice weren't so
thick. He
  struggled to find a smile.
  "Don't bother; baby brother. Not for me."
  "Don't bother what?"
  "Pretending not to be shocked at the way I
look."
  Eric reached for the small pink plastic cup on his
bedside tray. His long, thin fingers trembled as he
guided
  the straw to his mouth. He sipped slowly,
swallowed.
  When he looked up at Dean, his rheumy eyes
were
  filled with a terrible, harrowing honesty. "I
didn't
  think you'd come."
  "Of course I came. You should have told me ...
  before."
  "Like when I told you I was gay? Believe me,
I
  learned a long time ago that my family didn't
handle
  bad news well."
  Dean fought to hold back tears, and then gave
up.
  They were the kind of tears that hurt deep in your
  heart. He felt a stinging sense of shame.
  Remorse, regret, boredom, anticipation,
ambition ...
  these were the emotions that had taken Dean through
  life. Those, he knew how to handle, how
to manipulate
  and compensate for. But this new emotion ... this
feeling in the pit of his stomach that he'd been a bad
person,
   81
  that he'd hurt his brother deeply and known it and
never
  bothered to make it right ...
  Eric smiled weakly. "You're here now. That's
  enough."
  "No. You've been sick for a long time ... by
  yourself."
  "It doesn't matter."
  Dean wanted to smooth the thin strands of hair from
  Eric's damp forehead, to offer a comforting touch, but
  when he reached out, his hands were trembling, and he
  drew back.
  It had been years since he'd comforted another
  human being; he didn't remember how.
  "It matters," he said, hearing the thickness in his
  voice. He would give anything right now to erase
the
  past, to be able to go back to that Sunday afternoon,
  listen to that same confession of love from his brother;
  and simply be happy.
  But how did you do that? How did two people
  move backward through time and untie a knot that
  had tangled through every moment of their lives?
  "Just talk to me," Eric said sleepily, smiling
again.
  "Just talk, little brother. Like we used to."



  Chapter Five
  The phone rang in the middle of the night. Ruby
  groaned and glanced bleary-eyed at the bedside
clock.
  One-fifteen.
  "Shit," she mumbled. It had to be one of those
idiot
  reporters.
  She reached across Max's empty half of the bed and
  yanked the phone off the hook. Rolling onto her
back,
  she brought it to her ear. "Bite me."
  "I gave that up in kindergarten."
  Ruby laughed sleepily. "Caro? Oh,
sorry. I thought
  you were one of those bottom feeders from the Tattler."
  "They aren't calling me. Of course, I
haven't made a
  career out of dissing Mom."
  "It isn't much of a career." Ruby scooted
backward
  and leaned against the rough stucco wall. Through the
  phone lines, she could hear a baby crying. It was
a
  high-pitched wailing sound, one only dogs should be
  able to hear. "Jesus, Caro, you must be chewing
Excedrin. Does the baby Jesus always wail like
that?"
  "Mom's been in a car accident."
   83
  Ruby gasped. "What happened?"
  "I don't know. All I know is that she's at
Bayview.
  Apparently she'd been drinking."
  "She never drinks. I mean, she never used
to."
  Ruby threw back the covers and stood up. She
wasn't
  sure why she did it, except that she had a
sudden need
  to be moving. She held the cordless phone to her
ear,
  walking toward the darkened kitchen. There, she
  stared out the slit in the tattered curtains at the
black
  street below. The pink neon vacancy sign
flickered and
  buzzed. She ran a hand through her sweaty hair.
  "How bad is it?"
  "I don't know. I'm going to drop the kids off
with
  Jere's mom first thing in the morning and go to the
hospital. But I don't want to do this alone. Will
you come?"
  "I don't know, Car-"
  "She could be dying. Think of someone besides
  yourself for a change," Caroline said sharply.
  Ruby sighed heavily. "Okay, I'll come."
  "I'll call Alaska Airlines and put a
ticket on my
  card. There's a flight at five forty-five.
You can pick it
  up at the counter."
  "Uh ... you don't have to do that. I have money
  now."
  "You? Oh ... well, that's great."
  "I'll be there by noon." Ruby hung up the
phone.
  Crossing her arms tightly, she paced her
apartment,
  back and forth, back and forth, unable to stop.
  She had been angry at her so-called mother forever.
She couldn't really remember not hating her ...
  and the past few days had only added fuel to the
fire.
  84 
  But now ... an accident. Horrible images
slammed
  through her mind. Paralysis ... brain
... death.
  She closed her eyes. (it took her a moment
to realize
  that she was praying.) "Take care of her," she
whispered, then added a single, unfamiliar word,
"Please?"
  When Nora woke up the next morning, she had
a moment of pure, heart-pumping fear. She was in a
strange
  bed, in an austere room she didn't
recognize.
  Then she remembered.
  She'd been in a car accident. She recalled the
ambulance ride ... the flashing red lights ... the
metallic taste
  of her own blood ... the surprise on the young
paramedic's face when he'd realized who he was
treating.
  And the doctors. The orthopedist who'd spoken to
  her just before and after the X rays. A severe break
  above the ankle; another, small fracture below
the
  knee ... a sprained wrist. He'd said she was
lucky.
  When he'd said that, she'd cried.
  Now, her leg was in a cast. She couldn't see it
beneath
  the blankets, but she could feel it. The flesh
tingled and
  itched and her bone ached.
  She sighed, feeling sorry for herself and deeply
  ashamed. Drinking and driving.
  As if the Tattler's photographs weren't enough
to
  ruin her career; she'd added a crime to the list.
  It wouldn't be long before the media picked up her
  scent. Someone would figure out that there was a
  buck to be made in telling the world that Nora
Bridge
  was in Bayview. The accident report was
probably
  worth thousands.
  There was a knock at the door; short and sharp, and
   85
  then Caroline swept into the room. Her back was
  ramrod straight, her pale hands clasped at
her waist.
  She wore a pair of camel-colored cashmere
pants and
  a matching sweater set. Her silvery
blond hair was cut
  in a perfect bob, one side tucked discreetly
behind her
  ear. Huge diamond studs glittered in her
earlobes.
  "Hello, Mother."
  "Hi, honey. It's nice of you to come." Nora
recognized instantly how distant she sounded, and it
shamed
  her. She and Caroline had worked hard in the past
few
  years, trying to come back together in an honest way.
  Nora had treated her elder daughter with infinite
care,
  always letting Caro make the first move. Now,
all that
  progress had been blown to hell; she could see
how far
  apart they'd fallen again. There was a coldness in
Caroline's eyes that Nora hadn't seen in years.
  Caroline glanced at her quickly, smiled--or
winced.
  She looked vulnerable suddenly.
  Nora couldn't stand the awkward silence that fell
  between them. She said the first thing that popped
  into her mind. "The doctors say I'll need
to be in a
  wheelchair for a few days--just until my wrist
gets
  strong enough to make crutches possible."
  "Who is going to take care of you?"
  "Oh ... I hadn't thought about that. I guess
I'll hire
  someone. Shouldn't be difficult." She kept
talking--anything was better than that silence. "The
big question is, where will I go? I can't go back to my
condo.
  The press has the place staked out. But I need
to stay
  close to my doctors."
  Caroline took a step toward the bed. "You could
  use the summer house. Jere and I never find time
to
  86 
  make it up there, and Ruby won't set foot
on the island. The old house is just sitting there ..."
  The house on Summer Island. A stone's throw
from
  Eric. It would be perfect. Nora
looked up at her
  daughter. "You'd do that for me?"
  Caroline gave her a look of infinite sadness.
"I wish
  you knew me."
  Nora sagged back into the pillows. She'd said the
  wrong thing again. "I'm sorry."
  "God, I've heard that from you so often, I feel
like
  it's tattooed on my forehead. Quit saying
you're sorry
  and start acting like it. Start acting like my mother."
  She reached into her purse and fished out a set of
keys.
  Pulling a single key from the ring, she set it down
on
  the bedside table.
  Nora could see that her daughter was close to
  breaking. "Caro, call me when you've settled
in." Caroline stepped
  back, putting distance between them.
  Nora didn't know what to say. Caroline was
right;
  Nora hadn't had the courage to act like a mother in
  years.
  "I have to go now."
  Nora nodded stiffly, trying to smile. "Of
course.
  Thanks for coming." She wanted to reach Out for
Caroline, hold her daughter's hand, and never let
go.
  "Good-bye, Mom."
  And she was gone.
  Ruby stepped out of the main terminal at Seattle
  International Airport. Rain thumped on the
sky bridge
  and studded the street, creating a pewter curtain
between
   87
  the terminal and the multilayered parking
  garage across the street.
  The early morning air smelled of evergreen
trees
  and fertile black earth. Like a dash of spice in
a complex recipe, there was the barest tang of the sea;
a
  scent only a local would recognize.
  As she stood beneath this bloated gray sky,
smelling
  the moist, pine-scented air; she
realized that memories were more than misty
recollections. They stayed
  rooted in the soil in which they'd grown. There were
  places up north, in the San Juan Island
archipelago,
  where bits and pieces of Ruby's life had been
left
  scattered about like seashells on the shore. Somewhere
up there sat the shadow of a thin, bold-eyed
  girl on a pebbly beach, tearing the petals off
a daisy,
  chanting He loves me; he loves me not. She
knew
  that if she looked hard enough, she would be able to
  find the invisible trail she'd left behind, the
pieces of
  her that led from the present back to the past.
  She wasn't surprised at how fresh the
memories
  were. Nothing could ever dry up and turn to dust in
  the moist Seattle air. Everything thrived.
  Ruby hailed a cab and climbed into the
backseat,
  tossing her carry-on bag in beside her. She
glanced at the
  cabbie's registration (a habit she'd formed
during visits
  to New York) and saw that his name was Avi
Avivivi.
  There was a joke in that, but she was too tired to go
  digging around for it. "Bayview," she said, thumping
  back into the smelly brown velour seat.
  Avi hit the gas and rocketed into the next
lane.
  Ruby closed her eyes, trying not to think of
anything
  88 
  at all. It seemed like only a few minutes
later; Avi was
  tapping her on the shoulder.
  "Mrs.? Ma'am? You are well, yes?"
  Ruby jerked awake, rubbing her eyes. "I'm
fine,
  thanks." Fishing thirty rumpled dollars out of
her
  pocket, she handed Avi the fare and tip. Then
she
  grabbed her purse and bag, slung both straps
over her
  shoulder; and headed toward the hospital's
double
  glass doors, where a few people were milling about.
  Ruby was almost in their midst when she realized
  they were reporters.
  "It's her daughter!"
  The reporters turned to her all at once,
yelling above
  one another; elbowing for position.
  "Ruby, look here!"
  "Was your mother drunk at the time of-"
  "What did you think of the photographs-"
  Ruby heard every shutter click, every picture
frame
  advance. She noticed the strand of hair that was
stuck
  to her lower lip, the tiny paper cut on her index
finger.
  It was as if she were standing miles apart from the
  crowd, even though she could have reached out and
  touched the woman from CNN.
  "Ruby! Ruby! Ruby!"
  For a dizzying moment, she let herself pretend that
  this was for her; that she had earned this attention.
  "Did you know about your mother's affair?"
  At that, Ruby turned. She locked
eyes with a small,
  beak-nosed man wearing a KOMO 4 hat.
"No." She
  flashed a bright, fake smile. "I'd make a
joke about it,
  but it's not very funny."
  She pushed through the crowd, holding her head
   89
  up, looking straight ahead. Their questions followed
  her; rocks thrown at her back, some hitting
hard.
  She strode through the pneumatic doors. They
  whooshed shut behind her.
  Inside, it was quiet. The air smelled of
disinfectant. Boldly patterned chairs dotted the
vast white
  lobby. There were cheery, generic paintings on the
  walls, placed awkwardly between gilt-framed
portraits of sour-looking men and women who'd
obviously donated millions to the hospital.
  "Ruby!"
  Caroline rushed forward. Her hug almost knocked
  Ruby off her feet. As she held her sister;
Ruby could
  feel how thin Caro had become, could
feel the tremble
  in her sister's body.
  At last, Caro drew back. Her mascara had
run, ruining the impossible perfection of her face.
"I'm
  sorry," she said, snapping her purse open,
fishing for a
  lace handkerchief, which she found and dabbed at her
  eyes. Ruby could sense that Caroline was
embarrassed by her uncharacteristic display of emotion.
If
  old patterns ran true, Caro would pull
back now, distance herself while she whittled her
feelings down to
  an acceptable size.
  Caroline closed her eyes for a moment. When she
  reopened them, she looked at Ruby with a kind of
  quiet desperation. Ruby recognized that look.
Her
  sister was wondering why everything in life couldn't
  be easier; why they all couldn't simply love
each other.
  Silence fell between them, soft and cold as an
early
  morning rain. In that quiet, Ruby
heard the echo of a
  90 
  broken family; they were individual pieces,
now separate, wanting a wholeness that had been
shattered.
  "So, how is Nora?" Ruby asked at last.
  Caroline gave her a sharp look. "She still
hates it
  when we call her Nora."
  "Really? I'd forgotten that."
  "I'll bet you did. Anyway, she drove her
car into a
  tree. Her leg is broken; her wrist is
sprained. She'll be
  in a wheelchair for a few days. That makes it
pretty
  tough to do the ordinary bits and pieces of life.
She'll
  need help."
  "I pity the poor nurse who takes that job."
  Caroline looked at her. "Would you want to be
  cared for by a stranger?"
  It took Ruby a minute to get her sister's
drift. When
  she did, she burst out laughing. "You're
delusional."
  "This isn't funny. You saw the reporters out
front.
  They're ready to tear Mom apart, and she's always
  been fragile."
  "Yeah, in that pit-bull kind of way."
  "Ruby," Caroline said in her
we're-a-team-and-you're-not-playing-fair voice.
"A stranger could sell her
  out to the tabloids. She needs someone she can
trust."
  "Then you'd better do it. She can't trust me."
  "I have kids. A husband."
  A life. The implication was clear; and the truth of
it
  stung. "Doesn't she have any friends?"
  "It should be you, Ruby." Caroline looked
disgusted.
  "Jesus. You're going to be thirty in a few
years. Mom's
  fifty. When are you going to get to know her?"
  "Who says I'm ever going to?"
   91
  Caro moved closer. "Tell me you didn't
think about
  it last night."
  Ruby couldn't swallow. Her sister was so close
...
  she smelled of expensive perfume, gardenias,
maybe.
  "About what?"
  "Losing her."
  The words hit dangerously near their mark. Ruby
  stared down at the speckled linoleum floor.
There was
  no doubt in her mind what she should do--go out
  those front doors and fly home. But it wasn't
quite so
  easy this time, especially with the Cache' article out
  there to write. A little time with Nora Bridge would
  certainly make the piece better. A lot
better.
  She took a deep breath, then turned to face
her
  sister. One week," she said evenly. "I'll
stay with her
  for one week."
  Caroline pulled Ruby into a fierce hug. "I
knew
  you'd do the right thing."
  Ruby felt like a fraud. She couldn't meet
her sister's
  gaze. Weakly, she said, "A week with Nora.
You'd
  better start a defense fund."
  Caroline laughed. "Go tell her. She's in
six twelve
  west. I'll wait for you here."
  "Coward." Ruby flashed her a nervous smile,
then
  headed for the elevators. On the sixth floor,
she began
  a room-to-room search until she found 612.
  The door was ajar.
  She took another deep breath and stepped
inside.
  Her mother was asleep.
  Ruby exhaled in relief. The tension in her
shoulders
  eased a little, she unclenched her fists.
  She stared down at her mother's pale, beautiful
face
  92 
  and felt an unexpected tug of longing. She had
to
  forcibly remind herself that this lovely, red-haired
  woman who looked like Susan Sarandon wasn't
really
  her mother. Ruby's mother--the woman who'd played
  Scrabble and made chocolate-chip pancakes every
  Sunday morning--had died eleven years ago.
This
  was the woman who'd killed her.
  Nora opened her eyes.
  Ruby felt an almost overwhelming urge to run
away.
  Nora gasped and scooted up to a sit,
self-consciously
  smoothing the tangled hair from her face. "You
came,
  she said softly, a note of wonder in her
voice.
  Ruby forced her hands to stay bolted to her sides.
It
  was an old stand-up rule. No fidgeting. The
audience
  could smell a set of nerves. "How are you?"
  Stupid question, but Ruby was off-balance, afraid
  of pitching headfirst.
  "I'm fine." Nora smiled, but it was
an odd, uncertain smile.
  Ruby crossed her arms--another anti-fidget
technique.
  "So, I guess you've lost your good-driver
discount."
  "That's my Ruby. Quick with a joke."
  "I wouldn't say 'your" Ruby."
  Nora's smile faded. "I'm sure you
wouldn't." She
  closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her
nose, exhaling softly. "I see you still think you know
everything ... and you still don't take any
prisoners."
  Ruby could feel the shale of old habits
sliding beneath
  her feet. A few more well-chosen words and there
would
  be a full-scale war going on between them.
  "I don't know everything," Ruby said evenly.
"I
  don't think I ever knew my mother."
   93
  Nora laughed, a fluttery, tired sound. "That
makes
  two of us."
  They stared at each other. Ruby felt a mounting
  urge to escape; she knew it was a survival
instinct. Already she knew she couldn't spend a week
with this
  woman and feel nothing ... the anger was so sharp
  right now it overwhelmed her.
  But she had no choice.
  "I thought ... I'd stay with you for a while.
Help
  you get settled."
  Nora's surprise was almost comical. "Why?"
  Ruby shrugged. There were so many answers to
  that question. "You could have died. Maybe I thought
  of what it would be like to lose you." She smiled
  woodenly. "Or maybe this is your darkest hour;
the
  loss of everything you left your family for; and I
don't
  want to miss a minute of your misery. Or
maybe I got a
  contract to write a magazine article about you and
I
  need to be close to get the inside scoop. Or
maybe I-"
  "I get it. Who cares why. I need
help and you obviously have nothing better to do."
  "How do you do it--slam me in the middle of a
  thank-you? Jesus, it's a gift."
  "I didn't mean to slam you."
  "No, you just thought you'd point out that I have
  no life. It wouldn't occur to you that I've
rearranged
  my life to spend some time with you, would it?"
  "Let's not start, okay?"
  "You started it."
  Nora's hand moved to the bed rail, her fingers
slid
  close to touch Ruby. She looked up. "You know
I'm
  going to the summer house, right?"
  94 
  Ruby couldn't have heard right. "What?"
  "Reporters are camped outside my condo. I
can't
  face them." Nora's gaze lowered, and Ruby
saw how
  hard it was for her mother to face her, too. The past
  was between them again, a sticky web that caught
  old hurts and held them. "Your sister offered me
use
  of the summer house. If you want to change your
  mind, I'll understand."
  Ruby went to the window and stared out at the
  gray, rainy streets of Capitol Hill.
  It had seemed doable a few moments ago; go to this
  woman's house--Nora's house, not really her
mother
  at all--sit with her for a few days, make a
few meals.
  look through a few old photo albums, ask a
few questions. Get enough information to write the "where
  Nora Bridge came from" section of the article.
  But ... at the summer house.
  It was where so many of the memories were buried,
  both good and bad. She would rather see Nora in
  some glass-walled high-rise that success had
purchased. Not in the clapboard farmhouse where
Ruby
  would remember gardening and painting and the
  sound of laughter that had long since faded.
  Fifty thousand dollars.
  That's what she had to think about. She could handle
  a week at the summer house.
  "I guess it doesn't matter where we are ...
  "You mean it?" There was a disturbing
wistfulness
  in her mother's voice.
  Finally, Ruby turned. She meant to close the
distance between them, but her feet wouldn't move.
"Sure.
  Why not?"
   95
  Nora was looking at her thoughtfully. She said,
  "You'll need to rent me a wheelchair--just until
my
  wrist is strong enough for crutches. And I'll need
a few
  things from my apartment."
  "I can do that."
  "I'll talk to my doctor and get checked out of
here.
  We'll have to leave quietly, through the back way,
  maybe. We don't want to be followed."
  "I'll rent a car and pick you up in--what--
three
  hours?"
  "Okay. My purse is in the closet. Get
my credit
  cards. Use the platinum Visa for anything you
need.
  I'll draw you a map to my apartment and call
Ken--he's the doorman. He'll let you in. And
Ruby ... get a
  nice car; okay?"
  Ruby tried to smile. This was going to be bad.
Her
  mother was already making demands--and judgments. "Only
the best for you, Nora." She went to the
  closet, saw the expensive black hand bag, and
grabbed
  it. The wide strap settled comfortably on her
shoulder.
  Without a backward glance, she headed out.
  Her mother's voice stopped her. "Ruby? Thank
  you."
  Ruby shut the door behind her.



  Chapter Six
  Ruby walked into her mother's penthouse condominium
and closed the door behind her. The place was
  eerily silent and smelled faintly of flowers.
  She dropped her jacket onto the gleaming marble
  floor; beside an ornate wrought-iron and stone  
that held a huge urn full of roses.
  She turned the corner and literally had
to catch her
  breath. It was the most incredible room she'd ever
seen.
  A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped
around
  the whole apartment, showcasing a panoramic view
  of Elliot Bay.
  The floors were polished marble, a color somewhere
between white and gold, with twisting black and
  green threads running through each square.
Brocade-covered furniture, perched on gilded
legs, sat in a
  cluster in the living room around a beautiful gold
and
  glass coffee table. In one corner stood an
ebony Steinway, its lacquered top cluttered with
photographs in
  gilt-edged frames.
  A dimly lit hallway led past several more
   97
  rooms--formal dining room, gourmet kitchen,
home office--and ended at the master bedroom. Here,
the windows
  were dressed in steel-gray silk curtains that
matched
  the woven cashmere bedspread. There were two huge
  walk-in closets. She opened the first one, and a
light
  came on automatically, revealing two rows of
clothes,
  organized by color.
  Ruby's fingers drifted through the clothing.
Silks,
  cashmeres, expensive woolens. She saw the
labels:
  St. John, Armani, Donna Karan,
Escada.
  She released her breath in an envious sigh. The
  thought This is what she left us for winged through her
  mind, hurting more than she would have expected.
  She pulled the list out of her pocket.
  Hairdryer
  Curling iron
  Shorts
  Sundresses
  Socks
  They were ordinary items, but nothing in this closet
  cost less than three hundred dollars.
  She backed out, closing the door behind her. At
  the rosewood, gilt-trimmed bombe'
chest, she opened
  the top drawer. Little piles of perfectly
folded lingerie
  lay there. She picked out a few pieces, then
gathered
  up some shorts and cap-sleeved tops from the
second
  drawer. She set the pile on the bed and moved
to the
  second closet.
  Again, the light came on automatically, but the
  clothing in this closet looked as if it belonged to
  98 
  another woman. Worn gray sweatpants;
baggy, stained
  sweatshirts; jeans so old they were out of date.
A few
  brightly colored sundresses.
  Her mother had expensive designer clothes, and
lie-around-the-house clothes, but nothing in between.
  No clothes for going out to lunch with a friend or
  stopping by to catch a matinee.
  No clothes for a real life.
  Weird ...
  She reached for a sundress. As she
pulled it toward
  her; the lacy hem caught on something. Ruby
gently
  pushed the other clothes out of the way and saw what
  had snagged the dress.
  It was the upraised flap of a cardboard box.
On the
  beige side, written in red ink, was the word
Ruby.
  Her heart skipped a beat. She had a quick,
almost
  desperate urge to back out of the closet and slam
it
  shut. Whatever was in that box, whatever her mother
  had saved and marked with Ruby's name, couldn't
  matter.
  But she couldn't seem to make herself move. She
  dropped the dress, let it clatter to the floor;
hanger and
  all, and fell to her knees. Scooting forward,
she dragged
  the box toward her. Her fingers were trembling as she
  opened it.
  Inside, there were dozens of tiny wrapped
packages, some in the reds and greens of
Christmas, some
  in bright silvery paper with balloons and candles.
  Birthdays and Christmases.
  She counted the packages. Twenty-one. Two
each
  year for the eleven Nora had been gone from them,
   99
  less the black cashmere sweater that Caroline had
  sneaked past Ruby's guard.
  These were the gifts that Nora had bought every
  year and sent to Ruby, the same ones Ruby had
ruthlessly returned, unopened.
  "Oh, man." She let out her breath in a sigh
and
  reached for one of the boxes. It was small, like many
  of the others, the size of a credit card and about a
half
  inch deep. The one she'd chosen was wrapped in
  birthday paper.
  The paper felt slick in her hands and as she
lifted it
  toward her; she heard a tiny clinking from inside,
and
  the sound filled her with a terrible longing. It made
her
  angry, this welling up of useless emotion, but she
  couldn't make it go away.
  Carefully, she peeled the paper away and was
left
  with a small white box imprinted with a jewelry
store
  logo. She lifted the lid.
  Inside, on a bed of opalescent tissue,
lay a silver
  charm. It was a birthday cake, complete with
candles.
  Ruby knew she shouldn't pick up the charm, but
she
  couldn't help herself. She reached down and picked it
  up, feeling the steady weight of it in her palm,
then
  turned it over. On the back, it was inscribed.
  HAPPY 21ST. LOVE, MOM.
  The silver charm blurred.
  She refused to open any more; she didn't need
to. She
  knew that somewhere in these boxes were a bracelet
  and more carefully chosen charms--many representing
  the years they'd been apart.
  She could imagine her mother; dressed
perfectly,
  makeup flawless, going from store to store for the
ideal
  100 
  gift. She would be chatting pleasantly with the
salespeople, saying things like, My daughter is
twenty-one
  today. I need something extra special.
  Pretending that everything was normal ... that
  she hadn't abandoned her children when they needed
  her most.
  At that, Ruby felt a rush of cold auger; and
control
  returned. A few trinkets didn't mean
anything.
  What mattered was not what Nora had tried
to give
  Ruby, but rather what she'd taken away.
  There had been no seventeenth birthday party for
  Ruby. On that day, there had only been more
silence.
  No family had gathered around a big kitchen  
strewn with gifts. Those times . . . those
precious moments had died when their family
died.
  A few nicely wrapped gifts found stuffed in
a cardboard box in a closet couldn't change that.
  Ruby wouldn't let it.
  As Ruby neared her mother's hospital room,
she
  slowed. A man was standing by the door. He was tall
  and effete, a man who dressed for women--gray
  slacks, pink shirt, and vibrant navy blue
suspenders.
  His hair was snowy white and thinning. She noticed
  that he kept running his hand through it, as if
to assure himself that it was still there.
  At her approach, he looked up. Narrowed,
penetrating black eyes fixed on her. "Are you
Ruby Bridge?"
  She came to a stop. She'd misjudged the
distance,
  and taken one step too close to him. He exuded
a sweet,
  musky scent. Expensive cologne, used too
liberally. She
   101
  could see that he was disturbed by her invasion of his
  personal space.
  He took a step backward and cleared his throat
--a
  gentle reminder that he'd asked if she was Ruby
Bridge.
  "Who wants to know?"
  Smiling--as if that was precisely what he would have
  expected Ruby Bridge to say--he extended
his hand.
  "I'm Dr. Leonard Allbright, your mother's
doctor."
  "Where's your white coat?"
  "I'm her psychiatrist."
  That surprised Ruby. She couldn't imagine her
  mother spilling her guts to anyone. "Really?"
  "I've just spoken to her; and she told me all
about
  your ... arrangement." He said the final word as
if it
  tasted bitter. "I'm aware of your past
history, so I
  thought I'd caution you to keep in mind that your
  mother is fragile."
  "Uh-huh. Are you married, Dr. Allbright?"
  A pained expression slipped into the grooves of his  
face. "No. Why do you ask?"
  "My mother collects men who believe she's
fragile.
  She's a real Tennessee Williams kind of
gal."
  Dr. Allbright did not look pleased by that
observation. "Why have you offered to care for her?"
  "Look, Doc, when it's all over; you can ask
Nora all
  the questions you want. She'll pay you a huge fee
to
  listen to her moan about the bitch daughter who
betrayed her. But I"m not going to talk to you."
  "Betrayed" is an interesting word choice."
  Ruby flinched. "If that's all. .."
  He reached into his pocket and withdrew a slim
  silver case with the initials LOA etched in
gold. Inside lay
  102 
  a neat stack of expensive business cards. He
handed her
  one. "I don't know if it is a good idea for you
to take care
  of Nora. Especially not in her current state
of mind."
  Ruby took the card, tucked it into the elastic
waistband of her leggings. "Yeah? Why not?"
  He studied her; and she could see by the deepening
  frown that he wasn't pleased. "You haven't seen
or
  spoken to your mother in years, and you're obviously
  very angry at her. Considering ... what happened
to
  her; it could be a bad mix. Maybe even
dangerous."
  "Dangerous how?"
  "You don't know her. And as I said, she's
fragile
  now-"
  "I lived with her for sixteen years, Doc.
You've
  talked to her once a week for ... what, a year
or
  two?"
  "Fifteen years."
  Ruby's chin snapped up. "Fifteen years?
But
  everything was fine back then."
  "Was it?"
  His question threw her into confusion. Fifteen
years
  ago, Ruby had been barely out of braces,
singing along
  to Madonna and wearing a dozen crucifixes and
imagining that her future would follow the course of her
  childhood, that her family would always be together.
  "Your mother keeps a lot to herself," Dr.
Allbright
  went on, "and as I said, she's fragile. I
believe she always has been. You obviously
disagree." He took a
  step toward her. This time it was Ruby who felt
encroached upon. She steeled herself to stand her ground.
  "Your mother was doing almost seventy miles per hour
   103
  when she hit that tree. And on the same day she
lost
  her career. Pretty coincidental."
  Ruby couldn't believe she hadn't made that
connection. A chill moved through her. "Are you telling
me
  she tried to kill herself?"
  "I'm saying it's coincidental. Dangerously
so.
  Ruby released a heavy breath.
Suddenly, it didn't
  seem like a good idea to be responsible for her
mother;
  not even for a few days. No one emotionally unstable
  should be entrusted to Ruby--hell, goldfish
couldn't
  survive her care.
  "You don't know your mother. Remember that."
  That observation put Ruby back on solid
ground.
  "And who's fault is that? I'm not the one who
walked
  out."
  He stared down at her; gave her the kind of
look
  she'd seen time and time again in her life.
  Oh, good, she thought, now I'm disappointing
  total strangers.
  "No, you're not," he said evenly, "and you're not
  sixteen anymore, either."
  Ruby should have rented a bigger car. Like maybe a
  Hummer or a Winnebago.
  This minivan was too small for her and Nora.
They
  were trapped in side-by-side front
seats. With the windows rolled up, there seemed to be
no air left to breathe,
  and nothing to do but talk.
  Ruby cranked up the radio.
  Celine Dion's pure, vibrant voice
filled the car; something about love coming to those who
believed.
  104 
  "Do you think you could turn that down?" Nora
  said. "I'm getting a headache."
  Ruby's gaze flicked sideways. Nora
looked tired;
  her skin, normally pale, now appeared to have the
  translucence of bone china. Tiny blue veins
webbed
  the sunken flesh at her temples. She turned
to Ruby
  and attempted a smile, but in truth, her mouth
barely
  trembled before she closed her eyes and leaned against
  the window.
  Fragile.
  Ruby couldn't wrap her arms around that thought.
  It was too alien from her own experience. Her mother
  had always been made of steel. Even as
a young girl,
  Ruby had known her mother's strength. The other
  kids in her class were afraid of their fathers when
report cards came out. Not the Bridge girls.
They lived
  in fear of disappointing their mother.
  Not that she ever punished them particularly, or
  yelled or screamed. No, it was worse than that.
  I'm disappointed in you, Ruby Elizabeth ...
life
  isn't kind to women who take the easy road.
  Ruby had never known what the easy road was,
exactly, or where it led, but she knew it was a bad
thing.
  Almost as bad as "fooling yourself"-another thing
  Nora wouldn't abide.
  The truth doesn't go away just because you shut
  your eyes had been another of her mother's
favorite
  sayings.
  Of course, those had been the "before" days. Afterward,
no one in the family cared much about disappointing
Nora Bridge. In fact, Ruby had gone out of
  her way to do just that.
   105
  "Ruby? The music?"
  Ruby snapped the radio oft. The metronomic
whoosh-thump, whoosh-thump of the windshield wipers
filled
  the sudden silence.
  Only a few miles from downtown Seattle, the
gray
  city gave way to a sprawling collection of
squat, flat-topped strip malls. A few
miles more and they were in
  farming land. Rolling, tree-shrouded hills and
lush
  green pastures fanned out on either side of the
freeway. The white ice-cream dome of Mount
Baker sat
  on a layer of fog above the flat farmland.
  Ruby actually sped up as they drove through the
  sleepy town of Mount Vernon; she was afraid
her
  mother would say something intimate, like Remember
  how we used to bicycle through the tulip fields
at festival time?
  But when she glanced sideways, she saw that
Nora
  was asleep.
  Ruby breathed a sigh of relief and eased off the
accelerator. It felt good to drive the rest of the
way
  without wondering if she was being watched.
  At Anacortes, the tiny seaside town perched
at the
  water's edge, she bought a one-way ferry
ticket and
  pulled into line. It was still early in the tourist
season;
  two weeks from now the wait for this ferry could well
  be five hours.
  Less than a half hour later, a ferry
docked, sounded
  its mournful horn, and unloaded its cargo of
cars and
  bikes and walk-on passengers. Then, an
orange-vested
  attendant directed Ruby's car to the bow, where
she
  parked and set the emergency brake. First car in
lane
  106 
  two, a primo spot. The gaping, oval mouth
of the ferry
  was a giant, glassless window that framed the
view.
  The Sound was rainy-day flat, studded by the ceaseless
rain into a sheet of hammered tin. Watery gray
  skies melted into the sea, the line between them a
  smudge of charcoal, thin as eyeliner.
Puppy-faced gray
  seals crawled over one another to find a comfortable
  perch on the swaying red harbor buoy.
  Ruby got out of the car and went upstairs. After
  buying a latte at the lunch counter; she walked
out
  onto the deck.
  No one was out here now. The rain had diminished
  to little more than a heavy mist. Moisture beaded the
  handrails and slickened the decks.
  A long, single blast of the boat's horn
announced
  their departure.
  Ruby slid her fingers along the wet handrail,
holding
  on, shivering at a sudden burst of cold. A
few brave
  seagulls hung in the air in front of her, wings  
stretched, motionless, riding a current of air.
They
  cawed loudly, begging for scraps.
  Lush green islands dotted the tinfoil sea, their
carved
  granite coastlines a stark contrast to the flat
silver
  water. Polished red madrona trees slanted
out from
  the shore, their roots clinging tenaciously to a thin
  layer of topsoil. Houses were scattered here and
there
  but, for the most part, the islands looked empty.
  She closed her eyes, breathing in the salty,
familiar
  sea air. In eighth grade, she'd started taking
the ferry
  to school at Friday Harbor on San Juan
Island; memories of high school were
inextricably linked with this
  boat ...
   107
  She and Dean had always stood together at just this
  spot, right at the bow, even when it was raining.
  Dean.
  It was strange that she hadn't thought of him
  right away.
  Well, perhaps not so strange. It had been more than
  a decade since she'd seen him, and still it hurt
to remember him.
  After her mother had left, Ruby hadn't thought it
  was possible to hurt more. Dean had taught her that
  the human heart always made room for pain.
  She still thought of him now and then. Sometimes,
  when she woke in the middle of a hot, lonely
night
  and found that her cheeks were slicked and wet, she
  knew she'd been dreaming of him. She knew from
  Caroline (who knew from Nora) that he'd
followed in
  his mother's footsteps after all, that he was running
  the empire now. Ruby had always known that he
  would.
  At last, the ferry turned toward Summer
Island. The
  horn sounded, and the captain came on the
loudspeaker; urging passengers to return to their
vehicles.
  Ruby raced downstairs and jumped into the
minivan.
  The captain cut the engine and the boat drifted
  toward the rickety black dock. A weatherbeaten
sign--it had been old when Ruby was a child--hung
at a
  cockeyed angle from the nearest piling. It read
SUMMER
  ISLAND WELCOMES You.
  A woman walked out of the closet-size terminal
  building and stood watching the ferry float toward
  her. She was wearing a floor-length brown dress
with
  neither collar nor cuffs. An ornate silver
crucifix hung
  108 
  from a thick chain around her neck. Waving at the
few
  walk-on passengers clustered at the bow's
railing, she
  dragged a tattered, wrist-thick length of rope
across
  the dock and tied the boat down.
  "Oh, Lord," Nora said, blinking awake, "is
that
  Sister Helen?"
  Ruby couldn't believe it herself. The
nuns had always run the ferry traffic on Summer
Island, but it
  was still a shock to see that nothing had changed.
  "Amazing, isn't it?"
  Nora sighed. It was a tired sound, as if
maybe she
  wondered if changelessness were a good thing. Or
  maybe, like Ruby, she had just realized how it would
  feel to be here again, at the site of so much
heartache.
  Ruby drove off the ferry, past the post office
and
  general store. What struck her first was the total
lack
  of meaningful change. She felt as if she'd just
taken a
  boat ride back in time. Here, on Summer
Island, it was
  still 1985. If she turned on the radio, it would
  probably be Cyndi Lauper or Rick
Springfield ...
  This was why she'd stayed away.
  The road turned, climbed up a short hill,
then
  flowed down into a rolling green valley.
  To her left, the land was a Monet painting, all
golden
  grass and green trees and washed-out silvery
skies. To
  her right lay Bottleneck Bay, and beyond that was the
  forested green hump of Shaw Island. Weathered
gray
  fishing boats sat keeled on the pebbly beach,
forgotten
  by their owners more than a generation ago. A few
  sleek sailboats--mostly owned by the few
Californians brave enough to purchase a summer
home on
  this too-quiet island where drinking water was never
   109
  guaranteed and power came and went with the wind--bobbed
idly in the gently swelling sea.
  There were only a few farmhouses visible from the
  road. The island boasted five thousand acres, but
only
  one hundred year-round residents. Even in the
Summer;
  when mainlanders swarmed to their island vacation
  homes, Summer Island had fewer than three
hundred
  residents.
  It was as different from California as a place could
  be. Here, hip-hop was the way a rabbit moved,
and a
  drive-by meant stopping to say hello to your
neighbor
  on your way to town.
  Nora looked out the rain-dappled window. Her
  head made a thumping sound as she rested it against
  the glass. The lines around her mouth were deeply
  etched, heavy enough to weigh her lips into a frown.
  When I first came here . . . no, that doesn't
matter
  Ruby approached the beach road. Instead of
turning, she eased her foot off the gas and coasted
to a Stop.
  Her mother's half sentence had implied ...
secrets ...
  things unspoken, and Ruby didn't like it.
  Fifteen years, Dr. Allbright had said.
He'd been
  treating Nora for fifteen years ... yet none
of them
  had known it.
  "What were you going to say?"
  Nora's laughter was a fluttery thing, a bit of
spun
  stigar "Nothing."
  Ruby rolled her eyes. Why had she even
bothered?
  Whatever."
  She eased her foot back onto the
accelerator; flicked
  the signal on, and turned toward the beach. The
narrow,
  110 
  one-lane road wound snakelike through the towering
  trees. Though it was afternoon, you wouldn't have
  known it. The tree limbs were heavy with rain; their
  drooping branches darkened the road. Here and
  there, small turnouts, overgrown with weeds,
made
  space for parking when another car was coming from
  the opposite direction.
  At last, they came to the driveway. A pair
of dogwood trees stood guard on either side of the
needle-strewn lane. Any gravel that had once
been dumped
  here had long ago burrowed into the dirt.
  Ruby turned down the driveway. The
knee-high
  grass that grew in a wild strip down the center
of the
  road thumped and scraped the undercarriage.
  At the end of the tree-lined road, Ruby hit the
  brakes.
  And stared through the rain-beaded windshield at
  her childhood.
  The farmhouse was layered in thick white
clapboards with red trim around the casement windows.
  One side jutted out like an old woman's bad
hip--that
  was the addition her grandparents had built for their
  grandchildren. A porch wrapped around three sides
  of the house. It sat in the midst of a pie-shaped
clearing
  that jutted toward the sea. In this, the middle of
June,
  the lawn was lush and lime green; in the dog days
  of summer; Ruby knew it would grow tall and
take on
  the rich hue of burnished gold. Madrona
trees marked
  the perimeter.
  "Oh, God," she whispered, soaking it
all in.
  A white picket fence created a nicely
squared yard
   111
  around the farmhouse. Inside it, the garden was in
  full, riotous bloom.
  Obviously Caroline had paid a gardener to keep
the
  place up. It looked as if the Bridge
family had been
  gone a season instead of more than a decade.
  With a tired sigh, Ruby got out of the car.
  The tide made a low, snoring sound. Birds
chattered
  overhead, surprised and dismayed by their unexpected
guests. But no city sounds lived this far north,
  no horns or squealing tires or jets flying
overhead.
  There was now, as there had always been, a quiet
  otherworldliness to Summer Island, and as much as
  she hated to admit it, Ruby felt the island's
familiar
  welcome. Time here was measured in eons, not
lifetimes. In how long it took the sea to smooth the
rough
  edges off a bit of broken glass, in how long
it took the
  tide to shape and reshape the shoreline.
  She went around to the back of the van and pulled
  out the wheelchair; then wheeled it around to the
passenger side and helped Nora into the seat.
  Taking hold of the rubber-coated grips, she
cautiously pushed her mother down the path. At the
gate,
  Ruby stopped and walked ahead, unlatching it.
The
  metal piece clanked, the gate swung
creakily open.
  When Ruby turned back around, she noticed how
  pale her mother was. Nora touched the fence's
sagging slat. A heart-shaped patch of paint fell
away at
  the contact, lay in the grass like a bit of
confetti.
  Nora looked up, her eyes shiny and moist.
"Remember the summer you and Caro painted every slat
  a different color? You guys looked like a pair
of
  rainbow Popsicles when you were finished."
  112 
  "I don't remember that," Ruby said, but for a
split
  second, when she looked down, her tennis shoes
were
  Keds, speckled with a dozen different colors of
paint.
  It pissed her off, how easy it was to remember
things
  in this place, to feel them. Nothing seemed to have
  changed here except Ruby, and the new Ruby
sure as
  hell didn't belong in this fairy-tale house.
  She walked back up the slope and took her
place behind the wheelchair. She cautiously moved
down the
  rutted path, guiding the chair in front of her.
They had
  just reached the edge of the porch when her mother
  suddenly spoke.
  "Let me sit here for a minute, will you? Go on
in.
  Nora fished the key out of her pocket and handed
  it to Ruby. "You can come back and tell me how it
  looks."
  "You'd rather sit in the rain than go into the
house?"
  "That pretty much sums up my feelings right now.
  Ruby stepped around her and walked onto the
  porch. The wide-planked floor wobbled beneath her
  feet like piano keys, releasing a melody of
creaks and
  groans.
  At the front door; she slipped the key into the
lock.
  Click.
  "Wait!" her mother cried out.
  Ruby turned. Nora was smiling, but it was
grim,
  that smile. More like gritted teeth.
  "I ... think we should go in together."
  "Jesus, let's not make an opera out of it.
We're
  going into an old house. That's all." Ruby
shoved the
  door open, caught a fleeting glimpse of
shadows stacked
  on top of each other; then she went back for
Nora.
   113
  She maneuvered the wheelchair up onto
the porch,
  bumped it over the wooden threshold, and wheeled
  her mother inside.
  The furniture huddled ghostlike in the middle of
  the room, draped in old sheets. Ruby could
remember
  spreading those sheets every autumn, snapping them
  in the air above furniture. It had been a
family ritual,
  closing up this house for winter.
  The house may not have been lived in in a while,
  but it had been well cared for. There couldn't have
  been more than a few weeks' worth of dust on
those
  white sheets.
  "Caroline has taken good care of the place ...
I'm
  surprised she left everything exactly as it
was." There
  was a note of wonder in Nora's voice, and
maybe a
  touch of regret. As if, like Ruby, she'd
hoped that Caroline had painted over the past.
  "You know Caro," Ruby said, "she likes
to keep
  everything pretty on the surface."
  "That's not fair. Caro-"
  Ruby spun around. "Tell me you aren't going
to explain my sister to me."
  Nora's mouth snapped shut. Then she sneezed.
Arid
  again. Her eyes were watering as she said, "I'm
allergic to dust. I know there's not much, but I'm
really
  sensitive. You'll need to dust right away."
  Ruby looked at her. "Your leg's broken; not
your
  hand."
  "I can't handle it. Allergies."
  It was the best reason for not cleaning Ruby had
  ever heard. "Fine. I'll dust."
  114 
  "And vacuum--remember; there's dust in the
  carpets."
  "Oh, really? That comes as a complete surprise
  to me."
  Nora had the grace to blush. "I'm sorry.
I forgot for
  a minute that you're not ... never mind."
  Ruby gazed down at her. "I'm not a
kid anymore,
  and dusting was one of the many things Caroline and I
  had to learn to do after you left us." She saw the
pain
  move into Nora's green eyes; it made her
look old suddenly, and fragile.
  That word again. It was not something Ruby particularly
wanted to see. She grabbed the wheelchair
  and pushed her mother into the center of the room,
  where the ancient Oriental carpet sucked up the
metallic
  thump of the chair's wheels and plunged them
into silence again.
  "I guess I'll have to sleep in your old
room. There's
  no way we can get me upstairs."
  Ruby dutifully wheeled Nora into the
downstairs
  bedroom, where two twin beds lay beneath a layer
  of sheeting. Between them was a gingham-curtained
  window. A painted wooden toy box held most
of
  Ruby's childhood.
  The wallpaper was still the pale pink cabbage
roses
  that she and Caroline had picked out when they were
  children.
  Ruby refused to feel anything. She yanked the
sheets
  away. A fine layer of dust billowed into the
air. She
  heard her mother coughing behind her; so Ruby
  leaned forward and wrenched the window open, letting in
the sound of the waves slapping on the shore.
   115
  "I think I'll lie down for a minute," Nora
said when
  the dust had settled. "I'm still fighting a
headache."
  Ruby nodded. "Can you get out of the chair by
  yourself?"
  "I guess I'd better learn."
  "I guess so." Ruby turned for the door.
  She was almost free when her mother's voice hooked
  her back again. "Thanks. I really
appreciate this."
  Ruby knew she should say something nice, but she
  couldn't think of anything. She was too damned
tired,
  and the memories in this room were like gnats,
buzzing
  around her head. She nodded and kept walking,
slamming the door shut behind her.



  Chapter Seven
  Dean tossed his garment bag on the floor of his
old
  bedroom and sat down on the end of the bed.
  Everything was exactly as he'd left it. Dusty
baseball and soccer trophies cluttered the
bureau's top;
  posters covered the cream-colored walls, their
edges
  yellowed and curled. If he opened the toy chest,
he"d
  find all the mementos of his past, G.i. Joe
with the
  kung-fu grip, Rock 'Em-Sock 'Em
Robots, maybe
  even his old Erector set. An autographed
GO SEAHAWKS pennant hung above the desk, a
reminder of
  the year Jim Zorn had visited the grade
school.
  Dean hadn't taken anything with him when he left
  here, not even a photograph of Ruby.
Especially not a
  picture of her. He got to his feet and
crossed the room.
  At the bureau, he bent down and pulled at the
bottom
  drawer; it screeched and wobbled, then slid open.
  And there they were, still stacked and scattered
exactly as he'd left them: reminders of Ruby.
There  framed pictures and unframed ones, shells
they'd collected together on the beach, and a couple of
dried
   117
  boutonnieres. He reached randomly inside,
drawing
  out a small strip of black-and-white pictures
--a series
  that had been taken in one of those booths at the
Island County Fair. In them, she was sitting on
Dean's
  lap, with her arms curled tightly around him and her
  head angled against his. She was smiling, then
frowning, then sticking her tongue out at the unseen
camera.
  In the last frame, they were kissing.
  It was bad enough to remember Ruby in the abstract;
to follow this photographic trail of their
childhood would be like swallowing glass bits.
They'd
  started together as kids, he and Ruby, kindergarten
  best friends. Then they'd fallen into the sweet, aching
  pool of first love, and ultimately washed up
on that
  emotion's rocky, isolated shore. He
remembered the
  ending, and that was enough.
  He dropped the photos back into the drawer and
  kicked it shut.
  Someone knocked at the door, and Dean opened it.
  Lottie stood there, clutching her big vinyl
purse.
  "I'm off to the store," she said. "The fridge
isn't
  making ice; we need a bag."
  "I'll go-"
  "Of course you won't. You'll be needing time with
  Eric." Smiling, she thrust a champagne
glass at him.
  Inside was a thick pink liquid. "This is your
brother's
  medicine. He needs it now. Bye."
  She left him standing there, a grown man in a
boy's
  room, holding pain medication in a fluted
champagne
  glass.
  He walked slowly to Eric's bedroom. The
door was
  closed.
  118 
  Dean stared at it for a long time, remembering the
  days when these doors had never been closed.
They'd
  always come bursting into each other's room whenever they
wanted.
  He turned the knob and went inside. The room
felt
  stuffy and too warm. The curtains were drawn.
  Eric was asleep.
  Dean moved quietly toward the bedside table and
  set down the glass, then he started to leave.
  "I hope that's my Viagra," Eric said
sleepily. In a
  second, the bed whirred to life, eased him to a
near sitting position.
  "Actually, it's a double shot of Cuervo
Gold. I
  added the Pepto-Bismol to save you time."
  Eric laughed. "You'll never let me forget
MaryAnne's going-away party."
  "A night that will live in infamy." Dean opened
the
  windows and flung back the curtains. The windows
  boxed a gray and rainy day and let a little watery
light
  into the room.
  "Thanks. Bless Lottie, but she thinks I
need peace
  and quiet. I haven't the nerve to tell her that
I'm getting a little scared of the dark. Too damn
coffinlike for
  me." He grinned. "I'll be there soon enough."
  Dean turned to him. "Don't talk about that."
  "Death? Why not? I am dying, and I'm not
afraid of
  it. Hell, another week like this one and I'll be
looking
  forward to it." He gave Dean a gentle look.
"What am
  I supposed to talk about--the Mariners"
next season?
  The next Olympic Games? Or maybe we
could discuss the long-term effects of global
warming." Eric
   119
  eased back into the pillows with a heavy sigh. "We
  used to be so close," he said quietly.
  "I know," Dean answered, moving toward the bed.
  He saw Eric move, try to turn slightly
to look up at
  him; he saw, too, when the sudden pain sucked the
  color from his brother's cheeks. "Here," Dean
said
  quickly.
  Eric's hands were shaking as he reached for the glass
  and brought it back to his colorless lips.
Wincing, he
  swallowed the whole amount, then wiped his mouth
  with the back of his bony wrist.
  Eric tried to smile. "I'd kill for a
margarita from
  Ray's Boathouse right about now ... and a
platter of
  Penn Cove mussels ... "
  "Tequila and shellfish--with your
tolerance for
  booze? Sorry, pal, but I'll have to pass on
that little
  fantasy."
  "I'm not seventeen anymore," Eric said. "I
don't
  slam alcohol until I puke."
  There it was, the sharpened reminder of how they'd
  drifted apart. They'd known each other as boys;
the
  men were strangers to each other.
  "Will that medication help?" Dean asked.
  "Sure. In ten minutes I'll be able to leap
tall buildings in a single bound." Eric frowned.
"What is a
  single bound, exactly? And why have I never
wondered about that before?"
  "Whatever it is, it's better than flying. Even
first class
  has gone to hell. My flight up here was
godawful."
  Eric smiled. "Even first class is bad?
You're talking
  to a high-school English teacher who was disinherited,
remember?"
  120 
  "Sorry. I was just trying to make conversation."
  "Don't. I'm dying. I don't need
time-filler. Jesus,
  Dean, you and I have spent our whole adulthood
  talking around anything that mattered. I know it's
genetic, but I don't have time for it anymore."
  "If you remind me that you're dying again, I swear
  to God, I'll kill you myself. It's not like I'm
going to
  forget."
  Eric laughed. "Praise Jesus! That's the first
hint of
  my brother I've seen in a decade. I'm
glad to know he
  survived."
  Dean relaxed a little. "It's good to hear you laugh
  It's been a long time." He moved idly to the
chest of
  drawers beside the bed, where a collection of
pictures
  sat clustered together. Most of them were
photographs
  of Dean and Eric as boys.
  But there was one--a shot of the brothers and
another boy from the football team--all standing with
  their arms around one another, grinning.
  It looked ordinary enough, but when he turned
back
  to Eric, Dean couldn't help wondering. Had it
been
  there all along, the difference between him and his
  brother? Had Dean simply missed the obvious?
  "I wish I'd never told you I was gay,"
Eric said.
  It was as if Eric had read his mind. Slowly,
Dean
  turned. He wasn't ready for this conversation yet,
but
  he had no choice. Eric had thrown him into cold
  water, now he had to swim. "It's kind of hard
to keep
  a secret like that when you're living with a man."
  "People do it all the time, keep that secret, I
mean. I
  was so naive, I wanted to tell you." Eric
lifted his head
  off the pillows and stared at Dean. "I knew our
folks
   121
  wouldn't accept it. But you ..." His voice
cracked a
  little. "You, I didn't expect. You broke my
heart."
  "I never meant to."
  "You stopped calling me."
  Dean sighed, wondering how to say it all. "You
  were away at college, so you didn't know what it
was
  like back here. The technicolor meltdown of the
Bridge
  family. It was front-burner news. And then
... Ruby
  and I broke up."
  "I always wondered what happened between you
  two. I thought-"
  "It was fucking awful," Dean said quickly,
unwilling to delve into that particular heartache. "I
called
  Mother and demanded to be transferred to Choate--where,
I might add, I met a bunch of snotty
elitist rich
  kids. I hated it there. I couldn't seem
to make friends.
  But every Sunday night, my brother
called, and that
  one hour made the rest of the week bearable. You
  weren't just my best friend, you were my only friend.
  Then one Sunday, you forgot to call." Dean
remembered how he'd waited by the phone that day, and the
  next Sunday and the next. "When you finally did
call
  again, you told me about Charlie."
  "You felt abandoned," Eric said softly.
  "More than that. I felt like I didn't know you at
all,
  like everything you'd ever said to me was a lie. And
  then all you wanted to talk about was Charlie."
Dean
  shrugged. "I was seventeen years old and nursing
a
  broken heart. I didn't want to hear about your
love
  life. And yeah, the fact that it was with another man
  was hard for me to handle."
  Eric leaned deeper into the pillows. "When you
  122 
  stopped returning my calls, I assumed it was
because
  you hated me. Then you went to work for the
family
  biz, and I wrote you off. I never thought about
what it
  was like for you. I'm sorry."
  "Yeah. I'm sorry, too."
  "Where do these apologies take us?"
  "Who the hell knows? I'm here. Isn't that
enough?"
  Suddenly Dean understood what Eric wanted.
"You
  want me to remember who we used to be,
to remember
  you, and then ... watch you die. It doesn't sound
like
  a real kick-ass plan from where I'm standing."
  Eric reached up, placed a cold, trembling hand
on
  top of Dean's. "I want someone in my
family to love
  me while I'm alive. Is that so much to ask?"
He closed
  his eyes, as if the conversation had exhausted him.
"Ah,
  Hell ... I'm going too fast. I need time
damn it. Just stay
  here until I fall asleep, can you do that for
me?"
  Dean's throat felt tight. "Sure."
  He stayed at his brother's bedside until long
after
  Eric's breathing had become regular and his mouth
  had slipped open. And still he didn't know what
to say.
  He would have given his fortune--hell, he'd have
  given everything he had or owned or could borrow--
in exchange for the one thing he'd always taken for
  granted. The one thing Eric needed.
  Time.
  By the time Nora hopped to the bathroom and back
  into the bedroom, she was dizzy and out of breath.
  She shifted onto the bed and leaned back against the
  wobbly wooden headboard.
   123
  She knew she needed to handle Ruby with kid
  gloves, to treat her daughter's pain (which Nora
never
  forgot that she had caused) respectfully, to let
Ruby
  make all the first moves toward a
reconciliation. No
  matter how much it hurt, how deeply the ache
went,
  Nora didn't want to bulldoze the situation.
  But Ruby had always brought out the worst in her.
  Even in the good times, her younger daughter had had
  a way of saying things that rubbed Nora the wrong
  way. More often than not, they both ended up saying
  something they regretted.
  And Ruby knew that every coldly spoken "Nora"
  would break her heart just a little. It was, she
knew,
  Ruby's way of reminding Nora that they were
strangers.
  You have to keep your Cool.
  And for God's sake, don't tell her what to do
... or
  pretend you know her.
  If they'd gone somewhere else, maybe this would
  have been easier, but nothing new could grow here,
  not in this soil contaminated by the past.
  It was in this house that Nora had made her biggest
  mistake--and given the life she'd led, that was
saying
  a lot. This was where she'd come when she left Rand.
  She had meant for it to be temporary.
At the time
  she'd simply thought: Space; if I don't
get some space
  In start screaming and never stop.
  All she'd wanted was a little room, some time to
  herself. She'd been overwhelmed by her life. A
twenty-minute ferry ride had seemed perfect.
She hadn't known
  that two miles could stretch into more than a decade.
  She remembered that whole summer, and the bad
  years that had preceded it, in excruciating
detail.
  124 
  She remembered how it had felt and tasted, that
  slowly descending depression, like a thick glass
jar
  that closed around you, sucking away the air you
  needed to breathe, creating a barrier between you and
  the world. The hell of it was that she'd been able to see
  all that she was missing, but when she'd reached out,
  all she touched was cold, hard glass.
  It had started with a few dark days, a few
nightmares, but as the winter had turned into spring, and
  then into summer, she had simply ... fallen.
All these
  years later, she'd never found a better word for
it.
  She'd felt then--as she did now--as brittle
as a winter
  leaf. It had always taken so damned little to break
her.
  If she hadn't left Rand then, she believed she
would
  have died. Her pain had been that great. Still ...
  She'd thought she could come home again, that
  women were granted the same latitude in
marriage
  that men were. How naive she had been.
  She reached for the bedside phone and picked it up,
  thankful to find a dial tone. She wouldn't have
expected any less from Caroline.
  She dialed Eric's number, but no one
answered. He
  was probably exhausted from the trip. He tired
so
  easily these days.
  She didn't want to think about that now, about how
  the cancer was erasing him. If she thought about that
  now she'd fall apart, and with Ruby on the other
side
  of that door, Nora didn't dare fall apart.
  She dialed another number. Dr. Allbright
answered
  on the second ring. There was a moment of silence
at
  the other end, the sound of a match flaring.
"Hello?"
  "Hi, Leo. It's me, Nora."
   125
  He inhaled, blew the smoke from his cigarette
into
  the phone. It came through in a whooshing sound.
  "How are you?"
  "I'm fine," she said, wondering if he could hear
the
  lies in the same way that he could see them on her
  face. "You asked me to call when we arrived, so
..." 
  "You don't sound fine."
  "Well ... Ruby and I are crowded in with a
lot of
  old ghosts." She tried to laugh. "This house
  "I don't think you should be there. We talked about
  this. With all that's happening, you should be in the
  city."
  It was nice to have someone care about her--even if
  she paid him to do so. "And let the vultures pick
at
  me?" She smiled ruefully. "Of course, it
appears to be
  open season on Nora Bridge wherever I go."
  "Ruby," he said.
  "I knew it wouldn't be easy." That much was
true,
  at least. She'd known how much it would hurt to see
  her daughter's bitterness in such sharp, close
detail;
  and it did.
  "We talked about this, Nora. If she hates
you, it's
  because she was too young to understand."
  "I'm fifty, Leo, and I don't understand it
all."
  "You owe it to yourself--and to Ruby--to tell her
  the truth."
  She sighed wearily. The thought of opening herself
  like a rotting flower to her beloved daughter was
  more than she could bear. "I just want to see her
smile
  at me. That's all. Just once and I
could carry that
  image forever. I don't expect her to like me
... let alone
  love me."
  126 
  "Ah, Nora," he said, and she heard the
familiar disappointment in his tone.
  "You ask too much of me, Leo."
  "And you ask too little, Nora. You're so
afraid of
  your past that-"
  "Tell me something useful, Leo. You're a
parent,
  give me some advice."
  "Talk to her."
  "About what? How do we get past what happened
  eleven years ago?"
  "One step at a time, that's how. Try this: tell
her one
  personal thing about you every day. Just one, and try
  to find out one thing about her. That would be a
  start."
  "One personal thing." Nora considered it.
  Yes, she could do that. She'd just have to find a way
  to share one honest moment, a day with her
daughter.
  It wasn't much, and it wouldn't change everything,
  but it felt ... possible. For now, that was all she
could
  hope for.
  Ruby strode through the house, going from window to
  window, yanking the gingham cotton curtains
open,
  letting what little sunlight was possible into every
  room. By now it was nearly three o'clock. Soon
there
  would be no daylight through the clouds at all. She
  wanted to catch what she could.
  She was desperately tired all of a sudden. The
  middle-of-the-night phone call, the predawn
flight,
  the drive to the islands ... suddenly it all
caught uP
  with her and sapped her strength. If she wasn't
careful,     
127
  she could lose a fight with her own emotions and start
  crying at the sight of this old house.
  At last, she found herself in the
kitchen/dining room.
  Nothing had changed.
  A round maple table sat tucked beneath the kitchen
  window, its four ladder-back chairs pulled in
close.
  A centerpiece of dirty pink plastic
dahlias was flanked
  by a set of porcelain salt and pepper shakers
shaped
  like tiny lighthouses. A cookbook was in its
rack on
  the kitchen counter, its pages open to a recipe for
lemon
  squares. Four hand-embroidered dishcloths
hung in a
  row across the front of the oven.
  She passed beneath the archway that separated the
  kitchen from the living room, noticing the brass
  mariners clock that hung in the center of the arch's
  plaster curl. That clock was silent now, its
chimes--two quick ding-dings every half hour--had been
a
  constant punctuation to their family's noisy
soundtrack. But it had probably been years since
anyone
  had remembered to change the batteries.
  In the living room, an overstuffed sofa and two
  leather chairs faced a big, river-rock
fireplace. On the
  back wall were bookcases filled with two
generations'
  worth of Reader's Digest editions, and an
RCA stereo.
  A red plastic milk box held all of the
family's favorite
  albums. From here, Ruby could see the upper
half of
  the top album: "Venus" by Bananarama.
  That one was hers.
  Next, the photographs on the mantel caught
her
  eye. They were different frames than she
remembered.
  Frowning, she walked toward the fireplace.
  All the pictures were of Caroline's children.
  128 
  There was not a single shot of Ruby. Not even one
  of Ruby and Caroline.
  "Nice, Caro," she said, turning away. She
headed
  for the stairs, but as she walked up the creaking
  narrow steps to the second floor she felt ...
forgotten
  Her fingers trailed through the dust on the oak
banister, leaving two squiggly lines. The second
floor
  was small, barely big enough for a full-size
bedroom.
  The bathroom--added by Grandpa Bridge in the
  early 1970"s--had once been a closet.
It was barely big
  enough to bend over at the sink to brush your teeth.
  Ugly, avocado-green shag carpeting covered every
  inch of the floor.
  She pushed the door open to her parents' old
bedroom and flicked the light switch.
  A big brass bed filled the room, flanked
by two
  French Provincial end tables. The bedside
lamps were
  yellow, their green shades draped in golden
plastic
  beads.
  A touch of Las Vegas class, her grandmother
had
  often said, and with that unexpected memory, Ruby
  remembered her grandma, sitting in that corner
  rocker, her veiny hands making knitting needles
work
  like pistons. You can never have too many afghans,
  she'd said every time she started a new one. There had
  always been an Elvis album playing on the
turntable
  when Grandma knitted ...
  It had been a long time since she'd had so clear
a
  memory of her Nana.
  Maybe all she'd needed to remember the good times
  was to see this place again. The room was exactly as
  Nana had made it; Nora had never bothered
to redecorate.
   129
  When Nana and Pop had died, Dad had moved
  their family into the bigger house on Lopez
Island,
  and left this house for summer use.
  Ruby crossed the room and went to the French
  doors, opening them wide. Sweet, rain-scented
air
  made the lacy curtains tremble and
dance. The bloated
  gray sky and steel-blue water were perfectly
framed by
  twin Douglas firs, as thin and straight as pipe
cleaners.
  She stepped out onto the tiny second-floor
balcony. A
  pair of white deck chairs sat on either side
of her, their
  slatted backs beaded with rain.
  For a split second, she couldn't imagine that
she'd
  ever lived in a valley so hot and airless that
boiling water
  sometimes squirted out of ordinary green garden
hoses.
  She backed off the balcony and turned into the
  room. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed
the
  new photographs on the bedside table.
  "God damn it," she muttered, looking through them.
  Caroline had done it again. They were all
pictures
  of Caroline's new life. It was as if her
sister were trying
  to exorcise Ruby from the family.
  Frowning, she marched back downstairs and went
  outside. She grabbed their two suitcases from the
car
  and carried them inside, dropping her mother's in
  front of the closed bedroom door.
  Upstairs, she opened the closet's louvered
doors,
  then yanked down on the beaded light chain. A
bare
  Light bulb in the ceiling came on in the empty
closet.
  She tossed her suitcase inside. It hit a
cardboard
  box, rattling it.
  She knelt onto the dusty shag carpet and
pulled the
  130 
  box toward her. In bold, black marker pen,
someone
  had written BEFORE across the top flap.
  Ruby opened the box ... and found herself.
  Photographs. Dozens of them. These were the
pictures that used to sit on every flat surface in  
house--tables, mantels, windowsills.
Pictures of two
  little girls in matching pink dresses ... of
Dean and
  Eric in Little League uniforms ... of Dad
waving
  from the stern of the Captain Hook. And one of
Nora.
  She slowly withdrew that one.
  This was the mother she'd forgotten, the woman
  she'd grieved for. A tall, thin woman, with
auburn hair
  cut in the layered Farrah Fawcett style,
wearing crisp
  white walking shorts and a celery-green
T-shirt. The
  photograph was old and creased, but even the
maplike
  fissures couldn't dim her mother's smile. In the
background was the peaked white tip of the
Matterhorn.
  Their trip to Disneyland.
  In a bittersweet rush, Ruby remembered
all of that
  day; the screams of older kids on
scarier rides, the
  sudden, plunging darkness of Mr. Toad's
Wild Ride,
  the rollicking music of Country Bear
Jamboree, the
  sugary residue of cheerios, eaten while you
walked, the
  magic of the Electrical Light Parade.
Ruby had watched
  it from the best seat in the house--on her daddy's
  shoulders.
  And she understood what Caroline had done. Caro,
  who couldn't stand conflict or confrontation ...
Caro,
  who just wanted everything to be normal.
  It had hurt her sister to look back on these
years.
  Better to simply ... go on. Start over.
Pretend that
   131
  there had never been happy summers spent on these
  shores, in these rooms.
  Ruby released her breath in a heavy sigh and
boxed
  the photographs back up. Her sister
was right. It was
  too damned hard to see the past in Kodachrome.
  God ... she'd already lost her equilibrium in
this
  house, and it had only been a day. Suddenly she
was
  wound tightly, full of nervous energy. She had
to get
  back on track. Remember why she was here.
  The magazine article. That would keep her
focused.
  She unzipped the side pocket of her
suitcase and
  withdrew a yellow legal pad and a blue pen.
Then she
  crawled up onto the dusty bed, drew her
knees in ...
  ... and stared down at all those blue lines.
  We want your thoughts, your memories, what kind
  Of mother you thought she was.
  "Okay, Ruby," she said aloud. "Just start.
You can
  always change the beginning later."
  It was the first rule of comedy writing; it should
  work here, too.
  She took a deep breath, released it slowly,
and wrote
  the first thing that came to mind.
  In the interest of full disclosure, I must tell
you (she
  decided to talk directly to the Cache' readers)
that I
  was paid to write this article. Paid handsomely, as
  they say in the kind of restaurants where a person
  like me can't afford to order a dinner salad. Enough
  so that I could trade in my beat-up Volkswagen
Bug
  for a slightly less beat-up Porsche.
  I should also tell you that I dislike my mother.
  132  No, that's not true. I dislike the snotty
salesclerk
  who works the night shift at my local video
store.
  I hate my mother.
  That seems like a pretty harsh statement, I know.
  We're taught in childhood not to use the word
  "hate" because it represents a blight on our own
  soul, perhaps even a karmic misalignment. But
silencing a word doesn't eliminate its
meaning.
  It's not like I hate her for no reason, or even
for a
  stupid, petty reason. She's earned my
contempt. To
  explain, I have to open the door to my mother's and
  my life, and welcome you in as friends.
  The story of us starts eleven years ago, in a
place
  few of you have ever seen: the San Juan Islands
up
  in Washington State. I grew up in a small
farmhouse on a patch of land that had been homesteaded
by my great-grandfather. The island.. the
  to ... . my house ... they all belong on
Hallmark
  cards. I went to school with the same kids for
thirteen years; the only crime I can recall
happened in
  1979, when Jimmy Smithson broke into the
local
  pharmacy, ripped open all the condom
packages,
  and wrote "Peggy Jean likes sex" in Dial
soap on
  the front window.
  And then there was my family.
  My dad was--is--a commercial fisherman who
  repairs boat engines in the winter months
to make
  ends meet. He was born and raised on Lopez
Island; he is as fixed in that place as one of the
ancient
  trees that line the main road.
  Although my mother was born off-island, she
   133
  was a local by the time I came along. She
volunteered for every town charity event and was a
fixture around school.
  In other words, we were a perfect family in a
  quiet little town where nothing ever happened. In
  all my growing-up years, I never heard my
parents
  argue.
  Then, in the summer before my seventeenth birthday,
everything changed.
  My mother left us. Walked out the door, got
into
  her car and drove away. She didn't call or
write all
  that summer, she just ... vanished.
  I can't remember now how long I waited for her
  to return, but I know that somewhere along the
  way, in the pool of a thousand tears, she became
my
  Mother, and then, finally, Nora. My mom was gone.
  I accepted the fact that whatever she wanted out of
  life, it wasn't me.
  I could describe what it was like, the waiting, but
  I won't. Not even for the money. The worst of it
  was my father. For my last two years of high
school,
  I watched him ... disintegrate. He drank,
he sat in
  his darkened bedroom, he wept.
  And so, when Cache came to me, asking for my
  story, I said yes. Hell yes.
  I figured it was time that America knew who they
  were listening to, who was giving them moral advice.
  Like the rest of you, I heard her message stream
  over the airwaves: Commit to your family and
  make it work. Be honest. Hold fast to the vows you
  made before God.
  134 
  This from a woman who walked out on her
marriage and abandoned her children, and-
  "Ruby!"
  She tossed down the pen and paper and went to the
  doorway, poking her head out. "Yeah?"
  "Can you breathe okay, with all this dust?"
  Ruby rolled her eyes. As always, her mother was as
  subtle as an exclamation mark. "I see you
found enough
  air in your lungs to scream at me," she
muttered, hurrying downstairs.
  As she passed her mother's bedroom, she heard a
  sneeze.
  Ruby smiled; she couldn't help it.
  In the kitchen, she knelt in front of the cabinet
beneath the sink and opened the doors. Everything she
  needed to clean the house, and in quantities large
  enough to clean any house, stood in four straight
  rows. When she realized that the supplies were
organized in alphabetical order, she burst out
laughing.
  "Poor Caro," she whispered, realizing how
badly
  her sister wanted everything to be tidy. "You were
  definitely born into the wrong family."
  Then, as tired as she was, she started
to clean.



  Chapter Eight
  Nora tried not to watch her daughter clean the

house.
  It was simply too irritating.
  Ruby dusted without moving anything, and she
  clearly thought a dry rag would do the job. Oh,
she'd
  brought out the industrial-size can of Pledge, but
  she'd left it sitting on the tile counter in the
kitchen.
  When she started mopping the floor with soapless
  water, Nora couldn't help herself.
  "Aren't you going to sweep first?" she asked from
  her wheelchair, tucked into the open doorway of
her
  bedroom.
  Ruby slowly turned around. Her face was
flushed--from what exertion, Nora couldn't imagine.
"Excuse me?"
  Nora wished she'd kept silent, but now there was
  nowhere to go except forward. "You need to sweep
  the floor before you mop ... and soap in the water
is a
  big help."
  Ruby let go of the mop. The wooden handle
clattered
  to the floor. "You're criticizing my cleaning
technique?"
  136 
  "I wouldn't call it a technique. It's just
common
  sense to-"
  "So, I have no common sense, either."
  Nora sighed. "Come on, Ruby. You know
better
  than that. I taught you-"
  Ruby was in front of Nora before she could finish
  the sentence. "You do not want to bring up the things
  you taught me. Because if I do as I've been
taught, I'll
  walk out that door, climb into the minivan, and
drive
  away. I won't even bother to wave good-bye."
  Nora's irritation vanished; regret swooped
in to
  take its place. She sagged like a rag doll in
her chair.
  "I'm sorry."
  Ruby took a step back. "According
to Caro, those
  are your favorite words. Maybe you should think
  about what it really means to apologize before you
  bother." She stomped back to the kitchen sink,
grabbed
  some liquid soap, and squirted a stream into the
white
  plastic bucket. Then she began mopping again;
her
  strokes were positively vicious.
  Nora sat there, watching. The
thwop-squish-clack
  of the mop moving across the floor (streaking clumps
  of dirt, Nora noticed but obviously didn't
mention)
  was the only sound in the room.
  Finally, Nora wound up the nerve for a different
approach. "Maybe I could help?"
  Ruby didn't look at her. "I stripped the
bed upstairs.
  The sheets are piled on the washing machine. You
  could take care of your bed and start a load of
  laundry."
  Nora nodded. It took her almost an hour of
maneuvering in her chair to strip the sheets
off her bed, roll
   137
  into the cubicle-size laundry room, and start the
first
  load. By the time she finished, she was wheezing like a
  dying crow.
  She rolled back into the kitchen and found that the
  room was sparkling clean. Ruby had even
replaced
  the horrid plastic flowers on the table with a
fragrant
  bouquet of roses.
  "Oh," Nora said, taking her first decent breath
  since coming into the house. "It looks beautiful.
Just
  like-"
  "Thanks."
  Nora understood that Ruby didn't want the past
  mentioned. It didn't surprise Nora, that
reaction. Ruby
  had always been an expert at denial. Even as a
child,
  she'd had the ability to compartmentalize and forget.
  She could box up whatever she didn't want
to face and
  store it away. It had been this very trait that had
allowed her to shut Nora out of her life so
completely.
  Out of sight for Ruby had always meant out of mind.
  Nora decided not to let it be so easy this time.
"I
  thought I'd help you make dinner."
  Ruby turned to look at her. There was a look
of
  genuine horror on her face.
  Nora smiled. "You look like John Hurt, just
before
  the alien popped out of his chest. Close your
mouth."
  "There's no food. We--I--have to go shopping."
  "We both know Caroline better than that. In these
  cupboards, I guarantee you, are the makings for
several emergency dinners. Probably labeled as
such. All
  we have to do is look around."
  "You don't need my help, then. I'll just run
upstairs-"
  138 
  "Not so fast. I can't reach everything. We'll
need to
  work together."
  Ruby looked like she'd just bitten down on a
  lemon. "I don't know how to cook."
  Nora wasn't surprised. "You were never too
interested in it."
  "I got interested in it when I was seventeen. Not
  that you would know this."
  Direct hit. "I could teach you now."
  "Lucky me."
  Nora refused to be hurt by that comment. She
  wheeled into the kitchen. With her back to Ruby, she
  scavenged through the cupboards, finding several cans
  of tomatoes, a bag of angel-hair pasta,
an unopened
  bottle of olive oil, jars of marinated
artichoke hearts
  and capers, and a container of dried Parmesan
cheese.
  She pulled out everything she needed and set the
supplies beside the stove. Then she waited
patiently.
  Her patience didn't last as long as she would have
  liked. "Ruby?" she said at last.
  Ruby walked over to the stove. "Okay, what do
  want me to do?"
  "See that big frying pan hanging on the
rack-no,
  the bigger one. Yes. Take that and put it on the
front
  burner."
  It hit with a clang.
  Nora winced. "Now put about a tablespoon of
  olive oil in it and turn on the gas."
  Ruby opened the oil and poured in at least a
half cup.
  Nora could practically feel her hips expanding,
but
  she bit back a comment as she reached for the can
  opener. She was proud of herself for saying simply,
   139
  "The measuring spoons are in the top drawer;
to your
  left." Then she opened the canned tomatoes.
"Here,
  add these. And turn the flame to low."
  When Ruby had done that, Nora went on.
"Cut up
  the marinated artichoke hearts and add them.
Maybe
  a half cup of that canned chicken broth would be
  good, too."
  Ruby went to the counter; turned her back
to Nora,
  and began chopping.
  "Ow. Shit!"
  Nora spun the wheelchair toward her daughter.
  "Are you okay?"
  Ruby stepped back. Blood was dripping in a
steady
  red stream from her index finger; it plopped onto the
  tile counter.
  Nora yanked a clean towel off the oven door.
"Come
  here, honey. Get on your knees in front of
me. Keep
  your hand up."
  Ruby dropped to her knees. She seemed unable
to
  look away from her finger. Her face was pale.
  Nora gently took hold of her daughter's
hand.
  Seeing that blood--her child's--made Nora's own
hand
  throb. Just like old times; Nora had
always experienced a phantom pain whenever one of her
kids was
  hurt. She carefully coiled the towel around the
wound,
  and without thinking, wrapped her own hands around
  Ruby's.
  When she looked up, Nora saw the emotion on
  Ruby's face, and knew that her daughter
remembered
  this simple routine. The only thing missing was a
kiss
  to make it all better. She saw the longing flash
through
  140 
  Ruby's eyes. It was only there for an instant,
but Nora
  had waited so long to see it ...
  Ruby yanked her hand back. "It's just a cut,
for
  God's sake. We don't have to go looking for my
finger
  on the floor or anything."
  That gap yawned between them again, and Nora
  wondered suddenly if she'd imagined the longing in
  her daughter's eyes. If she'd seen
only what she
  wanted so desperately to see.
  Her voice was shaky when she said, "Put the
artichoke hearts and two tablespoons of capers
into the
  sauce." She turned quickly to the spice drawer,
yanking
  it open. But when she stared down into the drawer; all
  she saw was Ruby's face as it had been for that
one
  second, that instant that had somehow been both then
  and now.
  Nora grabbed the herbs she needed and wheeled
  back around, adding them to the sauce. "Put a big
pot
  of water on to boil, won't you?"
  For the next thirty minutes, Ruby did as she
was
  told without uttering a word. She was vigilant in
her
  refusal to make eye contact.
  But finally, the meal was ready, and they were seated
  across from each other at the round wooden kitchen
  table. Ruby picked up her fork and rammed it
into the
  pasta, twirling it.
  "Don't you want to say grace?" Nora
asked.
  Ruby looked up. "No."
  "But we-"
  "There is no we. Dinnertime prayers are one of
those
  family traditions that went the way of our
family. God
   141
  and I have an understanding. When He stopped listening,
I stopped talking."
  Nora sighed. "Oh, Ruby ... "
  "Don't give me that wounded-deer look."
Ruby
  turned her attention back to the plate and started
  eating. "This is good."
  "Thanks." Nora closed her eyes. "Thank
you, God,"
  she said softly, her voice barely loud enough for
Ruby
  to hear. "For this food ... and this time that Ruby and
  I have together."
  Ruby kept eating.
  Nora tried to eat, but the silence tore
at her nerves.
  It was hard enough to be estranged from your child
  when thousands of miles separated you ... but
estrangement at the same table was brutal.
  One personal thing.
  Leo's advice came back to her. It had
seemed easy
  enough when she was on the phone with her doctor;
  now, sitting beneath this cone of silence, it felt like a
  herculean undertaking.
  She was still trolling for an icebreaker when Ruby
  said, "Excuse me," got up from the table, and
went
  across the kitchen. She started filling the sink with
  water.
  Nora hadn't realized that eating was a timed
event.
  Fortunately, she kept this observation to herself.
She
  cleared the table, stacked the dishes on the counter
at
  Ruby's elbow. In an unnerving silence,
Ruby washed
  and Nora dried. When they were finished, Nora
  wheeled herself into the living room.
  She mentally prepared for round two.
  142 
  Ruby swept past her--practically running--and
  headed for the stairs.
  Nora had to think fast. "Why don't you make us
a
  fire? June nights are always chilly."
  Ruby stumbled to a halt. Without answering, she
  went to the hearth and knelt down to build a fire.
  She did it exactly as she'd been taught
by Grandpa
  Bridge.
  "I guess some things you never forget," Nora
said.
  Ruby sat back on her heels and held her
hands out
  toward the fire. It was a full minute before she
turned
  to Nora and said, "Except how it feels to have a
  mother."
  Nora sucked in a sharp breath. "That's not
fair. I
  was with you every day until ... "
  "Until the day you weren't."
  Nora clasped her hands together and slid
them between her legs. She didn't want Ruby
to see how badly
  she was trembling. "You and Caroline were my whole
  world."
  Ruby laughed drily and got to her feet, moving
  toward Nora. "We weren't your whole world the
  summer I was sixteen; that was the year you walked
  into the living room, dropped your suitcase on the
  floor; and announced that you were leaving, wasn't it?
  And what was it you said to us- "Who wants to come
  with me?" Yes, that was it. 'Who wants to come with
  me?" As if Caroline and I would set down our
forks,
  clear the table, and move away from our dad and our
  home just because you decided you didn't want to be
  here."
  "I didn't decide ... I left because-"
   143
  "I don't care why you left. That's what you
care
  about."
  Nora longed to make Ruby understand, even if it
  was only the merest bit. Just enough so that they could
  simply talk. "You don't know everything about
me."
  Ruby looked down at her. Nora thought she
saw a
  war going on inside her daughter; as if Ruby
wanted
  both to keep fighting and to stop. It surprised
Nora.
  She understood why her daughter would want to keep
  distance between them. What she couldn't imagine was
  why Ruby was still standing here. It was, in truth, a
  little disconcerting. She got the unsettling feeling
that
  Ruby--honest-to-a-fault Ruby--" hiding
something.
  "Tell me something about you, then," Ruby said
  at last.
  This was Nora's chance. She knew she needed to
  tread carefully. "Okay, let's go sit on the
porch-like
  we used to, remember? We'll each share one
piece of
  information about ourselves."
  Ruby laughed. "I asked you to tell me about you.
I
  didn't offer to reciprocate."
  Nora stood her ground. "I need to know
about you,
  too. Besides, if we're both talking, we can
pretend it's
  a conversation."
  Ruby wasn't laughing now. "Very Silence of the
  Lambs of you, Nora. Quid pro quo. For every
secret
  you tell me, I tell you one."
  "I suppose I'm Hannibal Lecter in your
little comparison. A cannibal ... and a psychopath,
how lovely."
  Ruby studied her a minute longer. "This should be
  interesting. I'm twenty-seven; you were ... . .
when,
  144 
  the day before yesterday? I guess it's time we
talked.
  Come on.
  She watched her daughter walk through the kitchen
  and disappear onto the porch. The screen door
banged
  shut behind her. Nora finally allowed herself
to smile.
  Ruby had remembered her birthday.
  Finally, she wheeled out onto the porch,
thankful to
  see that the rain had stopped. Cool night air
breezed
  across her cheeks, carrying with it the smells of a
life
  gone by-the sea, the sand, the roses climbing
along
  the railings. They had bloomed early this year; as
they
  always did after a mild winter. In another two
weeks
  there would be saucer-size blossoms crawling up
the
  trellises and along the picket fence.
  Shadows crept along the ground like slowly seeping
  India ink, moved up the sides of the house, and
slipped
  through the slats on the picket fence. Sunset
tinted the
  sky purple and pink.
  The porch light cast Ruby's back in an
orangey glow.
  She looked young and vulnerable, with her black
hair
  so poorly cut, and her clothes all
tattered and torn.
  The urge to reach out, to brush the hair off
Ruby's
  face, and say softly-
  "Don't say it, Nora."
  Nora frowned. "Say what?"
  "Ah, Ruby, you could be so beautiful if you'd just
  try a little."
  It startled Nora, that bit of mind reading.
Sure, she'd
  said that often to Ruby, had thought in fact to say it
a
  second ago, but it meant nothing. To Nora, the
comment had simply been grains of sand in the desert
of a
   145
  mother's advice. Obviously, Ruby had felt
otherwise,
  and she'd carried the words with her into womanhood.
  Nora saw how heavy they had become, and she was
  ashamed. "I'm sorry, Ruby. What I should
have said
  is: you're beautiful, just the way you are."
  Ruby turned, stared down at her.
  Silence settled between them, broken only
by the
  sounds of the sea and the occasional caw of a lone
  crow hidden in the trees.
  "Okay, Nora," Ruby said, crossing her
arms,
  leaning with feigned nonchalance against the porch
  rail. "Tell me something I don't know."
  Nora gazed up at her daughter; saw the wary
expectation in those dark eyes, and took a deep
breath.
  "You think I don't understand you," she began
softly,
  "but I know how it feels to turn your back on a
  parent."
  Ruby pulled away from the railing. Frowning, she
  sat down on the white wicker chair beside Nora.
"You
  loved your parents. You told us all about them."
  "The stories I told you girls were true," she
answered slowly, "and they were lies. I was never good
  at making stuff up, so my bedtime stories were
always
  bits and pieces of my life ... cleaned up.
I wanted you
  and Caro to have a sense of where you'd come
from."
  "What do you mean, cleaned up?"
  Nora's gaze was steady. "No matter how dark
a
  place is, there are always moments of light. That's
what
  I passed on to you and Caroline, my moments of
light."
  She took a deep breath. "On the day I
graduated from
  high school, I left home, and I never went
back again."
  146 
  "Did you run away?"
  "From my father; yes. I loved my mother."
  "How long was it before you saw them again?"
  Nora couldn't help it; she closed her eyes.
"I saw my
  father once--at my mother's funeral. Before you and
  Caroline were born."
  "And never again?"
  "Never again." Nora wished those two little words
  didn't hurt. The emotion was so old it ought to have
  decomposed by now. She leaned toward Ruby.
"I
  never saw him again, didn't even attend his
funeral,
  and all my life I've had to live with that
decision. It's
  not regret I feel so much, but more of ... a sad
  longing. I wish he had been a different man.
Most of
  all, I wish I could have loved him."
  "Did you ever love him?"
  "Perhaps ... when I was young. If so, I don't
remember it."
  Ruby got up, walked to the railing, and stared out
  at the sea. Without turning around, she said, "I
read
  the People magazine article about you. It said--and I
  quote: 'The cornerstones of Nora Bridge's
message are
  forgiveness and commitment." "Ruby turned around
  at last. "Did you try to forgive him?"
  Nora wanted to lie. It was easy to see that
Ruby was
  asking as much about their relationship as she was
  about Nora and her father's. But there was little
  enough chance for Nora and Ruby; with deception,
  there would be none at all. "Years
later; after I'd had
  my own children--and lost their love--I began
to regret how I'd treated him. As a young woman,
I didn't--couldn't--understand how hard life can be.
I think
   147
  that's how he felt. It's no excuse, but it
gives me a way
  to see him that turns the hatred into pity. Of
course, that
  understanding came too late. He was already gone."
  "So, I should forgive you now, while I still have the
  time. Is that your none-too-subtle message?"
  Nora looked up sharply. "Not everything is about
  you, Ruby. I told you something painful about me
  tonight, painful and private. I expect you to handle
  my life with respect, if you can't manage
care."
  Ruby looked abashed. "I'm sorry."
  "Apology accepted. Now, tell me something about
  you.
  Ruby stared at Nora through unreadable eyes.
  Nora steeled herself. This was going to be bad ...
  "That summer--you remember it, that time you
  left--I thought you'd come back."
  "That's no secret."
  "I waited and waited. By the next June,
Caroline
  had left, and it was just Dad and me at home.
One
  night I just ... snapped." She swallowed hard
and
  looked away for a moment, then collected herself and
  began again. "I drove down to Seattle and went
to
  that dance club, the Monastery, all by myself. I
picked
  up some kid--I can't even remember his name.
He
  had blue hair and pierced ears and dead eyes.
I went
  back to his apartment and let him fuck me." She
  paused for effect. "It was my first time."
  It hurt as much as Ruby had intended. Nora
  thought: There it is. My legacy. She didn't
dare to say
  she was sorry. Ruby would only toss those
ridiculously inadequate words right back at her.
  'I did it to hurt you. I thought you'd come home
  148 
  eventually and then I'd tell you. I used
to imagine the
  look on your face when I described it."
  "You wanted to see me cry."
  "At the very least."
  Nora sighed. "I would have, if that makes you
feel
  better."
  "It's too late for any of us to be feeling
better." She
  sighed. "Dean didn't take it very well, either."
  Dean. For a moment Nora hurt so much she
couldn't
  breathe evenly.
  That's how the grief hit her lately. Like a
rogue
  wave rising from a flat sea, it came out of
nowhere and
  hit with hurricane force. Sometimes she went
whole
  hours without thinking about Eric, and then she would
  suddenly remember.
  Now, it had been Dean's name that reminded her,
  but it could have been anything--the sound of a
  school bell ringing, a man's laughter
coming from another room. Anything.
  She knew she should say something--the pain in
  Ruby's eyes when she said Dean's name was
  unmistakable--but Nora's throat was blocked
too
  tightly to speak.
  "That's enough quid pro quo for one night," Ruby
  said sharply. "I'm going to go upstairs and take
a
  bath."
  Nora watched her daughter leave. Then,
quietly,
  she said, "Good night, Ruby."
  Wheeling back into her bedroom, Nora elbowed the
  door shut behind her and crawled up onto the bed.
Then
  she reached for the phone and dialed Eric's number.
   149
  He answered on the third ring, and she could tell
  that he was heavily medicated. "Hullo?"
  "Hey, Eric," she said, leaning back against the
headboard. "You sound like you've been shooting heroin."
  "T"s how I feel." It seemed to take a
long time for
  him to speak, and the words came out mangled
and
  elongated.
  "Are you okay?" she asked softly.
  "Ssshure. Jesst a little doped up. New meds
... "
  Nora had seen him go through this before. It was always
hell to get the pain prescription just right. She
  knew it wasn't a good time for them to speak.
"I'll let
  you sleep now, okay? I'll call back tomorrow."
  "Ssleep," he murmured. "Yeah. Morrow."
  "Good night, Eric."
  "Goo" night."
  Nora listened to the dial tone so long the
recording
  came on, then, finally, she hung up.
  Ruby went upstairs, where she grabbed her
yellow
  legal pad and crawled up onto the bed.
  This place, Summer Island, is killing me.
When I
  left Los Angeles, I was strong and funny
--not successful, perhaps, but at least I was me.
Here, things
  are different. I smell the roses my
grandmother
  planted and dry my hands on towels she
embroidered ... I sit at the table where I grew
up, remembering when I couldn't reach the floor with
my feet.
  I stare at the beach, and in the movement of the
  waves, I hear my sister's laughter.
  And then there is my mother.
  150 
  We have battles to fight; there is no doubt about
  it, but I'm afraid to ask the questions, and she, I
can
  tell, is afraid to answer them. So we dance out
of
  time to different pieces of music.
  Quid pro quo. My secret for one of yours;
this is
  the game we have begun to play. With it, I know I
  won't be able to stand on the edge of intimacy.
  Sooner or later I will have to dive into those cold,
  deep waters, and there is no end to the ripples
my
  entrance will make.
  I will learn things about my mother that I don't
  want to know. Hell, I already have. I
know, for instance, that she ran away from home right after
  high school and never spoke to her father again.
  Even yesterday, I wouldn't have been surprised
  by that. I would have said, "Of course. Running
  away is what Nora Bridge does best."
  But I watched her eyes as she spoke of her
father.
  I saw the pain ...
  It hurt her to run away. Part of me wishes
I
  hadn't seen that because, as I stood there, listening
  to my mother's heartache, I wondered for the first
  time if it hurt her to leave her children.




  Chapter Nine
  Dean sat cross-legged on the end of the dock,
watching the sun rise.
  The Sound was rough now at the changing of the
  tides. Waves slapped against the old
sailboat that
  bobbed alongside the dock. The lines creaked and
  moaned.
  He heard the sound of motors in the distance, and
  he smiled.
  The fishing boats were going out. They were too far
  away to see clearly--they were, as
always, hugging the
  coast of Shaw Island on their way to Haro
Strait--but
  Dean had seen it all a thousand times, the
battered, rattrap boats, made of painted wood
or aluminum, setting
  out for the day. How many times had he and Ruby
  stood on a dock somewhere, watching Rand's boat
  chug out to sea? She'd always squeezed Dean's
hand at
  the last moment, when the Captain Hook rounded the
  point and disappeared. He had known, without her
  ever having to tell him, that she lived with a tiny bit
of
  fear that one day her father wouldn't return.
  152 
  Dean had taken his watch off when he arrived on
  Lopez Island, so he wasn't sure how long
he sat there.
  All he knew was that by the time the sun gained
  strength and heated his cheeks, he'd been there long
  enough.
  Tiredly, he got to his feet and turned around.
To his
  right, the old family sailboat bobbed
wearily in the tide.
  The mast--once a bright white--had been
discolored by the endless rain and pitted by the wind. Red
  sides had been scraped down to bare wood in a
dozen
  places, and the deck around the big metal steering
  wheel was hidden beneath a layer of blackened, slimy
  leaves and green-gray mold.
  Of course, that was when he heard her voice:
Let's
  take out the Wind Lass, Dino, come on!
  He closed his eyes, remembering Ruby. In the
beginning, he'd flinched at every memory, held his
breath,
  and waited for the images to pass, but then the
memories had started to fade, and he'd gone in
search of
  them, reaching out like a blind man.
  Now he understood how precious were his memories
of first love, and he treasured both their pleasure
  and their pain.
  He grabbed the line and pulled the boat closer
to
  the dock, then stepped aboard. The boat
undulated
  unsteadily, as if surprised to be boarded after so
many
  lonely years.
  He had always felt free on this boat. The
flapping
  sound of sails catching wind had buoyed his spirits
  like nothing else. He and Eric had spent so much of
  their youth on the Wind Lass. On these teak
decks,
  they'd spun dreams for a future that stretched Out
   153
  years and years. Though neither of them had ever said
  it aloud, they'd both imagined growing old on this
  boat, bringing wives and children and grandchildren
  aboard.
  Dean loved to sail, and yet he'd walked away
from
  it, let sailing be part of the life he'd left
behind. .
  Obviously Eric had done the same. The Wind
Lass
  could have been docked in Seattle, a stone's throw
  from Eric's house, and yet here she sat, untended
and
  untouched.
  And suddenly Dean knew what he needed to do.
  He would restore the Wind Lass. Scrape the
old
  paint away, strip the wood and re-oil it,
scrub its every
  inch. He'd take this forgotten, once-loved
boat and return it to its past glory.
  If he could get Eric out here for an afternoon--just
  that, a single afternoon--maybe the wind and the sea
  could take them back in time ...
  Ruby woke to the smell of frying bacon and
brewing
  coffee. Snagging yesterday's leggings off the
floor; she
  pulled them on underneath her long nightshirt and
  hurried through her morning bathroom routine, then
  padded downstairs.
  Nora was in the kitchen, maneuvering the wheelchair
like General Patton along the front. There were
  two cast-iron skillets on the stove, one with
steam climbing out. A yellow crockery mixing bowl
sat by the
  empty skillet; a metal-handled spoon rested
against its
  side. She smiled up at Ruby.
"Good morning. Did you
  sleep well?"
  154 
  "Fine." She stumbled past the wheelchair and
  poured herself a cup of coffee, adding sugar and
cream.
  After a sip, she felt more human. Leaning back
against
  the cupboards, she saw that her mother had made
  bacon and pancakes. "I haven't eaten a
breakfast like
  this since you left us."
  It was obviously an effort for her mother to keep
  smiling. "Do you want me to put an M-and-M
face on
  your pancakes like I used to?"
  "No, thanks. I try to avoid
carbohydrates layered
  with chocolate."
  Ruby set the table, then dished up two plates
and
  sat down.
  Nora sat down across from her. "Did you sleep
well
  last night?" she asked, pouring syrup
in a tiny puddle
  by her pancakes.
  Ruby had forgotten that her mother dipped each
  bite of pancake into syrup. The quirk
reminded her
  of all the bits and pieces of their common life;
the
  things that inextricably bound a mother and daughter,
  whether Ruby wanted those ties or not. "You already
  asked me that."
  Nora's fork clanged on the plate edge. "Tomorrow
I'll
  remember to wear a Kevlar vest under my
nightgown."
  "What am I supposed to do? Be like Caroline--
pretend everything is fine between us?"
  "My relationship with Caroline is not for you to
  judge," Nora said sharply, looking up at
her. "You've
  always thought you knew everything. I used to think
  it was a good trait for a girl to have, but there's a
dark
  side to all that certainty, Ruby. You ...
hurt people."
  Ruby saw her mother swell up with
anger; and then as
   155
  quickly fade into a tired thinness. "But I
suppose it's
  not entirely your fault."
  "Not entirely? How about not at all my
fault?"
  "I left Caroline, too. It didn't make
her cold and
  hard and unable to love people."
  Now that pissed Ruby off. "Who said I couldn't
  love people? I lived with Max for five years."
  "And where is he now?"
  Ruby pushed back from the table and stood up.
  Suddenly she wanted distance between them.
  Nora looked up. There was a gentle understanding
  in her gaze that didn't sit well with Ruby.
"Sit down.
  We won't talk about anything that matters.
I'll comment on the weather; if you like."
  Ruby felt like a fool standing there, breathing too
  hard, showing exactly how deeply she'd been
wounded
  by her mother's remark.
  "Ruby Elizabeth, sit down and eat
your breakfast."
  Her mother spoke in one of those voices that immediately
turned a grown woman into a child. Ruby did as
  she was told.
  Nora took a bite of bacon. Her chewing was
a
  loud crunch-crunch-crunch. "We need to go
grocery
  shopping."
  Fine."
  "How about this morning?"
  Ruby nodded. Finishing her last bite, she
stood up
  and began cleaning the table. "I'll do the dishes.
We'll
  leave in about thirty minutes?"
  "Make it an hour. I have to figure out how in the
  hell to do a sponge bath."
  156 
  "I could lasso your leg and lower you into the bath
  like an anchor."
  Nora laughed. "No, thanks. I don't
want to drown
  naked with my leg stuck up in the air. The
tabloids
  would have a field day with that."
  The remark took a moment to sink in. When it
did,
  Ruby turned back to the table. "I wouldn't let
you
  drown."
  "I know. But would you rescue me?" Without
  waiting for an answer; Nora spun around and
rolled
  into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
  Ruby stood there, staring at the closed door.
  Would you rescue me?
  The Benevolent Order of the Sisters of St.
Francis had
  first come to Summer Island during World War One.
  A generous donor (who had no doubt lived a
life that
  imperiled his immortal soul) had granted them more
  than one hundred waterfront acres. The
sisters, who
  were equally high-minded in spiritual and business
  matters, had opened a general store next to the
dock
  that would become the ferry terminal. On the rolling
  acreage behind the store, they'd built a
sanctuary that
  tourists never saw. They raised cattle and owned
the
  most profitable apple orchard on the island. They
  wove their own cloth, dyed it with extracts from their
  own gardens, and hand-stitched it into brown robes.
  Their sanctuary was open to any of their order; as
well
  as to any woman who sought refuge from an
unhappy
  life. Such women were welcomed into the fold and
  given that precious commodity so missing from the
  hectic, violent outside world: time. Here, they
could
   157
  don the clothing of their grandmothers, do the. simple
  chores required of subsistence living, and commune
  with the God they felt they'd lost.
  On Sundays, the sisters opened their small
wooden
  chapel to their friends and neighbors. A priest from
  the monastery on a nearby island conducted quiet
services in Latin. It was a humble church, where no
one
  minded the cries of bored babies or the
emptiness of a
  collection plate when times turned hard.
  Theirs was still the only store on the island. Ruby
  pulled the minivan into the gravel parking lot behind
  the "He Will Provide" grocery store and parked
beside a rusty pickup truck.
  She helped Nora into the chair. Together they made
  their way down the rickety wooden boardwalk that
  connected the town's three buildings. Wisteria
grew
  along the posts that supported the roof's overhang
  and festooned the upper timbers with fragrant
white
  flowers. Here and there along the boardwalk were
  benches, handmade by the sisters. Later in the
tourist
  season, those seats would be filled by people waiting
  for a ferry.
  Ruby came to the store's screen door and
pulled it
  open. A bell tinkled gaily overhead as they
wheeled inside. The murky store was long and narrow,
built like
  a shoe box.
  Light pushed through the twin windows and
illuminated a small desk with a cash register on
it. Beyond
  that, layered wooden bookcases held carefully
arranged
  canned goods. A small freezer offered all
manner of
  Island-raised meat--beef, chicken, pork,
lamb--and a
  158 
  refrigerated case held vegetables grown on
the sisters'
  own land.
  The nun at the cash register looked up at their
  entrance.
  "Nora Bridge? Ruby? I don't believe
it!" Sister
  Helen waddled around the desk, her skirt hiked
up to
  reveal heavy white calves sheathed in nubby
woolen
  socks. Her green rubber clogs thumped with every
  step. Her fleshy face was scrunched into a
welcoming
  grin that turned her bespectacled eyes
into slits. She
  looked--as always--like a sprightly old gnome.
"Praise
  God," Sister said. Her thick German accent
turned the
  words into Praise Gott. "It has been so long
..." She
  turned to Ruby. "And how is the funny one?"
  Ruby smiled. "I'm still a stitch, Sister.
How "bout
  you--got any good Heaven jokes for me?"
  "I will think on it, that is for sure. It is
wunderbar to
  see you both." She elbowed Ruby. "Mother Ruth
still
  talks about the day your rabbit ran through services,
  ja? She will be happy to see you again."
  Ruby stepped away from the wheelchair. "I ...
  ... . . haven't been to services in a while.
I'm only on
  the island a week, anyway."
  Helen gave her "the look"-every Catholic
recognized it. "There is a Sunday in every week,
ja?"
  ... ... . maybe."
  Nora smiled up at the nun. "Some
things never
  change."
  Helen nodded. Her habit slipped down on her
forehead and she gave it a quick shove back. "Most
  things never change. That is what I have learned in
  seventy-three years of life." She leaned
back on her
   159
  heels and crossed her beefy arms. "It is good
to see
  you two together again, that much is for sure. You
  have stayed away from this island for too long." She
  turned to Ruby. "You have babies, ja like your
sister?"
  "No babies--and before you ask, no husband.
I'm
  either footloose and fancy free or lonely and
unlovable. Take your pick."
  Helen laughed. "Always you were this way, Ruby.
  Making a joke out of everything. However--just for
  the record--my guess would be ... fancy free
and
  lonely." She clapped her hands together.
"Anyway, the
  store is set up as it always was.
Get what you need.
  Shall I begin a new account for you?"
  "No," Ruby answered.
  "Yes," Nora said at the same time, shooting
her a
  dark look. "I may be here a while."
  Ruby grabbed one of the small red baskets
stacked
  by the desk and handed it to Nora. "Let's get
started."
  They moved past the tourist supply section--
postcards, pens with ferries on them, little brown and
  white candlesticks made from Mount Saint
Helens
  ash, Christmas ornaments. Ruby went on
ahead;
  Nora rolled slowly behind her.
  They came to the cereal first. Ruby grabbed a box
  of Cap'n Crunch and tossed it into the basket in
her
  mother's lap.
  "There's nothing good for you in that cereal."
  Ruby turned, saw her mother's frown. "Should I
get
  the kind with crunchberries? It adds
fruit."
  "Very funny. Will you grab one of those granolas
  for me--the sisters make it, if I remember
correctly."
  Ruby reached for the berib boned bag of cereal and
  160 
  plopped it into the basket. If she remembered
correctly, it tasted like carpet fibers.
  "We'll need several cans of tomatoes,"
Nora said.
  "No, not those; the ones in the green cans."
  Ruby put back the unacceptable canned
tomatoes
  and chose the "right" brand.
  "Spaghetti and penne, please. God, no, not
that
  cheap brand; get the good stuff ... from Italy."
  Like it was actually made in Italy. Ruby
gritted her
  teeth and kept moving, but with every word her mother
  spoke, she felt her anger rise. When Ruby
reached for
  the Twinkies, her mother practically shrieked.
  "You cannot eat that."
  That was it. Very slowly, Ruby turned
around. "I'm
  sorry, do you hear me asking for dietary
advice?"
  "No, but-"
  "That's the point. It's my butt that's going
to swell
  to the size of Nebraska, not yours. So please
...
  Shut ... up.
  Nora snapped her teeth together. "Fine."
  Ruby could hear Sister Helen chuckling.
  Miraculously, she and her mother made it all the
  way to the end of the aisle without another argument.
  Apparently, Nora was saving her strength for the
  battle over vegetables.
  "That ear of corn is gross. Get one of the
white
  Ones ... not that onion, for God's sake, get
a Walla
  Walla Sweet ... come on, Ruby, that
broccoli is half
  dead. What on earth do you eat in California?"
  Ruby dropped the broccoli into the basket and
  walked away. It was safer that way. She poked
her
   161
  head around the end of the aisle and called out to
  Sister Helen, "Where are the aspirin?"
  Sister Helen chuckled. "Along the back
wall, honey,
  by the Pepto-Bismol ... which you might want to
  consider, too."
  Ruby snagged an industrial-size container of
Excedrin and tossed it into the basket. It hit a
tomato
  with a juicy thwack!
  "Lovely," Nora said, wiping her cheek. Then
she
  glanced toward the left corner, where the nuns
offered
  a few T-shirts and shorts for sale. "I could
get you
  some clothes, if you'd like-"
  "That's it. We're done." Ruby grabbed the
handles
  on the wheelchair and spun it around, then strode
up
  to the cash register. She stopped so suddenly her
mother was thrown forward like a rag doll.
  Sister Helen was doing her level best
not to smile.
  "It's just like old times, seeing you two together."
  Nora gave her a tight smile. "Yes,
Sister, we've always enjoyed these mother daughter
outings."
  Ruby nodded. "Just remember what she was like to
  shop with ... when the police come to question you."
  Sister Helen laughed at that and started ringing
  up the groceries. She chattered nonstop about this
  and that-who was running for mayor come autumn,
  whose horse had recently foundered, whose well had
  gone dry-as her fingers flew across the keys.
  Ruby left the store and stared at the cars in line
for
  the next ferry. She was just about to turn around when
  the row of newspaper machines caught her eye.
  She glanced back into the store, then hurried down
  to the box that held USA Today.
  162 
  And there, in the upper-right-hand corner, was a
  picture of her mother beneath the headline: WHERE Is
  NORA BRIDGE HIDING?
  Ruby dug into her fanny pack, found two
quarters,
  and slipped them into the machine.
  "Ruby, honey?" came her mother's voice from
inside the store.
  Ruby yanked the paper out, rolled it up, and
shoved
  it into her waistband, pulling her shirt down in
front
  of it. "Just a second," she hollered, running
past the
  store. At the minivan, she opened the back
door and
  shoved the paper in underneath the backseat. By the
  time she got back into the store, she was breathless.
  Nora was staring up at her. "The bags are on the
  counter. I can carry two of them if you can manage
  The third."
  Ruby was certain that the patented mother's X-ray
  vision had somehow seen what she'd bought.
  "Sure. Bye, Sister Helen." She snatched
the bag off
  the counter, settled it under one arm, and wheeled her
  mother toward the car.
  As soon as they got home, Ruby helped her
mother
  into the house, carried the groceries in, and put
them
  away. Then she turned to Nora, who was watching
  her closely.
  "I ... ... . . I'm going to walk on the
beach. It's
  such a nice day." Flashing a fake smile,
Ruby went
  back outside. At the minivan, she retrieved
her paper
  and tucked it under her shirt-just in case-then
  walked down to the beach.
  She sat down on a flat granite rock and
pulled out
  the lifestyle section, using a big chunk of
silvery drift-
   163
  wood to pin the rest of the paper into the sand. The
  wind flapped at the edges of the paper and tried
to rip
  it from her hands.
  WHERE IS NORA BRIDGE HIDING?
  In the wake of an ugly scandal, Nora
Bridge has
  disappeared. Executives at KJZZ, which
broadcasts her popular talk show, "Spiritual
Healing
  with Nora," are closing ranks, saying only that
Ms.
  Bridge is on a previously scheduled
vacation.
  Tom Adams, the controversial and outspoken
  owner ofAdams News Organization, reports
that nothing has changed with Ms. Bridge's daily
advice
  column, "Nora Knows Best."
  Yesterday, Adams talked to Katie Couric.
He encouraged viewers to write to Nora,
promising that
  "she wants to hear from her faithful readers and she
  will answer their questions. Even the tough ones."
  Sources close to Ms. Bridge, however seem
unconvinced that she will return. As one employee,
  who asked to have her name withheld, put it, "I
  guess she was a big talker. All that advice
about the
  sanctity of marriage ... well, it's a real
disappointment to find out what a liar she is."
  There was obviously a full-scale media frenzy
going
  on out there Today ... Larry King Live.
Reporters
  were probably scouring the country, talking to anyone
  and everyone who ever knew Nora Bridge; they'd
tear
  her apart if they could.
  And Ruby's article would make it worse ...
  164 
  * * *
  Ruby sat on the bed in her parents" old
bedroom, with
  her knees drawn up and her yellow pad in her
lap. The
  USA Today lay beside her; that grainy,
unflattering
  photograph of her mother stared up at her.
  My mother is being destroyed in the press. It's
only
  fitting, I suppose. She ruined her family
in pursuit
  Of a career, and now that career is detonating.
  It's what I wanted to happen. I'm sure
it's part of
  what made me accept the money for an article.
A
  need for some kind of ... if not vengeance, then
  fairness.
  And yet ... something about it doesn't sit well
  with me-
  "Ruby! Come help me make dinner."
  For a weird, disorienting second, Ruby was
four-
  teen again, hiding in her bedroom, reading The Lord
  of the Rings when she was supposed to be doing
  homework. Shaking her head to clear it, she rolled
  over on her stomach and yanked open the top
drawer
  in her mother's nightstand. Pens and junk clattered
  forward. As she started to put her pad away, she
saw a
  brown prescription bottle.
  She picked it up and read the label.
VALIUM. NORA
  BRIDGE. 1985. The doctor listed was
Allbright.
  Ruby frowned. Her mother was on Valium in
1985?




  Chapter Ten
  Valium.
  That discovery opened a door, hinted at a woman
  Ruby had never known, never even imagined.
  In 1985, everything had been fine.
Great.
  Or so Ruby had thought.
  She wished she hadn't found the bottle. It was the
  sort of thing she didn't want to know. Like
accidentally finding your mother's vibrator. Some things
were
  supposed to remain hidden.
  Finally, Ruby couldn't stand being in the bedroom
  anymore. She went downstairs and found Nora
already in the kitchen.
  "We're going to make chicken divan. How
does
  that sound?"
  Ruby groaned. "Cooking together."
  'I want you to chop that broccoli. The cutting
  board is right there."
  Ruby did as she was told.
  Smaller, please. Each piece needs to fit in
a human
  mouth."
  166 
  Ruby took a deep breath and started over.
  For the next half hour, they worked side by side.
Ruby
  boiled and cut up the chicken-in
human-size bites-
  while Nora did everything else. Finally, the
casserole was
  In the oven.
  "I have a surprise for you," Nora said, putting
the
  cutting board away. "There's a big cardboard
box in
  my closet. Will you get it?"
  Ruby shook her head. "I don't think so."
A surprise
  from her mother just couldn't be a good thing.
  Nora gave her "the look," and Ruby caved.
Some
  things were bigger than willpower, and a mother's
  raised eyebrow was one of them. She went into the
  bedroom, opened the closet's louvered doors, and
  found the box. As she hefted it into her arms, it
made
  a rattling, clanking sound like auto parts crammed
  together.
  She took it into the living room and set it down
on
  the glossy wormwood coffee table. It hit with a
clatter.
  Nora had followed her into the living room.
  "Open it."
  Ruby pulled the cardboard flaps apart and peered
  inside the box. "Oh, shit."
  It was their sixteen-millimeter movie
projector and
  a reel of film. She turned to her mother.
  "Home movies," Nora said with a forced smile.
  "Don't tell me you want us to bond over old
times?"
  "I want to watch them, that's all. You can join
  Me ... or you can set it up and leave me ...
alone."
  Ruby was trapped. Whether she watched the
  movies or not, she'd know that the film was here, in
  the house, waiting like a monster beneath a child's
   167
  bed. She reached deeper into the box and found a
  folded white sheet and a set of thumbtacks.
Their old
  "screen."
  She set up the projector on a table in the
living
  room, clicked the reel into place, and plugged the
cord
  in. Then she tacked the sheet onto the wall.
  She refused to dwell upon how big a deal it
used to be
  to watch family movies. Every Christmas Eve,
they'd
  sat together in their pajamas, with their unopened
  gifts glittering seductively beneath the tree, and
watched
  the highlights of their year. It was an essential
tradition in a family that had only a few.
  Ruby turned off the lights. With a dull,
clacking
  sound, the film started as a gray and black
square in
  the center of the sheet.
  Ruby lowered herself to the sofa's arm.
  The words LOPEZ ISLAND TALENT REVUE
stuttered
  understood across the makeshift screen. There was a
  buzz of people talking, then her mother's voice, clear
  as day, There! Rand; she's coming.
  Ruby couldn't have been more than five years old,
a
  scrawny, puffy-cheeked kindergartner dressed in
  ragged pink tutu. She twirled and swirled
drunkenly
  across the stage, her toothpick arms finding all
kinds
  of awkward angles.
  -Oh, Rand, she's perfect-
  -Hush, I'm trying to concentrate-
  Onstage, Ruby executed an uneven spin and
sank
  into a curtsy. Applause thundered.
  The picture went dark, then stuttered back
to life.
  This time they were down at the beach. Caroline, in a
  skirted one-piece bathing suit, was splashing in
the
  168 
  ankle-deep water, laughing. Ruby was wearing a
bikini;
  her belly poked out above banged-up stick
legs. Her
  mother was sitting in the sand, looking through a
  plastic bucket full of shells and rocks.
Ruby ran over to
  her and stamped a foot down beside the bucket.
Mom
  leaned over and fixed a strap on her saltwater
sandals,
  then pulled a wiggly, laughing Ruby into her arms
for
  akiss.
  Mom ...
  There she was.
  Ruby slid off the arm of the sofa and landed on the
  soft, threadbare cushion. Her whole childhood
played
  out in front of her in staccato, black-and-white
images
  accompanied by the sounds of children laughing.
  How was it she'd forgotten how much they'd
  Laughed ... or how regularly her mother had
hugged
  and kissed her? She'd remembered the feel of
riding on
  her dad's strong shoulders, of seeing the world from
  way up high, but not the gentle pressure of her
  mother's kiss.
  But she remembered it now. She was seeing it.
  There was no way to keep her distance from this.
  There was Dad, twirling Ruby around and around
  in a circle ... and Mom, teaching
Ruby how to tie her
  Shoe ... a rainy Halloween with two
princesses skipping hand in hand up to the
Smithsons" front door;
  carrying pumpkin-headed flashlights ... the snowy
  Christmas morning when Ruby had gotten a
guinea
  pig from Santa ... Mom and Dad, dancing in
the
  living room of this very house, the picture blurry
and
  bouncing from a camera held in a child's hands ...
   169
  By the time the final bit of film flapped out of the
  reel and the screen went blank, Ruby felt as
if she'd
  run a ten-mile race. She was unsteady as she
turned off
  the camera and hit the lights.
  Her mother (nora she reminded herself) sat hunched
  in her wheelchair; hands drawn into a tight-fisted
ball in
  her lap. Tears glistened on her cheeks and
lashes. She
  caught Ruby's gaze and tried
to smile.
  At the sight of her mother's tears, Ruby felt
something inside of her break away. "You and Dad
looked
  so happy together."
  Nora smiled unevenly. "We were happy for a
lot of
  years. And then ... we weren't."
  "You mean you weren't. I saw what it did to him
  when you walked out. Believe me, he loved you."
  "Rand would have stayed with me forever; y"re
  right about that. Just as he'd vowed to do."
  Ruby frowned. "He would have stayed because he
  loved you, not just because he'd promised to."
  "Ah, Ruby ... there's so much you don't know.
  Your dad and I have a ... history that's ours
alone.
  No child can judge her parents' marriage."
  "You mean you won't tell me why you left him."
  "Beyond saying that we were unhappy? No, I
won't."
  Ruby wanted to be angry, but in truth, she was
  too battered. The movies had hurt so much she
  couldn't think straight. For the first time in years,
  she'd seen Mom.
  "I had forgotten you," Ruby said softly,
closing her
  eyes. "I've never dreamt of you or had a
single childhood memory with you in it." When Ruby
opened her
  170 
  eyes, she saw that her mother was crying, and it made
  Ruby uncomfortable, as if she'd done something
  wrong. It was crazy to feel that way, but there it
was.
  Strangely, she didn't want to make her mother
cry.
  "But tonight I remembered the locket you gave me
on
  my eleventh birthday. The silver oval that opened
up. I
  kept a picture of you on one side and Dad and
Caro
  on the other side."
  Nora wiped her eyes and nodded. "Do you still
  Have it?"
  Ruby got up, went to the fireplace. She
stared at the
  pictures of Caroline's family. When she
reached up and
  touched her own bare throat, she felt the
phantom
  locket. She'd been sixteen the last day she'd
worn it.
  It had been a hot, humid day in the second
week of
  August. Ruby and Caroline had refused to go
school
  shopping. It had been the rock-bottom basement
of
  their faith, the thing they'd said to each other for
  weeks: Mom would be home in time for school ...
  But she wasn't, and August had bled
into September
  and their lives couldn't be kept on hold
anymore.
  In that season, when all their friends and neighbors
  had been gathered together for picnics and barbecues
  and parties at Trout Lake, the Bridge
family had
  stayed huddled in their too-quiet house. Ruby
and
  Caro had learned to move soundlessly that summer.
  They did their best to disappear. Girls who were
invisible didn't have to answer people's questions or
  make painful explanations.
  It had been easy to do. Dad had seen to that.
He'd
  started drinking and smoking when Nora left in
   171
  June. By August, he never came out of his
room. The
  Captain Hook sat idle all summer; and by the
fall,
  Dad had had to sell off another chunk of land
to pay
  their bills.
  Finally, on the first day of school, Ruby had
taken
  the locket off and thrown it to the ground ...
  "Ruby? I asked about the locket."
  She turned and looked at her mother. "I threw it
  away."
  "I see."
  "No, you don't. I didn't throw it away because
I
  hated you." She drew in a deep breath. For a
split
  second, she almost lost her nerve; she had to force
  confession out. "I threw it because it hurt too much
to
  remember you."
  "Oh, Ruby ... "
  In the kitchen, the oven's timer went off.
  Ruby lurched to her feet. "Thank God.
Let's eat."
  Nora wrestled through a long and sleepless night.
Finally, around dawn, she gave up and went out onto
  the porch to watch the sunrise. As soon as the
sun was
  up, she called Eric, but there was no answer; and
somehow, that made her feel even lonelier. She
wheeled her-
  self back out to the porch.
  It was low tide now. The shy water had drawn
back,
  revealing a wide swatch of glistening, pebbled
shoreline.
  She remembered so many times on that beach, gathering
oysters, clams, and geoducks with Rand's father
  for a Sunday barbecue.
  I had forgotten you.
  172 
  Nora had known that Ruby blamed her;
hated her.
  But to have forgotten her?
  Nora didn't know how to combat that.
  Do you want me to be like Caroline? Ruby had
  asked. Pretend that everything is fine between us?
  Nora leaned back in her chair; sighing
tiredly. Ruby
  was right. Ruby, with her fire, her anger; her
chipped
  shoulder ... at least she was honest. All or
nothing.
  Black or white. She couldn't live in the
shades of gray
  that comforted her sister.
  "I miss you, Ruby," she whispered, daring
to say
  the words to this silent world; words she couldn't
  imagine being able to say to her younger daughter.
  Sadness welled up inside her. Instead of pushing
it
  away or pretending it didn't exist, she
allowed herself
  to wallow in it. I miss you, baby girl ...
  She thought of all the years that had passed her
  by-Ruby leaving for college ...
quitting college ...
  moving to Los Angeles (had she taken Rand's
ratty old
  Volkswagen or had she found a way to buy a
new
  car? ... renting her first apartment ...
  So much time gone.
  "Enough," she said at last. Straightening her
spine,
  she opened her eyes.
  What she needed was a plan. She needed
to attack
  the problem with Ruby aggressively-there was no
  other way to deal with her.
  There would be no second chance; she knew that.
  Nora had one week-six days, now-to crack
through
  the hard shell of the past.
  But how?
   173
  "Okay," she counseled herself. "Pretend this is
a
  reader letter."
  Dear Nora:
  Years ago, I walked out on my
marriage and left
  my children. My younger daughter has never forgiven
me. Now she tells me that she forgotten all
  memories of me. How do I make amends?
  She took a deep breath, thinking it through. If
Nora
  had received a letter like this, she would have taken
  the woman to task for her unpardonable behavior;
  would have told her it was no surprise that her
  daughter hated her.
  "Hypocrite," she hissed. No wonder she'd
lost her
  career.
  Anyway, after moralizing for a few sentences, she
  would have said ...
  Force her to remember you.
  The answer came easily when offered to a
stranger.
  Nora smiled. If she forced Ruby to remember
the past,
  they could possibly find their way into the present
...
  maybe even peek at a different future.
  It wouldn't be easy, she knew. Or
particularly
  pleasant.
  Probably excruciating, in fact.
  But it was the only way. Right now, it was easy for
  Ruby to hate Nora--she only remembered the
horrible choices made that summer. Would it be so
easy if
  Ruby remembered the good times?
  Behind her; the screen door squeaked open.
"Nora?"
  174 
  Nora wheeled around, smiling brightly. "Hi,
  honey."
  Ruby frowned. "You're awfully chipper for
eight in
  the morning. Do you want a cup of coffee?"
  "No, thanks. I've got some. Why don't you
get a
  cup and join me out here? It's beautiful."
  Ruby ran a hand through her spiky,
sleep-molded
  hair and nodded. Wordlessly, she went back
inside,
  then came out a few minutes later and sat down
in the
  rocker.
  Nora stared down at the beach. The silence between them
was strangely companionable, not unlike
  a thousand other mornings, long ago, when they'd
sat
  together out here.
  She took a sip of her coffee and glanced out at
  the point. "Remember the Fourth of July
barbecues
  we used to have out here? Your dad was always gone
  fishing and the three of us girls would load up on
firecrackers."
  Ruby smiled. "Sparklers were my favorite.
I
  couldn't wait for it to get dark."
  "We wrote things in the light, remember?"
Nora
  said, watching Ruby. "I always wrote: I
love my
  girls."
  Ruby curled her hands around her coffee cup, as
  if she needed a sudden infusion of warmth.
"Caroline always scrawled the name of whatever boy she
  was in love with at the time. Remember when it was
  Alexander Jorgenson? It took two sparklers
to spell
  his whole name-she was in a panic."
  Nora smiled. She pictured Eric and Dean,
standing
  around the grill, laughing. They'd had impeccable
   175
  timing, those boys. They never missed a meal.
There
  was a sudden lump in her throat, and so her voice
was
  soft when she said, "You only wrote Dean 5
name.
  Year after year."
  Ruby sighed.8allyeah ... He and Eric always
showed
  up right when you put the salmon on the barbecue-
  remember?" She looked up. "Caroline tells
me you've
  stayed in touch with Eric. How is he?"
  Nora had known this moment was coming; she'd
  thought she was prepared for it, but she wasn't. She
  released her breath in a slow sigh. There was no
way
  to honor Eric's wish for privacy, not with Nora
unable
  to drive. Sooner or later; she would have
to elicit
  Ruby's help, and when she did, Ruby would
learn
  about Eric. But how did you tell your daughter that
  one of her best childhood friends was dying?
  "Mom?"
  Nora casually wiped her eyes and met
Ruby's expectant gaze. "Eric has cancer.
  Ruby paled. "Oh, my God ... "
  Nora watched the memories move through Ruby's
  eyes. She knew her daughter was thinking back
to lazy
  summer days spent down at the lake with Dean and
  Eric. It was a long time before Ruby found her
voice.
  "How bad is it?"
  "Bad."
  "Is he going to die?"
  It hurt to answer. "Yes, honey, he is."
  Ruby slumped forward, burying her head in her
  hands. "I should have stayed in contact with him.
  God ..." She fell silent, shaking her
head, and Nora
  176 
  knew her daughter was crying. "It
seems like yesterday
  we were all together. I can't imagine him ...
sick."
  "I know. I keep thinking about those Fourth of
July
  barbecues. I used to watch you and Dean on the
beach.
  You'd hold hands and duel with your sparklers. I
could
  hear your laughter all the way up here, and when you
  got older; and started whispering ... then I
worried."
  Ruby looked up. Tears spiked her
eyelashes, made
  her look about ten years old. "I never knew
that."
  "Motherhood is full of secret worries."
Nora realized a second too late that she'd
made herself vulnerable. She should never have used the word
secret.
  But, thankfully, Ruby had bigger things on her
mind.
  "Can we visit Eric?"
  "Of course. He's staying at the old house on
Lopez.
  I know he'd love to see you." Nora leaned
back in her
  chair and stared out at the Sound. "Sometimes, when I
  close my eyes, I can picture all of us.
You, me, Caroline ... Eric and Dean. What I
remember most are
  days out on the Wind Lass. Dino and Eric
loved that
  boat ... "
  "I know what you're doing," Ruby said after a
long
  pause; her voice was thick and low. "You want
me to
  remember."
  "Yes."
  "Remembering stuff like that hurts."
  "I know, honey. But-"
  Inside the house, the phone rang. Ruby got
slowly
  to her feet and went inside. The screen door
banged
  shut behind her. "Hello?"
  Nora could hear Ruby's half of the conversation.
  "Who is this? Oh, I'm her daughter; Ruby
... Yes,
   177
  she is. . . just a minute, I'll get her.
Nora?" Ruby
  yelled. "It's your personal assistant,
Dee."
  "Tell her I'm not here."
  Ruby opened the screen door and poked her head
  out. "I already told her you were here. Come on.
She's
  waiting."
  Nora wheeled into the kitchen and took the phone.
  "Hello, Dee."
  "Oh, Nora, thank God. A box of letters just
landed
  on your desk. There was nothing I could do about it.
  Tom Adams called-he threatened to get me
fired if
  I didn't forward them to you. Today." Dee made
a
  sniffling sound. "I need this job, Nora. I
know you'd
  never fire me, but what if ... you know ... "
  "I lose my job." Nora sighed. "I understand
completely. Go ahead and mail the stuff to me at the
ad-
  dress I gave you."
  "Tom wants me to send Lake Union Air
up for
  today's delivery."
  Of course. With Tom, everything had to happen
instantly. "Did you read the letters, Dee?"
  "Uh ... afew."
  Nora's stomach turned sour. "How bad is
it?"
  "It's ugly, Nora. People around here are starting
to
  talk to the tabloids ... they're not saying nice
things ...
  and some lady in Iowa went on television last
night
  and said she was going to file a lawsuit against you.
  Fraudulent advice or some stupid thing."
  Nora glanced over at Ruby, who was
shamelessly
  eavesdropping. "Okay, Dee. Send me the
letters."
  "I thought I'd send your "best of" file,
too. In case
  178 
  you wanted to sneak some old letters in.
Tom wouldn't
  know."
  "Good thinking."
  Dee sighed heavily. "I knew you were going to do
  the column. People are saying-"
  "I'll make sure that you're taken care of.
Don't you
  worry about that. Thanks for everything, Dee.
Really.
  Good-bye." She leaned forward and hung up the
phone.
  She wanted to make a joke for Ruby's
benefit, but she
  hadn't the strength.
  "Nora?"
  Slowly, she lifted her head.
  Ruby stood by the refrigerator; her arms
crossed.
  Her cup of coffee sat on the counter; forgotten.
"What
  was that all about?"
  "My boss at the newspaper expects me
to answer
  some . . . rather unflattering letters from my readers."
  "Well, it is your job."
  Nora didn't bother answering. Ruby couldn't
possibly understand. She didn't know how it felt
to need
  acceptance; and how, without it, you could feel
invisible. Worse than invisible.
  Some lady in Iowa ... a lawsuit ...
fraudulent
  advice ...
  She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her
  nose. "David Letterman is probably
having a field day
  with this . .
  For two days, she'd been able to forget that her
  life was unraveling, that she was a national scandal.
  No more.
  She heard Ruby run upstairs.
  Thank God.
   179
  But in a minute, Ruby was back, tapping her
on the
  shoulder. "Nora?"
  Nora opened her eyes.
  Ruby was standing beside her, holding a section
  of newspaper. "I bought this yesterday at the
store.
  Maybe you should ... read what they're writing
  about you."
  Nora stared at the newspaper. She could see a
big,
  grainy picture of herself.
  It had been taken at the Emmys last
year-God, she
  hated that shot. It made her look all
puffy-cheeked
  and squinty-eyed.
  She took the paper from Ruby and glanced through
  the article. "It's over," she said dully,
letting the news-
  paper fall to the floor.
  Ruby frowned. "Don't be stupid. You'll
get through
  this. Look at Monica Lewinsky-she's
selling expensive handbags now. She went to the
Oscars last year.
  And that idiot who married the millionaire got
a fortune from Playboy."
  "Thank you for those comforting comparisons."
  "I just meant-"
  "You're too young to understand, Ruby. My career
  is over. I have no intention of answering
a single letter.
  I'm going to hide out until this ... is over.
Another story will come along and they'll forget about
  me. Then I'll just fade away."
  "You're kidding me, right?"
  "But you're famous."
  "I'm infamous. Believe me, there's a
difference."
  "With the right spin, you can-"
  180 
  "You don't understand my career, Ruby. I've
never
  put a wall between me and my readers. Everything I
  think and feel and believe is found in my words to
  strangers. That's why they believed in me, they
sensed
  my honesty."
  Ruby's eyebrow arched upward. "According to the
  press, your columns said you believed in
marriage. Is
  that the kind of honesty they got from you?"
  "I do believe in marriage. And love, and
family, and
  commitments. I just ... failed at it."
  Ruby looked surprised by that answer.
"That's an
  interesting word choice. Failed."
  "I don't suppose either one of us would characterize
  my wife-and-motherhood as successful."
  "No. But I wouldn't have expected you to see it that
  way. As a failure, I mean."
  They were finally circling something that mattered.
  Nora"s voice was gentle. "How did you
imagine I'd
  feel?"
  Ruby frowned. "I would have thought you'd see
  leaving us as ... a success. You did it so
well. Like
  leaving a job you hate. You might miss the
income,
  but you're proud of yourself for finding the guts to
  quit."
  "I wasn't proud of myself."
  "Why?" Ruby asked the question in a whispered
  voice. "Why did you do it? Couldn't you have a
career
  and raise children?"
  Nora sighed. There were so many ways to answer
  that, and she was too damned depressed to pick the
  right one. So, she said the first thing that came
to
  mind. "What happened to us isn't some event, like
the
   181
  sinking of the Titanic. It's little things, strung
together
  over decades. To really understand it all, you'd have
  to grow up and see the way things really were in our
  family, but you don't want to do that, Ruby. You
want
  to forget I ever existed. . . forget we ever
existed."
  "It's easier that way," Ruby said quietly.
  "Yes. And it's easier for me to walk away from
my career. I can't fight these charges ... not with the
life I've
  led and the choices I've made. The press will
uncover
  what I did to my children ... to you, Ruby ... and
it'll
  get even worse."
  "I never saw you as a quitter."
  Nora gave her a sad, knowing smile. "Ah,
Ruby ...
  you, of all people ... you should have."




  Chapter Eleven
  It was early afternoon, the peak of a surprisingly hot
  June day. The sea and sky were a solid sheet
of
  sparkling blue. Sunlight glinted along the
surface of
  the water. At the edge of the property, just before it
  dipped down to meet the sand, trees reached out
  to one another, their leaves whispering in the wind.
  Starlings banked and dove along the eaves,
chirping
  loudly, flying low above the grass.
  Ruby sat in the white Adirondack chair on
the
  second-floor balcony. She couldn't seem
to stop crying.
  She kept thinking about Eric, about all the times
  they'd spent together, how he'd been the big brother
  she'd never had-and the thought of losing him was
  unbearable ... but no worse than the realization that
  she'd lost him years earlier, thoughtlessly,
by walking
  away and never bothering to call.
  Never bothering to call.
  It was the story of her life. Ruby the
half-wit girl
  who exits stage right.
  She had loved Eric. Not in the searing,
heartbreaking
   183
  way she'd loved his brother, but in a solid,
dependable
  way. For all the years of her youth, he'd been
there.
  It was Eric who'd taught her to set up a pup
tent when
  the Girl Scout jamboree was coming ... Eric
who'd
  shown her how to stand on the bow pulpit of the
  Wind Lass on a windy day.
  And yet she'd walked away, let him become a
faded
  snapshot in the drawer of her life.
  "I'm sorry," she whispered aloud, hearing the
pathetic edge to her voice. It wasn't good enough,
her
  apology into thin air. She acknowledged that. But the
  thought of seeing him terrified her. How could she
  stand by his bed and talk to him ... smile as if
they'd
  stayed friends ... and say good-bye?
  How could she watch him die?
  Closing her eyes, she leaned back into the chair.
In
  the bedroom behind her, the phone rang, but when
  she picked it up, there was no answer.
  When the ring sounded again, she realized it
  was her cellular phone. She dove over the bed and
  reached for the phone on the floor. She'd plugged it
in
  less than an hour earlier.
  "Hello?"
  "Jesus, Rube, I've been trying this number
endlessly. How's life in the outback?"
  It was Val. She could hear his exhalation of
cigarette smoke into the receiver. "It's Summer
Island, Val,
  not Siberia. And things are fine."
  "I thought you might need to be airlifted out."
  Ruby laughed. "No, just keep that alibi handy
in
  case I need it."
  "How's the article coming?"
  184 
  "Okay, I think. Maybe even good."
  "Excellent news. I talked to Joan this
morning.
  Things are really heating up on this story. The
press is
  crucifying your mother."
  Ruby was caught off guard by her reaction to that.
  It made her mad. "She doesn't care.
She's walking
  away from her career. Quitting."
  "No shit?"
  "Amazing, huh? Anyway, I'm working hard."
  "Joan'll be glad to hear that. Remember,
you're
  booked on Sarah Purcell for next week.
See you then,
  babe."
  Babe. Ruby couldn't help rolling her eyes.
He'd
  never called her that before; it must be a term reserved
  for clients who actually made him money.
"Okay, Val.
  Talk to you soon."
  After she hung up, she retrieved her paper and
pen,
  then went back out onto the balcony and
sat in the
  oversize chair her grandfather had made by hand.
  She forced herself to stop thinking about Eric. For
  now, she needed to work on the article.
  She looked down at her yellow pad, then
slowly
  picked up her pen and began to write.
  I have spent most of my adult life pretending
I was
  motherless. At first, it took effort. When a
memory
  of my mother came to me, I ruthlessly squelched it
  and forced other images into my mind--a slamming
door; the sound of tires sputtering through
  gravel; my father, sitting on the edge of his bed,
  weeping into his hands.
  In time, I taught myself to forget, and in that
   185
  state of suspended amnesia, things were easy.
Time
  moved on.
  But last night, my mother and I watched some
  old home movies. There, in a darkened living
room,
  the doors I'd tried to keep closed
slowly opened.
  Now I am left with a disturbing and disorienting
  question: In forgetting my mother, how much have
  I forgotten about myself?
  It seems I don't know either one of us. My mother
  tells me now that she is going to walk away from
  her career. I don't know what to make of that.
She
  traded our family for fame and fortune; how could
  it mean so little to her?
  Ruby set the pen and pad down on the rusty,
frosted
  glass table beside her chair, unable to think of
anything to add.
  She couldn't forget her mother's face when she'd
  said, I'll just fade away.
  Her mother had looked ... broken, resigned, and
  more than a little afraid. Just like another time.
  I'm leaving. Who wants to come with me?
  For eleven years, Ruby had remembered only
the
  words, the harsh, ugly sound of them in the silence of
  that morning.
  Now, she remembered the rest.
  Her mother's eyes had been filled with that
same
  agonizing pain, and when she spoke, her voice
had
  been strained.. . not her voice at all.
  Then, Ruby had heard nothing beyond the good-
  bye. She'd understood that her mother was leaving ...
  but what if Nora had been running away?
  186 
  I never saw you as a quitter, Ruby had said
today.
  And her mother's answer: You, of all people ... you
  should have.
  But what could her mother have been running away
  from? And what had kept her away?
  The package arrived from Seattle in the late
afternoon,
  while her mother was taking a nap. Ruby knew
what it
  was. She debated with herself for a few moments-
  after all, she'd purposely chosen never to read
her
  mother's newspaper columns-but the Cache article
  changed things. Now, Ruby needed to know what
  "Nora Knows Best" had been about.
  Quietly, she opened the box and pulled
out a manila
  envelope marked BEST OF. In the living
room, she
  plopped onto the sofa, tucked her feet up
underneath
  her, and withdrew the pile of clippings. The one on
top
  was dated December 1989, from the Anacortes
Bee.
  Dear Nora:
  Do you have any tips for getting red wine out of
  white silk? At my sister's wedding, I got
a little
  drunk and spilled a glassful on her gown.
Now she's
  not talking to me, and I feel just awful about it.
  Wedding Dress Blues.
  Nora's answer was short and sweet.
  Dear Wedding Dress Blues:
  Only your dry cleaner can get the stain out. If
it
  can't be done, you must offer to replace the gown.
  Because you were drunk, even a little, this is more
   187
  than an ordinary accident, and your sister
deserves
  a perfect reminder of her special day, a
dress she can
  pass down to her daughter. It may take you a
while
  to save the money, but in the end, you'll feel
better.
  Nothing is more important than family. I'm
sure
  you know that; it's what made you write to me. It's
  so easy to do the wrong thing in life, don't you
  think? When we see a clear road to being a
better
  person, we ought to take it.
  As Ruby continued to read the columns, she
noticed that her mother's mail changed gradually from
  household-hint questions to earnest, heartfelt questions
about life. Ruby had to admit that her mother
  was good at this. Her answers were concise, wise, and
  compassionate.
  Ruby began to hear her mother in the column. Not
  the sophisticated, greedy, selfish Nora
Bridge, but her
  mother, the woman who'd told Ruby to wear her
  coat, or brush her teeth, or clean
her room.
  As she read a column about a sixteen-year-old
girl
  who was having a problem with drugs, Ruby
remembered a time from her own life.
  It had been in that terrible year that Ruby had almost
"gone bad." She'd been fourteen, and Lopez
  Island-and her own family-had seemed hopelessly
  small and uncool. For a time, skipping school and
  smoking pot had offered Ruby a better way.
She'd
  even turned away from Dean.
  Dad had gone ballistic when Ruby got
suspended
  from school for smoking, but not Nora.
  188 
  Her mother had picked Ruby up from the
principal's office and driven her to the state park
at the tip
  of the island. She'd dragged Ruby down to the
secluded patch of beach that overlooked Haro
Strait
  and the distant glitter of downtown Victoria. It
had
  been exactly three in the afternoon, and the
gray
  whales had been migrating past them in a spouting,
  splashing row. Nora had been wearing her good
dress,
  the one she saved for parent-teacher conferences, but
  she had plopped down cross-legged on the sand.
  Ruby had stood there, waiting to be bawled out,
  her chin stuck out, her arms crossed.
  Instead, Nora had reached into her pocket and
  pulled out the joint that had been found in Ruby's
  locker. Amazingly, she had put it in her mouth
and lit
  up, taking a deep toke, then she had held it
out to Ruby.
  Stunned, Ruby had sat down by her mother and
  taken the joint. They'd smoked the whole damn
thing
  together, and all the while, neither of them had spoken.
  Gradually, night had fallen; across the water, the
  sparkling white city lights had come on.
  Her mother had chosen that minute to say what
  she'd come to say. "Do you notice anything
different
  about Victoria?"
  Ruby had found it difficult to focus.
"It looks farther away," she had said, giggling.
  "It is farther away. That's the thing about drugs.
  When you use them, everything you want in life is
farther away." Nora had turned to her. "How
cool is it to
  do something that anyone with a match can do? Cool
  is becoming an astronaut ... or a comedian
... or a
  scientist who cures cancer. Lopez Island is
exactly
   189
  what you think it is--a tiny blip on a map.
But the
  world is out there, Ruby, even if you haven't seen
it.
  Don't throw your chances away. We don't get
as many
  of them as we need. Right now you can go anywhere,
  be anyone, do anything. You can become so damned
  famous that they'll have a parade for you when you
  come home for your high-school reunion ... or
you
  can keep screwing up and failing your classes and
  you can snip away the ends of your choices until
finally you end up with that crowd who hangs out
at
  Zeke's Diner, smoking cigarettes and talking
about
  high-school football games that ended twenty
years
  ago." She had stood up and brushed off her
dress,
  then looked down at Ruby. "It's your choice.
Your
  life. I'm your mother, not your warden."
  Ruby remembered that she'd been shaking as she'd
  stood up. That's how deeply her mother's words had
  reached. Very softly, she'd said, "I love you,
Mom."
  That was Ruby's last specific memory of
saying
  those words to her mother ...
  She turned her attention back to the columns.
She
  noticed that this last set was paper-clipped together.
  The very first sentence pulled her in.
  Dear Nora:
  Do you ever feel so alone in the world that everything
normal looks out of focus? It's as if y"re
the only black-and-white human being in a
technicolor city.
  I have married the wrong woman. I knew it when
  the day came to walk down the aisle. I knew
when I
  lifted the veil and looked down into her eyes. But
  190 
  sometimes you do the right thing for the wrong reasons, and you
pray that love will grow.
  When it doesn't, a piece of you dies, and day
by
  day, it keeps dying until finally you realize
there's
  nothing of you left.
  You tell yourself that only your child matters--the
  reason you got married in the first place and you
  can almost believe it. When you hold your baby in
  your arms, you finally learn what true love really
is.
  And yet still you wonder, even as you're holding
  your daughter's hand or brushing her hair or
reading her a bedtime story ... you wonder if it can
  really be enough.
  I don't know what to do. My wife and I have
  drifted so terribly far apart ... . Please,
can you
  help me?
  Lost and Lonely.
  Dear Lost and Lonely:
  My heart goes out to you. I think all of us know
  how it feels to be lonely, especially within the
supposedly warm circle of a family.
  I can tell that you're an honorable man, and you
  obviously know that breaking up a family is the
kind
  Of act that irrevocably destroys lives.
Believe me, the
  loneliness you feel within your family is a pale
  shadow of the torment you'll feel if you walk
away.
  I pray that if you look hard enough, you will
  unearth some remnant of the love you once felt
  for your wife, and that with care, a seed of that
  emotion can grow again. Seek counseling; talk to
  professionals and to each other. Take a vacation
   191
  together. Touch, and not only sexually. Little touches
  along the way can mean a lot. Get involved in
  Activities--community events, church
events, that
  kind of thing.
  Go see a marriage counselor. You don't
want
  to end a marriage and break your children's hearts
  until and unless there is no possible chance for
  reconciliation.
  Trust me on this.
  Nora.
  The last item was a handwritten letter; there was no
  column attached to it. Obviously, it had been
submitted for publication and rejected. Yet
Nora had
  saved it.
  Dear Nora:
  My daughter--my precious baby girl--"
  killed by a drunk driver this year. I understand
  tragedy now; its taste, its texture ... the
imprint it
  leaves on you.
  I find that I can't talk to people anymore, not
  even my wife, who needs me more than ever. I
see
  her, sitting on the end of the bed, her hair
unwashed, her eyes rimmed in red, and I can't reach
  out to her, can't offer comfort. If left alone,
I'm certain I could go through the rest of my
life without
  ever speaking again.
  I want to gather my belongings, put them in a
  shopping cart, and disappear into the faceless
  crowd of vagrants in Pioneer Square. But
I haven't
  the strength even for that. So I sit in my house,
  192 
  seeing the endless reminders of what I once had
*
  and I ask myself why I bother to breathe at all
...
  Lost and Lonely.
  Across the top of that letter; someone had written:
  FedEx the attached letter to this man's return
address
  immediately. Paper-clipped to the letter was a
photocopy of a handwritten note.
  Dear Lost and Lonely:
  I will not waste time with the pretty words we
  wrap around grief. You are in danger; you are not
  so far gone that you don't know this. I am going to
  do what I have never done before--what I imagine
  I'll never do again.
  You will come and talk to me. I will not take
no for
  an answer. Your letter mentioned Pioneer Square;
I
  see that your return address is in
Laurelhurst.
  My secretary at the newspaper will be expecting
  your call tomorrow and she will set up an appointment.
Please, please, do not disappoint me. I know
  how life can wound even the strongest heart, and
  sometimes all it takes to save us is the touch of a
  single stranger's hand.
  Reach out for me ... I'll be there.
  It was signed Nora.
  Ruby's hands were trembling. No wonder these
  readers loved her mother. She carefully put the
columns
  and letters back in the manila folder and left the
whole
  package on the kitchen table for her mother to find,
  then she went upstairs.
   193
  She hadn't even realized that she was going to call
  Caroline until she'd picked up the phone. But
it made
  sense. Ruby felt unsteady ... and
Caroline had always been her solid ground.
  Caro answered on the third ring. "Hello?"
  Ruby couldn't help noticing how tired her
sister
  sounded. "Hey, sis. You sound like you need a
nap."
  Caroline laughed. "I always need a nap. Of
course,
  what I do that makes me so darned tired is a
complete
  mystery."
  "What do you do all day?"
  "Only a single woman would ask that question of a
  mother. So, what's going on up there? How are you
  and Mom doing?"
  "She's not who I thought she was," Ruby
admitted
  softly.
  "How could she be? You haven't spoken to her
  since Moonlighting was on television."
  "I know, I know ... but it's more than that. Like,
  did you know she was seeing a shrink when she was
  married to Dad ... or that she took Valium in
nine-
  teen eighty-five?"
  "Wow," Caroline said. "I wonder if her
doctor told
  her to leave Dad?"
  "Why would he do that?"
  Caroline laughed softly. "That's what they do,
  Ruby. They tell unhappy women to find
happiness. If I
  had a buck for every time my therapist told me to
  leave Jere, I'd live on Hunt's
Point."
  "You see a shrink, too?"
  "Come on, Ruby. It's like getting a
manicure. Good
  grooming for the mind."
  194 
  "But I thought you and Mr. Quarterback had a
perfect life."
  "We have our problems, just like anyone else, but
  I'd rather talk about--aah! Darn it, Jenny!
That's not
  okay. I gotta run, Ruby. Your niece just
poured a cup
  of grape juice on her brother's head."
  Before Ruby could answer, Caroline hung up.
  Everything was ready.
  Dean knocked on Eric's door; heard the
muffled
  "Come in," and went inside.
  Eric was sitting up in bed, reading a dog-eared
paperback copy of Richard Bach's book
Illusions. When
  he saw Dean, he smiled. "Hey, bro.
It's almost dinnertime. Where have you been?" He reached
for the cup
  on his bedside tray. His thin fingers trembled;
he
  groaned tiredly and gave up.
  Dean hurried to the bed and grabbed the cup,
carefully placing it in Eric's quavering hand. He
guided the
  straw to his brother's mouth.
  Eric sipped slowly, swallowed. Dean helped
him replace the cup on the tray, then Eric
turned his head, let
  it settle into the pile of pillows. "Thanks,
I was dying
  of thirst." He grinned. "No mention of death was
  intentional."
  Dean wanted to smile; honestly, he did. But
all he
  could think about was his big brother; up here all
  alone, thirsty and too weak to reach for his glass of
  water. He crossed his arms and stared out the window.
  He didn't dare make eye contact with Eric.
He needed
  just a minute to collect himself. "I've been working
on
  something," he said.
   195
  "A surprise?"
  Dean looked down at his brother then and saw a
  glimpse of the old Eric-the young Eric-and his
  throat tightened even more. It was all he could do
to
  nod. Slowly, he lowered the metal bed rail.
When it
  clanged into place, he said, "Are you up for a little
  trip?"
  "Are you kidding? I'm so sick of this bed I could
  cry. Hell, I do cry . . . all the time."
  Dean leaned forward, scooped his brother into his
  arms and lifted him up from the bed.
  God, he weighed nothing at all.
  It was like holding a fragile child; only it was his
  brother. His strong, outspoken big
brother; who'd once
  led the island football team in touchdown passes
...
  Dean shut the memories off. If he
remembered who
  Eric used to be-now, while this frail, hollowed
man
  was in his arms-he would stumble and fall.
  He carried his brother downstairs and through the
  house, past Lottie in the kitchen, who waved,
her eyes
  Overbright ... across the manicured green lawn and
  down the bank to the beach. On the slanted, wooden
  dock, he'd already set up an oversize
Adirondack
  chair and piled pillows onto it.
  "The Wind Lass," Eric said softly.
  Dean carefully placed his brother into the chair;
  then tucked the cashmere blanket tightly around his
  thin body.
  It was nearing sunset. The sky was low enough to
  touch. The last rays of the setting sun turned
everything pink--the waves, the clouds, the pebbled beach
  that curled protectively along the fish-hook
shape of
  196 
  the shoreline. The sailboat was still in bad shape,
but
  at least she was clean.
  Dean sat down beside Eric. Stretching out his
legs,
  he leaned back against one of the wooden pilings.
"I
  still have some more work to do on her. Jeff Brein,
  down at the Crow's Nest, is repairing the
sail, and it
  should be done tomorrow. Wendy Johnson is cleaning
  the cushions. I thought ... maybe if we could
take her
  Out ..." Dean let the sentence trail off.
He didn't
  know quite how to sculpt his amorphous hope into
  something as ordinary as words.
  "We could remember how it used to be," Eric
said.
  "How we used to be."
  Of course Eric had understood. "Yeah."
  Eric drew the blanket tighter against his chin.
"So,
  what's it like, being the favored son?"
  "Lonely."
  Eric sighed and leaned back into the pillows.
"Remember when she loved me? When I was a star
athlete
  with awesome grades and a promising future. I was
  her trophy boy."
  Dean remembered. Their mother had adored Eric,
  her dark-haired angel, she called him. The
only time
  Mom and Dad came to the island was football
season.
  Every homecoming game, Mom had dressed in her
  best "casual" clothes and gone to the game, where
she
  cheered on her quarterback son. When the season
  ended, they were gone again.
  Eric had lived in the warm glow of his parents'
affection for so long, he'd mistaken pride for
love, but
  when he'd told them about Charles, he'd learned
the
   197
  depth of his naivete'. Mother hadn't spoken to him
  since.
  So it had been Dean, the younger; less
perfect son,
  who'd taken over the family business. It had
never been
  something he wanted to do, but family expectations-
  especially in a wealthy family-were a sticky
web. "I
  remember," he said quietly.
  "I heard the phone ring last night about eleven
  o'clock," Eric said.
  Dean looked away; eye contact was impossible.
  "Yeah. Some phone company rep who-"
  "Don't bother; bro. It was her; wasn't it?"
  "Yeah."
  "Still in Athens?"
  "Florence. Mother had the nerve to tell me that the
  shopping was great." She'd also said, Come on over
  Dean-we've got plenty of room at the
villa. As if it
  didn't matter at all that her elder son lay
dying.
  Eric's gaze was pathetically hopeful as he
turned to
  Dean. "Are they coming to see me?"
  There was no point in lying. "No."
  "Did you tell them this is it? I'm not
going to be
  around much longer?"
  Dean reached out, touched his brother's hand. It
  surprised both of them, that sudden bit of
intimacy.
  "I'm sorry."
  Eric released a thready sigh. "What good is
an agonizing death by cancer if your own family
won't weep
  by your bedside?"
  "I'm here," Dean said softly. "You're not
alone."
  Tears came to Eric's eyes. "I know, baby
brother. I
  Know ... "
  198 
  Dean swallowed hard. "You can't let her get
to
  you.
  Eric closed his eyes. "Someday she'll be
sorry. It'll
  be too late, though." By the end of the sentence, his
  words were garbled and he was asleep.
  Dean leaned closer. Carefully, he tugged up
  blanket, tucked it beneath his brother's chin.
  Eric blinked awake and smiled sleepily.
"Tell me
  about your life."
  "There's not much to tell. I work."
  "Very funny. I get the San Francisco
newspapers, you
  know-just to read about you and the folks. You seem
  to be quite the bachelor-about-town. If I didn't
know
  better; I'd say you were a man who had
everything."
  Dean wanted to laugh and say, I do; I do have
  everything a man could want, but it was a lie, and
he'd
  never been able to lie to his brother. And more than
  that, Dean wanted to talk to Eric the way he
once had.
  Brother to brother; from the heart. "There's something
... missing in my life. I don't know what it
is."
  "Do you like your job?"
  Dean was surprised by the question. No one had
  ever asked him that, and he'd never bothered to ask
  himself. Still, the answer came quickly.
"No."
  "Are you in love with anyone?"
  "No. It's been a long time since I was in
love."
  "And you can't figure out what's missing in your
life?
  Come on, Dino. The question isn't, what's
missing?
  The question is, what the hell is your life?" Eric
  yawned and closed his eyes again. Already he was
  tiring. "God, I wanted you to be happy all
these
  years ..." He fell asleep for a second,
then blinked
   199
  awake. "Remember Camp Orkila?" he said
suddenly.
  "I was thinking about that yesterday, about the first
  time we went up there."
  "When we met Ruby." Dean found an honest
smile
  inside of him, drew it out. "She climbed up
into that
  big tree by the beach, remember? She said arts and
  crafts were for babies and she was a big
girl."
  "She wouldn't come down until you asked her to."
  "Yeah. That was the beginning, wasn't it? We'd
  never seen a real family before . . ." Dean
let the
  words string out, find one another, and connect. Like
  threads, he wove them together, sewed a quilt from
  the strands of their life, and tucked it around his
  brother's thin body.




  Chapter Twelve
  Nora woke up groggy from her nap. She lay
in bed for
  a minute, listening to the gentle, whooshing sound of
  the sea through her open window. It was almost nighttime;
she'd been asleep for hours.
  Eric.
  She pulled the phone onto her lap and dialed the
  number.
  She spoke to Lottie for a few minutes, then
waited
  patiently for Eric to come on the line.
  "Nora? Well, it's about damn time."
  She laughed. God, it felt good to smile, even
better
  to hear his voice. He sounded almost like his
old self.
  "I've had an ... interesting last few days.
I'm on Summer Island. Caroline is letting
me relax here for a
  while."
  "Ah, the lifestyles of the rich and famous. I
suppose
  it's tough to make time for a dear old friend who is
  facing the Grim Reaper with quiet dignity."
He laughed
  at his own joke, but the laughter dwindled into a
  cough.
   201
  Nora closed her eyes, trying to picture him
as he'd
  been only a few years ago ... like on the afternoon
his
  team had won the league championships and the kids
  had poured Gatorade on his head and chanted his
  Name ...
  "Nora? Did you lapse into a coma?"
  "I'm here." She made an instant decision:
she
  wouldn't tell him about the scandal. He didn't
need to
  worry about her. But she had to tell him something-
  she couldn't just show up at his house in a
wheelchair.
  "I had an accident and wound up in Bayview."
  "Oh, my God, are you okay?"
  "For a fifty-year-old woman who drove into a
tree,
  I'm great. And you told me that Mercedes was a
waste
  of money-ha! It saved my life. I came out
of it with a
  broken leg and a sprained wrist. Nothing to worry
  about. But that's why I haven't been to see you."
  "There's something you're not telling me."
  She forced a laugh. "Your intuition is wrong this
  time."
  "Nora?" He said her name with infinite tenderness,
  and in it, she heard the gentle, chiding reminder of
all
  they'd been through together. For the first time since
  this mess had begun, she felt truly cared for.
"No,
  really, I-" She pinched the bridge of her nose
and
  concentrated on taking shallow breaths.
  "Nora. You know you can talk to me about anything."
  "You don't need to hear about my troubles."
  "Who was it who sat by me in the hospital every
  night while Charlie was dying? Who was it who
held
  my hand at the gravesite ... who was there when I
  started chemotherapy?"
  202 
  Nora swallowed hard. "Me."
  "So, talk."
  All the emotions she'd bottled up in the past
few
  days came spilling out. She didn't cry; she
was almost
  preternaturally calm, in fact. But as she
spoke, it felt as
  if the very fabric of her soul was ripping. "The
Tattler
  just published naked pictures of me in bed with a
man."
  "Jesus ..." His voice was a whisper.
  "That's not even the worst of it." Amazingly, she
  laughed. "I was actually posing with this guy. And
  fortunately for me, the photos were dated--proving
  that I was married to Rand at the time they were
taken.
  The press is crucifying me. Apparently people
are
  crawling out of the woodwork to call me a
hypocrite."
  "That's why you're at the summer house? You're
  hiding out?"
  "My career is over. I couldn't get a job
counseling
  toddlers about potty training."
  "Come on, this is America. Celebrities
screw up
  all the time. It just makes us love them more.
Jack
  Nicholson beats up a car with a baseball bat
... and
  we give him another Oscar. Hugh Grant
shows us not
  only moral flexibility but outright stupidity,
and after
  a quick apology on Leno, he's in a movie with
Julia
  Roberts. So, you flashed your ass. Big deal.
It's not like
  the photographs showed you giving a blow
job to a
  drug dealer. Hold your head up, cry when you
admit
  your mistake, and beg for a second chance. Your
fans
  will love you more for being one of them. Human."
  "That's why I love you, Eric. The glass is
always
  half full. Honest to God, if you were my son
I'd be so
  proud." She heard a sound-a clearing of his
throat-
   203
  and she knew. She could have slapped herself for her
  insensitivity. "You called your mother.,,
  "She's in Europe. The shopping is great."
He sighed,
  made a sound that was nearly a groan. "She
hasn't
  called me. But it's only been a couple of
days."
  A couple of days since she found out her son had
  cancer; and she hadn't found time to call. The
woman
  should be shot. "How about if I come to see
you tomorrow? Between the wheelchair and the hospital
  bed, we'll look like a scene from Cuckoo's
Nest."
  "That'd be great. And you won't believe who's
  here."
  Nora laughed. "Believe me, you won't
believe who
  is here, either."
  "Dean-"
  "Ruby-"
  They spoke at the same time.
  Nora was the first to recover. "Dean is on the
island?"
  "He came up to see me."
  "I knew he'd come if you called. How is it
between
  you two his
  "Awkward. A little unsure. We're like best
friends
  from high school who meet at the twenty-year
reunion and don't quite know what to say. But we'll
find
  our way back. And Ruby?"
  "Angry. Truthfully, she hates me."
  "But she's there. That means something.
Remember; there's a thin line between love and hate."
  "Thank you, Yoda." She paused. "I had
to tell her
  about your cancer."
  "That's okay. Hell, I don't care who knows
anymore." She could hear the smile in Eric's
voice. "Hey,
  204 
  do you know what happened between Dean and
  Ruby? He won't talk about it."
  "She won't, either."
  "I was at Princeton when they broke up, but it
must
  have been bad. Dean went all the way to boarding
  school to get away from her. But it's interesting that
  neither of them ever married."
  "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
  "How do we get them together?"
  Nora grinned. It felt great to talk about something
  besides Eric's illness or her own scandal. And this
made
  her feel like a mother for the first time in years. "Care-
  fully, my boy. Very carefully."
  By the time Nora hung up, her ankle was
throbbing; the
  pain was only marginally worse than the itching that
  came with it. She wheeled into the bathroom, washed
  her face and brushed her teeth, then left the
room.
  "Ruby?" she called out. There was no answer.
  She was halfway into the kitchen when she saw the
  package on the table.
  Slowly, she wheeled closer.
  It had been opened.
  No wonder Ruby was hiding.
  With a sigh, she pulled the slim box onto her
lap
  and went into the living room, where she settled her-
  self onto the sofa, plopping her foot on a
pillow on the
  coffee table. All thoughts of Ruby and Dean and
true
  love vanished.
  Her fingers were shaking as she opened the manila
  envelope marked NEW LETTERS and pulled out the
   205
  stack of mail. On the top was a small,
wrinkled,
  stationery-size envelope postmarked GREAT
FALLS, MONTANA. She carefully
opened it, unfolded the letter; and
  began to read.
  Nora:
  I can't bring myself to write Dear" anymore.
  I've written to you a dozen times over the last
few
  years. Twice you have published my letters, and
  once you wrote me a private letter, saying that you
  hoped things were getting better.
  You can't imagine what that meant to me. I was
  drowning in a bad marriage, and you were always
  there.
  Can you imagine how it feels to know the kind of
  person I've been taking advice from?
  I looked up to you. Believed in you. My husband
  only broke my heart. You have broken my spirit.
  If only you had been honest, I might have
continued to admire you.
  Now, I see that you're just another hack
celebrity
  selling a product you don't use.
  Don't bother answering this letter, or even
  printing it in Nora Knows Best. I don't
care about
  your opinion, and I certainly won't be
reading your
  columns anymore. I don't suppose I'm
alone in that
  decision. If I want to read fiction, I'll go
to the library. You have no right to offer anyone advice
on
  anything anymore.
  May God forgive you, Nora Bridge. Your
fans
  will not.
  206 
  Nora folded the letter and slid it back into the
envelope. She needed something to get her mind off of
this.
  She reached for the television remote, not
surprised at
  all to see that Caroline had upgraded the
television here
  at the summer house. With small kids in this
media
  age, it was probably essential.
  She pressed the "on" button-and heard her own
  name being spoken.
  It was The Sarah Purcell Show-one of those
talk-
  fests where women came together to chat. The coffee
  klatch of the new millennium.
  Nora wanted to change the channel or look
away, but
  she was like a fish caught on the hook of her own
name.
  On-screen, a heavyset woman was standing in the
  audience. Sarah was beside her; holding a
microphone
  to the woman's mouth. "I trusted Nora
Bridge," the
  lady said. "Now, I feel like an idiot."
  Another woman in a nearby row stood up.
"How
  could you be stupid enough to trust a celebrity? They
  all lie and cheat to get ahead. That's how
public life is."
  The heavyset woman flushed. She looked ready
to
  cry. "I didn't think she was like those other ones
. .
  Sarah took the microphone back. "That brings
up a
  good point, Dr. Harrison," she said, speaking
to the
  gentleman sitting on the stage. "People are angry
at
  Nora Bridge because she lied to them, but is it
really a
  lie? Do you have to tell people everything about your
  life, just because you're in the public eye?"
  The doctor smiled coolly for the camera.
"Certainly
  a public figure has a right to his or her
secrets ... unless and until those secrets
become germane. In this
  case, Nora had no right to hold herself out as an
expert
   207
  on love and family and commitments. But of
course,
  it's ludicrous for people to trust her anyway ...
an uneducated woman whose only claim to fame is
a daily
  newspaper column. Trust should be reserved for
professionals who are trained to help people."
  Sarah stopped. "Now, wait a minute,
Doctor. I
  don't think education-"
  "Nora Bridge pretended to have
answers, but no
  one bothered to wonder where those answers came
  from. Hopefully, Americans have learned that it
takes
  more than an open microphone to solve people's
problems. It takes education, and empathy, and
integrity-
  areas in which Ms. Bridge is sorely lacking."
  "And she's a coward," someone said from the crowd.
  "I mean ... where is she? She owes us-
  Nora snapped off the television.
  She couldn't seem to move, not even to wheel her-
  self out of the room. A tremor was spreading through
  her, chilling her from the inside out, and her throat
  was so tight it was hard to breathe.
  "Nora?"
  She froze, her heart pounding. She hadn't even
  heard footsteps on the stairs.
  God, she didn't want her daughter to see her
like
  this ...
  Ruby came into the room, walked slowly around
  the wheelchair; then sat down on the leather chair
  across from Nora. "Did you sleep well?"
  Nora stared down at her own hands, and
thought,
  Oh, please, just go away ... don't talk
to me now ... .
  "Yes," she managed, "thank you.
  208 
  "I read your columns," Ruby said when the
silence
  had gone on too long.
  "Really?" It was a tiny word, barely spoken.
  "You're good at it."
  Nora's relief was so profound, she gasped.
Only I
  love you could have meant more to her in that moment. And
yet even as the relief buoyed her, it dragged
  her down again, too, reminded her of all that she'd
  lost this week.
  "Thank you," she said softly. Finally, she
looked up,
  and found Ruby watching her through narrowed eyes.
  "I take it you read a few of your new letters,"
Ruby
  said, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her
  knees. She seemed to see it all--the shaking
hands, the
  television remote that had been thrown
onto the floor.
  Nora wanted to say something casual and flip,
to
  show how meaningless a few ugly letters were, but she
  couldn't. "They hate me now."
  "They're strangers. They don't even know you
  They can't love you or hate you, not really."
Ruby
  flashed a smile. "Leave the big, ugly
emotions to your
  family."
  Who also hated her.
  That only made it worse. "What family?"
Nora
  moaned quietly. "Really, Ruby ... what
family have I
  left myself?"
  Ruby looked at her for a long minute, then said,
  "After I read your columns, you know what I
  remembered?"
  Nora wiped her eyes. "What?"
  "When I was twelve years old-seventh
grade-and
  my class elected me to run the first tolo.
Remember? It
   209
  was a big deal on Lopez, a dance where the
girls asked
  the boys. Mr. Lundberg, down at the hardware
store,
  said it meant that the world was going to hell in a leaky
  towboat."
  Nora sniffled again. "Yeah ... I remember
that."
  "I wanted the local newspaper to cover the
event.
  You were the only one who didn't laugh at me."
Ruby
  smiled. "I watched you charm that fat old editor
from
  the Island Times. I remember being surprised
by how
  easily you got him to agree to what you wanted
...
  what I wanted."
  Nora remembered that day for the first time in
  years. "The minute I walked into that cheesy,
airless
  office, I loved it. The smell of the paper; the
clacking of
  typewriters. I envied the reporters, with their
ink-stained fingers and for the first time in my life, I
felt
  as if I belonged somewhere. I'd always known I had
  words banging around in my chest, but I'd never
  known what to do with them." She looked up.
  Ruby's gaze was solemn. "I realized ...
Later ...
  that I'd shown you the way out of our lives."
  Nora took a deep breath. "I didn't
leave my family
  for a career; Ruby. That had nothing to do with my
decision. Less than nothing."
  "Yeah, right."
  "Ah, Ruby," she said, "you want answers, but
you
  don't even know what the questions are. You have to
  look at the beginning of a thing, not the end. For me,
  leaving your dad started before I met him."
  I don't understand."
  Nora wanted to ask her daughter if all this
talking
  would actually lead them anywhere, or if it was just a
  210 
  way to pass the hours before they each moved
on. A
  part of her--the cowardly part--wanted to change
  the subject, maybe talk about Dean or Eric,
but she
  wouldn't let herself take the easy way. She and
Ruby
  were finally approaching something that mattered.
  She stared out the window. Night was falling,
drizzling dark syrup down the evergreen trees.
"My dad
  was an alcoholic. When he was sober; he was
almost
  human, but when he was drunk-which was most of
  the time-he was pit-bull mean. It was a secret
I
  learned to keep from everyone. It's what children of
  alcoholics do. They keep secrets. Hell,
it took me fifteen years of therapy to even say the
word alcoholic."
  Ruby's mouth fell open a little. "Huh? You
never
  Told us that."
  "On a farm like ours, the neighbors couldn't hear
a
  woman's scream. Or a young girl's.
And you learn fast
  that it doesn't help to cry out ... to reach out.
Instead,
  you try to get smaller and smaller; hoping that if
you
  can become tiny enough, and still enough, he'll pass
  You by."
  "He abused you?"
  Such a thin word, abuse. "He didn't do the
worst
  thing a father can do to his daughter; but he ...
  molded me. I grew up trying to be invisible,
flinching
  all the time. I don't think I stood up
straight until I left
  your father." She leaned forward, making direct eye
  contact with her daughter. "For years, I thought that
  if I didn't talk about my dad, he'd
float out of my
  life ... out of my nightmares. I thought I could
forget
  him."
   211
  Ruby drew in a sharp breath. "Did it work?"
  Nora knew her daughter was making the
connection:
  I'd forgotten you. "No. All it did was give
him more
  power ... and turn me into a woman who couldn't
  imagine being loved."
  "Because your own father didn't love you."
  "Not unlike how a girl would feel if her own
mother
  abandoned her." Nora wouldn't let herself look
away.
  "Did you ever fall in love ... after Dean?"
  "I lived with a guy-Max Bloom-for almost five
  years."
  "Did you love him?"
  "I ... wanted to."
  "Did he love you?"
  Ruby got to her feet and went to the bookcase,
  where she started thumbing through their old record
  collection. "I think he did. In the beginning."
  How did it end between you?"
  Ruby shrugged. "I came home from work one day
  and he'd moved out. He took everything from the
  kitchen except our coffeemaker. In the
bathroom, he
  left a razor full of his hair and an
almost empty bottle
  of Prell, but no towels."
  Nora longed to empathize with her daughter; tell
  her how much she understood that kind of pain, but
  that was the easy way--understanding. What mattered now,
in this moment when they were actually
  talking, was not Nora's understanding. It was Ruby
  herself. Like Nora, Ruby liked to run away from
her
  problems, and sometimes she ran so far and so fast
  that she never bothered to really look at why she'd
  left. "Did you ever tell him you loved him?"
  212 
  "Almost. Practically."
  "Ah."
  Ruby frowned at her. "What does that mean-
  "Did he say he loved you?"
  "Yeah, but Max was like that. He told the checker
  at Safeway he loved her."
  Nora could see that she'd have to be more direct.
  "Let me ask you this, Ruby. How long do you
think it
  takes to fall in love?"
  Ruby sighed raggedly. "So your point is this:
I never
  really loved Max, so why did I cry when he
left me?"
  "No. You lived and slept with a man for almost
five
  years and never told him you loved him, even after
  he'd said those precious words to you. The question
  isn't why he left. It's why he stayed so
long.,"
  Ruby's mouth dropped open. "Oh, my God.
I
  never thought about it like that." She looked helplessly
at Nora.
  "I told your father I loved him the first time we
  made love. I'd never said the words before, not to
  anyone. It wasn't the sort of thing my family
did. I'd
  been hoarding I love you's all my life. And
do you
  know when Rand told me he loved me?"
  "When?"
  "Never. I waited for it like a child waits for
Christmas morning. Every time I said it, I waited,
and every
  second of his silence was a little death."
  Ruby closed her eyes and shook her
head. "No
  more. Please ... "
  "I wanted to raise you to be strong and sure of
  yourself, and instead I turned you into me. I made you
   213
  afraid to love and certain you'd be left behind. I
was a
  bad mother and you paid the price. I'm so, so sorry
for
  that."
  "You weren't a bad mother," Ruby said quietly,
  "until you left."
  Nora was pathetically grateful for that. "Thank
  you."
  She knew she was following a dangerous path,
sitting here, falling in love with her daughter all
over
  again. . . but she couldn't help herself. "I still
remember the little girl who cried every time a baby
bird
  fell out of its nest."
  "That girl has been gone a long time."
  "You'll find her again," Nora said softly,
"probably
  about the same time you fall in love. And
when it's
  real, Ruby, you'll know it ... and you'll stop
being
  afraid."
  After dinner; Ruby stayed in the bathtub until
the
  water turned cold.
  The world-her world-had changed, but she
  couldn't put her finger on precisely how. It was
like
  walking into a perfectly decorated room and knowing
  instinctively that somewhere a picture was crooked.
  She climbed out of the clawfoot tub and stood on
  the fuzzy pink bath mat, dripping. By the time she
  dried off and slipped into a pair of sweats and an
oversized UCLA Bruins sweatshirt, she could
smell dinner cooking.
  She finger-combed her hair and lay down on the
bed
  with her yellow pad open in front of her.
  214 
  Today I talked to my mother. This is a remarkably
  ordinary sentence for a truly revolutionary act.
  I talked to her. She talked to me. By the end of
it,
  we had both wept, although not, I'm sure, for the
  same reasons.
  What I don't know is where we go from here.
  How can I walk downstairs and pretend that nothing
has changed? And yet, it was simply a conversation,
words passed back and forth between
  women who are strangers to each other even though
  they share a past. I want to believe I'm
wrong in
  feeling that things are different now.
  Why then did I cry? Why did I look at
her and feel
  like a child again and think-even for a moment-
  "What if?"



  Chapter Thirteen
  Dean carried the breakfast tray up to his
brother's bedroom. It wasn't much--a glass of
juice, a soft-boiled
  egg, and a piece of wheat toast. He knew
Eric
  wouldn't eat more than a few small bites, but it
made
  life seem normal, this offering of food.
  When Dean stepped into the room, he found his
  brother already awake, sitting up in bed.
  "Heya, Dino," Eric said.
  Dean set the tray down, helped his brother sit
up
  higher in the bed, then carefully placed the tray
across
  Eric's lap.
  "I'll bet this smells great," Eric said as
Dean went to
  the window and flipped the curtains open.
  Dean opened the casement window just enough to let
  in the sound of the sea. When he turned back around,
he
  noticed how wan and wasted his brother looked this
  morning. The shadows beneath his eyes were as dark
  as bruises. He seemed to have grown sicker
since
  yesterday. "Bad night?"
  Eric nodded. His head lolled back into the
pillows,
  216 
  as if the pretense of eating breakfast had
exhausted
  him. "I can't seem to sleep anymore, which is
pretty
  damned ironic since it's all I
do. The pain cocktail
  knocks me out but it's not the same as a good
night's
  sleep." He smiled tiredly. "It's funny
the things you
  miss. I don't dream anymore."
  Dean pulled his chair up to the bed and sat down.
  "I wanted to talk to you last night, but I
couldn't
  seem to stay focused."
  Dean reached out and held his brother's cold,
  thin hand.
  Eric turned to him, smiling. "I always thought
we'd
  come back to this house as old men. I pictured us
sitting on the porch. We'd have white hair by then
... or
  maybe only I would have hair; and you'd be bald
as
  Grandpa. We'd play Chinese checkers and
watch your
  kids run up and down the dock, looking for
shrimp."
  Dean let himself be carried away by the dream.
  "They'd have nets ... just like we used
to."
  Eric's eyes fluttered shut. "I wonder
whatever happened to those nets we bought every year? You and
  Ruby used to play down on that dock for hours
...
  Dean swallowed hard. He thought about changing
  the subject, but suddenly he wanted to remember
her,
  to reminisce with someone who'd known her. "Sometimes
when I close my eyes at night, I hear her
laughing, yelling at me to hurry up. She was always
running
  off ahead."
  "I thought I'd be the best man at your wedding.
It's
  crazy, isn't it, you and Ruby were sixteen
years old,
  but I thought it was true love."
  "I thought so, too."
   217
  Eric looked at him. "And now?"
  Dean wanted to smile, pretend it was just a
silly
  question between grown men about something that
  had happened long ago and didn't
matter. But what
  was the point? He knew now how precious this time
  with Eric was. It was obvious that it was running out,
  leaking away like the color in his brother's cheeks.
  "Now I know it was."
  "She's on Summer Island."
  Dean frowned; it took a moment for the full
impact
  of those words to hit him. "Ruby's at the summer
  house?"
  Eric grinned. "Yep."
  Dean leaned back. "What ... with her husband
  and kids?"
  "She's never been married, baby brother. I
wonder
  why that is?"
  Dean stood up and strode toward the window. He
  stared through the glass, trying to see Summer Island
  through the trees. His heart was beating so fast he
felt
  faint. Ruby is here.
  "Go see her," Eric said softly.
  Dean changed into a pair of Levi's and a
T-shirt. At the
  front door; he slipped on his boat
shoes and grabbed
  his ten-speed from its resting place beneath the eaves.
  There was no doubt that in this week of June, with the
  sun shining brightly on the islands, the ferry lines
  would be endless. Bikes always got on first.
  He pedaled down the short, winding hill to the
dock
  and got lucky. A boat was loading. He got
right on.
  He didn't go up top. Instead, he stood with
his bike at
  218 
  the bow of the boat, barely noticing the cars streaming
  into lines behind him.
  On Summer Island, he didn't even wave
to Sister
  Helen as he bicycled past. By the time he
swooped
  onto the Bridges' heavily shaded driveway,
he was
  sweating and out of breath. At the top of the yard, he
  jumped off the bike and let it clatter to the
ground.
  Then he stopped. For the first time, he wondered
  what in the hell he was doing, running
toward his first
  love as if eleven years hadn't passed, as if
he'd seen her
  Yesterday ...
  But they'd been apart for all of their adulthood;
he
  had no way of knowing whether she'd thought of him
  At all.
  Their last day together came at him in a rush of
images and phrases.
  The sky had been robin's-egg blue.
Strangely, he remembered looking up, seeing the
white trail from a
  passing jet. He'd been about to point it out
to Ruby, to
  start their familiar "if I were on that plane, where
  would I be going?" daydream.
  But when he'd turned to her; he'd seen what he
  should have noticed before.
  She'd been crying.
  That was not so unusual, of course; those were the
  days when Ruby had cried all the time.
  The difference was, this time, she wouldn't let him
  get near her. He couldn't remember
precisely what he'd
  said, how he'd tried uselessly to comfort her. What
he
  did recall was how she finally stilled, and the sight
of
  Ruby, his Ruby, looking pale and cold had
scared him.
  I had sex with a boy last night. She'd said it
without
   219
  preamble, as if she'd wanted to wound him with her
  confession.
  He had pulled the whole, sordid story out of
her;
  one painful syllable at a time, and when she was
finished, he knew all the facts, but they hadn't
added up
  to a whole truth he' could understand.
  If he'd been older; more sexually experienced,
he
  would have known the question to ask, the only one
  that mattered: Why? But he'd been seventeen and a
  virgin himself. All he'd cared about was the
promise
  he and Ruby had made ... to wait for each other
until
  marriage.
  Anger and hurt had overwhelmed him. She'd lied
to
  him, and she hadn't loved him as much as he'd
loved
  her. He'd felt foolish and used. He'd
waited desperately for her to throw herself at his
feet, to beg for forgiveness, but she'd just stood there,
close enough to
  touch and yet so far away he couldn't see her
clearly.
  Or maybe it was his tears that were blurring the
  world, turning her into a girl he'd never seen before.
  Go ahead, she'd said, staring dully up at him.
Go.
  It's over.
  He'd had to leave fast-before she could see that he
  was crying. He'd turned away from her and run
back
  to his bike. He'd pedaled hard, trying
to outdistance
  the pain, but it had raged inside of him, thumping
  with every beat of his heart. Everywhere he'd looked,
  he'd seen her ... In the shade of Miss
McGinty's oak
  tree, where he'd read Shakespeare's sonnets
to Ruby
  the previous week ... in the tree-lined darkness
of the
  state park's driveway, where they'd once set
up their
  220 
  lemonade stand. And finally, on his parents' land,
  where he'd kissed her for the first time.
  At home, he'd picked up the phone and called
his
  mother. Within hours, he'd been on a seaplane,
heading
  for Seattle. By the next day, he'd been on his
way to
  boarding school back east.
  Whatever should have been said or done between
  them had been lost.
  Dean released his breath in a steady, even stream.
  There was no turning back now.
  He walked down the path and stepped up onto the
  porch. After another quick breath, he knocked.
  And she answered.
  The minute he saw her, he understood what had
been
  missing from his life. It was hokey, he knew, and
sentimental and sappy, but that didn't make it any
less true.
  What he'd been longing for; without even realizing
it,
  had been that elusive, magical mixture of
friendship
  and passion that he'd only ever found with her.
  "Ruby," he whispered. It actually hurt
to say her
  name. She was so beautiful that for a second he
  couldn't breathe.
  "Dean," she said, her eyes widening.
  He didn't know what to say. He felt like a
seventeen-
  year-old kid again, tongue-tied in front of the
prom
  queen. He was trying like hell to appear casual,
but it
  was difficult. He was sweating suddenly and his
throat
  was painfully dry. All he could think was,
Ruby's
  home, and she was standing in front of him and he
  didn't want to say the wrong thing, but
he couldn't
  imagine what the right thing was. He'd dreamed of
  seeing her for so long, but now ... the moment felt
   221
  spun from sugar, so fragile a soft breeze could
shatter it. "I ... Uh ... I came home
to see Eric ... you
  probably heard about that."
  "How is he?" Her voice was barely audible.
  "Not good."
  She closed her eyes for a second, then looked
up at
  him again. "I'm here with my mother. She had a car
  accident and I'm taking care of her."
  You? It had slipped out, an intimate observation
  from a man who'd once known the girl. He was
instantly afraid he'd offended her.
  A smile hitched one side of her mouth. "I
know. I
  should call Ripley's Believe It or Not."
  "So, you've forgiven her, then."
  Sadness darkened her eyes. "Forgiveness
doesn't
  matter, does it, Dean? When a thing is done,
it's done.
  You can't unring a bell." She smiled, but it
wasn't the
  smile he remembered, the one that crinkled her
whole
  face and sparkled in her eyes. She seemed to be
waiting
  for him to say something, but he couldn't think fast
  enough, and as usual, she didn't wait long.
"Well, it
  was good seeing you again. Nora is in my old
room.
  Say hello before you leave. She'd hate to miss
you."
  And with that, she walked past him and headed
  down to the beach.
  Ruby thought she was going to be sick. That was why
  she'd left Dean so quickly. She couldn't stand
there,
  making polite conversation, not when it felt as if
carbonated water had replaced her blood.
  She ran down the path toward the beach and sat
  222 
  down on her favorite moss-covered rock, just
as she'd
  done a thousand times in her life.
  "Ruby?"
  She heard her name, spoken softly in the voice
that
  had filled her dreams since adolescence, and she
froze.
  Her heart picked up a wild, thumping beat.
She hadn't
  heard his footsteps, hadn't prepared to see him
again
  so quickly.
  "Can I sit with you?"
  She tried not to remember all the hours they'd
spent
  here, huddled out on this rock, staring first out to sea,
  then gradually at each other. She sidled to the
right-
  it had always been her side.
  Dean sat down beside her.
  She felt his thigh along hers, and she ached
to scoot
  Closer ... to lay her hand on his the way she'd
done so
  many times before. But she'd lost that right. In her
  angry, confused youth, she'd thrown it away.
  She had always known that she still carried a
torch
  for Dean, but obviously she hadn't understood what
  that meant. It was more than fond memories or
adolescent longings. A torch was hot; it would scar
your
  flesh if you weren't careful.
  "This brings back memories," he said softly.
  She didn't mean to turn to him, but she couldn't
help
  herself. She wanted to say something witty, but when
  she gazed into his blue eyes, she was sixteen
again. Except he had become a man. Lines
bracketed his mouth
  and crow's-feet fanned out from the corners of his
eyes.
  If it were possible, he was even more handsome now.
  She felt a rush of shame. If only she'd
worn better
  clothes today than torn black shorts and a ragged
   223
  T-shirt, or cut her hair recently. He
was probably disgusted that she'd let herself get so
... ugly.
  She reached deep inside for a casual voice.
"It's good
  to see you again," she said, staring back out at the
sea.
  "I hear from Caro that you're a corporate
bigwig now."
  "It doesn't mean much."
  "Spoken like a rich man." She tried to smile.
"So,
  how's life treated you?" God, she wished he'd
take the
  reins of this awkward conversation and ride away ...
  "I saw your act once. At the Comedy
Store."
  She turned to him, and immediately regretted it. She
  was close enough to see the green flecks in his blue
  eyes. She remembered suddenly how his eyes
used to
  seem to change color, to take on the hue of the
sea or
  the sky. "Really?"
  "I thought you were funny as hell."
  Her smile softened into the real thing. "Really?"
  "I was going to talk to you after the show, but there
  were so many people around you. A man ...
  "Max." She felt the sting of that missed
opportunity, and wondered how often that
happened in life.
  Chances lost and won on a turn of fate so
small they
  couldn't be seen by the naked eye. "We broke up
a
  while ago. And what about you? Are you married?"
  The moment she asked the question, she flinched,
  feeling completely exposed. If she could have
sucked it
  back into her mouth, she would have.
  "No. Never."
  She felt a sudden euphoria, then it fell
away, left her
  even more confused. He could ruin her with a word,
  this boy she'd loved who'd become a man she
didn't
  know. She'd loved him so much, and yet she'd
broken
  224 
  his heart. She still barely knew why. "That summer
...
  I found out from Lottie that you'd moved away,"
she
  said, her voice unsteady.
  "I couldn't face you," he answered,
looking at her.
  "You didn't just hurt me, Ruby. You ruined
me."
  "I know." She almost reached for him then, placed
  her hand on his thigh as if she had every right to touch
  him. And the stinging realization that she couldn"t
  touch him, that she didn't even know him, brought
  her up short.
  She lurched to her feet, terrified that if he
looked at
  her again, she would burst into tears. "I have to get
  back to Nora."
  Slowly, he got to his feet and reached for her.
  She stumbled back so fast she almost fell over the
  bank. His hand dropped back to his side, and
she had
  a sudden, overwhelming fear that he wouldn"t try
to
  touch her again.
  She could see the disappointment in his eyes. "Time
  is precious," he said. "If I didn't know
that before this
  week, I know it now. So I'm just going to say
it: I
  missed you."
  She couldn't imagine what to say next, how to
  answer. She had missed him, too--missed him
so
  much-and it hurt to know that she would go on
  missing him until she was an old woman. A more
  bendable, trusting person could have changed the future
in this very moment, but Ruby couldn't imagine
  that kind of strength.
  He waited, and the silence stretched out between
  them. Then, slowly, he turned and walked away.



  Chapter Fourteen
  Nora sat on the porch. She could see Dean and
Ruby
  sitting out on that old rock of theirs.
  Ruby was the first to stand. Slowly, Dean followed.
  They stood frozen, close enough to kiss.
  Then Dean turned and headed back up toward the
  house, leaving Ruby behind. He strode up the
path,
  saw Nora on the porch, and came toward her.
At the
  railing he stopped, hung his arms over the
wisteria-
  covered edge, and smiled tiredly. "Hey, Miz
Bridge."
  She smiled. "Call me Nora. It's good
to see you
  again, Dean. I'm glad you finally made it back
to the
  island."
  "It's good to see you, too." He looked at
her, and in
  his eyes, she saw pain. "Thank you, Nora,"
he said
  softly. "You're everything to him."
  She nodded, knowing she didn't need to say
anything. Everything that mattered had passed between
  them in silence.
  Dean turned back, stared down at the beach.
Nora
  knew that they both wanted to talk about Ruby, but
  226 
  neither of them knew what to say. Finally, he
pulled
  away from the porch. "Will you guys come over on
  Saturday? I've got the Wind Lass working.
I'm going
  to take Eric sailing."
  "That would be great."
  Dean shot a last, lingering look at
Ruby, then
  walked away.
  Nora waited, knowing that Ruby wouldn't stay
  down there for long. Sure enough, a few minutes
later,
  she headed up the path. When she saw Nora on
the
  porch, she paused.
  Nora noticed that her daughter's eyes were red.
A
  thin tracing of tears streaked her cheeks.
  Nora's heart went out to her. "Come," she said,
"sit
  with me."
  Ruby looked torn. She probably couldn't
decide
  which was worse-being alone right now or being
  with Nora. Finally, she walked up onto the
porch,
  hitched her butt up onto the railing.
  Nora longed to touch her daughter, to simply lay
a
  hand on Ruby's head the way she used to. But
such intimacy was impossible between them now. The only
  way she could touch her daughter was with
words,
  with memories. "You know what I was remembering
  just now? The winter I was pregnant with you. A
  freak weather pattern moved through the islands."
  Ruby looked up. "Yeah?"
  "The snow came earlier that year than anyone could
  remember. Just after Thanksgiving. At first people
  tried to drive, but by evening, there were more cars in
  the ditches than on the roads, and we all gave
up. By
  nightfall, the clouds were gone, and we'd never
seen
   227
  such a starry sky." She smiled at the memory.
"Your
  dad and I were on the porch when we heard the
  laughter. We put on every piece of winter
clothing we
  owned and followed the sound walking through snow
  that came up to our knees. I remember having the
  strangest feeling that I could see our words; they
seemed
  to be written in the steam of our breath. The snow
  didn't crunch beneath our boots. It sort of
... sighed.
  We followed the laughter all the way to the
McGintys'
  place. That ugly old swamp on their
property-
  remember it?-well, it had frozen solid. Every
kid on
  the island was there, skating or sliding or
inner-tubing.
  I never knew how it was that everyone knew to be
  there at just that moment. . . . At midnight, stars
  started falling. Hundreds of them. The next day
on the
  news, they had all kinds of scientific
explanations for
  it, but we believed it was magic."
  Nora closed her eyes, and for a moment, she could
  almost smell the newly fallen snow, almost feel
that
  stinging cold on her cheeks. "After that, for almost a
  month, things on the island went a little crazy.
Roses
  bloomed on prickly bushes that had been brown
and
  dead for weeks. Rain fell from cloudless skies.
But
  what I remember most of all were the sunsets.
From
  then until the new year came and chased the magic
  away, the night sky was always red. We called it
the
  ruby season."
  Ruby said softly, "Is that where my name came
  from?"
  Your dad and I used to sit out here, wrapped in
  blankets, and watch that ruby sky. We never
talked
  228 
  about naming you after it, but when you came, we
  knew. You'd be our Ruby. Our own bit of
magic.
  Ruby smiled. "Thanks."
  Nora looked at her and paused. "Dean invited
us to
  go sailing on Saturday."
  "What will I say to Eric?"
  "Oh, Ruby," she said gently, "you start with
hello."
  Ruby barely slept that night. At first, she
tried to tell
  herself it was the heat. Even with the windows
open,
  summer had always been sweltering on the second
  floor.
  I missed you.
  If there was one thing Ruby knew, it was that she
  hurt people, and she didn't want to hurt Dean
again.
  He deserved a woman who could return his love
as
  fully and freely as he gave it. That was the one
thing
  she'd known even as a teenager.
  Finally, at about three-thirty, she went out onto
the
  balcony and sat in the chair her grandfather had
made.
  In the dark before the rising sun, she tried to pull
  peace from the familiar sounds and smells. The
  whoosh of the waves ... the hoot of a barn owl, not
  too far away ... the scent of her grandmother's
roses,
  climbing up trellises on the side of the house.
  Write. That'll get your mind off everything.
  She reached for the pad beside her. Then she
  stopped. Frowning, she drew her hand
back.
  For the first time, she considered the impact of her
  article. She'd agreed to write it because she'd
wanted
  to hurt her mother, to strike back for all the pain
she'd
  suffered as a young girl.
   229
  But she wasn't a child anymore.
  Before, she hadn't wanted to know why Nora left
  them. Or maybe she'd been so damned certain that
  she'd seen everything that mattered.
  But marriages broke up for reasons; women like
her
  mother didn't just up and leave their husbands on a
  sunny summer's day.
  Ruby had glimpsed moments in the past days,
images that didn't fit with the picture she'd
drawn of her
  mother. And there was the "best of" file she'd read.
  The first "Nora Knows Best" column appeared
months
  after her mother had left ... and in a cheesy local
  newspaper that couldn't have paid her more than gas
  money.
  It didn't fit, and that bothered Ruby.
  She closed her eyes ... and remembered a
cold,
  crisp October day that smelled of ripening
apples and
  dying black leaves. Dad had been in the living
room,
  sitting in that leather chair of his, drinking and
smoking cigarettes he'd rolled himself. The whole
house
  had smelled of smoke. Caroline had been gone
on a
  field trip to the Museum of Flight in
Seattle and they'd
  missed the ferry back. Ruby had been in the
bedroom,
  reading Misery by Stephen King. "Groovy Kind
of
  Love" was on the turntable.
  There was a knock at the door. Ruby sat up
in bed,
  waiting to hear her dad's footsteps, and when he
  went past her open door she recognized the
stumbling drunkenness of his gait. Please, she
thought,
  don't let it be one of my friends ...
  230 
  She heard him say, "Nora," in a voice that
was
  too loud, belligerent.
  Ruby froze; then she heard the scratching whine
  of the record player's needle being scraped across
  vinyl. Everything went quiet. Chair springs
creaked.
  Ruby slipped out of bed and crept to the door of
  her room, pushing it farther open.
  Dad was in his chair, Mom was kneeling in front
  Of him.
  "Rand," Mom said quietly, "we need
to talk."
  He stared down at her, his hair was too long, and
  dirty. "It's too late for talking."
  Mom reached for him; he lurched to his feet,
  swaying unsteadily above her.
  Ruby couldn't stand it another minute, seeing her
  father's pain in such sharp relief. "Get out," she
  yelled, surprised at the strength in her voice.
  Mom got to her feet, turned around. "Oh,
Ruby,"
  she said, holding her arms out.
  As Mom came toward her, Ruby saw the
changes
  in her mother, the gray pallor in her cheeks ...
the
  weight she'd lost ... the way her hands, always so
  strong and sure, were blue-veined and trembling as
  she reached out.
  Ruby sprang backward. "Go--go away.
We don't
  want you anymore.
  Mom stopped; her hands fell uselessly to her
  sides. "Don't say that, honey." She gazed
at Ruby.
  "There are things you don't understand. You're so
  Young ...
  Ruby ignored her mother's tears. It was easy;
  she'd cried so many of them herself they'd lost their
   231
  Currency. "I understand how it feels to be left
behind, as if you were ... nothing." Her traitorous
  voice broke, and the sudden rawness of her pain
  made it difficult to breathe. Ruby fisted her
hands
  and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "Go away,
  Mother. No one here loves you
anymore."
  Mom glanced back at Dad, who'd slumped
into
  his chair again. He was holding his head in his
  hands.
  Ruby wanted to put her arms around him and tell
  him she loved him, just as she'd done so often in the
  past few months, but she didn't have the heart for
it
  now. It was all she could do to keep from wailing.
  She stepped back into her bedroom and slammed
  the door shut.
  She didn't know how long she stood there,
perfectly still, her hands balled into cold fists, but
after
  a while, she heard footsteps crossing the
kitchen,
  then the quiet opening and closing of the front door.
  Outside, a car engine started; tires crunched
through
  gravel. And quiet fell once again, broken
only by
  the sound of a grown man crying ...
  Ruby lurched to her feet, and found herself
unsteady. She couldn't have forgotten that day
... she
  must have blocked it out, buried it beneath the cold,
  hard stones of denial.
  The world, once so firm, felt as if it had
given way
  beneath her.
  Things you don't understand.
  Even then, her mother had had a story to tell ...
  but no one had wanted to hear it.
  232 
  Now Ruby was ready. She wanted to learn what
  had happened more than a decade earlier; under her
  own roof, within her own family.
  And if her mother wouldn't answer those questions,
  there was always an alternative.
  She would ask her father.
  Part Two
  "We sl l1 not cease frorli exploration
  And the end of all our expl'ggri?
  Will he to arrive ugghere we started
  And k'iow the place for the first time."
  -T. S. ELIOT, FROM "LITTLE GIDDING"
 


 Chapter Fifteen
  It had been easy to get out of the house. Ruby
had
  simply left a note-Gone to Dad's-on the
kitchen
  table.
  Now she was in the minivan, driving up the
tree-lined
  road that led away from the Lopez Island ferry
dock.
  She was a fourth-generation islander; and at this
  moment, seeing all the new houses and
bed-and-breakfasts that had sprouted on Lopez, the
full impact
  of that heritage hit her. She had roots here, a
past that
  grew deep into the rich black island soil.
Lopez had
  grown up, and she didn't like the changes. She
couldn't
  help wondering if there were still places where grass
  grew up to a young girl's knees and apple
trees blossomed by the side of the road, where wild brown
rabbits came out beneath a full moon and munched their
  way through summer gardens.
  Her great-great-grandfather had come to this
remote part of the world from a dreary, industrialized
  section of England. He'd brought his beautiful,
black-
  eyed Irish wife and seventeen dollars, and together
  236   they'd homesteaded two hundred acres on
Lopez. His
  brother had come along a few years later and
staked
  his own claim on Summer Island. Both had
become
  successful apple and sheep farmers.
  Now, more than one hundred years later; there were
  only ten acres on Lopez that belonged to her
father.
  The house on Summer Island had been willed
to Ruby
  and Caroline; their grandparents had feared that their
  son would lose this land, one acre at a time. And
  they'd been right.
  Randall Bridge now lived on what had once
been
  the farm's highest point, a rounded thumbprint of
  land that stuck out high above the bay.
  He was an island man, through and through.
He'd
  grown up on this tiny, floating world and he'd
raised
  his children here. He had a closet full of plaid
flannel
  shirts for winter and locally made tourist
T-shirts for
  summer.
  He lived on a financial shoestring, from one
fishing
  season to the next. Money had always been tight and
  "next summer" was always going to change things.
  He made it through the lean months doing local
boat repairs. Most years, it was the repairs-not
the fishing-
  that kept food on the table and paid the steadily
rising
  property taxes.
  Ruby came to the crest of the hill and had to slam
  on the brakes to avoid hitting a trio of deer.
A doe and
  her two spotted fawns stood in the middle of the
road,
  their ears pricked forward. Suddenly they leapt
over
  the ditch and disappeared into the tall, golden
grass.
  She eased forward again, going more slowly now.
  She'd forgotten how it was to share the road with animals. In Los Angeles, there had been a
different kind
  of wildlife on the freeways.
  She turned off the main road. A gravel
road wound
  through acres of apple trees, their limbs
propped up
  by slanted, graying stats of wood.
  At last, she was home. The yellow clapboard
house,
  built in the late twenties, sat wedged between
two huge
  willow trees. The original house-a squat,
broken-
  down log cabin with a moss-furred roof could still be
  seen amid the tumbling blackberry brambles at
the
  edge of the property.
  She parked alongside her dad's battered Ford
truck,
  got out of the car; and stood there, looking around. It
  was exactly as she remembered. She walked down
the
  gravel path, past the now empty rabbit
hutches she'd
  built with her dad, toward the back porch. The
yard
  was still a riot of runaway weeds and untended
flowers. Shasta daisies grew in huge, hip-high
mounds,
  drawing every bee on the place. A tattered
screen door
  hung slanted, a set of screws missing.
  She paused on the porch, steeling herself for the
  sight of her dad's new family, walking as they
did
  across the floorboards of his old one.
  She knew she'd be entering another woman's
  house ... a woman she barely knew, who was
less
  than ten years older than Ruby herself ...
seeing a
  baby brother for the first time. A baby who had no
  idea that his father had started over in his
life, had left
  his other children stranded in the gray hinterlands of a
  broken family.
  Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door
and
  238 
  waited. When there was no answer; she eased the
  screen door open and stepped into the kitchen.
  The changes were everywhere.
  Frilly pink gingham curtains. Lacy white
  cloths. Walls papered in a creamy white
pattern with
  cabbage roses twining on prickly vines.
  If she'd needed evidence that Dad had gone on
with
  his life (and she hadn't), it was right here. Their
old
  life had been painted over.
  "Dad?" she said, not surprised to find that her
voice
  was weak. She stepped past the table-the chairs had
  been painted a vibrant green-and poked her head
  into the living room.
  He was there, kneeling in front of the
small black
  woodstove, loading logs into the fire. When he
looked
  up and saw her; his eyes widened in surprise,
then a
  great smile swept across his lined face. "I
don't believe
  it. . . . You're here." He clanged the
stove's door shut
  and got to his feet.
  Moving toward her, he started to hold his arms out,
  then he paused, uncertain. At the last
minute, he
  pulled her into an awkward hug. "Caroline
told me
  you were home. I wondered if you'd come to see me.
  She clung to him, fighting a sudden urge to cry.
He
  smelled of wood smoke and varnish and salt
air.
  "Of course I'd come," she said shakily,
drawing
  back. Although both of them knew it was a
half-truth,
  a wished-for belief. She hadn't even
called him, and
  the realization of her own selfishness tasted black
and
  bitter.
  He touched her cheek. His rough, callused skin
reminded her of hours spent sanding boat decks at
the
   239
  marina, a girl and her dad, huddled together in the
  dying red sunlight, saying nothing that mattered.
"I
  missed you," he said.
  "I missed you, too." It was true. She had
missed
  him, every day and all the time. Now, standing here,
  seeing in his eyes how much he loved her, she
wished
  she'd been more forgiving when he remarried, more
  accepting of his new life.
  It was the sort of thought that winged through
  Ruby's mind all the time, regrets, hoped-for
improvements; in the end, she never changed. She said
what-
  ever popped into her head and hurt whoever
hurt her
  first. She couldn't seem to help it.
  She collected grudges and heartaches the way
she'd
  once collected Barbies, never sharing, never
abandoning. Her dad, in the end, had hurt Ruby
deeply; it
  was the sort of thing she had no idea how to over-
  come. It was always between them, a sliver embedded
  just below the skin.
  She glanced uneasily up the stairs, wondering
where
  Marilyn was. "I don't want to intrude-"
  "Marilyn took Ethan off island for a doctor's
appointment. He grinned. "And don't even pretend you
  aren't happy about that."
  She smiled sheepishly. "Well . . .I
wanted to see the
  kid. My brother," she added, when she saw the
way he
  was looking at her. She winced, wishing she'd said
it
  right the first time.
  "Don't worry about it." But he turned away
quickly
  and headed back into the living room. She knew
she'd
  hurt his feelings. He sat down on the
threadbare floral
  240 sofa, cocked one leg over his knee. "How's it
going between you and your mom?"
  She flopped down onto the big overstuffed chair
  near the fire. "Picture Laverne and
Shirley on crack."
  "I don't see any visible bruising. I have
to admit, I
  was shocked when Caro told me you'd volunteered
to
  take care of Nora. Shocked and proud."
  Ruby ached suddenly for what had been lost between
them, and the hell of it was, they hadn't fought
  or argued. When he'd found Marilyn, he'd
simply
  drifted away from his daughters. He'd stopped
calling
  as much.
  "I meant to come visit you this week,"
he said,
  giving her that you-know-how-it-is smile of his. The
  one that always reminded you that he had other
  things-other people-on his mind.
  She refused to be stung by his laid-back
attitude.
  "So, how is the fishing this season?"
  Something passed through his eyes, so quickly it
  would have been easy to overlook. But Ruby saw
it.
  "Dad? What is it? What's wrong?"
  "Last summer was terrible. I might . . . have
to sell
  off another chunk of land."
  "Oh, Dad ..." Ruby remembered the last
time
  they'd had this talk. It had been the year after her
  mother left, when her father hadn't fished all
season.
  Then there had been forty acres left. They'd
sold the
  last waterfront piece. She'd wanted
desperately to
  help, but all she'd had was her berry-picking
money.
  "How much do you need?"
  "Three thousand. Don't worry about it. Let's
talk
  about-"
   241
  "I could lend you the money."
  You?
  She reached for her purse and pulled out her check-
  book. Over her father's protests, she wrote out
a
  check and set it on the table. "There," she said,
grinning. "It's done."
  "I can't take that, Ruby."
  But they both knew he would take it. "It means
a lot
  to me to be able to help you."
  Slowly, he said, "Okay." Then softly,
"Thank you."
  An unfamiliar silence settled between them,
broken
  only by the popping of the fire. She wondered if
he
  was thinking about his father; Grandpa Bridge had
  been deeply disappointed in his only
son's lack of am-
  bition. He wouldn't have been proud of Rand at a
moment like this.
  Suddenly Dad stood up. "Come on, let's
take a
  walk."
  She followed him into the bright sunshine. As
  they'd done a thousand times, they strolled down the
  gravel path to the marina, where a few fishing
boats
  bobbed along the docks, their green nets wound on
  huge drums.
  Dad headed to his slip-8A-where the Captain
  Hook bobbed lazily against the dock. He
climbed
  aboard, then turned around and helped Ruby on.
  He tossed her a tangle of new white line.
"Splice
  that, would you? Ned and I are heading out tomorrow.
  I told him I'd have everything ready."
  Ruby sat cross-legged on the boat's aft
deck and
  brought the slithering heap of rope onto her lap.
She
  242 
  had a moment's hesitation, when her mind couldn't
  access the memory, but then her fingers started
moving.
  She worked the rope, twined the triple strands into
  a new, stronger whole and began building the eye.
  "Nora isn't quite what I expected," she said,
trying to
  sound casual.
  "That's hardly surprising."
  Ruby experienced a momentary lapse in
courage.
  Shut up, she thought, don't ask. She drew in
a deep
  breath and looked at her father. "What happened between
you two?"
  He looked up sharply, eyeing her, then he got
to his
  feet and walked past her to the stern. Every
footfall
  upset the balance and made a soft, creaking sound.
All
  at once, he turned back to face her; but she
had the
  weird sensation that he wasn't really
seeing her. He
  seemed ... frozen, or trapped maybe, and she
wondered what images were running through his mind.
  "Dad?"
  Now she felt as if he were seeing too much of
her. Beyond the skin and the hair to the very bones. Maybe
  even deeper. "Are you in for the long haul this time,
  Ruby?"
  "What do you mean?"
  "Ah, Rube ... ." He sighed. "You have a
way of
  moving on. I've never seen anyone who could shut
  herself off so easily from the people around her.
  "It isn't easy."
  He smiled grimly. "You made it look
easy. You went
  off to California and started a new life without
any of
  us ... but after a while, it was our fault,
Caroline's
  and mine. We didn't call enough ... or not on the
   243
  right days ... or we didn't say the right things
when
  we did call. And you moved farther and farther
away.
  You didn't come to my wedding or even call when
  your brother was born or come to see Caroline when
  she suffered through that terrible labor. But somehow
  that was our fault, too. We abandoned you. Now,
you
  want to stir up an old pot. Will you be here tomorrow
or
  next month or next Christmas to see what
comes of it?"
  Ruby wanted to say he was wrong. But she
couldn't.
  "I don't know, Dad." It was all she could
manage
  now; a quiet, simple honesty.
  He stared down at her for a long minute, then
dropped the rope. "Follow me," he said at the
same time he
  jumped off the boat and headed up the rickety
dock.
  He was walking so fast that Ruby had to run to
  catch up. They hurried down the docks and up the
hill.
  He pushed through the screen door so fast it almost
  banged Ruby in the face. He didn't seem
to notice.
  Ruby stumbled over the threshold. "Jesus,
Dad-"
  When she looked up, she lost the sentence.
  Her father was standing at the kitchen table with a
  bottle of tequila. He thumped it down hard,
then
  yanked out a chair and sat down.
  It was a move that brought back way too many
  memories. She was surprised by the depth of her
reaction. The sight of him holding a bottle of
booze shook
  her to the core. She grabbed the ladderback of the
  chair. "I thought you'd quit drinking."
  "I did."
  "You're scaring me."
  "Honey, I haven't begun to scare you. Sit
down,
  244 
  snap on your seat belt, and lock your seat in the
upright position."
  Ruby pulled the chair out and perched nervously on
  its edge. Her foot started tapping so
hard it sounded
  like gunfire.
  Her dad looked ... different. She couldn't have
put
  her finger on exactly how, but the man sitting
across
  from her, with the graying hair and well-worn sweater
  with its threadbare elbows, wasn't the man she'd
  expected.
  This man, hunched over; staring at a full
bottle of
  Cuervo Gold, looked as if he hadn't
smiled in years.
  He looked up suddenly. "I love you. I
want you to remember that."
  She heard the tender underbelly of his voice, saw
  the emotion in his eyes, and it reminded her of
exactly
  how far apart they'd drifted. "I could never forget
  that."
  "I don't know. You're good at forgetting the people
  who love you. The story starts in nineteen
sixty-seven,
  just a few years before the whole damn world
exploded. I was at the University of
Washington; I'd just
  finished my senior year; and I was certain I'd
get
  drafted into the NFL. So certain I never
bothered to get
  a degree. I barely studied. Hell, they paid
someone to
  take tests for me. Things were crazy back then.
The
  world was off its axis. Everyone I knew had been
be of
  or mangled by it.
  "And then I met Nora. She was scrawny and
scared
  and looked like she hadn't slept in a week. Still,
she
  was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. She
believed
  absolutely that I'd play pro football
..." Dad slumped
   245
  forward a little, thumped his elbows on the table.
  "But it didn't happen. No one called. I
walked around
  in a daze; I couldn't believe it. I
had no backup plan,
  no second choice. Then my draft number
came up. I
  probably could have gotten out of it--said they
  needed me to run the farm-but I hated this island
  and I couldn't imagine how I'd survive here."
He
  sighed and leaned back. "But I wanted someone to
  wait for me, to write me letters. So I went
back to
  Nora, my pretty little waitress at Beth's
Diner in
  Greenlake, and I asked her to marry me."
  Ruby frowned. She'd heard this story a thousand
  times in her childhood and this was definitely not the
  way it went. "You didn't love her?"
  "Not when I married her. No, that's not true.
I'd
  just loved other women more. Anyway, we got
married, spent a wonderful honeymoon at Lake
Quinalt
  Lodge, and I shipped out. Your mom moved into this
  house with my folks. By the end of the first week, they
  were both in love with her. She was the daughter my
  parents never had, and she loved this land in
a way I
  never could.
  "Her letters kept me alive over there. It's
funny. I
  fell in love with your mother when she wasn't even
on
  the same continent. I meant to stay in love with
her;
  but I didn't come home the same cocky,
confident kid
  who'd left. Vietnam ... war ... it did
something to
  us." He smiled sadly. "Or maybe not.
Maybe the bad
  seeds were always in me, and war gave them a dark
  place in which to grow. Anyway, I turned ...
cynical
  and hard. Your mom tried so hard to put me back
  246 
  together; and for a few years, we were happy. Caroline
  was born, then you ...
  Ruby had this bizarre sensation that her whole
existence had turned into sand and was streaming through
  her fingers.
  "When I came home, your mom and I
moved into
  the house on Summer. I went to work at the feed
store
  on Orcas. Everyone thought I was a failure.
"So much
  promise wasted," they whispered to my dad over
  drinks at Herb's Tavern. God, I hated
my life." He
  looked up suddenly. "I didn't mean for it
to happen."
  Ruby swallowed convulsively, as if something
bitter
  was backing up in her throat. "Don't"-"
  "I slept with other women.
  "No."
  "Your mom didn't know at first. I was careful--
at
  least as careful as a drowning man can be. I was
  drinking a lot by then--God knows that didn't
help--and I knew when she started to suspect. But
she always gave me the benefit of the doubt."
  "Oh, God," Ruby whispered.
  "Finally, that summer; someone told her the truth.
  She confronted me. Unfortunately, I was
drunk at the
  time. I said ... things ... it was ugly. The
next day, she left."
  Ruby felt as if she were drowning, or falling,
and
  she was desperate for something to cling to. "Oh, my
  God," she said again. It was too much; she felt
as if
  she might explode from trying to hold it all
inside her.
  He leaned toward her; reached for her across the
  table.
   247
  She got up so fast her chair skidded out from
underneath her.
  He pulled back and slowly got to his feet.
"We've
  all been carrying this baggage for too long. Some
of us
  have tried to go on." He looked at her. "And some
of
  us have refused to. But all of us are hurting.
I'm your
  father; she's your mother-whatever she's done or
  hasn't done, or said or hasn't said--she's a
part of you
  and you're a part of her. Don't you see that you can't
  be whole without her?"
  Ruby's past seemed to be crumbling around her.
  There was nothing solid to hold on to, no single
thing to
  point to and say There, that's my truth. "I'm
leaving."
  He smiled sadly. "Of course you are."
  "Call Nora. Tell her I'm going
to Caroline's. I'll be
  home ... whenever."
  "I love you, Ruby," he said. "Please
don't forget
  that."
  She knew he was waiting for her to say the words
  back to him, but she couldn't do it.
 


 Chapter Sixteen
  Ruby had never been to her sister's house, but the
address was imprinted on her brain. Caroline was the
  only person on earth who regularly received a
Christmas card from Ruby. It was simply
required. Ruby
  had long ago discovered that it wasn't worth the
  eleven months of sarcastic jabs. Better
to mail off a
  damn card.
  The traffic was stop-and-go as she exited
Interstate 5
  and crept toward the sprawling suburb of
Redmond.
  Not so many years earlier, this had been the sticks;
  hundreds of acres of unspoiled farmland nestled
between two rivers. Now it was MicrosoftLand, the
  upper suburbia of the geek set. The
developments had
  tried to keep the rural flavor-lots were big;
subdivisions had names like Evergreen Valley and
Rainshadow
  Vista, and trees were preserved at all cost.
Unfortunately, the houses all looked disturbingly
similar. Step-
  ford in a coat of Ralph Lauren paint.
  Ruby checked the handy rental car map and turned
  down Emerald Lane. One big, brick-faced
house
   249
  followed another; each built to the edge of its
lot. New
  landscaping gave the neighborhood an unsettled
look.
  At last she found it: 12712 Emerald
Lane.
  She drove up the stamped blue concrete
driveway
  and parked next to a silver Mercedes station
wagon,
  then grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and
  headed up the path to a pair of oak doors
trimmed in
  headed brass.
  She knocked. From inside came a rustle of
movement, then a muffled "Just a minute."
  Suddenly the door sprang open and Caroline
stood
  there, looking flawless at one o'clock in the afternoon
  in a pair of ice-blue linen pants and a matching
boat-
  neck cashmere sweater.
  "Ruby!" Caroline pulled Ruby into her arms,
holding her tightly.
  Ruby closed her eyes; for the first time in hours,
she
  was able to draw a decent breath.
  Finally, Caro drew back. "I'm so glad you
came."
  "I didn't have a chance to go shopping. I meant
to
  get the kids something-"
  "Forget about that." Caroline yanked Ruby into
  the house.
  Of course, it was perfect. Uncluttered and
flawlessly
  decorated. Not a thing was out of place.
  It didn't look as if a child had ever been in here
let
  alone lived here.
  They passed through a pristine kitchen, all gleaming
metallic surfaces and black granite
countertops.
  Here was the first hint of the family. Pictures
covered
  the Sub-Zero refrigerator. Above the double
sinks, a
  250 
  bay window held on to a view of rolling, green
lawn.
  A golf course.
  Caro led her through the formal dining room,
  where Grandma's silver tea service glittered
on a massive oak sideboard, and into the living room.
Walls
  painted in a lovely faux marble finish dropped
down
  to a wide-planked oak floor. Two wing
chairs, uphol-
  stered in an elegant brandy-colored silk
weave, flanked
  a gold-and-bronze tapestried sofa. A pair
of crystal
  lamps sat on gilded rosewood end tables,
pouring
  golden light onto the plush antique Chinese
rug.
  "Where are the kids?"
  Caroline brought a finger to her lips and said
  harshly, "Sshh. We don't want to wake them
up."
  "Could I tiptoe upstairs and just-"
  "Trust me on this. You can see them when they
  wake up."
  Ruby got a glimpse of
something-someone-
  behind Caro's perfect, smiling face, but it was there
  and gone so fast, it left no imprint behind.
  She felt a little prickle of unease. Nothing
was ever
  wrong with Caroline. She was the most balanced,
  well-adjusted person Ruby had ever known.
Even
  during that horrible summer; Caro had moved along
  on an even keel, accepting what Ruby never
would,
  smiling, forgetting, going on ...
  And yet now, impossibly, Caroline looked
unhappy.
  "Something's going on with you," Ruby said, "what
  is it?"
  Caro sat like a parakeet on the edge of the chair.
  Her perfectly manicured hands were clasped so
tightly
  together the skin had gone pale. A Julia
Roberts smile
   251
  flashed across her serene face. "It's nothing,
really.
  Just a bad week. The kids have been
acting up. It's
  nothing."
  Ruby couldn't put her finger on it, exactly,
but something was wrong here. Suddenly she knew.
"You're
  having an affair!"
  This time there was no mistaking the genuineness of
  Caro's smile. It showed how false the others
had been.
  "Since Fred was born, I'd rather hit myself in the
head
  with a jackhammer than have sex."
  "Maybe that's your problem. I try to have sex at
  least twice a week-sometimes even with someone
  else."
  Caro laughed. "Oh, Ruby ... God,
I missed you ... "
  She sounded normal now.
  "I missed you, too."
  "So," Caro said, leaning back now. "What
brought
  you racing to my door?"
  "What makes you think I raced?"
  Caro gave her "the look." "Nice outfit.
I haven't
  seen so much black since Jenny went to the
Halloween
  party as a licorice whip."
  "Good point." They both knew that Ruby usually
  dressed defensively for Ca ro. It was easier
that way.
  "So what is it? You left Mom strapped to the
wheel-
  chair and ran screaming out of the house." Caro
  grinned at her own black humor. "Or maybe
you left
  her at a rest area a few miles back and now
she's
  thumbing it."
  Ruby couldn't even smile. "I went to Dad's
house
  this morning."
  "Yeah, so?"
  252 
  She had no idea how to put a pretty spin on
such ug-
  liness, so she just said it. "When Nora left ...
Dad
  was having an affair."
  Caroline sat back. "Oh, that."
  "You knew?"
  "Everyone on the island knew."
  "Not me."
  Caroline's smile was soft and tender. "You
didn't
  want to know."
  Ruby had trouble finding her voice. "She's not
who
  I thought she was, Caro. We're trapped in that
house
  together, and whether I like it or not, I'm getting to
  know ... ... ... talk."
  "You're getting to know her?" Something passed
  through Caroline's eyes at that. If Ruby
hadn't known
  better, she would have called it envy. Suddenly
Caro
  walked out of the room. A few minutes later,
she returned with two glasses of wine and a pack of
cigarettes.
  Ruby laughed. "Smoking-you're kidding, right?
  A cig in your hand would be like-"
  "No jokes, Ruby. Please."
  Ruby saw how fragile her sister looked.
"Point the
  way to cancer. That doesn't count-it wasn't
funny."
  Caro opened the French doors and led Ruby to a
  seat at an umbrellaed table. The golf course
stretched
  alongside the flowered yard, dipped to a valley,
and
  rose on the other side to a row of houses
remarkably
  similar to this one.
  Caroline pulled a cigarette from the pack and
lit up.
  Ruby followed suit. She hadn't smoked in
years,
  and she had to admit, the novelty of it was fun.
  Her sister took a drag, exhaled, and stared out
across
   253
  the green. A stream of smoke clouded her face.
"I've
  been talking to Mom for years, meeting her now and
  then for lunch, calling her on Sunday mornings,
being
  the daughter she expects, and we're polite
strangers.
  And you-" She shot Ruby a narrowed gaze.
"You,
  who treats her like Typhoid Mary, she talks
to."
  An awkward silence fell between them, and Ruby
  couldn't think of how to step over it. "We're
stuck
  together."
  Caroline took a drag and exhaled slowly,
staring
  out at the green lawn. "That's not it. What's she
like?"
  "The worst part is, she's smarter than I am.
She
  keeps making me remember who she used to be.
  Who we used to be. And you know, it hurts. When
I
  was on the ferry this morning, before Dad dropped
  his A-bomb, I was thinking about our visits to the
  county fair. How we used to walk through the
midway
  with her, eating cotton candy, tossing pennies at
ugly
  china dishes, and I ... missed her."
  "I know how that feels."
  Ruby noticed that her sister's hands were
trembling.
  "Have you forgiven her?" she asked. "I mean,
really?"
  Caro looked up. "I tried to forget it, you know?
  Most of the time, I do, too. It's like it happened
to another family, not mine."
  "So, you haven't forgiven her any more than I have.
  You're just nicer about it."
  Caroline tried to smile, though there was a bleakness in her eyes that was unsettling. "Your
honesty is a
  gift, Rube, even if it hurts people. You're
... real. I
  can't seem to-"
  254 
  A scream blared through the open window behind them.
  Ruby jumped. "Good God. Has someone been
  shot?"
  Caroline deflated. Her shoulders caved
downward,
  and the color seemed to seep out of her cheeks. "The
  princess is up."
  Ruby moved closer to her sister. "Are you
okay,
  Caro?"
  The smile was too fleeting to be real. "I'll
be fine,"
  she said, and Ruby saw that her sister was pretending
  again. She got up from her seat and walked
woodenly
  back into the house.
  Ruby followed her.
  "AAAGH. . ." This time there were two screams.
  A jack-in-the-box came crashing and jangling
down
  the stairs and skidded across the kitchen floor.
  "Go," Caro said with a tired smile. "Save
yourself."
  A naked Barbie doll cartwheeled down the
stairs
  and thumped into the table leg.
  The screams were getting louder. Ruby fought the
  urge to cover her ears. "Let's go upstairs.
I want to at
  least see my niece and nephew."
  "Not when Jenny's in this kind of a mood. Trust
me."
  Another toy came crashing down the stairs,
followed by a shrieking cry. "MO-MMY
NOW!"
  Caroline turned to her. "Please? Another
time?"
  "Well ... next week I'm going to come down
here
  and baby-sit. You and Jere can go out dancing or
  something."
  "Dancing." Caroline smiled wistfully. "That
would
  be nice."
   255
  Ruby remembered suddenly that she wouldn't be
  here next week. She'd be back in California
on The
  Sarah Purcell Show, telling the world about her
mother. Suddenly she felt sick.
  "You'd better get going. The ferry lines are
hell this
  time of day."
  Ruby checked her watch. "Shit. You're right."
  Caroline looped an arm around Ruby, drew her
  close, and guided her toward the door. There she
  paused. "I'm sorry you had to find out about
Dad, but
  maybe it'll help. We're human,
Ruby. All of us. Just
  human."
  Ruby hugged her sister, holding her so tightly
that
  neither of them could breathe. "I love you, Caro."
  "I love you, too, Rubik's Cube. Now,
get going."
  Ruby drew back. She had the strange thought that
  if she said anything except good-bye, Caro would
  simply shatter.
  So good-bye was all she said.
  Nora sat at the kitchen table, staring down at the
  package of letters. Earlier, she'd spoken
to Eric, but afterward, the silence had tackled her again.
  Idly, she rubbed her throbbing wrist. She'd
spent an
  hour in the morning practicing with her crutches, and
  she was improving. She could go short distances. By
  the end of the week, she hoped to be out of the
  damned chair completely.
  But the practice hadn't fulfilled all of its
purpose.
  She couldn't clear her mind completely. The letters
  were always there.
  She'd tried giving herself a little pep talk. They
were
  256 
  just words, she told herself, scribblings on paper,
and
  they were from strangers. Certainly she could find the
  strength to pick up a pen and fashion some kind of
response. A good-bye and a thanks-for-the-good-times,
  at the very least.
  Not true. Every letter she'd attempted began the
  same: Dear readers.
  Sometimes she came up with a sad, pathetic
  beginning-I'm more sorry than you can know ... .
  or How can I begin to say what's in my heart
... . or
  By now you all know who I really am.
  But there was never a second sentence. And if all
  that wasn't bad enough, she was worried about
Ruby.
  Her gaze landed on the note she'd found sitting
on
  the kitchen table. Dear Nora-Gone to see
Dad.
  It looked innocuous enough, but appearances were
  often deceiving. Ruby wasn't coming back.
  It was Nora's own fault. She'd pushed her
daughter
  too hard in the past few days, and that was
dangerous.
  Ruby always shoved back; she had from infancy.
Unlike Caroline, who smiled coolLy and held
your hand
  and stepped aside when reality got too close.
  Nora had recognized her mistake the second
she
  saw the good-bye note. Her daughter had had
  enough.
  She slumped forward, dropping her head onto her
  crossed arms. A good cry would probably
help, but
  she couldn't find even that easy road to relief.
She was
  wrung dry.
  Then she heard a car drive up ... footsteps
on the
  porch ...
   257
  The door opened, and Rand stepped into the
  kitchen.
  Nora understood instantly: Ruby had
sent her father to deliver the bad news.
  "Hey, Randall," she said, pulling her casted
leg off
  the second chair. "Have a seat."
  He glanced around. "I've got a better
idea."
  Before he'd even finished the sentence, he'd
crossed
  the room and scooped her into his arms. She made
a
  garbled, whooping sound of surprise and put her
arms
  around his neck, hanging on. "What the-"
  "Just hang on."
  She clung to him as he carried her over the
threshold and out onto the porch. There, he pulled
an old
  mohair blanket off of the rocker and wedged it under
  his arm. He walked down the steps, across the shaggy
  lawn, out to the edge of the bank.
  Beneath a huge madrona tree, he laid the
blanket
  over the rocky ground, then gingerly set her down.
  Her bare toes stuck out from the end of her cast, and
  he leaned over and tucked the fringed end
of the
  blanket around her foot.
  He sat down beside her, propped up on his
elbows,
  and stretched out his long legs.
  "Still can't stand to be inside on a sunny day?"
  she said.
  "Some things never change." He turned to her, his
  face solemn. "I'm sorry, Nora."
  "About what?"
  His gaze shifted to a point just beyond her left
  shoulder. "I should have said it a long time ago."
  She drew in a breath. Time seemed to hang
suspended
  258 
  between them. She felt the hot summer sunlight on
  her face, smelled the familiar fragrance of the
sea at
  low tide.
  He looked at her finally, and in his eyes, she
saw the
  sad reflection of their life together. "I'm
sorry," he said
  again, knowing that this time she understood.
  "Oh," was all she could say.
  He leaned closer, touched her face with a
gentleness
  that sapped her strength. "It was my fault. All
mine.
  We both know that. I was young and stupid and cocky.
  I didn't know how special we were."
  Nora was surprised by how easy it was suddenly for
  her to smile. She'd spent twenty years loving
this man,
  eleven more vaguely missing him, and yet now, with
  him beside her on an old blanket that held their
youth
  in its rough weave, she finally felt at peace.
Maybe
  that was all she'd needed, all these years. Just those
  few, simple words.
  She laid her hand against his, and a peacefulness
  settled around her, as if everything in their lives
had
  led to this moment. He was her youth, she realized
  sadly, a youth that was neither well spent nor quite
  misspent. Just ... spent. In his eyes, and his
alone,
  was the woman she'd once been. "We were both at
  fault, Rand. We tried. We just
didn't make it."
  He leaned closer. She thought for a breathless moment
that he was going to kiss her. He wanted to--she
  could see the desire in his eyes. But at the last
second,
  he drew back, gave her a smile so soft and
tender it
  was better than a kiss. "When I look back
--and believe me, I try not to--you know what I
remember?"
  "What?"
   259
  "That day you came back. Jesus ..." He
closed his
  eyes. "I should have dropped to my knees and begged
  you to stay. In my heart, I knew it was what I
wanted,
  but I'd heard about you and that guy, and all I could
  think of was me. How would it look if I took you
back
  after that?" He laughed, a bitter, harsh sound.
"Me,
  worrying about that, after the way I'd treated you. It
  makes me sick. And I paid for it, Nora. For
eight long
  years, I went to sleep every night alone. And I
missed
  you.
  Nora wanted to weep at what they'd thrown
away.
  "You should have called. I was alone, too." She
  paused, then said, "It's too bad."
  "Yeah."
  She reached out, brushed the hair from his eyes in a
  gesture as natural to her as breathing. "But you've
  gone on now. Married. I'm happy for that."
She realized how true it was. Those few small
words--I'm
  sorry--had released her, turned Rand into what
he
  truly was: her first love. Her great love,
perhaps, but
  there would be another one for her someday. She
  smiled and arched one eyebrow. "And are you being a
  good boy, Randall?"
  He laughed, easy with her now. "Even a stupid
dog
  doesn't get hit by the same bus twice."
  "Good. You deserve to be happy."
  "So do you."
  She flinched, unable to help it. "You screwed
  around on your wife. I abandoned my children. It's
  not the same thing."
  He gazed at her. She saw the heavy lines
around his
  260 
  mouth and eyes, grooves worn by years in the sun
and
  wind. "I told Ruby the truth."
  "About what?"
  "The truth. About us."
  Nora felt sick. "That was a foolish thing
to do."
  "I thought you'd be pleased. It's something I should
  have done a long time ago."
  "Perhaps, but when you didn't-when I didn't-we
  buried that little piece of family history. You
shouldn't
  have dug it up. It won't make a difference now.
  "You deserved it, Nora," he said. "After all
these
  years, you deserved it."
  "Oh, Rand. She believed in you. This will break
her
  heart."
  "You know what I learned from us, Nora?" He
  touched her face, smiled tenuously. "Love
doesn't die.
  Not real love. And that's what Ruby's going
to discover. She's always loved you. I just gave her a
reason
  to admit it."
  Nora couldn't help thinking that, for a grown man,
  he was incredibly naive.



  Chapter Seventeen
  After two hours of waiting in the line for the ferry
  with two hundred eager tourists and a few
beleaguered locals, Ruby remembered why she'd
been so
  eager to move off island. Timing your life around
a
  state-operated transportation system was
miserable.
  The last thing she needed was time to think. The conversation
with Caroline repeated relentlessly through
  her mind. Even when she turned on the minivan's
  cheesy radio, she heard the singers" voices
moaning the
  words Everyone knew.
  "Except me," she said bitterly.
  She still couldn't get over that.
  Finally, the ferry pulled in-late, as usual-and
she
  drove aboard, following the orange-vested
woman's
  directions to a spot at the very back of the lane.
As the
  ferry pulled out, she adjusted her seat to a more
comfortable position and closed her eyes. Maybe
sleep
  would help.
  Everyone knew.
  She opened her eyes and stared up at the van's
  262 Hannah
  puffy, velourlike ceiling. She still felt
shaky, as if the
  fowidation of her life had turned to warm
Jell-O and
  was slowly letting her sink.
  I slept with other women.
  It changed everything.
  Didn'tit?
  That was the sheer hell of it. Ruby couldn't hold
the
  ramifications of the day in her hands and
study them.
  One thing she knew: her novelization of the past,
  with Dad cast as hero and her mother as villain,
  wouldn't work anymore.
  The world wasn't as she'd thought it was. Perhaps
  she was late in making that elemental and yet monu-
  mental discovery. She felt as if she'd been a
child all
  these years, walking through a land that she alone had
  devised.
  And now something was changing inside of her;
  growing. It was nothing as cliche' or readily
definable
  as her heart. Rather; it was the bones themselves; they
  were shifting, pressing against her sinew and muscles,
  and deep down inside, there was a new ache.
  She reached under the seat and pulled out the pen
  and legal pad she'd packed in the morning. After
only
  a moment's hesitation, she started to write.
  I was sixteen years old when my mother left us.
It
  was an ordinary June day; the sun rode high
in a
  robin's-egg-blue sky. It's
funny the things you remember. The Sound was as flat
and calm as a
  brand-new cookie sheet, and a gaggle of bahy
geese
  were learning to swim on the McCuffins' pond.
  We were an average family, just My father, Rand, was
   263
  an islander through and through, a commercial
  fisherman who repaired boats in the off season.
He
  went bowling with his friends every Saturday night
  and helped us girls with our math and science
  homework. He wore plaid flannel shirts in
the winter
  and Lacoste golf shirts in the summer. It never
occurred to any of us, or to me anyway, that he was
  anything less than the perfect father.
  There was no yelling in our family, no raging
arguments, no nights where my sister and I lay in
our
  side-by-side tudn beds and worried
feverishly that
  our parents would divorce.
  After we'd all gone our separate
ways, I often
  looked back on those quiet years. I was
obsessive in
  my search for an inciting incident, a moment where
I
  could say, Aha! There it is' the beginning of the end.
  But I never found one. Until now.
  Today, my parents pulled back the curtain, and
  the Great Oz-my dad-" revealed to be an
ordinary man.
  I didn't know that then, of course. All I
knew was
  that on a beautiful day, my mother dragged a suitcase into the living room.
  I'm leaving. Is anyone coming with me?"
  That's what she said to my sister and me. I heard
  my father in the kitchen. He dropped a glass
into
  the sink, and the shatter sounded like bones
  breaking.
  That was the day I learned the concept of before
  and after. Her leaving sliced through our family
  with the bloody precision of a surgeon's
scalpeLike
  At the time, we assumed it was temporary. A
  264 KnsinHaraali
  vacation getaway that should have been with "the
  girls," only my mother had no girlfriends.
Maybe
  all kids think things like that.
  It's hard to say when my feelings about my
  mother changed from guilt to anger to disgust to
  hatred, but that was the arc of it.
  I saw what her absence did to my father In the
  span of a few short days, he became hardly
recognizable. He drank, he smoked, he spent the
day in
  his pajamas. He ate only when Caroline or
I cooked
  for him. He let the marina business go to hell and
by
  the next spring, he had to sell land to pay the
taxes
  and keep food on the table.
  I formed an image of my mother that summer;
  From the hard stone of everything that happened, I
  carved the image of a woman and called it mother.
  For all these years, I've kept it on
my bedside table;
  it was no less real for being visible o'my in
myown
  mind. The statue was a colleaion of hard edges-
  selfishness, lies, and abandonment.
  But now I know the truth: My father was unfaithful to my mother
  Unfaithful;   A cold, detached word that gives
no
  hint of the heat involved in passion. He wore a
wedding ring and fucked women other than the one
  he'd sworn to love, honor, and protect.
  That says it better for me. The vulgarity of the
  sentence matches the obscenity of the act.
  I know it changes everything, but I can't seem to
  follow where it leads. My childhood, I thought
  naively, was mine alone, those memories painted
in
  vibrant oil strokes on the canvas of my
years. Now, it
   265
  seems that Barbra Streisand was right. Memories
are
  watercolor,; and a heavy rain can wash them away.
  My father is not the man I thought he
was.
  Even as I look down on this sentence I have just
  written, I see the childishness of it, but I
can't think
  of another way to say it. I don't know how
to look
  at him now, this father who has proven to be a
  stranger.
  My mother didn't leave him-and us-for fame
  and fortune, but simply because she was human,
  and the man she loved had broken her heart.
  I know how it feels when someone you love stops
  loving you back. It's a kind of mini-death that
  breaks something inside of you.
  This knowing, this understanding ... it should
  make me want to forgive my mother shouldn't it?
  I think I'm afraid to love her, even the
tiniest bit.
  The hurt she caused me is so deep that my
bones
  have grown around it. I wonder perhaps who I am
  without it-
  Before she could finish her sentence, the ferry
honked
  its horn. They were docking on Lopez.
Ruby looked
  up. She knew that as soon as it had unloaded a
few
  cars, it would turn to Orcas Island. Summer was
the
  last stop before the boat turned back to the mainland.
  Ruby made a snap decision. She didn't
want to see
  her mother yet. They would have to talk about this
  new information, and Ruby wasn't ready.
  She started the car and pulled out of line, speeding
  down the empty lane. Ferry workers shouted at
her,
  waving their hands. No doubt they thought she was a
  266 
  tourist, getting off on the wrong island. She
didn't
  care. She sped forward, bumped over the ramp, and
  droveoff.
  The Sloan house was only a few blocks from the
  ferry terminal. It was a big, gingerbread-cute
Victorian mansion placed on a breathtaking
promontory
  overlooking the bay.
  She pulled the minivan into the driveway and
parked.
  It was twilight now; a purple haze fell
across the
  garden, still impeccably tended. A newly painted
white
  picket fence kept everything neatly contained. Just
the
  way Mrs. Sloan liked it, although she
probably hadn't
  set foot on this island in years.
  Ruby walked up the crushed seashell pathway that
  led to the front door. There she paused, gathered
her
  courage, and knocked.
  Lottie opened the door. She looked just as
Ruby remembered her-puffy cheeks, eyes that
disappeared
  when she smiled. "Ruby Elizabeth!" she said,
clapping her plump hands together. "Lordy, it's good to
  seeyou.
  Ruby grinned. "Hello, Lottie. It's
been a long time."
  "Not so long that you can't give me a
hug, you upstart." She reached out and grabbed Ruby,
pulling her
  against her ample breast. Ruby noticed that
Lottie still
  smelled of the lemon hard candies she kept
tucked in
  her apron pockets.
  Ruby drew back, trying to maintain her smile
when
  she said, "I came to see Eric."
  "He's upstairs. Dean had to fly
to Seattle-something
  about business."
  Ruby was relieved. Now that she was here, she
   267
  wasn't ready to talk to Dean, either. She glanced
past
  Lottie, into the living room. "Can I go up?"
  "why, I'd beat you with a stick if you didn't.
I'll
  make you some tea if-"
  "No, thanks. I'm fine."
  "Ali. Run along with you, then." As Ruby
passed
  her; Lottie reached out, touched her
shoulder. "Don't
  be afraid, Ruby. He's still our boy."
  Ruby took a deep breath and released it, then
  slowly mounted the stairs. At the upper landing, she
  turned toward Eric's old room. The door was
closed.
  She gave it the tiniest push to open it. "Eric?"
  "Ruby? Is that you?"
  She heard how weak his voice was, how different
  from the melodious baritone of old, and she swallowed hard. "It's me, buddy." She pushed past
the
  door and walked into his room.
  Only sheer willpower kept her from gasping. He
  looked thin and tired. His beautiful black hair
was
  practically gone, there was only the barest film of
it
  left. Bruise-dark shadows circled his eyes;
his cheek-
  bones stood out in pathetic relief above the
pale,
  sunken flesh.
  He gave her a smile that broke her heart.
"I must be
  dead if Ruby Bridge is back on the
island."
  "I'm home," she said, looking away quickly so
he
  couldn't see her shock. She strode over to the
window
  and opened the curtains-anything to get her composure back.
  "It's okay, Ruby," he said softly, "I
know how I
  look."
  She turned back around. "I missed you,
Eric," she
  268 
  said, meaning it, hating herself once again for how
  easily she'd been able to leave this place, these
people.
  "It feels like old times with you here," he said,
  pushing a button and maneuvering his bed to a more
  upright position.
  She smiled. "Yeah. All we need is-"
  He reached into the bedside drawer and held out a
  fat joint. He gave her that same tilted,
crooked-
  toothed grin she remembered so well.
"Cancer makes
  pot easy to come by." He brought the joint to his
lips
  andlitit.
  Ruby laughed. "So, you've been getting all
our old
  friends high, huh?"
  He took a toke and handed it to her. When he
finally exhaled, he said, "There are no old friends
  around here. Not for me, anyway."
  Ruby took a hit. The smoke scalded her
throat and
  made her cough. She handed the joint back to him.
"I
  haven't smoked pot in years."
  "That's good news. So, how's the comedy biz?"
  She took a smaller drag this time, breathed in,
held
  the smoke in her lungs, then released it. After
that,
  they passed it back and forth. "I'm not funny enough
  to make it big."
  "You're a riot. You always cracked me up."
  "Thanks, but that's like being the prettiest
girl in
  Paducah. It doesn't make you Miss
America. The funniest girl on Lopez Island isn't going
to knock "em
  dead on Leno. Sad truth."
  "Are you giving up on it?"
  "I guess s.i think I'll try my hand at
writing." She
  giggled. "Get it-try my hand at writing."
   269
  Eric laughed with her. "It's not like you can try your
  foot," he said between bursts of laughter. They
both
  knew it wasn't funny, but just now, with the sweet
  smell of pot clouded between them, it seemed hilarious. "What kind of book will you write?"
  "Well, it won't be on the joys of sex."
  "And it won't be on fashion."
  Ruby shot him a look. "Very funny. I have
my
  mother to rag about my appearance, if you don't
  mind. Hey! That's what I'll write about.
Dear Old
  Mom."
  Eric laughed more quietly this time. Snuffing the
  joint out, he leaned back on his elbows.
"Somebody
  should do a book on her. She's a saint."
  "I must be so high I've lost my hearing. I
thought
  you said she was a saint.
  He turned to her. "She is."
  His face seemed to loom in front of her, two
sizes
  too big. His pale blue eyes were watery,
rimmed in
  nearly invisible strands of red. His full, almost
ferm-
  nine lips were colorless. And suddenly she couldn't
  pretend, couldn't make small talk. "How are
you,
  ... ... . really?"
  "It's what the docs call end stage." He
smiled
  weakly. "Funny, they come up with a euphemism
for
  every step of the illness, but then, when you really
  need a little lip gloss to cover everything, they
call it
  end stage. As if you need another reminder that
you're
  dying."
  Ruby brushed the fine, limp strands of hair from
his
  face. "I should have stayed in better touch with you.
  270 
  What happened between Dean and me, I shouldn't
  have let that extend to you, too."
  "You broke his heart," Eric said softly.
  "All of our hearts got broken that year I
guess, and
  the king's horsemen couldn't put us back together."
  He touched her cheek. "What your mother did ...
  it was really fucked. But you're not sixteen
anymore.
  You ought to be able to see things more clearly."
  "Like what?"
  "Come on, Ruby. The whole island knew your
dad
  was screwing other women. Don't you think that
  makes just a little bit of difference?"
  So it was true: Everyone did know. "Caroline and
I
  didn't do anything and she left us,
too."
  There it was, the thing she still couldn't get past.
  "I've gotten to know your mom pretty well in
the
  past few years, and let me tell you, she's
great. I'd give
  anything to have a mom like her."
  "Jet-set Lady had troubles with your
lifestyle, I
  take it?"
  "No. No trouble. When I told my mother I was
gay,
  she said she never wanted to see me again."
  "How long did that last?"
  "She's not like your mom. When my mom said 'Get
  out of my house," she meant it. I haven't seen
her
  since."
  "Even now?"
  "Even now."
  "God ... I'm sorry," she said, knowing how
utterly
  inadequate the words were.
  "You know who got me through those tough
   271
  times ... when I first realized I was gay and my
parents disowned me?"
  "Dean?"
  "Your mother. She had just moved her 'nora Knows
  Best" column to the Seattle Times. I
wrote to her;
  anonymously at first. She wrote back,
praising my
  bravery, telling me to keep my chin up, that my
mom
  was sure to come around. It gave me hope. But after
a
  few more years, I knew she was wrong. My mom
had
  drawn her line in the sand. She wouldn't have a
faggot
  son. Period." He grabbed his wallet from the
top of
  the bedside table. Opening it, he withdrew an
often-
  folded piece of paper and carefully unfolded
it. "Here.
  Read this."
  Ruby took the piece of paper from him.
It was yellowed from age and veined with tiny fold lines. A
  brown stain blotched the upper-right corner. She
focused on the small, neat lertering. It took her
a moment to recognize the handwriting. Her mother's.
  Dear Eric,
  I can't express the depth of my sympathy for
your
  pain. That you would choose to share it with me is
  an honor I do not take lightly.
  For me, you will always be Eric, the rope swing
  king. When I close my eyes, I see you
hanging monkeylike from that old rope at Anderson
Lake,
  yelling Bonsai! as you let go. I see a boy
who came
  by our house when I was sick, who sat on the
porch
  crushing mint in a bowl to spice up my tea. I
remember a sixth-grade boy, his face reddened
by
  new pimples, his voice sliding down the
scale, who
  272 
  was never afraid to hold Mrs. Bridge's hand
as they
  walked down the school corridor.
  This is who you are, Eric. Whom you choose to
  love is a part of you, but not the biggest part. You
  are still that boy who couldn't bear to eat anything
  that had once had parents. I hope and pray that
  someday your mother will wake up and remember
  the very special boy she gave birth to. I
hope she
  will look up then, and smile at the man he has
  become.
  But if she does not, please, please don't
let it tear
  your heart apart. Some people simply can't find it in
  themselves to bend, to accept. If this terrible thing
  happens, Eric, you must go on. There's no other
  word for it. Life is full of people who are
different,
  broken, hurting, who simply put one foot in
front
  of the other and keep moving.
  It is your mother I fear for. You will grow up and
  fall in love, and find yourself When I
come to visit
  you, and we are both old, we will sit on your
porch
  and laugh about the golden days that almost killed
  us. But not so your mother. If she continues on this
  path, it will eat her up from the inside. She will
find
  that certain pains are endless.
  So, forgive her It is the only way to lighten this
  ache in your heart. Forgive her and love her and
  go on.
  I love you, Eric Sloan. You and your brother
are
  the sons I never had, and had I given birth
to you,
  would have been proud of who you've become.
  xxOO
  Nora
   273
  Ruby folded the letter back into a small
triangle
  that fit in his wallet. "That's a beautiful letter.
I can see
  why you carry it around."
  "It saved me. Literally. It took
some work-lots of
  work-but I forgave my mom, and when I did that,
  my chest stopped hurting all the time.,,
  "I don't know how you could forgive her. What she
  did-"
  "Was human, that's all."
  "What about now?"
  He sighed, pushed a hand through his hair. "It's
  harder now. I realize how precious time is.
I want just
  one moment with her to tell her I love her.
To hear-"
  His voice broke, dropped to a whisper.
"To hear her
  say she loves me."
  Ruby turned to him, touched his face.
  He smiled, pressed his hand on top of hers.
"Forgive your mother, Ruby."
  "I'm afraid," she said, using the words she
rarely allowed herself to speak aloud.
  He let go of her arm. "Christ. Time is
short, don't
  you understand that? We bump along, blindly assuming
we have forever to do things, say things ...
  but we don't. You can feel perfectly
fine, and go to
  your annual checkup on a sunny Wednesday
afternoon, and discover that your time's up. Game over."
  She looked down at him. "How do you forgive
  someone?"
  He smiled tenderly. "all you just ... let go.
Unclench."
  "If I let go . . . I'm afraid I'll
fall."
  "There's nothing wrong with falling." He kissed the
  274 
  tips of his own fingers, then pressed the kiss to her
  cheek. "I love you, Ruby. Don't forget
that."
  "Never," she whispered. "Never."
  When Ruby finally got home, it was past
midnight.
  She crept past her mother's closed bedroom
door and
  went upstairs. Crawling into bed, she reached for
her
  pad of paper and began to write.
  One of my best friends from childhood is dying. I
  stood at his bedside today and talked to him as if
  life were normal, and yet all the
while, I couldn't
  breathe.
  Until a few hours ago, I had not seen him
in more
  than a decade, and in all that time, I had
barely
  thought of him.
  Barely remembered him.
  This boy, now a man, who had walked hand in
  hand with me through childhood, I had forgotten. I
  kept the Saint Christopher's medal he gave
me for
  my thirteenth birthday, but the boy, I lost.
  Maybe he never noticed or cared. We did,
after
  all, go on with our separate lives as
childhood
  friends tend to do, but now I see the sadness in that
  ordinary course of things. I walked away too
easily;
  I didn't think enough about what-and who-I left
  behind. Now, I can't think about anything else.
  I left a boy with black hair and a booming,
heart-
  felt laugh, and I returned to a man
so thin I was
  afraid to touch him for fear that I would see my
  own bones through his papery flesh.
  And this dying man welcome
   275
  never left. Did he know, I wonder, how much
it hurt
  me to look in his watery eyes and see the
reflection
  of my own emptiness? My own lack.
  I want to gather the broken pieces of my heart
together pull them into my lap, and study them.
  Maybe then I could find the hole, the missing
piece,
  that allows me to forget those I love.
  I am tired of my solitary life, weary to the
bone. I
  have been running for years, so fast and hard, I am
  breathless. And here, at the end of it, I see that
I've
  gone nowhere at all.
  I want my mother. Isn't that amazing? I would-
  if I could-go to her now, walk into the circle of
her
  arms and say, Eric is dying and I can't
imagine
  living in a world without him."
  How would that feel? I wonder. Letting her comfort
and soothe me? When I close my eyes, I can
  imagine it, but when I waken, all I see are
the doors
  closed between us. And the ache that is spreading
  through my chest hurts more and more.
  I recognize what it is now, this pain that has
been
  a part of me for so many years.
  It is longing, pure and simple. I miss my
mom.



  Chapter Eighteen
  The next morning was one of those perfect June
days
  that convinced out-of-towners to buy land in the San
  Juan Islands.
  Ruby woke late, which wasn't surprising,
given that
  she'd tossed and turned all night.
  She knew, of course, that she and Nora would have
  to talk about her father's confession. Hopefully, they
  could put it off for a while-like, until Britney
Spears's
  boobs started to sag.
  She pushed the covers back and stumbled out of
  bed. A shower made her feel almost human, and
she
  stayed in it until the water turned lukewarm.
Even
  then, she was reluctant to get out. At least in the
  shower, she had a purpose.
  She stepped out of the shower and stood, dripping,
  on the fuzzy pink patch of carpet. The old
pipes
  pinged and clanged as water gurgled down the drain.
  Through the mist, she saw herself in the mirror. She
  swiped the moisture away and stared at a blurry
reflection of her face.
   277
  She experienced one of those rare moments when,
  for a split second, you see yourself through a
stranger's
  eyes. Her hair was too short, and raggedly
cut, as if
  that stupid, gum-chewing, purple-haired girl
at the
  beauty school had used pinking shears instead of
scissors. What in God's name had made Ruby
choose to
  dye it Elvira Mistress-of-the-Night
black?
  It made her skin look vampire-pale in
comparison.
  No wonder she'd been unable to attract a
decent
  guy. Laura Palmer looked better in Twin
Peaks-and
  she'd washed up dead on the shore.
  Ruby realized she'd been trying to make herself
unattractive. The truth of that realization was so
stun-
  fling she literally watched her mouth drop open.
  All that mascara, the black eyeliner, the
haircut and
  color ... all of it was a camouflage.
  She dropped her makeup bag in the metal
trash can.
  It hit with a satisfying clang. No more
heroin-chic
  makeup or refugee clothing. Hell, she'd
even quit dying
  her hair and find out what color it
really was. Her last
  memory was of a nice, ordinary chestnut brown.
  The decision made her feel better. She went
into her
  bedroom, dressed in jeans and a jade-green
V-neck
  T-shirt, and then hurried downstairs.
  Nora was standing by the counter, leaning on her
  crutches. The plop-drip-plop of the
coffeemaker filled
  the kitchen with steady sound. She looked up as
Ruby
  entered the room.
  An almost comical look of surprise crossed
her face.
  "You look ... beautiful." Immediately, she
flushed.
  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sounded
surprised."
  278 
  "It's okay. I guess I didn't look so
great with all that
  makeup on."
  "I'm not touching that one with a ten-foot pole."
  Ruby laughed, and it felt good. "I
need a haircut.
  Badly. Is there still a beauty salon in
Friday Harbor?"
  "I used to cut your hair."
  Ruby hadn't remembered until that moment, but
  suddenly it came rushing back: Sunday evenings
in
  the kitchen, a dishrag pinned around her neck with a
  clothespin, the soothing clip-clip-clip of the
scissors,
  Dad's steady turning of the newspaper pages in
the
  living room. Ruby stood there a moment,
strangely
  uncertain of what to do. She had a nagging sense that
  if she said the right thing now-in this heartbeat of
  time which felt steeped in sudden possibility-she
  could change things. She felt vulnerable suddenly,
a
  child wearing her emotions like a kindergarten name
  tag. "Could you cut it again?"
  "Of course. Get the towel, and a clothespin. The
  scissors should be here ..." Nora reached for her
  crutches and limped toward the utility drawer,
where
  the scissors had always been kept.
  Ruby was momentarily nonplussed, though she
  wasn't sure why.
  It seemed as if Nora were as eager as Ruby
to avoid
  a breakfast conversation.
  "Get the stool from the laundry room and take it
  outside. It's such a pretty morning."
  Ruby gathered up the necessary supplies and carried
everything outside. She set the stool on a nice
flat
  patch of grass overlooking the bay and sat down
on it.
  She heard Nora coming toward her. Thump-step,
-
   279
  thump-step. Down the porch steps and across the
grass,
  her mother moved awkwardly, a woman clearly
afraid
  of stepping into a hole and twisting her good ankle.
  "Are you sure about this?" Ruby asked, watching
  her. "I'm suddenly hearing you say oops! behind
me,
  and I wind up with one of those horrible
asymmetrical
  cuts from when I was in grade school."
  Nora moved around behind Ruby. "Remember
  your sophomore year? You didn't use
hairspray-you
  used boat lacquer. I was scared to death I'd
accidentally pat your head and shatter my wrist."
Laughing,
  she wrapped the towel around Ruby's neck and
  pinned it in place, then began running her fingers
  through Ruby's still-damp hair.
  Ruby released her breath in a sigh. It
wasn't until
  she heard the sound--air hissing through her teeth--that
she realized what she was feeling.
  Longing, again.
  "I'm just going to give it some shape, okay?"
  Ruby blinked, came stumbling out of the past.
  "Yeah," she said. Her voice was barely
audible. She
  cleared her throat and said again, louder, "Okay."
  "Sit up straight. Quit fidgeting."
  The steady snip-snip-snip of the scissors
seemed to
  hypnotize Ruby, that and the comforting
familiarity
  of her mother's touch.
  Nora touched Ruby's chin, tenderly forcing her
to
  look straight ahead. Snip-snip-snip.
"Eric called me
  last night. He said you'd visited him."
  Ruby closed her eyes. "I'm not ready
to talk about
  Eric," she said quietly.
  280 
  "Okay. Why don't you tell me about your life
in
  Hollywood?"
  Ruby's first thought was: the article. "There's not
  much to say. It's like living on the third floor of
hell. I
  don't want to talk about that, either."
  Nora paused; the scissors stilled. "I
don't mean to
  pry. I just wonder who you have become."
  "Oh." It wasn't something she thought much
  about-who she was. She usually concerned herself
  with who she wanted to be. Better to look ahead
than
  behind, and all that. "I don't know."
  "I remember when Doc Morane first put you in
my
  arms." Nora paused in her cutting. "From the very
  beginning, you were fire and ice. You'd scream for
  what you wanted, but a hurt animal could reduce
you
  to tears. You were walking by eight months and
  talking by two. And boy, did you have a lot
to say. It
  was like living with a Chatty Cathy doll who could
  pull her own string. You never shut up."
  Ruby realized suddenly that she missed herself,
  missed who she used to be. In forgetting her mother,
  she'd misplaced herself. "What was I like?"
  "You wanted a tattoo at twelve-the infinity
symbol, I
  believe. You never pierced your ears, because everyone
  else did. You wanted to go to an ashram the
summer
  you turned thirteen. You were afraid of the dark for a
  long, long time, and whenever there was a windstorm, I
  rolled closer to your dad in bed, because I knew
you'd
  come bolting into our room and crawl into bed
with
  us." Nora turned to her, gently pushing the wet
hair out
  of Ruby's eyes. "Is every part of that girl
gone?"
  281
  Ruby felt shaky suddenly, uncertain. "I
never got
  my ears pierced."
  "Thank you."
  "For what?"
  "It would break my heart to think that you had
  changed so much." She reached out, touched Ruby's
  cheek in a fleeting, tender caress. "You could
always
  light up a room like no one I've ever known.
Remember that day we went to the island newspaper to
  get them to cover the eighth-grade dance?" She
smiled.
  "I sat there, watching you make your argument, and
  thought, She could run the country, this girl of mine.
I
  was so damned proud of you."
  Ruby swallowed hard.
  Nora went back to cutting Ruby's
hair. A few minutes later; she said, "Ah, there we are.
All done." She
  stepped aside and handed Ruby a mirror.
  Ruby looked at her reflection, captured as
it was in
  the silvered oval. She looked young again. A
woman
  with most of her life ahead of her; instead of a
bitter, struggling comic who'd left her youth sitting on
barstools. "It
  looks great," she said, turning to her mother.
  Their eyes met, locked. Understanding passed between
them, quick as an electric shock.
  "I went to see Dad yesterday."
  "I know. He came to see me."
  Ruby should have guessed. "We have to talk
  about it."
  Nora sighed. It was a sound like the slow leaking of
  air from a punctured tire. "Yes." She bent
down and
  retrieved her crutches. "I don't know about
you, but
  I'll need a cup of coffee for this ...
and a chair. I'll
  282    definitely need to sit down." Without waiting,
she
  hobbled toward the porch.
  Ruby put the stool away, then grabbed two
cups of
  coffee and went out onto the porch. Nora was
seated
  on the love seat; Ruby chose the rocker.
  Nora took a cup of coffee from her.
"Thanks."
  "Dad told me he'd been unfaithful to you,"
Ruby
  said it in a rush.
  "What else?"
  "Does anything else matter?"
  Nora frowned. "Of course other things matter."
  Ruby didn't know what to say to that. "He sort
of
  blamed it on Vietnam ... well ... maybe
not. I wasn't
  sure what he blamed it on. He said the war
changed
  him, but I got the feeling he thought he
would have
  fooled around anyway."
  Nora leaned back in her chair. "I loved your
dad from
  the moment I first saw him, but we were young, and we
  got married for childish reasons. I wanted a
family and
  a place where I could feel safe. He wanted
..." She
  smiled. "I'm still not sure what he wanted. A
woman to
  come home to, maybe. A woman who thought he
was
  perfect. For a while we were an ideal couple.
We both
  thought he was God."
  "It was easy to see him that way. He acted so
...
  loving and nice."
  "Don't judge him too harshly, Ruby. His
infidelity
  was only part of what broke us up. It was just as
much
  my fault."
  "Did you screw other men, too?"
  "No, but I loved him too much, and that can be as
  bad as not loving someone enough. I needed so much
   283
  reassurance and love, I sucked him dry. No
man can
  fill up all the dark places in a woman's
soul. I knew
  he'd be unfaithful sooner or later. I think
I made him
  crazy with my questions and my suspicions."
  Ruby didn't understand. "You knew he'd be
unfaithful? How?"
  "You said you lived with a man. Max was his name,
  right?"
  Ruby nodded. "Yeah. But what-"
  "Was he faithful?"
  "No.well ... for a while, maybe."
  "Did you expect him to be?"
  "Of course." Ruby said it quickly. Too
quickly.
  Then she sighed and sat back. "No. I
didn't expect
  him to want only me."
  "Of course not. If a girl's mother doesn't
love her
  enough to stick around, why should a man?" Nora
  gazed at her; the smile she gave Ruby was
sad. "That's
  the gift my father gave me, the one I passed on
to you.
  "Jesus," Ruby said softly. Her mother was right.
  Ruby had spent a lifetime being so afraid of
heart-
  break that she hadn't let herself be loved. That's
why
  she'd stayed with Max all those years. She knew
she'd
  never fall in love with him, and her heart would be
  safe. All that loneliness ... because she couldn't
believe in being loved.
  Ruby walked toward the railing and stared out at the
  Sound. She couldn't figure out what she was
feeling ...
  or what she should be feeling. "I remembered the
day
  you came back." She heard her mother's sharp
intake
  of breath and waited for an answer. When none
came,
  she turned around.
  284 
  Nora was sitting there, hunched over, as if
waiting
  for a blow. "I don't like thinking about that day."
  "I'm sorry ... Mom," Ruby said
quietly. "I said
  some horrible things to you.
  Her mother looked up sharply. Tears filled her
eyes.
  "You called me Mom."  She stood up,
hobbled toward
  Ruby. "Don't you dare feel guilty over
what you said
  to me. You were a child, and I'd broken your heart."
  "Why did you come home that day?"
  "I missed you girls so much. But when I saw
what
  I'd done to you, I was ashamed. You looked at
me the
  way I'd once looked at my father. it ... broke
me."
  Ruby couldn't avoid the question any longer.
  "Okay, so I know why you left Dad, but why
did you
  stay away?"
  Nora gazed at her steadily. "The leaving ...
the
  staying away ... to you, these were the beginning of
  the story. To me, it was deep into the middle ... "
  Nora took a deep breath and dove in. The
waters of the 
  past were as cold as she'd expected, even in the
heat of
  this gorgeous summer morning. "Everyone thought
  Rand and I were the perfect couple." She curled
her
  hands around the porcelain of her coffee cup and
let it
  warm her. "I was young then, and I cared about
appearances more than substance. Living with an
alcoholic
  will do that to you. You grow up hiding, flinching,
protecting the very man you should expose. You make
sure
  that none of the ugliness that goes on inside your house
  ever spills into the streets. That was a lesson my
mother
  taught me before I was old enough to brush my teeth.
  Pretend and smile ... and cry behind
closed doors. I
   285
  suspected your dad of having affairs long before
I got
  hard proof." She glanced at Ruby. "No
pun intended."
  Ruby almost spit up her coffee. "How can you
  make a joke about it?"
  "What is it they say about comedy-it only hurts
  when you laugh?" She smiled and went on. "It
...
  hurt me to suspect him, but that wasn't the worst
of it.
  The worst was his drinking. He started drinking after
  dinner-on the nights he came home. You girls
  probably didn't even notice. A few
beers, a scotch and
  soda here and there. By ten o'clock he was wobbly,
  and by eleven he was stumbling drunk. And he got
...
  mean. All his insecurities-you remember how
hard
  Grandpa was on him-and his disappointments came
  tumbling out, and everything was my fault. Every time
  he yelled at me, I heard my
dad's voice, and though
  Rand never hit me, I started expecting it,
flinching
  away from him, and that only made him madder. How
  could I think he'd hit me, he'd scream,
stomping out of
  the house." She looked up at Ruby. "So, you
see, I was
  at least half of the problem. I couldn't separate
my past
  from my present, and the harder I tried, the more the
  two braided together. I was terrified I'd
become like
  my mother-a woman who never spoke more than
  two words at a time and died too young. But I was
  handling everything okay until Emmaline
Fergusson
  told me about Shirley Comstock-"
  "My soccer coach?"
  Nora nodded. "You remember how much your dad
  suddenly started liking soccer?"
  Ruby gasped. "He didn't ... not with my
coach."
  "It's a small island," Nora said ruefully,
"there
  286 
  weren't a lot of women to choose from. I told
myself it
  didn't matter. I was his wife, and there was
honor in
  that. But he started drinking more and coming home
  less, and I fell apart.
  "It started with insomnia. I simply stopped
sleeping.
  Then the panic attacks hit. I got a
prescription for
  Valium, but it didn't help enough. I would
lie awake at
  night with my heart pounding and sweat pouring off
  me. Every time I picked you up from soccer I went
  home and threw up. Finally, I started to black
out. I'd
  wake up lying on the kitchen floor; and I
couldn't remember huge chunks of my day."
  "Jesus," Ruby said softly. "Did you tell
Dad?"
  Nora gave a shaky smile. "Of course not.
I thought
  I was losing my mind. All I had to hold on
to was the
  pretense of a marriage. You and Caro were the center
  of a world that kept shrinking around me."
  Nora looked up, wondering if it was possible
to
  make a single twenty-seven-year-old woman
understand how stifling marriage and motherhood could
  sometimes be. "I couldn't handle it all-your
dad's
  drinking, his screwing around, my insomnia, my
sense
  of being overwhelmed and trapped. It was a combustible mix. And then ... "
  Nora closed her eyes. The day she'd worked so
hard
  to keep at bay welled up inside her. It had
been a gorgeous early summer day, not unlike today.
She'd gone
  to the soccer field early to drop off cookies
... and
  she'd seen them. Rand and Shirley, kissing, right
out in
  the open as if they had every right. "I took too many
  sleeping pills. I don't remember if I
meant to or if it was
  an accident, but when I woke up in the
hospital, I knew
   287
  that if I didn't do something quickly, I was going
to die.
  I don't know if you can understand that kind of
depression; its debilitating, overwhelming. So, I
held my
  breath, packed my bag, and ran. I only
meant to stay
  away for a few days, maybe a week. I thought
I'd come
  here, stay a few days, get some rest, and be
healthy."
  "And?"
  Nora drew in a deep breath. She wanted
to look up,
  but she couldn't. Instead, she stared down at the cup
  in her hands. "And I met Vince Corell."
  "The guy who sold the pictures to the
Tattler."
  "He was a photographer; taking pictures of the
is-
  lands for a calendar. Or so he said; I
didn't care about
  that. All that mattered was the way he looked at
me.
  He told me I was the most beautiful woman in
the
  world. By then, your father and I hadn't been intimate
  in a long time, and I wasn't beautiful. I was
rail-thin
  and I trembled all the time. When Vince touched
  me ... I let him. We had a wonderful
week together-
  photographs and all. For the first time, I found
someone I could talk to about my dreams-and once I'd
  said them aloud, I couldn't go back to the way
I'd been
  living. And then ... he was gone.
  "I was devastated. I knew your father would have
  heard about what I'd done; Vince and I made
no secret
  of our relationship. Maybe I even wanted Rand
to
  find out. I don't know, but when the affair was
over;
  and I realized I'd thrown my marriage away
and lost
  my girls, I took too many sleeping pills
again. This
  time it was serious. I ended up in a mental
institution
  in Everett."
  288 
  "How long were you there?" Ruby's voice was
  whisper soft.
  "Three months."
  "What?
  "Time wasn't real there. In those days, in that
place,
  they were still doing electric shock therapy. We
all
  lined up at eight forty-five in the morning for
medications. After a week, I'd forgotten most of the
outside
  world. It was Dr. Allbright who saved me. He
came
  every day and talked to me ... just talked until I
could
  breathe again. I worked so hard to get better, so I
  could come home. But when I ... .."
  "Oh, God," Ruby said softly. "That was the
day."
  Nora felt tears sting her eyes and it
surprised her
  She thought she'd spent all her tears for that day
long
  ago. "It's not your fault," she said, and she
meant it
  "But Dad should have let you come home After
  what he'd done to you-
  "I didn't ask Rand to take me back,"
Nora answered. "I was too screwed up to take care of
my children, and I knew it. I didn't want my
marriage back I
  wanted ... me. It's a horrible thing to say, a
horrible
  thing to have done. But it's the only truth I can
give
  you." She longed to reach out, to take her daughter
  into her arms, but she was afraid. They were moving
  toward each other now, stepping over the hurts that
  had accumulated like boulders on the road between
  them. "The world is full of regrets and times where
  you think if only. We have to move past that. Your
dad
  was angry and arrogant. I was frightened and
fragile.
  You were heartbroken. And on that one day, we came
  together, and we hurt each other Mistakes," she
said.
   289
  Just ordinary human mistakes. But I want you
to
  know this, Ruby, and it's the only part that matters.
  I never stopped loving you or thinking about you. I
  never stopped missing you."
  Ruby stared at her a long time. Then, softly,
she
  said, "I believe you."
  And Nora knew the healing had finally begun.



  Chapter Nineteen
  Ruby retreated to her bedroom.
  I'd wake up, lying on the kitchen floor, with
huge
  chunks of my day gone. I don't know if you can
  understand that kind of depression.
  Mom must have been so afraid, so alone ...
  Ruby knew how it felt. It was the worst, she
knew,
  in the middle of a long, dark night, when
the man you
  lived with was in bed beside you. If he smelled of
another woman's perfume, that hand-span between you
  could feel like the North Atlantic.
  She opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out
  her legal pad. She'd learned that it calmed her
to write
  down her thoughts, and God knew she needed to
  relax.
  She sat down on the bed and drew her knees
up, angling the pad against her thighs, and began
to write.
  I'd always believed that the truth of a person was
  easily spotted, a line drawn in dark ink on
white
  paper. Now, I wonder. Maybe the truth of
who we
   291
  are lies hidden in all those shades of gray that
everyone talks about
  My mother was in a mental institution. This is
  her newest revelation. One of them, anyway; in
  truth, there have been too many to count.
  Tonight, Mom painted a portrait of our
family,
  and through her eyes I saw people I'd never imagined
--a drunken, unfaithful husband and a depressed,
overwhelmingly unhappy wife.
  How is it that I saw none of this? Are children so
  sublimely oblivious to their own world?
  She was right to hide this truth from me. Even
  now, I wish I didn't know it.
  Sometimes, knowing where we come from hurts
  more than we can stand.
  The phone rang.
  Ruby was startled by the sound. Tossing the pad
  aside, she leaned over and answered. "Hello?"
  Ruby?"
  It was Caroline's voice, soft and thready.
Ruby immediately felt the hairs on the back of her
neck stand
  up. "What's wrong?"
  "Wrong? Nothing. Can't a girl just call her
little
  sister?"
  Ruby leaned back against the headboard. Caro
  sounded better now; still, that feeling of wrongness
  lingered. "Of course. You just sounded ... "
  What?"
  "I don't know. Tired."
  Caro laughed. "I have two small children and a cat
  pukes up ten thousand hairballs a day. I'm
always  
  tired."
  "Is that, Caro? Does motherhood suck
  something out of you?"
  Caroline was quiet for a minute. "I used
to dream
  of going to Paris. Now I just want privacy when
I use
  the toilet."
  "Jesus, Caro. How come we never talk about
things
  like that?"
  "There's nothing to say."
  Ruby tried to sculpt an amorphous realization
into
  words. "That's not true. When we talk on the
phone,
  it's always about me. My career. My worthless
excuse
  for a boyfriend. My thoughts on comedy. It's always
  about me.
  "I like to live vicariously."
  Ruby knew that was a lie. The truth was,
Ruby had
  always been selfish. She didn't form
relationships; she
  collected photographs of people and then cropped
  away the edges of anything that didn't fit with what
  she wanted to see. But those edges mattered. "Are
you
  happyeaCaro?"
  "Happy? Of course I'm-" Caro started
to cry.
  The soft, heartbreaking sound tore at Ruby's
heart.
  "Caro?"
  "Sorry. Bad day in suburbia."
  "Just one?"
  "I can't talk about this now."
  "What's wrong with our family that we can't talk
  about anything that matters?"
  "Talking doesn't change things. Believe me.
It's
  better to just go on.
   293
  "I used to think that, but I'm learning so much up
  here-"
  "Ruby!" It was Mom's voice. She must be
standing
  at the bottom of the stairs, yelling up.
  Ruby held the phone to her chest. "I'll be right
  down. Hey, Caro," she said, coming back to the
line.
  "Why don't you come up here? Spend the night."
  "Oh, I can't. The kids--"
  "Leave them with the stud muffin. It's not like
  you're stapled to the house."
  Caroline's laughter was sharp. "Actually, that's
exactly what it's like."
  "She's not who we thought, Caro," she said
softly,
  realizing that she'd said the words before, but without
  truly knowing their power. "She's the ...
gatekeeper
  of our memories. Who we are. You should come."
  Caroline paused, drew in a breath. "I'm
afraid."
  Ruby understood. She wouldn't have a week ago,
but
  now she did. "You won't break." She halted,
thinking.
  It was important that she phrase it
well, that she pass
  on something of what she'd learned about this family
  of theirs. "You think you have to hold it all in, and
if
  you let any of it go, you'll shatter into tiny
pieces and
  you won't know who you are. But it doesn't work that
  way. It's more like ... opening your eyes in a
room
  you'd expected to be dark. You can see things, and it
  makes you feel stronger." She laughed. "God,
I sound
  like Obi-Wan on heroin."
  "Jeez, Rube," Caroline said, sniffling a
little. "My
  baby sister has finally grown up."
  "And only a moment before menopause. But then,
  I've always been gifted. Top of my class,
don't forget."
  294 
  "There were ten people in your class."
  "And three of them flunked out. Come on, Caro,
  come up and visit us. Run on the beach with me like
  we used to ... slam tequila and dance with me.
Let's
  see-finally-who we are."
  "RUBY! Can you hear me?"
  It was Mom's voice again. This time she was yelling
  at the top of her lungs.
  Ruby accepted defeat. "I gotta go. I
love you, big
  sis."
  "You sound like the big sister now," Caroline
answered, "and I'm proud of you, Rube. And
jealous.
  God ... Bye."
  Ruby hung up, then hurried downstairs.
"Good
  God, is there a fire in the-"
  She skidded to a stop in the kitchen.
  Dean was standing there, holding a bouquet of
  Shasta daisies wrapped in tinfoil.
  "Oh," Ruby said, feeling heat climb into her
face.
  Mom stood beside the table, grinning. "You have a
  visitor," she said in a perfect
sorority-housemother
  voice.
  Ruby took stock of herself: She hadn't brushed
her
  teeth yet and she was still in her pajamas-an old
Mega-
  death T-shirt and fuzzy pink knee socks.
If she were
  lucky--and she couldn't be--the oak floorboards
  would simply open up and swallow her.
  Dean stepped forward and handed her the flowers.
  "Do you still like daisies?"
  She nodded.
  He closed the gap between them. "We need to
   295
  talk." His voice dropped; its quiet
timbre matched the
  soft pleading in his eyes. "Please."
  The way he said it made her shiver. "Okay."
  They stood there, staring at each other. Finally,
  Mom thumped toward them and gently tugged the
  flowers out of Ruby's hand.
  "I'll put them in water," she said.
  Ruby turned to her. It felt as if she'd just
stumbled
  into a weird Bradys-gone-wild episode.
Then she realized that moms were supposed to say things
like that.
  "Thanks, Mom." Ruby turned
to Dean. "So, where
  are we going?"
  He grinned. "Just wear a bathing suit under your
  clothes. Oh ... and tennis shoes. I'll
meet you outside." He gave her another quick
smile, then kissed
  her mother on the cheek and headed outside.
  Ruby could hear his footsteps crunching through
  the gravel behind the house. She looked at her
mother.
  "Did you organize this?"
  "Of course not."
  "This is not a good idea."
  "Ruby Elizabeth Bridge, you don't have the
sense
  God gave a banana slug. Now get
upstairs and get
  dressed. If you're too damned scared to go out with
  your first love, then try remembering that he used
to
  be your best friend, too."
  She couldn't think of anything brilliant to say,
so
  she left the room. Upstairs, she stood in
front of her
  opened suitcase, staring down at the clothing she'd
  brought.
  A bathing suit. Yeah, right.
  Had she noticed when she packed that everything  
  was black? Or did she always dress this way?
Every
  T-shirt said something--MEGADEATH, UCLA
BRUINS,
  PLANET HOLLYWOOD. Her personal
favorite was a
  white T-shirt with a cartoon drawing of a
plumber
  bent over a broken toilet. His low-slung
pants revealed a huge part of his ass. The punch
line was: Say
  no to crack.
  Hardly the right choice for a visit with your first
  love ...
  Finally, at the very bottom of the suitcase, she
found
  a plain, peach-colored tank top and a pair of
frayed
  cutoffs.
  She didn't bother with socks, just brushed her
teeth,
  slicked her hair back (thank God Mom had
cut it),
  grabbed her sunglasses, and raced back
downstairs.
  Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, doing a
  crossword puzzle and sipping tea as if this were an
ordinary morning. "Have a nice time," she said, not
  looking up.
  "Bye." Ruby went outside. The first thing she
noticed was the sweet scent of the roses and the salty
  tang of the sea. Baking kelp and hot rocks
gave the air
  a faintly scorched, metallic smell.
  She headed down the porch and skipped around to
  the side of the house.
  There stood Dean, just outside the picket fence,
  with a bicycle on either side of him.
  She stopped. "You've obviously confused me with a
  woman who likes to sweat."
  He handed her a bike helmet. It was pink and
had a
  Barbie decal on the forehead. She
crossed her arms.
  "That is definitely not gonna happen."
   297
  He smiled. "Too old to ride a bike,
Rube? Or too
  out of shape?"
  Damn him. He knew she couldn't refuse a
challenge. She grabbed the handlebars and yanked the
  bike around. "I haven't ridden a bike since
. . ." She
  stumbled over the memories. "In a long time."
  His smile faded. He was remembering it, too,
the day
  she'd asked him out for a bike ride ... and
broken his
  heart.
  She stared at him for a minute more, trying to read
  his mind. It was closed to her. "Okay," she said
at last.
  "Lead on."
  He jumped on his bike and pedaled on ahead of
her.
  She wanted to watch him, maybe ride
alongside, but
  frankly, she was terrified that she was going to do a
  face-plant on the gravel driveway and end
up as a
  medical episode on the Discovery channel.
  He turned at the end of the driveway and headed
  uphill.
  Ruby tried to keep up. By the top of the street,
her
  pores had turned into geysers. Her vision was
blurred
  by sweat; she could have been pedaling underwater
  for all she could see.
  And it was hot.
  Really, really hot.
  She would have complained was, in fact, dying to
  complain-but there wasn't enough breath in her
  lungs to form the word stop, let alone, you
asshole.
  Just when she felt her heart start to stutter; they
  turned a corner.
  Levinger Hill.
  They were flying now, racing side by side down the
  298 
  long, two-lane road. Golden pastures
studded with
  apple trees rushed past them.
  Dean leaned back, held his arms out ...
  And Ruby sailed into the past. They were fourteen
  again, that summer they learned to ride without using
  their hands, when every scraped knee was a badge of
  courage ... when they'd whooshed down this very
  hill, arms outflung, together, the radio strapped
to the
  handlebars blaring out Starship's "Nothing's
Gonna
  Stop Us Now."
  The hill slowed down into a long, even S
curve, then
  wound into the entrance of Trout Lake State
Park.
  Ruby should have known he'd bring her here. "No
  fair, Dino," she said softly, wondering if he
even
  heard her.
  He heard. "What's that they say about love and
  war?"
  "Which one is this?"
  "That's up to you. Come on, race you to the park."
  Without waiting for an answer, he pedaled away from
  her, down the long, winding, tree-lined
street.
  It was dark on this road, even on this hot summer
  morning. Shadows fell across the thin layer of
pavement in serrated strips. The air was cold.
  She sped up to Dean, then pulled ahead. She
heard
  him laughing quietly behind her, and she knew they
  were both thinking of the girl she'd been-the one
  who couldn't stand to lose at anything, even a pop-
  corn dare like "race you to the park."
  The road curled around a huge Douglas fir
tree and
  spilled out into the sunshine. Ruby jumped off her
bike
   299
  and set it against the wooden bike rack. There was
no
  need to lock it.
  She heard Dean's bike land against the rack with a
  clatter, but she was already walking toward the lake.
  She had forgotten how beautiful it was here. The
  heart-shaped sapphire-blue lake was surrounded
by
  lush green trees and rimmed in
granite. A ribbon of
  water cascaded over the "giant's lip"-a
flat, jutting
  rock at the top of the cliffs-and splashed onto the
  placid surface of the lake.
  There were children everywhere, locals and tourists,
  playing on the grass, shrieking, swimming along
the
  shore.
  Dean came up beside her. "Are you up for a
climb?"
  She laughed. "I'm an adult now.
Waterfall Trail is
  for mountain goats and kids who are desperate to
  smoke pot or get laid."
  "I can make it," he said, letting the challenge
in his
  words hang there.
  She sighed. "Lead on."
  Side by side, not talking, they walked around to the
  western side of the lake, wound through the horde of
  picnickers, Frisbee-catching dogs, and
screaming chil-
  dren. When they reached the heavy fringe of trees,
  they left the people behind. Gradually, the sound
of
  human voices faded away. The gurgling,
splashing
  sound of falling water grew louder and louder.
  Once again, Ruby was sweating.
  The trail was rocky and narrow. It corkscrewed
  straight up through the trees, salal, and
blackberries
  (which scratched her exposed arms and legs, thank
  you very much).
  300 
  Finally, they reached the top. The giant's lip.
  It was a slab of gray granite as big as a
swimming
  pool and as flat as a quarter. A thick green
moss furred
  the stone; dainty yellow wildflowers grew
impossibly
  from the moss. A stream of water no wider than the
  length of a man's arm flowed across the rock in a
  groove worn long ago, then spilled over the
edge and
  fell twenty feet to the lake below.
  Ruby stepped into the clearing and saw the picnic
  basket. It was sitting on a familiar
red-and-black plaid
  blanket.
  Dean touched her shoulder. "Come on." He led
her
  to the blanket, which he'd carefully spread out on
a
  spot where the moss was several inches thick.
  They sat down. He reached into the basket,
pulled
  out a thermos, and poured two glasses of
lemonade.
  Ruby drank hers greedily. When she was
finished,
  she set the glass aside and leaned back on her
elbows.
  The hot sun beat down on her cheeks. "We
used to
  come up here all the time."
  "This is where you first told me you were going to
  be a comedian."
  "Really?" She smiled. "I don't remember
that."
  "You said you wanted to be famous."
  "I still do. And you wanted to be a prize-winning
  photographer." She didn't look
at him. It was better to
  stay separate and talk about the past, as if they were
  just two old high-school friends who'd bumped
into
  each other. "That's a long way from junior
executive."
  "Yeah . . . but I still wish for it. If I could,
I'd throw
  everything away and start over. Money sure as
hell
  doesn't make you happy."
   301
  It bothered her to think of him as unhappy.
"Spoken
  like a man whose family business is on the
Fortune
  Five Hundred."
  He laughed softly. "Yeah, I guess."
  A quiet settled in between them, and she was
  vaguely afraid of what he would say, so she
said, "I
  saw Eric yesterday."
  him."
  Ruby wishboned her arms behind her head. A
  single, gauzy cloud drifted above the
trees. "I wish I'd
  stayed in better touch with him."
  You?" Dean laughed bitterly. "I'm his brother
and
  I hadn't seen him in years."
  That surprised Ruby. She rolled onto her
side and
  faced Dean, but he didn't look at her. "You
guys were
  always so close."
  "Things change, don't they?"
  "What happened?"
  He stared up at the sky. "I seem to have a
problem
  with really knowing the people I love. I get
blindsided."
  "You're talking about his being gay?"
  Finally, he looked at her. "That's part of what
I'm
  talking about."
  She understood, and knew that it was time. For
  more than ten years, she'd sworn to herself that if she
  ever got the chance with Dean, she would say the
  thing that mattered. "I'm sorry, Dean," she
said. "I
  didn't want to hurt you."
  He rolled onto his side, facing her. "You
didn't want
  to hurt me? Jesus, Ruby, you were my whole
world."
  "I knew that.i just ... couldn't be someone's world
  then."
  302 
  "I tried to take care of you after your mom left,
but
  it was hard. You were constantly picking a fight with
  me. But I kept telling myself it would be okay,
that
  you'd get past it and come back to me. And I
kept
  loving you.
  Ruby didn't know how to explain it to him. How
  could she? She'd only barely begun to understand it
  herself. "You believed in something I didn't. Every
  time I closed my eyes at night, I dreamed
about you
   leaving me. In my nightmares, I
heard your voice, but
  I could never find you. I couldn't stand waiting for you
  to stop loving me. To leave me."
  "What made you so damned sure I would leave
  you?"
  "Come on, Dean ... we were kids, but we
weren't
  stupid. I knew you'd go off to some college I
couldn't
  afford and forget about me."
  Their faces were close together, and if she'd let
her-
  self, she could have lost her way in the blue sea
of his
  eyes. "So, you dumped me before I had a chance
to
  dump you.
  She smiled sadly. "Pretty much. Now,
let's change
  the subject. This is old news, and we both know
it
  doesn't matter anymore. Tell me about your
life. How
  is it to be a jet-setting superbachelor?"
  "What if I said I still love you?"
  Ruby gasped. "Don't say that ... please-"
  He took her face in his hands, gently
forced her to
  look up at him. "Did you stop loving me,
Ruby?"
  She felt the soft exhalation of his breath against her
  lips. A second later, she heard his question.
She
  wanted to say Of course; we were just kids, but when
   303
  she opened her mouth to answer, the only sound she
  made was a quiet sigh that tasted of surrender.
  His lips brushed against her, and it was a sensation
  at once familiar and new. She melted against
him,
  moaning his name as his hand curled around the back
  of her neck.
  It was the kind of kiss they'd never shared before.
  The kind of achingly lonely kiss a pair of
teenagers
  couldn't imagine, the kiss of two adults who'd
been
  alone for too long and knew that God had given
them
  this moment, and that it was a gift too precious
to ignore. And for a few brief,
heart-stopping seconds,
  their past faded like a photograph left in the
hot sun.
  When he drew back, she opened her eyes and
saw
  the missing years drawn in lines on his face.
Sun ...
  time ... heartache ... they had all left
imprints on
  his skin.
  I've waited a long time for a second chance with
  you, Ruby."
  If he said he loved her, she would believe him,
and
  she would love him back. She closed her eyes,
battling
  a wave of helplessness. She wished desperately
to have
  grown up, to have been profoundly changed by all
  that she'd seen and learned in the past days. But it
  wasn't that easy.
  Her fear of abandonment was so deep it had calci-
  ed in her bones. She couldn't get past it.
She'd discov-
  ered a long nmc ago why the poets
called it falling in
  love. It was a plunging, eye-watering descent,
and
  she'd lost her ability to believe that anyone would
  catch her.
  She pushed him away. "I can't do this. It's
too
  304 
  much ... too fast. You've always wanted too much
  from me.
  "Damn it, Ruby," he said, and she heard the
disappointment in his voice. "Have you grown up at
all?"
  "I won't hurt you again," she said.
  He touched her face. "Ah, ... ... . just
looking at
  you hurts me."
  She had never felt so alone. When he'd kissed
her,
  she'd glimpsed a world she'd never imagined. A
world
  where passion was part of love, but not the biggest
  part. Where a kiss from the right man, at the right
  time, could make a grown woman weep. "I can't
give
  you what you want. It's not in me."
  He brushed the hair away from her eyes, let his
fingertips linger at her temple. "You ran me off
when I
  was a boy. I'm not seventeen anymore, and we
both
  know, this thing between us isn't over. I don't think
it
  ever was.



  Chapter Twenty
  Dean followed Ruby back down the trail.
Though they
  didn't talk, the forest was alive with sounds.
Birds
  squawked and chirped in the trees overhead,
squirrels
  chattered, water splashed.
  At the park, he tossed the picnic basket-still
filled
  with a lunch unpacked and uneaten-in the trash can.
  Curling the heavy blanket around his shoulders, he
  climbed tiredly onto his bike.
  When they reached the summer house, he pulled off
  to the side of the road and got off his
bike.
  Ruby stopped a few feet ahead, then set her
kick-
  stand and turned to him, frowning. "I guess this is
  where I say good-bye."
  He heard the crack in her voice and it gave
him
  hope. Ruby could push him away from now until
forever, and he would still know the truth. He could see
  it in her eyes, hear it in her tremulous
voice. He'd felt it
  in her kiss. "For now."
  "It was just a kiss," she said. "Don't turn it
into
  Gone with the Wind."
  306 
  He took a step toward her. "You must have confused
me with one of your Hollywood idiot-boys."
  She wanted to move backward; he could tell.
"Wh--what do you mean?"
  Now he was close enough to touch her, to kiss her;
  but he stood perfectly still. "I know you, Ruby.
You
  can pretend all you want, but that kiss meant
something. Tonight we'll both lie in bed and
think about it."
  Ruby flushed. "You knew a teenager a
decade ago.
  That doesn't mean you know me.
  He smiled. It was so precisely the sort of
thing she
  would have said at sixteen. "You might have built a
  wall around your heart, but you haven't exchanged
it.
  Somewhere, deep inside, you're still the girl I
fell in love
  with." At last he touched her cheek, a
fleeting caress.
  He wanted to do more, to pull her into his arms,
  hold her close and whisper; I love you, but he
knew he
  couldn't push her that far. Not yet.
  "For years after you were gone, I thought I saw
  you," he said quietly. "Every time I rounded a
corner
  or came up to a stoplight or got off an
airplane, I'd
  think for a split second, There she is. I'd
run up to the person, tap her shoulder, and find myself
smiling awkwardly at a stranger. I still
walk on the right side of the
  sidewalk, because you like the left."
  Her mouth trembled. "I'm afraid."
  "The girl I knew wasn't afraid of
anything-"
  "That girl's been gone for years."
  "Isn't there some part of her left?"
  She stood there a long time, staring up at him, then
  finally she turned away.
  He knew she wasn't going to answer.
"Okay," he :
   307
  said with a sigh. "I'll concede this round." He
climbed
  onto his bike and started to go.
  "Wait."
  He stumbled off his bike so fast he almost fell.
It
  clattered to the ground as he spun back to face
her.
  The way she was looking at him reminded him of
  when she was nine years old and she fell out of the
oak
  tree on Finnegans' farm ... or when she was
twelve
  and broke her arm skateboarding down Front
Street.
  She took a step closer and looked up at him.
He
  couldn't be certain, but she looked ready to cry.
"You
  sound so sure."
  He smiled. "You taught me love, Ruby.
Every time
  you held my hand when I was scared, or came to one
  of my ball games or left a note in my
locker, I learned a
  little more about it. Maybe when we were kids, I
took
  that for granted, but I'm not a kid anymore.
I've spent
  a lot of years alone and every date I went on
only
  proved again how special we were."
  "My parents were special," she said slowly.
"You
  and Eric were special."
  "So, your point is, love dies."
  "An ugly, painful death."
  It saddened him, knowing how her heart,
once so
  open and pure, had been trampled by the very people
  who should have protected it. "Okay. Love
hurts. I
  can't deny that. But what about loneliness?"
  "I'm not lonely."
  "Liar."
  She stepped away from him. Without a backward
  look or a wave or anything, she jumped on
her bike
  and rode away.
  308 
  "Go ahead," he called after her. "Run away.
You
  can only go so far."
  Ruby knew her mother would be waiting for her.
  She'd probably be sitting at the kitchen table,
or in the
  rocker on the porch, pretending to be occupied by
  some small task. Maybe knitting; she'd always
loved
  to knit.
  Ruby stopped pedaling. The bike slowed down,
rattling and bumping over the uneven road.
When she
  reached the minivan, she dumped the bike at the
side
  of the gardening shed and headed down to the house.
  The gate creaked loudly at her touch.
  She stepped into the kitchen and found her mother
  at the stove, stirring something in an old iron
pot. She
  was wearing her old apron-the one that said A
  WOMAN'S PLACE IS IN ThE very HOUSE
... AND THE SENATE.
  "Ruby," she said, looking up in surprise.
"I didn't
  expect you back so soon." She glanced at the
door,
  now closed behind Ruby. "Where's Dino?"
  Ruby stood there. God help her, she couldn't
talk.
  The kitchen smelled of pot roast, slow-cooking
all day
  with baby carrots and oven-browned potatoes. A
  cookie sheet sat on the counter. On it,
homemade his
  cults were rising. And unless Ruby missed her
guess,
  that was vanilla custard Mom was stirring.
  She'd made Ruby's all-time favorite
dinner.
  Just then, Ruby didn't know which hurt more-the
  effort her mother had made to please her, or the
fact
  that Dean wasn't here to share it. All she knew
was
  that if she didn't get out of this room soon, she
was
  going to burst into tears.
   309
  "Dean went home," she said.
  A frown darted across her mother's face. She
turned
  off the burner, carefully placed the wooden
spoon
  across the top of the pot, and grabbed her crutches,
  then limped toward Ruby.
Step-thump-step-thump.
  The uneven footsteps matched the beat of
Ruby's
  heart. "What happened?"
  "I don't know. I guess we started something we
  couldn't finish. Or maybe we finished
something we'd
  started a longtime ago." She shrugged and looked
away.
  "This won't be like Max," her mother said.
  "I love Dean," Ruby admitted. "But that's
not
  enough. It wouldn't last, anyway."
  "Love is nothing without faith."
  "I lost that faith a long time ago."
  "Of course you did. And you're right to blame your
  dad and me for it, but that doesn't matter
anymore-
  whose fault it is. What matters is you. Can you
let
  yourself jump without a net? Because that's what love
  is, what faith is. You're looking for a
guarantee, and
  those come with auto parts. Not love."
  "Yeah, right. Love put you in a mental
institution."
  Mom laughed. "I think it makes lunatics of
us all."
  It felt good to talk to her mother this way. As friends.
  It was something Ruby had never even imagined.
  It was true; love made everybody
crazy. All those
  years Ruby had spent angry with her mother, sending
  back presents unopened and refusing all
contact-it
  wasn't because she'd felt betrayed.
  Those years, those feelings and actions, had been
  about ... longing. Simple longing.
  She'd missed her mother so much that the only way
  310
  she'd been able to go on in the world was to pretend
  she was alone.
  I'm not alone anymore.
  That one sentence, once thought, formed a road
  that led Ruby to herself. She didn't say it
aloud. Instinctively, she knew that if she
spoke, her voice would
  be a child's, full of awe and bewilderment. And she
  would cry.
  I can't write the article.
  "I've got to go upstairs," she said suddenly,
seeing
  the surprise on her mother's face. Ruby
didn't care.
  She ran upstairs and went to the phone, dialing
Val's
  number.
  Maudeen answered on the second ring.
"Lightner
  and Associates, may I help you?"
  "Hi, Maudeen," Ruby said, sitting on the
bed,
  drawing her knees up. "It's Ruby
Bridge. Is the Great
  Oz in?"
  Maudeen laughed. "He and Julian went to a
premiere in New York. He'll be back on
Monday, and
  he's calling in for messages."
  "Okay. Tell him I won't be delivering my
article."
  "You mean it's going to be late?"
  "I'm not going to turn it in at all."
  "Oh, my. You'd better give me your address
and
  phone number again. He'll want to talk to you."
  Ruby gave out the information, then hung up. She
  hadn't even realized that she was reaching for her
  writing pad, but there it was, sitting on her
lap. It was
  time now to finish what she'd begun.
Slowly, she
  began to write.
   311
  I have just called my agent. When he calls
back, I
  will tell him that I can't turn in this article. I
never
  thought about what it meant to write an expose' on
  my own mother.
  Can you believe I was so blind? I took the money
  that was given to me-my thirty pieces of silver-
  and I spent it like a teenager would, on a fast car
  and expensive clothes.
  But I didn't think.
  I dreamed. I imagined. I saw myself on
Letterman and Leno, a witty charming guest plugging her
  own skyrocketing career. I never noticed that
I'd be
  standing on my mother's broken back to reach the
  microphone.
  My dreams, as usual, were all about me.
  Now, I see the people around me, and I know
  what the price of my selfish actions will be.
  As I write, I am reminded of that
passage from
  the Bible-the one that is read at every wedding:
  When I was a child, I spake as a child, I
understood as a child, I thought as a child."
  Now, I understand as an adult. Maybe for the
  first time in my life. This article would break my
  mother's heart, and perhaps even worse, her spirit.
  That didn't matter to me a week ago; in
fact, I
  wanted to hurt her then.
  My only excuse: then I was a child.
  I can't do it anymore; not to her and not to me.
  For the first time, I have drawn back the dark curtain of anger and seen the bright day beyond.
  I can be my mother's daughter again.
  Even as I write that Sentence, I feel its
powerful
  312 w
  seduction. I can't totally express
to you-strangers-
  how it feels to be motherless. The ache ... the
  longing.
  She is the keeper of my past. She knows the
secret
  moments that have formed me, and even with all
  that I have done to her, I can feel that still she is able
  to love me.
  Will anyone else ever love me so unconditionally
  I doubt it.
  I can't give that up. Cache' will have to find someone
else to betray Nora Bridge. I am going
home.
  Ruby felt better now. Her decision was down
in
  print, formed and solid in bright blue letters.
  She would not turn in the article.
  In Friday Harbor, the marina was a hive of
activity;
  boats coming in and going out, kids racing along the
  cement docks, nets in hand, boaters bringing
groceries
  down to their moored boats in creaky wooden
carts.
  This town was the center of the American section
  of this archipelago. For more than one hundred
  years, islanders had come to this port for groceries,
  boat repairs, and companionship. The town was
an
  enchanting mix of old, decrepit buildings and
newer
  ones, built with a reverence for the past in mind It 
  was a place where pedestrians and bikers were as liable to be in the middle of Main Street as an
automobile, and the honk of a car horn was almost never
  heard. Like all of the islands, San Juan had
learned
  long ago to depend on the tourist trade. The
downtown area was an eclectic mix of art
galleries, souvenir shops, gift emporiums, and
restaurants-with
  prices that forced the locals to drive off island for
  their daily needs, and encouraged the
Californian
  tourists to buy two of everything.
  Dean walked aimlessly up and down the streets.
  Today had depressed the hell out of him, and he
knew
  it shouldn't have. Nothing had ever been easy with
  Ruby. Love would be the most difficult of
all.
  He came to a camera shop and went inside.
On a
  whim, he bought a kick-ass camera and enough film
  to record the tearing down of the Berlin Wall.
Finally,
  he heard the ferry's horn, and knew it was time
to get
  down to the dock. He jumped on his bike and
raced
  downhill. He was late, so he followed the last
car onto
  the boat.
  On Lopez, he stopped by the grocery store and
  bought a few things, then pedaled home as fast as
he
  could. By the time he reached the house, the sun was
  just beginning to set. In the kitchen, Lottie was
busy
  chopping up vegetables for stir-fry. He gave
her a
  quick wave hello and hurried up to Eric's
room.
  "Hey, bro," Eric said, smiling tiredly,
sitting up.
  "Ilow was your bike ride?"
  Dean went to him. "Guess what I bought?" He
  opened the small blue insulated bag and
withdrew a
  melting Popsicle.
  Eric's eyes widened. "A Rainbow Rocket.
I didn't
  think they still made them."
  Dean unwrapped the soggy white wrapper and
  handed his brother the dripping, multicolored
Popsicle. He had to help Eric hold it-his
hands were
  314 
  weak and unresponsive-but the smile on Eric's
face
  was straight from the old days.
  Eric closed his eyes and made groaning sounds of
  pleasure as he licked the Popsicle. When he
finished,
  he set the gooey stick on the bedside tray and
sighed.
  The bed whirred to a more upright position. "That
  was great," he said, leaning deeper into the pillows.
  He slowly turned his head. "I'd forgotten how
much I
  loved those things."
  "I remembered," Dean said. "I've been
remembering a lot of things lately."
  "Like?"
  "Remember the fort we made inside that dead log
  on Mrs. Nutter's land? When she discovered us,
she
  chased us all the way down her driveway with a
  broom-"
  "Screaming that we were rich-kid hooligans."
  "She threatened to call our parents-"
  "And we told her Mom was in Barbados and the
  call would cost her a fortune." Eric's laughter
faded
  into a hacking cough, then disappeared altogether.
  "There's something else, too," Dean said. He
went
  to his own bedroom, then returned with a comic
book.
  Eric blinked up at him. "My missing
Batman. The
  only issue I ever lost."
  Dean smiled. "You didn't lose it. Your little
brother
  was mad at you one day for not sharing your Wacky
  Wallwalker, and he took your Batman. He
could never
  figure out how to give it back."
  Smiling, Eric took the comic, thumbed through it.
  "I always knew you took it. Shithead."
  "Do you want me to read it to you?"
   315
  Eric set it on his lap. "Ah ... I guess
not. I'm too
  tired. Just talk to me."
  Dean leaned over the bed rail and gazed down at
his
  brother. "I went to see Ruby today."
  Let's just say the door hit me in the ass on
the way
  out."
  Eric laughed. That's our Ruby. Never gives
an
  inch. Did you tell her you loved her?"
  I asked her what she would say if I did."
  Eric rolled his eyes. "How Cary Grant of
you. It's
  hard to sweep a girl off her feet with a line like
that."
  "How would you know?"
  Girl. Boy. It's all the same, kiddo.
Romance. And
  frankly, you'd better get a move
on. I want to be
  around for your happily-ever-after."
  "I know, I know. You're dying."
  Iggamn right, I am. So, when is round two?"
  Dean sighed. "I don't know. I'll need
to stock up on
  defensive weapons. Maybe something will happen
tomorrow, when we all go sailing."
  "You do love her, though?"
  I don't think I ever stopped loving her. I
wanted to,
  I tried to, but she was always in my dreams, the
girl I
  measured every other woman against. But that doesn't
  mean she still loves me. Or that, if she did
love me,
  she'd believe in it."
  Don't let her push you away again."
  it's not that easy. I can't do all the work. I
won't do
  all the work. If she wants a future, she's
gonna have to
  put out a little effort."
  316 Krisn'n Hannah
  "Well, I hope it works out fast. I
wanted to be the
  best man at your wedding."
  "You will be." Dean struggled to keep his voice
  even. Their eyes met, and in his brother's gaze,
he saw
  the sad truth. They both knew it was
dream-spinning,
  this conversation of theirs. Eric would not be putting
  on a tuxedo and standing in shiny shoes beside Dean
  at the altar.
  "I'm glad you came home, Dino. I couldn't
have
  done this without you.
  Home. The simple, complex word found purchase
  in his heart. He'd known it would be hard to stand by
  and watch his brother die, but until this moment, he
  hadn't realized that it would end. This good-bye,
  strung out as it was over the briefest of time
spans,
  was all that was left to them, and Dean would have to
  cling to these memories in the dark days that were
  sure to follow.
  If Ruby did miraculously admit to loving
Dean,
  who would he tell? Who would laugh at
him and say,
  You must have done something to piss God off if He
  chose Ruby as your one true love.
  There were so many things left to say between him
  and Eric, but how--where--did you begin? How
  could you experience a lifetime in a few short
days?
  And what about the things that floated past them,
accidentally unsaid? What if Dean ended up moving
  through a colorless, Eric-less world in which he
couldn't
  think of anything except what should have been said?
  "Don't," Eric said.
  Dean blinked, realizing he'd been silent too
long.
   317
  Tears stung his eyes. He tried to casually
wipe them
  away. "Don't what?"
  "You're imagining the world without me."
  "I don't know how to get through this."
  Eric reached out. His pale, blue-veined hand
covered
  Dean's and pressed firmly. "When I start
feeling overwhelmed, I go back in time
instead of ahead. I remember how we used to play
red rover at Camp
  Or kila. Or how you used to sit cross-legged
in your
  room, with your eyes closed, trying to levitate
your toys
  when Lottie made you clean your room." He
smiled
  tiredly and closed his eyes, and Dean could see that
he
  was losing his brother to sleep once again. "I
remember
  the first time I saw Charlie. He was making a
sandwich
  at the college lunch hangout. Mostly, I just
remember
  what I've had and not what I'm leaving behind."
  Dean's throat was so tight he couldn't answer.
  "The best part is you." Eric's voice was barely
above a
  whisper now. His words were starting to sound garbled,
  as if he were more than half asleep. "Since
you're back,
  I dream again. It's nice ...
  "Dream," Dean said softly, placing his
brother's
  limp hand on top of the blanket, then stroking his
  warm forehead. "Dream of who you would have
  been, and who you were. The bravest, smartest,
best
  brother a kid ever had."
  After dinner, Nora went out to the porch and sat in
  her favorite rocking chair. In this magical
hour, poised
  between day and night, the sky was the soft hue of a
  girl's ballet slipper.
  The screen door squeaked open and banged shut.
"I
  318 
  brought you some tea," Ruby said, stepping into the
  porchlight's glow. "Constant Comment with cream
  and sugar, right?"
  "Thanks," Nora said. "Join me."
  Ruby sat down in the rocker. Leaning back,
she
  crossed her legs at the ankle and rested her
feet on the
  small, frosted glass table beside the love seat.
"I've
  been thinking."
  "There's aspirin in the bathroom cabinet."
  "Very funny. It didn't give me a headache.
It gave
  me ... a heartache."
  Nora turned to her.
  "I think I was easy to leave."
  "Don't say that. You were an innocent victim."
  "I'm tired of that answer." Ruby smiled, but
it was
  a sad, curving of the lips that lasted no time at
all. "I was a bitch to Dean after you left."
  "That's understandable."
  "I know. I had every right to be a bitch. I was
lost
  and in pain. But was he supposed to love me when
I
  wasn't lovable, when I wouldn't let him get
close?
  I expected love from him when I gave none, and
then I
  fucked another guy just to see if Dean would love
me
  no matter what. Big surprise: He
didn't." She leaned
  forward again, rested her forearms on her
thighs, and
  studied Nora. "And I was worse to you. All
those
  years, you sent letters and gifts and left phone
messages. I knew you cared about me. I knew you
were
  sorry, and I was proud of hurting you. I thought it
was
  the least you deserved. So, don't disagree with me
  when I say that I have been the architect of some of
my
  own pain."
   319
  Nora smiled. "We all are. Growing up is
when we
  finally understand that. Remember those strawberry
  hard candies that used to show up in your Easter
  basket every year?"
  "Yes."
  "That's you, Ruby. You've built a hard shell
to protect your soft heart. Only it doesn't
work. I know you
  don't have faith in love, and I know I made you
that
  way, but it's a half life, kiddo.
Maybe you see that now.
  Without love, the loneliness just goes on and on."
  Ruby looked down at her clasped hands. "I
was
  lonely when I lived with Max."
  Of course you were. You didn't love him."
  "I wanted to. Maybe I could have if I'd
let myself."
  "I don't think love is like that. It just ...
strikes.
  Like lightning."
  "And fries you to a crisp."
  And turns your hair white."
  "And stops your heart."
  Nora's smile faded. "You should give Dean a
  chance. Stick around a while longer, see what
happens.
  Unless you need to get back to your career ...
  "What career?" The moment she said it, Ruby
  looked up sharply, as if she hadn't meant
to say that.
  "What do you mean?"
  I'm not funny."
  The words seemed to take something away from
  Ruby; she looked young and vulnerable.
  Nora didn't know how to respond. Did her
daughter want honesty, empathy, or contradiction?
  There was no way to know. All Nora could do was
  speak to the girl she'd once known. That girl, the
  320 
  young Ruby, had been honest to a fault and able to
  look life square in the eye.
  "We both know you are funny. You've always had a
  great sense of humor. But are you funny enough, and
  often enough, to make a living at it? Have you taken
  classes, analyzed people like Robin Williams and
  Richard Pryor and Jerry Seinfeld? Do you
know how
  they make their material sound funny?"
  Ruby looked stunned. "You sound like my agent.
  He's always trying to get me to take classes.
At least,
  he used to. He's kind of given up on me
now.
  "Why didn't you take his advice?"
  "I thought it was about talent." The word seemed
  to make her uncomfortable. She gave Nora a
little half
  smile as if to acknowledge it.
  "Most things take more discipline than
talent."
  Nora studied her daughter. "Is your material
funny?"
  "Most of the time. It's my delivery that sucks.
And
  I'm not comfortable onstage."
  Nora smiled. She couldn't help remembering-
  "Mom? You're spacing out on me.
  "I'm sorry. I heard your act once. One
of my readers
  sent me a tape of it."
  Ruby turned pale. "Really?"
  "I have to admit it hurt like hell. You compared me
  to a rabbit-soft and pretty on the outside, and
Ca- 1
  pable of eating her young." She laughed.
"Anyway, I
  thought your stuff was funny, and I wasn't
surprised
  by that. I always thought you'd be a writer."
  "Really?"
  18Your stories were wonderful. You had a way of
  looking at the world that amazed me."
   321
  Ruby swallowed hard. "I like writing.
I ... think
  I'm good at it. Lately, I've been thinking
about writing
  a book."
  "You should give it a try."
  Ruby bit her lower lip, worrying it, and
Nora
  knew she'd overstepped. "I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to
  suggest-"
  "It's okay, Mom. It's just that I almost did
write
  something, but it was too personal. About us, our
  family. I didn't want to hurt ...
anyone."
  Ruby looked heartbreakingly young and earnest
  right then. "Sometimes people get hurt, Ruby. It's
  never something you should seek out, or do on purpose, but you can't live a life that hurts no
one. If you
  try, you'll end up touching no one."
  "I wouldn't want to hurt you," Ruby said
quietly.
  Before Nora could respond, she heard the sound of
  a car driving up. It parked, and the engine
fell silent. A
  door slammed shut.
  Ruby glanced toward the garden. "Are we
expecting someone?"
  "No."
  Footsteps rattled on gravel. A rusty
gate creaked
  open and clattered shut.
  Someone thumped up the sagging porch steps and
  walked into the light.
 


 Chapter Twenty- one
  Nora stared up at her elder daughter in shock.
"Caroline?" she whispered, setting her tea down
on the
  table beside her.
  "I don't believe it!" Ruby ran across the
porch and
  pulled her sister into a fierce hug.
  Nora drank in the sight of it, her girls,
back together on Summer Island. In the old days,
she would
  have joined them, thrown her arms around both girls
  for a "family hug." But now a lifetime's worth
of poor
  choices left her on the outside,
looking at her own
  daughters through a pane of glass as thick as a
child's
  broken heart.
  Nora got awkwardly to her feet and limped
forward. "Hey, Caro. It's good to see you.
  Caroline drew back from Ruby's embrace.
"Hello,
  Mother." Her smile seemed forced; it wasn't
surprising. Even as a child, she'd been able to smile
when
  her heart was breaking.
  "This is great," Ruby said. "My big sis is
home for
   323
  a slumber party. We haven't done that since
Miranda
  Moore's birthday party."
  In the soft, orange light, Nora studied her
elder
  daughter. Caroline was flawlessly dressed in a
pair of
  creased white linen pants and a rose-colored
silk blouse
  with ruffles that fell around her thin
wrists. Not a strand
  of silvery-blond hair was out of place, not a
fleck of
  mascara marred the pale flesh beneath her eyes.
Nora
  had the feeling it wouldn't dare.
  And yet, in all that perfection, there was a strange
  undercurrent of fragility. As if she were hiding
some
  tiny, hairline crack. Her gray eyes
seemed suffused
  with a silent sadness.
  Nora wondered suddenly what had brought
Caroline
  here. It was unlike her daughter to do anything
spontaneously--she planned her grocery-shopping
days and
  marked them down on a planner. An unannounced
trip
  to the island was startlingly out of character.
  Ruby peered past her sister's shoulder. "Where
are
  the kids?"
  "I left them with Jere's mom for the night." She
  glanced nervously at Nora. "It's just
me. I hope that's
  okay. I know I should have called."
  "Are you kidding? I begged you to come," Ruby
  said, laughing.
  Ruby looped an arm around her sister's narrow
  shoulders. The two women moved into the house,
  their heads tilted together.
  As she limped along behind them, Nora heard
Ruby
  say softly, "Is everything okay at home?" but
Caroline's answer was too hushed to be overheard.
  Nora felt like a third wheel. She stopped at
the
  324 
  kitchen table and cleared her throat. "Maybe I
should
  leave you two alone for a while. You know, for a
51@.-
  terly chat."
  Caro and Ruby were almost to the living room. Together
they turned around.
  It was Ruby who spoke. "That's what got us
into
  this pathetic mess, don't you think?"
  "I just thought-"
  "I know what you thought," Ruby said with a tenderness
that squeezed Nora's heart.
  Caroline moved forward, her left arm clamped
  tightly down on her designer overnight bag,
her heels
  clacking on the hardwood floor. Nora could
see her
  daughter's fear; it was close to the surface now.
  Poor Caro. She actually thought it was
possible-it
  you were careful-to skate on ice too thin to hold
  your weight.
  "So," Caro said, offering a quick smile that didn"
  reach her eyes, "would you like to see the newe
  photos of your grandchildren?"
  "We could start there," Nora said, knowing it
wasn't
  her line. She was supposed to be desperately
thankf
  for even the pretense of normalcy. "But if we
really want to get to know each other, it will take more
  pictures."
  Caroline paled-if that were possible-then went on
  seamlessly. "Good." She unzipped her
bag and took
  out two flat photo albums. "Let's go
sit in the living
  room," she said, already moving. She went to the sofa
  and sat down, her knees pressed demurely
together, her
  fingers splayed on top of the albums on her
lap.
  Ruby rushed over and sat beside her.
   325
  Nora ignored her crutches and hopped on one
foot
  after her daughters. She sat down beside Caroline.
  Caroline glanced down at the album. Her long,
  manicured fingers stroked the tooled leather.
  Nora noticed that those hands, so perfectly cared
  for and heavy with gold and diamond jewelry, were
  trembling.
  Slowly, Caroline opened the book. The first
photograph was an eight-by-ten color shot of
her wedding.
  in it, Caroline stood tall and stiffly erect
(not nearly as
  thin as she was now), sheathed in an
elegant, headed-
  1k off-the-shoulder gown. Jere was beside her,
breath-
  tikingly handsome in a black Prada tuxedo.
  'Sorry," Caro said quickly, "the new photos
are in
  greater-than 'i back." She started to turn the
page.
  Nora boldly laid her hand on top of
Caroline's.
   Vail."
  who gives this woman to be married to this man.
  When the priest had asked that special question, it
had been Rand alone who'd answered. I do.
Nora had
been in the back of the church, doing her best not
to
  It should have been: W'e do; her mother and I.
  ut Nora had given up that precious moment.
  "he had been there for Caroline's wedding, but she
hadn't been there. Caroline had invited her,
placed her
  a close-yet-distant table, one reserved for
special
  guests, but not family. Nora had known
that she was a
  d tail to her daughter on that day, no more or
less important than the floral arrangements.
And Nora, lost
  in the desert of her own guilt, had thanked God
for
  then that. She'd gone through the receiving line and
  kissed her elder daughter's cheek, whispered
"Best
  326 
  wishes," and moved on. There were endless questions
  she hadn't allowed herself to even ask then, but now,
  as she stared at the beautiful photograph of her
daughter, Nora couldn't remain detached.
  Who had acted as Caroline's mother on that day?
  Who had sewn the last-minute beads on Caro's
  dress ... or taken her shopping for
ridiculously expensive lingerie that she would never
wear again ...
  who had held her, one last time, as an unmarried
  young woman and whispered, I love you?
  Nora drew her hand back. She heard the sound
of a
  turning page and forced her eyes open again.
  Ruby laughed, pointing to a shot of the
whole wedding party. "I want you to know, I never
wore that
  dress again."
  "Yeah, and you never came home again, either,"
  Caroline shot back.
  Ruby's smile faded. "I meant to."
  Caroline smiled sadly. "Words that could be our
  family motto."
  She quickly turned another page. "This is our
honey-
  moon. We went to Kauai."
  Nora noticed that Caroline's fingers were
trembling
  again. She kept gently touching the photographs.
  "You look so happy," Nora said softly.
  Caroline turned, and Nora saw the sadness
  stamped on her daughter's face. "We were.
  And Nora knew. "Oh, Car ... ."
  "Enough honeymoon shots," Ruby said loudly.
  "Where are the kids?"
  Caroline turned back to the album, flipped through
   327
  a few more sand- and-surf photographs, and
came to
  a t--p.
  l is one was in a hospital room festooned with
bal-
  l--115 and flower bouquets. Caroline was in
bed,
  w Jring a frilly white nightgown and an
exhausted
  sple. For once, her hair was a mess. She
held a tiny baby
 in her arms; the red-faced infant was
wrapped in a pink
  b nket.
  there, at last, was a genuine smile, the kind that
  shone like sunlight.
  Nora should have seen that smile in person, but she
  hadn't. Oh, she'd visited Caroline in
the hospital, of
  course. She had come, bearing an armload of
expensive gifts. She'd talked to her daughter,
commiserated
  about labor, then commented on how pretty the
baby
  was . . . and then she'd left. Even then,
with the miracle
  of a new generation between them, they hadn't
really
  talked.
  Nora hadn't been there when Caroline realized
how
  terrifying motherhood was. Who had said to her,
It's
  Ok Caro; God made you for this"
  No one.
  Nora clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was
  too late. A small, noise escaped. She
felt the tears burn
  her eyes and streak down her cheek. She tried
to hold
  her breath but it broke into little gasps.
  Mom?" Caroline said, looking at her.
  Nora couldn't meet her daughter's gaze.
"I'm ... ... .
  She meant to add for crying, but the apology
cracked
  in half.
  Caroline was quiet.
  Nora didn't realize that her daughter was crying
  328 
  until a tear splashed onto the album, landed in
a gray
  blotch beside a picture of Jenny in a
bassinet.
  Nora reached out, placed her hand on Caroline's
  cold, still fingers. "I'm so sorry," she
whispered again.
  Caroline bent her head. A curtain of hair
fell forward, hid her face. "That was the day I
missed you
  most." She laughed unevenly. "Jere's mom was
a take-charge kind of gal. She whipped in and
packed me up
  and sent me on my way with a list of instructions."
  Another tear fell. "I remember the first
night. Jenny
  was in a bed beside me. I kept reaching out for her,
  touching her little fingers, stroking her little cheek. I
  dreamed you were standing beside my bed, telling me

  it would be okay, not to be afraid." She turned,
looked
  at Nora through mascara-ruined eyes. "But I
always
  woke up alone."
  Nora swallowed hard. "Oh, Caroline ... "
  "I tried to remember that prayer you used to say
  when I was scared at night. I know it was
stupid, but I
  just kept thinking that everything would be fine if I
  could only remember those words."
  "Starlight, star bright, protect this baby girl
against
  the night."  Nora smiled uncertainly.
"Caro, there
  aren't enough words in this galaxy to say how sorry I
  am for what I did to you and Ruby."
  Caroline leaned toward her and let Nora take
her in
  her arms.
  Nora's heart cracked open like an egg. She
was
  crying so hard she started to hiccup. When Nora
drew
  back, she saw Ruby, sitting on Caroline's
other side.
  Her face was pale, her lips drawn into a thin
line. Only
   329
  her eyes revealed emotion; they were shimmering with
  unshed tears.
  Ruby stood up. "We need to drink."
  Caroline wiped her eyes
self-consciously and
  frowned. "I don't drink."
  "Since when? At the junior prom, you-"
  "It's a dozen lovely memories like that one that
  keep me sober. In college, Jere used
to call me E.d. for
  easy drunk. Two drinks and I start thinking
strip-and-
  go-naked is a perfect game.
  "E.d? E.d.? Oh, this is too good. I'm
twenty-seven
  years old and I haven't gotten drunk with my
sister
  since before it was legal. Tonight we're changing all
  that."
  Nora laughed. "The last time I drank, I
drove into a
  tree."
  "Don't worry--I won't let you drive,"
Ruby
  promised.
  Caroline laughed. "Okay. One drink. One."
  Ruby did a little cha-cha-cha toward the kitchen,
  then threw back her head and said, "Margaritas!"
Before Nora had figured out how to start
another conversation with Caroline, Ruby was back,
dancing into the living room with glasses that could have
doubled as Easter baskets.
  Nora took her drink, then laughed out loud when
  Ruby went to the record player, picked an
album, and
  put it on.
  WeE will ... we will ... rock you blared through the
  old speakers. Ruby had the volume so high the
windows rattled and knickknacks seemed to dance
spasmodically across the mantel.
  330 
  Ruby took a laughing gulp of her drink,
wiped her
  mouth with the back of her hand, and slammed the
  drink down onto the coffee table. Then she
snapped a
  hand toward Caroline. "Come on, Miss
America,
  dance with Hollywood's worst comic."
  Caroline frowned. "That's not true.
  "Dance with me.
  Shaking her head, Caroline grabbed
Ruby's hand
  and let herself be pulled into a twirl.
  Nora cautiously sipped her cocktail and
leaned forward, mesmerized by the interplay between her
daughters. They were standing side by side, both sweaty
  from dancing, and they looked so happy and carefree
  it actually hurt Nora's heart. These were the
adult versions of the girls Nora had borne, the
women she'd
  imagined her daughters would have become if their
  mother had never left.
  The girls danced and drank and laughed together;
  bumping hips and holding hands, until Caroline
held
  up her hands and said breathlessly, "No more,
Ruby.
  I'm getting dizzy."
  "Ha! You're not dizzy enough, that's your
problem," and with that proclamation, she handed her
  sister her margarita. "Bottoms up."
  Caroline wiped the damp hair off her face.
It looked
  for a moment as if she were going to decline.
  "Oh, what the hell." Caroline drank the rest
of her
  margarita without stopping, then held out the empty
  glass. "Another one, please."
  "Yee ha!" Ruby danced into the kitchen and started
  up the blender.
  On the stereo, the next album dropped down,
   331
  clicked on top of the first one. With a whining
screech,
  the arm moved to the beginning and lowered.
  It was an old album by the Eurythmics.
Sweet
  dreams are made of these pulsed through the speakers.
  Caroline stumbled unsteadily to one side and held
  her hand out. "Dance with me, Mom."
  Mom. It was the first time Caroline had called her
  that in years.
  "If I step on your foot, I'll break every
bone."
  Caroline laughed. "Don't worry, I'm
anesthetized."
  The last word came out hopelessly mangled, and
Caroline laughed again. "Drunk," she said sternly,
drunk."
  Nora grabbed her fallen crutch and limped over
to
  Caroline. She slipped one arm around her
daughter's
  tiny (too tiny; frighteningly tiny) waist and used
the
  crutch for support.
  Caroline pressed her hands against Nora's shoulders. Slowly, they began to sway from side
to side.
  "This is the last song they played at the senior
prom.
  I had them play it at my wedding, remember?"
  Nora nodded. She was going to say something
impersonal, but then she noticed the way Caroline
was
  looking at her. "Do you want to talk about it?"
she
  asked gently, tightening her hold on Caro's
fragile
  waist.
  "Talk about what?"
  Nora couldn't help herself. She stopped dancing
  and released Caroline's hand, then touched her
  daughter's cheek. "Your marriage."
  Caroline's beautiful face crumpled. Her
mouth qua-
  vered as she released a heavy sigh. "Oh, Mom
... I
  wouldn't know where to start."
  332 
  "There's no-"
  Ruby spun into the room, singing, "Margaritas for
  the senoras." She saw Nora and Caro standing
there,
  and she stopped in her tracks. "Jesus, I
leave you two
  for five minutes and the waterworks start again."
  Nora shot her a pleading look. "Ruby,
please."
  Ruby frowned. "Ca ro? What is it?"
  Caroline took an unsteady step backward.
She
  looked from Nora to Ruby and back to Nora.
She was
  weeping silently, and it was a heart-wrenching
sight. It
  was the way a woman wept in the middle of a dark
  night with her husband beside her in bed and her children sleeping down the hall.
  "I wasn't going to tell you," Caro said to both
  them in a breathy, broken voice.
  Ruby stepped toward her, hand outstretched.
  "Don't touch me!" Caro said. At the shrill
desperation in her voice, she laughed. "I'll
fall apart if you
  touch me, and I'm so goddamn sick of falling
apart I
  could scream."
  Caroline sank slowly to her knees on the
floor.
  Ruby sat down beside her, and Nora followed
awkwardly, landing on her fallen crutch.
  Caroline took a big gulp of her margarita,
then
  looked up. Her eyes were dry now, but somehow that
  only made her look more wounded. A little girl
looking
  out through a woman's disillusioned eyes, wondering
  how she'd stumbled into such heartache.
  "Are you sleeping?" Nora asked.
  Caroline looked shocked. "No."
  "Eating?"
   333
  "Medications?"
   "o.
  Nora nodded. "Well, that's a good thing." She
held
  Caroline's hand. "Have you and Jere talked about
  this?"
  Caroline shook her head. "I can't tell him.
We're always going in different directions. I
feel like a single
  parent most of the time. And I'm lonely. God,
I'm so
  damned lonely sometimes I can't stand it."
  "You haven't even talked to him about it?" Ruby
  said, leaning toward her sister.
  Caroline turned to her. "You don't know what
it's
  like, Ruby. You can say anything to anyone. It's
  harder for me."
  "Yeah, but-"
  Nora touched Ruby's thigh. "She doesn't
need that
  now, Ruby. There's a time for the real world and
consequences, Caroline knows that. This is a time for
letting her know that whatever happens, we'll always be
  there for her." Nora gazed lovingly at
Caroline. "I know
  what you're going through, believe me.
You're at that
  place where your own life overwhelms you and you
  can't see a way to break free. And you're
suffocating."
  Caroline drew in a gulping, hiccuping breath.
Her
  eyes rounded. "How did you know that?"
  Nora touched her cheek. "I know" was all she
said
  for now. There would be more to come, she knew, but
  now they had to lay all the cards on the table.
"Is Jere
  seeing another woman?"
  Caroline made a desperate, moaning sound.
Tears
  rolled down her cheeks. "Everyone always said
Jere
  was just like Daddy. I guess I should have been
  334 
  afraid." She sniffled and wiped her eyes.
"I'm going to
  leave him, though."
  "Do you love him?" Nora asked gently.
  Caroline went pale. Her lower lip trembled;
  hands in her lap tightened into a bloodless knot.
"So
  much ... "
  Nora's heart felt as if it were breaking. Here
was another legacy of her motherhood: she'd taught
her children that marriages were disposable.
  "Let me tell you what it's like, this decision you
  think you've made," she said to Caroline. "When you
  leave a man you love, you feel like your heart is
splitting in half. You lie in your lonely bed and you
miss
  him, you drink your coffee in the morning and you
  miss him, you get a haircut and all you can think
is
  that no one will notice but you. And you go on with a
  broken heart, you go on." She took a deep,
unsteady
  breath. "But that's not the worst of it. The worst
Is
  what you do to your children. You tell yourself it's
  okay; divorces happen all the time and your children
  will get over it. Maybe that's true if the love
is really
  gone from your marriage. But if you still
love him, and
  you leave him without trying to save your family, you
  will ... break. You don't just cry in the middle
of the
  night, you cry forever, all the time, until your
insides
  are so dry there are no tears left, and then you
learn
  what real pain is."
  Nora knew that what she was saying wasn't true
for
  all marriages, all divorces. But she was
certain that
  Caroline hadn't tried hard enough, not yet, not
if she
  loved Jere. She closed her eyes, trying
to think of Caroline ... but then she was thinking about her
oWn
   335
  life, her own mistakes, and before she knew it,
she was
  talking again. "You walk around and get dressed and
  maybe you even find a career that makes you rich and
  famous. You think that was what you wanted all
  along, but you find out it doesn't
matter. You don't
  know how to feel anymore. You're dead. Somewhere,
  your daughters are growing up without you ... . You
  know that somewhere they're out there, holding someone
else's hand, crying on someone" else's shoulder.
And
  every single day, you live with what you did to them.
  Don't make my mistake," Nora said
fiercely. "Fight.
  Fight for your love and your family. In the end,
it's all
  there is, Caroline. All there is."
  Caroline didn't look up as she whispered,
"What if
  I lose him anyway?"
  "An, Caro," Nora said, stroking her
daughter's
  hair; "what if you find him again?"


  Chapter Twenty-two
  Ruby felt as if someone were pounding a drum
inside
  her head. Though she was exhausted, she couldn't
  sleep. She'd tried turning the light on,
hoping Caroline
  would wake up, but no such luck. Her
sister had obviously lapsed into a tequila coma.
  After their evening of margaritas and tears, she and
  Caro had finally stumbled up to bed. They'd lain in
  the darkness for hours, talking, laughing; sometimes
  they'd even cried. They'd said all the things they'd
  gathered up in the years between then and now, but finally, Caroline had fallen asleep.
  Ruby closed her eyes and pictured Mom as
she'd
  been a few hours earlier ... sitting on the
dirty rag rug
  like a kindergartner; with her casted leg sprawled out
  to the side, a half-finished margarita beside her
thigh.
  In profile, with the firelight haloing her face,
she'd
  looked like an angel carved from the purest ivory.
  She had been talking quietly to Caroline.
  They'd held hands, Mom and Caro, and whispered
  about marriage, about how it wasn't what you
   337
  expected. Their two voices had blended into a
music
  that Ruby couldn't quite comprehend. At first, she'd
  felt left out, a child eavesdropping at
her parents'
  closed bedroom door.
  She had been right there, sitting beside them, and
  yet she'd felt isolated and alone.
Unconnected. Never
  in her life had Ruby felt such an intense
sense of her
  own shortcomings.
  She'd been unable to join in the conversation because she'd
never made a commitment to another human being; she'd never tried to love someone through
  good times and bad. In fact, she'd purposely
chosen
  men she couldn't love. In that way, her heart had
always seemed safe. And always, it had been empty.
  She'd had the realization before, but this time it
  struck deep.
  Caroline and Mom had been talking about love and
  loss, and most of all, commitment; about how love
  was more than an emotion. In the end, Mom had said,
  sometimes love was a choice. Like the tide, it could
  ebb and flow, and there were slack-tide times when a
  woman had nothing to believe in except a
memory,
  nothing to cling to except the choice she'd
made a
  long time ago.
  Mom had looked at Caroline and said softly,
"I let
  the bad times overwhelm me, and I ran. It
wasn't until
  I'd gone too far to turn back that I
remembered how
  much I loved your father; and by then it was too late.
  For all these years, I've been left wondering,
"What if?"
  Whatif?
  Ruby closed her eyes. The darkness pressed in
on
  338 
  her. She heard the whispering of the sea through the
  open window.
  Do you believe in second chances?
  Dean's question came back to her, filled her
longing.
  "I do," she said out loud, hoping that tomorrow,
  when they went sailing, she would find the courage to
  say the same words to Dean.
  Before tonight, it would have seemed impossible to
  expose her heart so openly, so
boldly. To admit she
  wanted to love and be loved. tonight, life seemed
  different.
  As if anything were possible.
  The next morning, Nora woke feeling
refreshed and
  rejuvenated. Almost young again. She thanked GE
  that she'd sipped a single margarita all night.
  She pushed back the coverlet and limped into the
  bathroom. When she was finished with her mom.
  routine, she dressed quickly in a pair of khaki
walk
  shorts and a white linen shirt.
  In the living room, she saw the relics of last
night
  blowout three glasses, each with at least an inc
  5 me green liquid in the bottom; an
ashtray filled
  the cigarettes Caroline had furtively
smoked; a pile of discarded record albums.
  For the first time this summer, the house looked
lived in. This was a mess made by Nora and
  daughters, and she'd waited a lifetime to see it.
  She put a pot of coffee on, then
limped upstairs. The 
  bedroom door was closed. She pushed it open.
  Caroline and Ruby were still sleeping.
  In sleep, they looked young and vulnerable,
   339
  the sight of them, she remembered her own nights in
  this room, nights she'd slept in this bed with her
husband, more often than not with two small, warm
  bodies tucked in between them.
  and  now those babies were women full
grown, sleeping together in the bed that had once held
their parents. Caroline slept curled in a ball, her
body pressed
  close to the mattress's edge. Ruby, on the
other hand,
  lay spread-eagle, her arms and legs flung out
above the
  bedding.
  Nora walked to the bed. Slowly, she reached down
  and caressed Ruby's pink, sleep-lined cheek.
Her skin
  was soft, so so ... .
  Wake up, sleepyheads."
  Ruby groaned and blinked awake, smacking her
  lips together as if she could still taste the last margarita. "Hi, Mom."
  Caro blinked awake beside her; stretching her arms.
  She saw Nora and tried to sit up. Halfway
there, she
  groaned and flopped backward. "Oh, my
God, my
  head is swollen."
  Ruby didn't look a whole lot better; but
at least she
  could sit upright. "Obviously E.d. here should have
  done a little alcohol training before last night."
She
  squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples.
"Do
  we have any aspirin?"
  "Aspirin?" Caroline moaned. "That's an
over-the-
  counter medication. I have prescription-level
pain."
  She scooted slowly to a seated position, and
slumped
  against Ruby. "I'm never listening to you again. Oh,
  shit, I'm gonna puke."
  340 
  Ruby slipped an arm around her sister. "Aim
at
  Mom. She looks way too happy this
morning."
  Ruby's laughter rang out, and Nora felt a
sharp tug
  of nostalgia. My girls, she thought. Suddenly
it seemed
  like only yesterday they'd begged for Disco Barbies
  for Christmas.
  Nora clapped her hands. "Get a move on,
girls.
  We're going sailing today with Dean and Eric-
  remember; Ruby? Lottie has dinner
planned for u
  around seven."
  Caroline turned green. "Sailing?" She
rolled out of
  Ruby's arms and dropped onto the floor; landing
on
  all fours. She crouched there a minute, breathing
shallowly, then she crawled toward the bathroom. At
the  door; she grabbed onto the knob and hauled
herself
  upright. She turned and gave Ruby a pained
smile.
  "First in the shower!"
  "`Shit." Ruby sagged forward, buried her face
in her
  hands. "Don't use all the hot water."
  Nora smiled. "It's like old times around here."
  Ruby angled a look at her; gave her a
pathetical
  sloppy smile. "I don't remember
tequila in grade scho)
  or all of us dancing to "Footloose," singing
at the top
  of our lungs, but--yeah."
  'allyou and Me Against the World," "Nora said,
  her smile fading at the suddenness of the memory.
  was our song.
  "I remember."
  Nora wanted to move toward her, but she remained
still. Last night, Caro had come back to Nora
completely, but even in the midst of their
laughter-a
  sob-fest, Ruby had held herself back.
"Well, I'm going
   341
  to start breakfast and pack us a light lunch.
Dean's
  supposed to bring the boat around eleven." She
  waited for Ruby to say something, but when the si-
  lence stretched out, Nora turned and headed
downstairs, thumping down each step.
  She was halfway down when she heard a car
drive
  up. A quick glance at her watch told her it was
nine-
  thirty. Not dawn, certainly, but pretty early
for the
  local islanders to be visiting.
  Nora tried to hurry down the stairs, but with her
  cast, it was difficult. She felt like
Quasimodo hurrying
  down the bell tower.
  She made it into the kitchen just as a rattling
knock
  struck the front door. She finger-combed her
hair and
  opened the door.
  Standing on her porch was one of the best-looking
  young men she'd ever seen. He had the kind of
beauty
  that made old women long for youth. Though she
  hadn't seen him since the wedding, she'd
recognize her
  son-in-law anywhere.
  Jeremy," she said, smiling.
  They looked surprised. "Nora?"
  I guess it's a shock to realize you have a
mother-in-law." She took a step backward,
motioning for him to
  come inside.
  He smiled tiredly. "Given my other shocks
in the
  past twenty-four hours, that's nothing."
  Nora nodded, unsure of how to respond.
"Caroline
  is upstairs. She's not feeling real well."
  He looked instantly concerned. "Is something
  wrong? Is that why she left?"
  "Tequila. That's what's wrong."
  342 
  He relaxed, even grinned. "So, you
met Ed."
  "It wasn't a pretty sight. Can I get you
a cup of
  coffee?"
  "That would be great. I missed the final ferry last
  night, so I slept in my car on the dock.
My body feels
  like it's been canned."
  Nora went into the kitchen and poured him a cup of
  coffee. "Cream? Sugar?"
  "Yeah, thanks."
  She returned with the coffee, and handed him a cup.
  "Thanks." He glanced toward the stairs. "Is
she
  awake?"
  The look he gave Nora was so utterly
helpless that
  she said, "I'll get her. You wait here."
  "I'm here."
  Nora and Jere both spun around. Caroline
stood in
  the living room. She was wearing the same silk and
  linen clothes from last night, only now they were
  wrinkled beyond recognition. Her hair was a
tangled
  mess. Flecks of caked mascara turned her
eyes into
  twin bruises. "Hi, Jere," she said softly.
"I heard your voice."
  Ruby came stumbling down the stairs and rammed
  into her sister. "Sorry, Caro, I-" She saw
Jeremy and
  stopped. Her laughter dwindled into an
uncomfortable
   silence.
  Jere walked over to Caroline. "Care?"
  The tenderness in his voice told Nora all she
needed
  to know. There might be trouble between Caro aric
  Jere-maybe big trouble-but underneath all that
  there was love, and with love, they had a chance.
  "You shouldn't have come," Caro said, crossing her
   343
  arms. She took a step backward, and Nora
knew her
  daughter was afraid of getting too close to this
man
  she loved so deeply.
  "No," he said softly, "you shouldn't have left.
Not
  without talking to me first. Can you imagine how-"
  His voice cracked. "how I felt when I
got your
  letter?"
  "I thought-"
  "Your letter, Care. All these years and you leave
me
  a letter that says you'll be back when you feel like
it?"
  Caro looked up at him. "I thought you'd be
glad I
  left, and I couldn't stand to see that."
  "You thought." He sighed, ran a hand through his
  hair. "Come home," he whispered. "Mom's
watching
  the kids for the rest of the weekend."
  Caroline smiled. "She'll be bleeding from her
ears
  before tomorrow morning."
  "That's her problem. We need some time alone."
  "Okay." Caroline turned and went upstairs.
She
  came down a minute later with her overnight
bag. She
  enfolded Ruby in a fierce hug,
whispering something
  that Nora couldn't hear; and then both girls
laughed.
  Finally, Caroline walked across the kitchen to
  Nora. "Thanks," she said quietly.
  "Oh, honey, I've waited a lifetime for last
night."
  Caroline's eyes were bright. "I won't miss you
  anymore.
  "No way. You can't get rid of me now. I
love you,
  Caro."
  "And I love you, Mom." Nora pulled her
daughter
  into her arms and held her tightly, then slowly
released her.
  344 
  Jeremy took the overnight bag from his wife, then
  held on to her hand. Together; they left the house.
  Ruby and Nora followed them as far as the porch,
  watching as the gray Mercedes followed the white
  Range Rover out of the driveway.
  "She's gone," Ruby said.
  "She'll be back." Nora stared out at the
beautiful
  blue sky and choppy green sea. It was going
to be a
  great day for sailing; no clouds, a little breeze
shiv-
  ering through the trees, sunlight on the water.
  Ruby sidled up to Nora, stood so close their
shoulders were touching. "I'm sorry, Mom."
  Nora turned. "For what?"
  Ruby looked different somehow. Serious. "For
all the
  presents I sent back and all the years I
stayed away. But
  mostly I'm sorry for being so damned
unforgiving."
  Nora wasn't sure how it happened-who moved
  first-but suddenly they were clinging to each other;
  laughing and crying at the same time.
  At exactly eleven, a boat horn blared.
A loud ah-oo-
  gab, ah-oo-gah. The Wind Lass pulled up
to the dock.
  Ruby glanced down at the water; watching Dean
tie
  the boat down. "They're here." There was
a strand of
  worry in her voice.
  Nora understood. "Are you afraid to see
Dean?"
  Ruby nodded.
  Nora laid a hand against Ruby's cheek. "You
could
  travel the world and you wouldn't find a better man
  than Dean Sloan."
  "He's not the problem. I am."
  "Your whole life has been tangled up with
Dean.
   345
  When someone pinched him, you got a welt in the
  same place. He's a part of you, Ruby, like it
or not.
  Being afraid of him is like being afraid of your own
  arm. Just let go. Have fun. Let yourself remember
the
  good times, not only the bad."
  Ruby looked up at her. "I want that,
Mom. I want it
  so much
  The sailboat honked its horn again.
  "Grab the picnic basket," Nora
said, pointing to
  the pile of supplies on the kitchen table.
  Within minutes, they were headed down the path to
  the beach. Nora moved as fast as her crutches
would
  allow.
  The sailboat was tied down. Dean was on the bow,
  holding the two ropes that held the boat against the
  dock. "Welcome aboard."
  Nora handed her crutches to Ruby and stepped
  carefully onto the boat, trying to ensure that her
cast
  didn't leave a mark on the teak decking. When
her
  balance was steady, she took her crutches and
tossed
  them onto the settee belowdecks. Limping
awkwardly,
  she sidled around the giant silver wheel and sat
down
  beside Eric. A pillow rested behind his stocking-
  capped head and a thick woolen Navajo
blanket covered his body. Although he was smiling, he looked
  terribly pale and weak. The shadows were
purple beneath his eyes. His lips were chapped and
colorless.
  Nora was shocked by his appearance. He looked
so
  much worse than the last time she'd seen him. It
  wasn't Eric; this gaunt, too-fragile man
was a whittled-
  down version of him, perhaps, but when she looked
  into his huge, sad eyes, she saw the spirit that
cancer
  346 Knitin jlannah
  couldn't touch. With exquisite gentleness, she
cuijed
  an arm around him and drew him close.
  He rested his head against her shoulder; hiverii a
  little. "You feel good," he murmured.
  Dean started the engine. Ruby untied the boat and
  jumped aboard; they motored out of the bay, and
  when they passed the tip of the island, Dean rigged the
  mainsail.
  The boat immediately heeled starboard and caught
  a gust of wind, slicing through the water.
  Eric pressed his face into the wind, smiling
brightly.
  Nora tilted her head against his and stared
out at
  the lush, green islands. Ruby was up on the bow
of the
  boat, standing in the wind. Nora didn't have to see
her
  daughter's face to know that she was grinning.
  Dean hurried below decks. When he came back
up,
  Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" blared
through
  the speakers.
  On the bow, Ruby moved her hips to the beat.
Nora
  imagined that she was singing-off key-at the top of
  her lungs.
  There was a pause between songs, and the silence
  seemed endless and perfect, a moment trapped in a
  time that was somehow both then and now: Dean at
  the wheel, Eric and Nora sitting on the aft
deck, Ruby
  poised at the bow, always eager to see where they were
  going.
  Nora felt the hot sun on her cheeks and
heard the
  loose flapping of the ties against the mast.
  "I'm glad you're here," Eric said.
  She smiled at him. "Where else could I be?
You and
  Dean and Ruby ... you're the best parts of my
life. I'll
   347
  always remember my dark-haired boy. Every time I
  turned around, you were there, grinning up at me,
  saying, "What are we gonna do next, Miz
Bridge?" It
  seems like only yesterday you were sitting at my
  kitchen table with your banged-up elbows on the pink
  placemat. God, the time goes so fast ...
  "Too fast." Eric's gaze was steady.
  Nora's throat closed up, but she refused
to let him
  see her cry. Gently, she touched his face.
  Eric turned away; she could tell that he was
collecting himself again, distancing himself from the
  truth they'd dared to touch upon.
  He looked at Ruby, standing on the bow, then at
  Dean. They were the full boat-length apart, each
trying
  not to get caught staring at the other. "You think
  they'll figure it out?"
  "I hope so. They need each other."
  "Take care of him for me," Eric said in a
throaty
  voice, wiping his eyes with the edge of the blanket.
"I
  thought I'd always be there for him ... my baby
  brother."
  You will be."
  Eric laughed and wiped his eyes. "God, we're
out
  sailing and we look like we just watched Brian's
  Song."
  Nora laughed and wiped her eyes.
  A swift breeze rose suddenly, filling the
canvas sail
  with a tharumping noise. The boat keeled over and
  cut through the sun lit, glistening water.
  Dean looked down at his brother. "Do you want
to
  take the wheel?"
  Eric's face lit up. "Oh, yeah."
  348 
  Dean slipped an arm around his brother's frail
body
  and helped him hobble toward the big,
silver wheel.
  Eric took hold; Dean stood behind and beside him,
  resting a hand on his brother's shoulder, to keep
hirr
  steady.
  Wind-tears streaked across Eric's temples, his
thinning hair flapped against the sides of his face, his
T- shirt
  billowed against his sunken chest.
  "Orcas!" Ruby said suddenly, pointing
starboard.
  At first, Nora didn't see anything. She
stood up and
  tented a hand across her eyes.
  She saw the first black fin rise slowly,
slowly
  from the water. Then there were six of them
  moving through the sea like the upended teeth of
  comb, impossibly close together
  "I'm the queen of the world." Eric yelled,
  throwing his arms out. He laughed out loud, and for the first
time in weeks, it was his laughter, not the weak,
  down version that cancer had left him with.
  Nora knew that when she looked back on
  and the ugliness of the past few weeks an
  seemed overwhelming, she would picture
  him standing tall, squinting into the sun, laughing.
  And she would remember her boy. Her



  Chapter Twenty- three
  It was early evening by the time they got back to the
  house. Lottie served them a delicious dinner
of Dun ss crabs, Caesar salad, and French
bread. She'd
  he'd as she set the meal on the table, saying that
  sli hadn't figured too much had changed over the
  years the Sloans and the Bridges loved crab,
but
  too soft hearted to boil one.
  Even though they'd eaten a big lunch on the
boat,
  they'd descended on dinner like Survivor
contestants.
  Eric had even managed to eat a few tender;
buttery
  bites.
  While the girls  washed and dried the dishes,
  Dean had carried Eric up to bed. Finally,
Nora and
  Ruby went upstairs, and they all stood around
Eric's
  bed, talking softly until he fell asleep.
  Now the three of them were back on the Wind
  Lass, headed for Summer Island. The trip,
being undertaken at night, without radar; took twice
the usual
  amount of time. And still Ruby hadn't found the
  courage to hand Dean her heart.
  350 
  All day she'd waited for The Moment, the one when
  she could turn to him and touch his arm and say she
  wasn't afraid anymore. But every time she'd
started for
  him, she'd seized up. The shale of old
habits collected
  beneath her feet and made it dangerous to move.
  There had always been a roadblock between them,
  something Ruby couldn't climb over-a crowd of
  people (okay, so Eric and Mom weren't really a
crowd,
  but when you were eating crow, one extraneous witness
was too many), a set of chores, a whooshing wind.
  So Ruby had waited. And waited.
  She was still waiting when the Wind Lass glided up
  to the Bridges" dock.
  "Get the lines, Ruby," Dean
yelled.
  She grabbed the lines and jumped onto the dock,
  tying the boat down. She was still figure-eighting the
  line around the midship cleat when she saw her
  mother step down onto the dock.
  "Thanks, Dean," she heard her mother say. She
felt,
  rather than saw, Mom turn toward her. "Ruby?
  Honey, I'll need some help up to the house.
The bank
  is slippery."
  Ruby shot a glance to the boat; it was all
shadows
  up close, strips of white and gray that bobbed
up and
  down. She couldn't see a flash of Dean's
blond hair.
  He was probably down below. What if he left
before
  she could get back?
  "Ruby?"
  She dropped the excess coil of line and headed
  toward her mother. Mom turned and waved. "Bye,
  Dean. Thanks for a great day."
  And there he was, standing beside the wheel.
She
   351
  could make out his golden hair and yellow sweater,
  even a flash of white teeth as he smiled, but that
  was all. "Bye," he said in a subdued voice.
  "If you need help leaving--you know, uh, or
something-I could come right back down,"
  Ruby said.
  There was a moment's pause before he answered.
  She wished she could see his face. "I can always
use
  help."
  Ruby felt a rush of relief. She tightened
her hold on
  her mother's shoulders, and together they walked up
  the slightly angled bank and across the lawn.
  At the front door; Mom smiled. "Go
ahead. And
  Ruby?"
  Ruby reached down for the afghan on the rocker
  and slung it around her shoulders. It was getting
chilly
  out here. "Yeah?"
  He loves you."
  That would be a miracle. I've done
everything but
  stare him in the eye."
  Nora grinned. "All love is a miracle.
Now, go to
  him. Don't be afraid. And try not to be your
usual obnoxious self."
  Ruby couldn't help laughing. "Thanks,
Mom."
  As she hurried across the yard, a cloud scudded
  across the sky and revealed a nearly full moon.
It lit up
  the sky, tinged the world in eerie blue.
  At the edge of the bank, Ruby paused, tightening
  the blanket around her shoulders. She knew what
she
  needed to do, but knowing didn't grant her courage.
  She was afraid that she'd taken too long to grow
up
  and had lost her chance.
  352 
  He was standing at the end of the dock, with his
  back to her. She moved soundlessly down the bank
  and stepped onto the dock. Her footsteps were
indistinguishable from the ordinary creaks and moans of
  old wood. "I remember when we used
to jump off of
  that dock at high tide," she said softly.
"Only Wash-
  ington kids would swim in that water."
  He spun around.
  Ruby moved toward him.
  She was afraid suddenly to speak. She wanted
to
  simply put her arms around him and kiss him
until she
  couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't remember
  everything that was between them. But she couldn't
  do it. For once, she had to do the right thing. She owe
  Dean a few words-small, simple words-and she
  couldn't be too cowardly to speak.
  She couldn't turn back now.
  The silence between them felt loaded, dangerous.
Ii
  it, she heard the slap of the waves on the pilings
below
  She closed the last, small space between them an
  took hold of his left hand, caressing his fingers.
Then
  slowly, she drew her hand away. I remember
the first
  time you kissed me. I got so dizzy, I
couldn't breathe
I  was glad we were sitting down, because I would have fallen. But I fell anyway, didn't I?
I fell in love with ny
  best friend. When most kids were planning how
to  sneak out of their parents' house on a Saturday
night  you and I were dreaming about our wedding ... the
  children we would have." She swallowed hard and
  smiled. "When we were fifteen, you said we'd
live in a
  penthouse on Central Park ... that we'd
honeymoon
  in Paris. When we were seven, you promised that
   353
  someday we'd own a boat as big as a ferry, with a
  bathtub in the master stateroom, and that Elvis
would
  sing at our wedding." She gave him a smile.
"The
  dreams of children playing at adulthood. We should
  have known we were in trouble when Elvis died."
  Dean closed his eyes for a moment, only that, and
  she wondered if it hurt him to hear the
old dreams.
  "Yeah," he said woodenly, "we were young."
  "I tried to forget those things we said, but mostly,
I
  tried to forget how it felt when you kissed me,"
she
  said. "I kept telling myself it was a crush ...
that I'd
  grow up and go on and feel that way again. But I
  didn't." She heard the rawness in her voice,
the desperate tenor of hope, and she knew he
heard it, too.
  She was exposed now, vulnerable.
  "You never fell in love again?"
  "How could I ... when I never fell out of love
the
  first time?"
  "Say it."
  She stepped closer and tilted her face up
to his. "I
  love you, Dean Sloan."
  He didn't respond for a heartbeat, just stared
down
  at her. Then he pulled her into his arms and
kissed her
  the way she'd always dreamed of being kissed. And
  suddenly she wanted more. More ...
  She fumbled with his T-shirt, shoved it over his
  head, and let her fingers explore the coarse,
wiry hair
  on his chest. She touched him everywhere, moved her
  hands across the hardness of his shoulders, down the
  small of his back, down into his underwear.
  He yanked the afghan down, letting it puddle
on
  the dock around their feet. With a groan, he
slipped  
  his hands beneath her shirt, scooping it off her; and
  tossed it away. She kicked it aside and
grappled with
  the buttons on her cutoffs.
  Naked, kissing, groping, they knelt on the
blanket,
  smoothed it out, then collapsed on top of it,
laughing
  at the awkwardness of their movements.
  Ruby heard the hiss of paper ripping. She
blinked,
  feeling drugged by the intensity of her desire, and
saw
  that he was opening a small foil packet.
  It stunned her. "You planned this?"
  He gave her a crooked, boyish grin.
"Let's just say I
  prayed for it."
  And he was laughing again, kissing her; and she
  couldn't think. Her body was on fire. His hands
were
  everywhere, her breasts, her nipples, between her
  legs, stroking, rubbing, pulling. His mouth
followed
  the path of his magical fingers, and when he leaned
  over her and took a nipple in his searching mouth,
she
  gave in to sex in a way she never had before. She
relinquished control over her body and let him bring
her to
  the throbbing, desperate edge of pain. Finally, she
  couldn't stand it anymore; her whole body was
  aching, needing ...
  "Please," she moaned beneath his touch, "now ... "
  He flipped onto his back and pulled her on
top of
  him, entering her with a thrust. His hands were on her
  bottom, holding her against his grinding hips,
teaching her to match his movements.
  She threw her head back and closed her eyes.
  He arched forward, capturing her nipple in his
  mouth, and she cried out. Her release was so intense
   355
  she felt as if she were breaking apart. "Oh,
God," she said,
  breathing heavily, feeling his own climax inside
her.
  She collapsed on top of him, buried her
face in his
  sweaty chest.
  He held on to her tightly, as if he
expected her to
  pull away, and stroked her damp back.
  "Oh, my God," she whispered, finally rolling
off of
  him. She remained tucked against him, one leg
thrown
  across his thighs.
  "We should have done that a long time ago."
  "Believe me, it wouldn't have been as good." She
  sighed, flopping back, staring up at the
moonlit sky.
  So simple. It had always been like this between
  them. Just a touch, a gentle brushing of his skin
  against hers, and she'd known a kind of peace that
  could be found nowhere else. She rolled onto her
side
  and stared down at him. "Let's live together."
  He gave her a strange look. "In
Hollywood?"
  "God, no." It was an instinctive answer.
She hadn't
  even thought about it, but as she heard her voice, she
  knew it was true. She didn't want to live
there anymore. "I could live in San
Francisco."
  He laughed. "No, thanks. He reached up,
touched
  her hair. "We've had those lives, Ruby.
I don't know
  about you, but I don't want to go back to anything
  that came before. I want to start over. And I'm not
  going to live with you.
  "Oh." She tried to sound casual, as if he
hadn't just
  stomped on her heart.
  "We're getting married, Ruby Elizabeth.
No more
  excuses or running away or lost time. We
are going to
  get married. My vote is that we move back
here and
  356 
  try like hell to find out what we want to do with the
  rest of our lives. I'm going to give
photography a try;
  it's what I've always wanted to do. Most
importantly,
  we're going to promise to grow old together. And
  we're going to do it. We'll Sit on our own
porch until we're blind and hairless and I can't
remember what
  the hell my own name is. And the last thing you're
  going to feel in this world is me kissing you good
  night."
  "We'll have children," she said, dreaming of it for
  the very first time.
  "At least two, so they'll each have a best friend."
  "And our son. We'll name him Eric ... "
  Ruby would have slept on the dock all night,
wrapped
  in Dean's arms and that old blanket, but he'd
wanted
  to get back to Eric, and so they'd kissed-and
kissed
  and kissed-good-bye.
  Then she helped Dean untie the boat and walked
up
  onto the top of the bank to watch him leave.
Moonlight
  shimmered on all the white surfaces of the boat,
turned
  everything silvery blue. He started the engine; the
boat
  pulled away from the dock. The chug chug-chug of
  the motor broke the silence of the night.
  Moment by moment, he lost coloring. It strtec
  with the tip of the mast; it turned black suddenly,
then
  the rest of the boat followed. In the last slice of
moon
  light, a dark hand lifted, raised, waved
goodhye
  Though Dean couldn't see her, he knew somehow
that
  Ruby was still there, watching him leave
  It was what she'd always done.
  She stood there until the boat disappeared into this
   357
  choppy silver-tipped sea, then turned and went
to the
  house.
  The kitchen light was on, and Mom's bedroom
  door was closed.
  Ruby walked-okay, skipped-over to the closed
  door. There was no doubt in her mind that her mother
  would want to be wakened. After all, it wasn't every
  day your daughter got engaged.
  She was just about to knock when the phone rang.
  She ran for the kitchen and answered the phone on
  the second ring, hoping it wasn't about Eric.
"Hello?"
  "Ruby-where in the goddamn hell have you been?
  I've been calling all night. And what kind of
podunk,
  backwater double-wide house doesn't have an
answering machine?"
  Ruby immediately relaxed. "Val?" She glanced
at
  the clock. It was one in the morning. "Can we have
  this discussion in the morning? I-"
  His voice was muffled. "Yeah, another Stoly
mar-
  tini, babe ... three olives. Sorry,
Ruby. Anyway, what
  is this shit about you not turning in the article?
Tell me
  Maudeen wasn't listening well."
  "Oh, that. I'm not going to deliver, that's all."
  "That's all. That's all? Look comedy
princess, this
  isn't some low-rent vanity-press publisher
we're talking about. This is Cache' magazine.
They've reserved
  the space in the issue, printed the cover-with your
  picture on it, I might add-and leaked the
story." He
  paused; she heard the exhalation of smoke into the
receiver. "And I've gotten some interest in you from the
  networks; NBC wants to talk to you about writing
a
  pilot."
  358 
  "A ... pilot? My own sitcom?" Ruby
felt sick. That
  had always been a pie-in-the-sky dream
of hers. every
  comedian dreamed about her own show.
  "Yeah, your own sitcom. So, no dicking
around
  You're supposed to deliver the article tomorrow.
I  FedExed your plane tickets yesterday.
They're probably
  on your front door now. You're scheduled for
rehearsalurcell on Monday morning."
  "I can't do it, Val." Ruby closed her
eyes. In that
  minute, she could feel the warm imprint of her
mother's
  hand on her head, the gentleness of that touch.
Panic
  rushed through her.
  Val drew in a deep breath, then exhaled
Slowly
  "Christ. I knew you were a pain in the ass, but
I promised them you were professional. I gave them my
  word, Ruby."
  "I am a professional." Even to her own ears the
  voice sounded small. Afraid.
  "Professionals don't take money from nationa
  magazines and then break the contract. Can you pay
  them back?"
  Ruby flinched, thinking of the Porsche in her parking
spot, the designer dress in her closet, the
money
  she gave her dad. "If they'll give me some
time--like, twenty years.
  "It doesn't work that way. The only chance of
getting out of this deal is to pay them back, and even
then
  they have to agree. And baby doll, they won't."
  "You mean they can force me-"
  Val laughed. "Where have you been living
  Potatoville, USA? This is big business.
You can't just
  change your mind. Is it written?"
   359
  She hated the weakness that made her answer.
  "Yes."
  "And the problem is ... "
  Ruby felt like crying. "I like her." She
swallowed
  thickly. "No.I love her."
  Val was quiet for a moment, then he said, "I'm
  sorry, Ruby."
  His concern was harder to take than the yelling. "I
  am, too," she answered dully.
  "You'll be on the plane then, right? I'll have
  Bertram pick you up."
  Ruby hung up the phone in a daze. She
wandered
  out onto the porch, found the FedEx envelope.
Inside,
  there was a first-class ticket and a short itinerary.
They
  were taking her to Spago to celebrate after the taping
  of Sarah Purcell ...
  A week ago that would have thrilled her.
  She walked dully past her mother's door. At
the last
  minute, she stopped, pressed her fingertips to the
wood.
  "I'm sorry," Ruby breathed. But she knew
those
  two little words wouldn't be enough. Not nearly
  enough.
  With a sigh, she turned and went upstairs. She
flopped
  onto the bed and tried to sleep, but she couldn't
keep
  her eyes closed. At last, she flicked on the
light and
  reached for her pad of paper.
  I just got off the phone with my agent.
  The joke is on me, it seems. I can't get
out of this
  deaLike I have to deliver the article as promised
or
  some corporate Mr. Big will sue me until
I bleed.
  And I will lose my mother this woman whom
  360 
  I've waited and longed for all of my life,
whom I've
  alternately  fled and vili fled. Whatever
we could've
  have become will be gone. And this time it will be
  all my fault. The whole world will see the bank-
  ruptcy of my soul.
  I finally learned that life is not made up of
big
  moments and sudden epiphanies, but rather of tiny
  bits of time, some so small they pass
by unnoticed.
  All this I can see now ... and it is too
late.
  Monday, I will appear on The Sarah
Purcell
  Show, and after that, what I see will matter only
to
  me. My mother won't care.
  But I want to say this-for the record, although
  I'm aware it comes too late and at too great
a
  price-I love my mother.
  I love my mother.
  Ruby released her hold on the pen. It rolled
away
  from her, plopped over the edge of the bed and onto
  the floor, where it landed with a little click.
  It was too much, all of this, and on the day she'd
finally believed in a happy-ever-after future for
herself.
  She couldn't write anymore, couldn't think.
  "I love you, Mom," she whispered, staring up
at the
  spidery crack in the ceiling.



  Chapter Twenty-four
  Nora sat at the kitchen table, reading a
fifteen-year-old newspaper that she'd found in the
broom closet
  and sipping a cup of lukewarm coffee. The
front-page
  story was an outraged report that Washington
State
  officials had set off underwater firecrackers
to scare
  away sea lions at the Ballard Locks. The
sea lions were
  eating the salmon and the steelhead. Beside that story
  was a smaller column-complete with
photograph.
  President Reagan's dog had received a
tonsillectomy.
  Mostly, she was waiting for Ruby to come
downstairs. Nora had tried to wait up for her
daughter the
  previous night, but at about twelve-thirty,
she'd given
  up. It had to be a good sign that Ruby hadn't
come
  home early.
  At least, that's what Nora told
herself.
  She was about to turn the page when the phone
  rang. Ignoring the crutches leaning against the
wall,
  she hobbled to the counter and answered. "Hello?"
  "It's me. Dec."
  Nora sagged against the cold, pebbled surface of
  362 
  the refrigerator. "Hi, Dee. What
excellent news do
  you have for me today?"
  "You're not going to like it."
  "That's hardly surprising."
  "I just got off the phone with Tom Adams. He
called
  me at home. On Sunday, to tell me to tell
you that if
  you didn't get those blankety blank columns
on his
  blankety-blank desk by Wednesday morning,
he was
  going to slap a ten million-dollar lawsuit
on you. He
  said the paperwork was already done on it, he was just
  giving you a last chance." She made a
little coughing
  sound. "He said he was going to sue everybody you'd
  ever worked with including me."
  "He can't do that," Nora said, though, of course,
  she had no idea whether or not he could.
  "Are you sure?" Dee sounded scared.
  "I'll talk to Tom myself," Nora answered,
before
  Dee could really get going.
  "Oh, thank God."
  "What else is going on there? Is the brouhaha
dying
  down?"
  "No," and to her credit, Dee sounded miserable
  about it. "Your housekeeper went on Larry King
Live
  last night and said ... terrible things about you.
  "Adele said bad things about me?"
  "A woman named Barb Heinneman said you')
  commissioned an expensive stained-glass window
from
  her and never paid for it. And your hair lady-
  Carla-she said you were a lousy tipper."
  "Oh, for God's sake, what does that have-"
  "The Tattler reported that guy in the
pictures wasn't your first ... affair. They're saying that you and your
   363
  husband had an "open" marriage and you both
slept
  with tons of other people. And sometimes ..." Dee's
  voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You did it
  in groups. Like in that movie, Eyes Wide
Shut. That's
  what they wrote, anyway."
  Nora's head was spinning. Honest to God, a part
of
  her felt like laughing, it was that ridiculous.
Eyes
  Wide Shut? Group sex? For the first time since
this
  whole mess began, she started to get mad.
She'd made
  mistakes-big ones, bad ones-but this ...
  This, she didn't deserve. As she'd heard in a
movie
  once-this shit she wouldn't eat. They were trying to
  make her out to be some kind of whore. "Is that it?
Or
  am I carrying some space alien's mutant child,
too?"
  Dee laughed nervously. "That's mostly it.
  Except ... "
  "Yes?" Nora drew the word out, gave it at
least
  three syllables.
  "There was a thing in Liz Smith's column this
week,
  one of those gossipy hints she loves to make-you
  know the ones. It sorta made it sound as if
someone
  was writing a tell-all story about you. An ugly
one."
  "That's hardly-"
  "It's supposed to be by someone close to you."
  Nora released her breath in a sigh. She
wasn't surprised; she'd expected this, and yet still
it hurt. "I see."
  "And your housekeeper said you ripped up parking
tickets and threw away jury summonses. Some
  guy on the city council said they were going to launch
  an investigation."
  That was it. "Good-bye, Dee," Nora said,
uncertain as to whether her assistant was still
talking or not.
  364 
  She hung up the phone and wrenched the cupboard
  doors open.
  There they were: the cheap, yellow crockery
plates
  she'd bought at a garage sale a lifetime ago.
She picked
  one up, felt the heft of it in her hand. And
hesitated.
  There was no point in making a mess-
  Launch an investigation.
  She wound her arm back and threw the plate. it
  went flying through the air and smacked the wall by
  the arch, shattering.
  Like Eyes Wide Shut ... group sex.
  She threw another one. It hit with a satisfying
  smack.
  Open marriage ... lousy tipper.
  Another plate flew.
  There were bits and pieces of china everywhere
  now; dents in the walls, scratches in the paint.
Nora
  was breathing heavily. And smiling.
  She should have tried this years ago. It
actually
  helped. She reached for another plate.
  Ten-million-dollar lawsuit
  And sent it sailing across the room.
  Just then, Ruby came running downstairs.
"What
  in the he-" She ducked, flung a protective
hand across
  her face. The plate brushed past her head and
hit the
  wall. When the pieces clattered to the floor;
she hesitantly looked up. "Jesus, Mom ... if
you don't like
  the plates, buy a new set."
  Nora sank to her knees on the hard, cold
floor. She
  laughed until tears leaked out of her eyes ...
and then
  she was crying.
  She buried her face in her hands, ashamed to let
her
   365
  daughter see her like this, but she couldn't seem to
  stop ...
  It was too much for her suddenly, all of
it-Eric's
  illness, her career; her ruined reputation.
  She felt lonely, and old. A woman who'd
traded
  everything in her life for a treasured gold coin, and
  found that in a heavy rain, the gold had washed off,
  leaving an ordinary bit of copper in her hand.
  She looked up at Ruby, saw her daughter
through a
  blurry curtain of tears.
  "Mom?" Ruby knelt in front of her. "Are
you
  okay?"
  "Do I look okay?"
  "In that Courtney Love, presurgery,
after-cccert
  sort of way." She reached out, pushed a damp
strand
  of hair out of Nora's eyes. "What
happened?"
  "A lady is suing me for fraudulent advice.
And
  someone close to me-apparently a friend-is writing
  an ugly tell-all about my life.
Oh, and don't be surprised when you hear that your
dad and I engaged in
  group sex." She tried to smile; it was a dismal
failure.
  "But don't you worry, I can get through this.
I've been
  through worse. It's just a mid life tantrum. The
only
  thing that matters is how much I love you."
  Ruby jerked back, let her hand drop into her
lap.
  "Oh, man ..." she whispered.
  Nora climbed awkwardly to her feet and hobbled
  to the kitchen table. She slumped onto a chair;
plopped
  her casted foot on another one.
  It occurred to her then, as she watched her daughter; who still knelt on the floor with her head
bowed,
  that there was no silence more cruel and empty than
  366 
  the one that followed that simple declaration: "I love
  you.
  She'd spent a childhood waiting
to hear those words ,
  from her father; then an eternity waiting to hear them
  from her husband.
  Now, it seemed, she was destined to wait again.
  And she'd thought things were going so well with
  Ruby ...
  "Would you like some coffee?" she said pushing
  the newspaper aside. Her voice was calm and
even, s
  if it were completely ordinary for them to be here
together; amid a smattering of broken yellow china.
  Ruby looked up at her. "Don't."
  Nora saw that her daughter was crying; it confused
  her. "What is it, Rube?"
  "Don't pretend you didn't say it.
Please."
  Nora had no idea how to respond. Ruby
got up,
  turned, and went upstairs.
  Nora heard each footfall on the steps. She
couldn't
  seem to draw a steady breath. What in the world just
  happened?
  Then she heard the steps again; Ruby was
coming
  back downstairs. She walked into the kitchen,
carrying a suitcase in one hand and a tablet of paper
in
  the other.
  Nora's hand flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry.
I thought
  we'd gotten to the point where I could say that to you.
  Ruby dropped the suitcase. It landed with a
thunk
  that shook the thin windowpanes.
  "Ruby, honey . . ." The endearment slipped out
on
  a current of longing and regret.
   367
  "It was never about forgetting or forgiving," Ruby
  said slowly. Tears welled in her dark eyes,
bled down
  her cheeks. "It took me so long to figure that
out. And
now it's too late."
  Nora frowned. "I don't understand-"
  "I love you."
  Ruby's voice was so soft Nora thought
at first she'd
  magined the words, drawn them up from her own
  ubconscious and given them the substance of sound.
  "You love me?" Nora dared to whisper.
  Ruby stood there, a little unsteady. "Just try
... to
  "remember that, okay?"
  "How could I possibly-"
  Ruby slapped a yellow pad of paper on the
kitchen
  table. "I spent all of last night making you a
copy of
  his."
  Nora barely glanced at it; she was too busy
  watching Ruby. "What is it?"
  Ruby backed up, stepped alongside her
suitcase.
  'Read it," she said dully.
  With a little shrug, Nora pulled the table close.
"I
  need my glasses ..." She peered down
at the
  paper squinting.
  In the interest of full disclosure, I must tell
you that
  I was paid to write this article. Paid handsomely, as
  they say in the kind of restaurants where a person
  like me can't afford to order a dinner salad. Enough
  so that I could trade in my beat-up Volkswagen
Bug
  for a slightly less beat-up Porsche.
  I should also tell you that I dislike my mother.
  368 
  No, that's not true. I `dislike the snotty
salesggler
  who works the night shift at my local video
store.
  I hate my mother.
  Nora looked up sharply.
  Ruby was crying now, so hard her cheeks were
  bright pink and her shoulders were trembling. "It's
  article for C-Cache" magazine."
  Nora drew in a sharp, gasping breath. She
knew
  was all in her eyes-the stinging betrayal, the achy
  sadness ... and yes, the anger. "How could you?"
  Ruby clamped a hand over her mouth, grabbed the
  suitcase, and ran out of the house.
  As if from a great, unbreachable distance, nora
  heard the car start up and speed away,
sputter:
  through loose gravel.
  It was quiet once more.
  Nora tried not to look at the yellow pages,
  their scrawled blue words marching across the e
  lines, but she couldn't help herself. Those horn
  hateful words le apt out at her.
  I hate my mother.
  She took a deep, deep breath, then looked
d)
  again. Her hands were shaking as she lifted the
  and began to read.
  The story of us starts a dozen years ago, in a
  few of you have ever seen: the San Juan Islands
in
  Washington State.
  It was only a few sentences later that Nora began to cry.
  * * *
   369
  Ruby made it all the way to the end of the
driveway,
  then she slammed on the brakes.
  She was running away again, but there was nowhere to hide
on this one, no way past except through.
  She'd done a terrible, selfish thing, and she owed
more
  to her mother than an empty house.
  She put the minivan in reverse and backed down
the
  driveway Parking, she walked down the path, through
  the fragrant garden, and out to the edge of the bank.
  he would have gone to sit on her favorite rock,
but
  her mother couldn't get there on crutches.
  She wanted to be seen. When Mom finished the
article, she would undoubtedly head for the porch; it
  was her favorite place. Then she would see her
daughter,
  sitting out on the edge of the property.
  She sat down on the grass. It was a beautiful
summer's day. The islands were an endless mosaic of
  color--blue, blue sky, green forested land,
silver,
  choppy sea.
  She lay back on the grass and closed her
eyes. The
  air smelled sweetly of grass and salt, of
her childhood.
  She knew she would remember this day for the
rest
  of her life, and probably at the oddest
times-when
  was elbow-deep in sudsy water; washing the dinner
  she's. In the shower; with the sweet, citrusy scent
of
  Lier mother's favorite shampoo all around her;
or
  holding the babies she prayed someday to have. At
  times like that, she would remember this moment, and
  all the others that had led up to it. In a very real
way,
  this would be the beginning of her adult life; everything
that grew afterward would be planted in the soil
  If what she and her mother said to each other right here.
  370 
  She wondered if she would ever get over her
shame,
  or if she would carry it with her always, the way
she'd
  once been weighed down by anger.
  Now Ruby would be the one sending gifts across the
  miles, leaving phone messages on machines,
waiting,
  forever waiting, for an answer.
  "Hey, Rube."
  Ruby opened her eyes and saw her mother standing
  beside her. She was leaning awkwardly forward on
  her crutches. The sun haloed her auburn
hair in
  brightness.
  Ruby jackknifed up. "Mom," she whispered,
finding
  that her throat was too tight to say anything more.
  "I'm glad you came back. You can't get
away from
  me so easily on an island, I guess."
  Mom tossed the crutches aside and knelt
slowly
  onto the grass, then sort of fell sideways
into a sitting
  position. She set the article on her lap and
stared
  down at it. The curled edges fluttered in the
soft
  breeze. "I read every word you wrote about me,
and]
  have to admit, it broke my heart."
  Ruby wanted to curl up and die. She considered
how
  far they'd come, she and her mom, the winding, shaded
  road that had taken them from then to now, and she
  ached for what her selfishness had wrought. If not for
  the article, Ruby would be laughing right now,
telling
  her mother about the night before. Maybe they would
  have talked about ridiculous, girly things like wedding
  rings and bridesmaids and flower arrangements.
  "I'm so ashamed," she said. "I knew those words
  would hurt you. In the beginning, that's what I
wanted
  to do."
   371
  "And now?"
  "I would give anything to take it all back."
  Nora smiled sadly. "The truth always hurts,
Ruby.
  It's a law of nature, like gravity." She
glanced out at
  the Sound. "When I read your article, I saw
myself.
  That doesn't seem like much, but I've spent a
lifetime
  running away from who I am and where I came from.
  I never trusted anyone enough to be myself.
When I
  started my advice column, I knew people wouldn't
  like me, so I made up Nora Bridge, a
woman they
  could trust and admire, and then I tried to live
up to
  that creation. But how could I? The mistakes I'd
  made--the woman I really was--kept me on
the outside all the time, looking in at my own
life." She
  looked at Ruby again. "But I trusted you."
  Ruby squeezed her eyes shut. "I know."
  "I was right to trust you, Ruby. I knew it when
I finished reading. You listened and you wrote, and when
  it was over you'd revealed me. From the girl who
hid
  under the stairs, to the woman who hid behind the
  metal bars of a mental institution, to the woman
who
  stood behind a microphone." She smiled. "To this
woman,
  who isn't hiding now. You made me see me."
  "I know I gave away all your secrets, but
I'm not
  going to publish the article. I won't
do that to you.
  "Oh, yes you are."
  Ruby wasn't surprised that her mother didn't
believe
  her. "I'm making you a promise. I won't
deliver it."
  Nora leaned forward, took Ruby's hands in
hers,
  and held them tightly. "I want you to publish this
article. It's a beautiful, powerful portrait of
who we are,
  and it shows who we can be, both of us. It shows how
  372 
  love can go wrong, and how it can find its way
back to
  the beginning if you believe in it. What you wrote
...
  it isn't a betrayal, Ruby. Maybe it
started Out that way,
  but why shouldn't it have? We had a long, long road
  to walk. And at the end of it, what I saw was how
  much you love me.
  Ruby swallowed hard. "I do love you, Mom.
And
  I'm so sor-"
  "Sshh, no more of that. We're family.
We're going
  to trample all over each other's feelings now and
  again. That's the way it's supposed to be."
Nora's eyes
  were bright with unshed tears. "And now, we're going
  to go inside and call your agent. I'm appearing
on
  Sarah Purcell with you."
  "No way. They'll eat you alive.
  "Let "em. I'll be holding my daughter's
hand for
  strength. They can't hurt me any more, Ruby.
And 'm
  itching to fight back."
  Ruby stared at her mother in awe. She was doing it
  again, changing before Ruby's eyes. She had a
sudden
  glimpse of yet another woman altogether. "You're
  amazing."
  Nora laughed. "It took you long enough
to notice."
 


 Chapter Twenty-five
  I had my fifteen minutes of fame, and
amazingly,
  when the clock struck the quarter hour, I was still
  famous. My mother and I had become, it seems,
  symbols that the world wasn't on such a fast and
  ugly track, after all. It makes sense, when
you think
  about it. We live in a time when the evening news
is
  laden with one depressing story after another.
  Sadly, none of it surprises us anymore.
We sit in
  our living rooms, on our plush sofas that a
decade's
  affluence has allowed us to purchase, and we shake
  our heads at the stories. Sometimes-boldly-we
  turn off the news or change the channeL What
we
  rarely do is a.  why. Who has
declared that murder
  is more news worthy than the heartwarming story
  ofan elderly woman who delivers
Meals-on-Wheels
  to local AIDS sufferers?
  But, as Dennis Miller says, I'm off on a
ranLike It's
  just that I have seen firsthand that celebrity is
not
  the utopia I'd imagined, and it has made me
question my interpretations of the world around me.
  374 
  Famous people have more money ... and less
  freedom; they have more choices. . and less honesty. Everything is a trade-off. And when we
let the
  media choose our heroes for us, we are lost
already.
  What Mom and I discovered was that we are not
  as isolated-any of us-as we believe. People want
  good news as well as bad, and they loved the story
  of my redemption. Girl hates mother ... girl
learns
  to love mother ... girl gives up career to keep
from
  breaking her mother's heart.
  People loved it. They loved me.
  But most of all, they loved my mother. They
  heard the story of her whole life, laid Out before
  them like a novel, and they cheered at what she had
  overcome. She became something more than a
  celebrity ... she became one of them. An
ordinary
  woman, and surprisingly, it made her more famous
  and more beloved.
  I listen to her on the radio now, and I hear the
responses. Every now and then she gets an angry
  caller, who labels her a hypocrite and a
loser for
  abandoning her children.
  The old Nora Bridge, I think, would have
fallen
  apart at such a personal and accurate attack.
No
  more. Now, she listens and agrees, and then goes
  on, talking about the gift of mistakes and the
  miracle of family. She hopes that people will learn
  from her bad choices. And she wraps that spell
  around them, the one only she can spin, and by the
  end of the show, her listeners are reaching for tissues
and thinking about how to find their way back
  UMMER I LAND 375
  to their own families. The smart ones are reaching
  for the telephone.
  There's no substitute for talking to the people
  you love. Thinking about them, dreaming about
  them, wishing things were different ... all of these
  are the beginning. But someone has to make the
  first move.
  I guess that's one of the things I learned this
  summer but it's not the most important; it's not the
  thing I will hold close and pass on to my own
  daughter when the time is right. The truths I gathered on Summer Island were so easy; they were
  lying right there on the grass. I should have tripped
  over them. I would have, if only I Would have  opened my
eyes.
  As mothers and daughters, we are connected
  with one another. My mother is in the bones of my
  spine, keeping me straight and true. She is in
my
  blood, making sure it runs rich and strong.
She is in
  the beating of my heart.
  I cannot now imagine a life without her.
  I know how precious time is. I learned this from
  my friend, Eric. Sometimes, when I close my
eyes, I
  see him as he once was, laughing, standing at the
  bow of his sailboat, looking forward to the rest of
  his life. I hear his voice in the wind, I
feel his touch
  in the rain, and I remember ...
  Life is short. And I know that when Eric
loses his
  battle with cancer I will find the missing of him
unbearable. I will reach for the phone then and call my
  mother, and her voice will bring me back to myself
  A daughter without her mother is a woman
  376 
  broken. It is a loss that turns to arthritis and
settles
  deep in her bones. This I know now.
  I left Los Angeles as a hard, bitter
cynical young
  woman with a huge chip on her shoulder. On
Summer Island, I became complete. And it was
all so
  easy. I see that now.
  I went in search of my mother's life, and found
  my own.
  "Do you think they'll be coming home soon?"
  Dean didn't need to ask who Eric was talking
  about. In the three days since Nora and Ruby
had left,
  he and Eric had speculated endlessly about their
return. Dean knew that Eric often forgot their
conversations on the subject. Sometimes, they would end
one
  discussion and moments later Eric would ask the
familiar question again. Do you think they'll be coming
  home soon?
  "They'll be here any day," Dean answered.
Although he always answered similarly, he wasn't so
  sure, and the uncertainty was killing him. It was
Nora
  who called every night to talk to Eric; Ruby was
always off somewhere, doing publicity or "taking a
  meeting." She'd talked to them only once, and
although she'd said all the right words to Dean, he'd
felt
  a distance ssoming between them.
  She was famous now. It was what she'd always
  wanted, even as a little girl; she'd dreamed of
being
  loved by strangers. He couldn't blame her for
enjoying every minute of her newfound celebrity, and he
  couldn't help wondering if there would still be a place
  in her life for him.
   377
  Eric coughed.
  Dean turned away from the window. For a
split
  second, the sight of his brother shocked him. The
past
  few days had been like that. Eric's decline had
come so
  suddenly that sometimes, from moment to moment,
  Dean was caught off guard. Eric was so hollow,
so
  shrunken; smiles were becoming rare. He seemed
exhausted by the simple act of breathing, and the medi-
  cations didn't stave off the pain for long.
  "Can we go outside?" Eric asked. "I can see
what a
  beautiful day it is."
  "Sure." Dean ran outside and prepared
everything.
  He set up a wooden lounge chair in the shade
of an old
  madrona tree, placed it so that his brother could
see
  all the way to the beach. Then he went back
upstairs
  and bundled Eric in heavy blankets and carried
him
  outside.
  It was like carrying a small child; he weighed nothing
at all.
  Dean gently placed his brother on the chair.
Eric
  settled back, sinking into the mound of pillows.
He
  closed his eyes. "Man, that sun feels good on
my
  face."
  Dean looked at his brother; whose face was tilted
up
  to catch the sunlight. What he saw wasn't a
thin, balding young man huddled in a multicolored
blanket ...
  what he saw was courage, distilled to its purest
essence.
  "I'll be right back." He ran into the house and
got
  his camera, loaded it with black-and-white film,
and
  hurried back out into the yard. He started snapping
  pictures.
  Eric's eyes fluttered open. It took him a
minute to
  378 
  focus, a few more to comprehend the silvery box
Dean
  was using. Finally, he gasped and held up a
weak,
  spotted hand. "Oh, God, Dino ... no
photos. I look
  like shit on a lounge chair." He turned his
head away.
  Dean eased the camera from his eye and went to his
  brother, kneeling down. "Come on, you put Tom
  Cruise to shame."
  Eric turned to him. "I used to be a fine
specimen of a
  man," he said, smiling crookedly. "And you
wait until
  I look like something out of Alien to take my
picture."
  Dean stroked his brother's damp forehead. He
  could tell that Eric was tiring already. "I missed
those
  years, pal. I don't want to miss these.
I'll need.
  pictures of you."
  Eric groaned. "Shit." He brought a hand up,
  rubbed his eyes.
  "You know what I see when I look through this
  lens? I see a hero."
  Slowly Eric opened his eyes and smiled. "I'm
ready
  for my close-up, Mr. DeMille."
  Dean finished the roll of film, then tossed the
  camera onto the picnic table, and lay down in the
  grass beside his brother.
  "Do you think they'll be home soon?"
  "Any day now." Dean rolled onto his side and
  looked up at his brother. "Ruby's famous
now. Remember we saw her on Entertainment Tonight
yesterday? It's what she always wanted."
  "Yeah, well, I used to want to be an
astronaut.
  Then I took a ride on some vomit comet at
the state
  fair."
  "I think Ruby needed to be famous."
   379
  Eric scooted onto his side, groaning a little
at the
  movement. He stared down at Dean. "You think
fame
  is what she wanted?"
  "I've seen the media up close. I dated a
super model
  a few years back. It can be a pretty wild
thing, everybody loving you."
  "That's not love."
  "Yeah," Dean said, but he didn't feel the
truth of it
  in his bones.
  "I know what love is, pal. She'll come
back to you,
  and if she doesn't, she's too stupid
to live."
  Dean came up to a sit. This was the one subject
  they'd steered clear of, the thing Dean had never been
  able to ask and Eric had been too cautious
to mention.
  But it had always been between them. At first, it had
  been the size of a boulder; now, it was a pebble.
But always, it was there, nagging, waiting to be released.
  "What was it like between you and Charlie?"
  Eric made a little sound of surprise. "You
sure you
  want to go there?"
  "Yeah."
  A slow, heartbreakingly earnest smile
transformed
  Eric's face, made him look almost young again.
"I
  looked at Charlie and saw my future." He
grinned.
  Not that this seemed like a good thing at the time,
  mind you. I mean, I knew I was supposed
to see my future on a body that held a uterus.
I didn't want to be
  gay. I knew how hard it would be ... that it would
  mean giving up the American Dream--kids, a
house
  in the suburbs, my own family. It tore me
up inside."
  Dean had never thought about that, about what it
  really meant to be gay. To have to choose between
  380 
  who you were and who the world thought you should
  be. "Jesus ... I'm sorry."
  "I wanted to talk to you about it, but you were sixteen
years old. And I was afraid you'd hate me. So
I
  kept silent. Finally, what I felt for
Charlie was more important than everything else. I
loved him so much
  and when he died, a huge part of me went with him.
I
  wouldn't have made it without Nora. She was always
  there with me ..." He closed his eyes. His
breathing
  made a fluttering sound. Then suddenly he woke
up,
  angled forward. "Where did I leave my
eraser?"
  Dean touched his brother's forearm. "It's on the
  kitchen table. I'll bring it to you.
  "Oh." Eric immediately calmed down and sank
  back into the pillows. "Do you think they'll be here
  soon?"
  Dean stroked Eric's forehead. Any day now.
  When he heard his brother's breathing even out into
  sleep, Dean lay back in the grass and closed
his own
  eyes. The hot sun felt good on his face, and
if he tried
  really hard, he could almost pretend that this was an
  ordinary summer's day from long ago. That he and
  Eric were exhausted, sleeping on the beach after a
day
  spent swimming in the cove ...
  He woke when a car drove up. "Hey,
Lottie," he
  called out, waving sleepily. He didn't
bother to get up.
  It felt so good to lie here with his eyes closed.
  "Is that any way to greet your newly famous,
still
  ringless fiancee?"
  Dean's eyes snapped open. Ruby was standing
  beside him, arms akimbo, blocking out the sun's
rays.
  He scrambled to his feet and swept her into his
   381
  arms, giving her the kisses he'd been counting
since
  she left.
  She drew back, laughing. "Jeez, I'm going
to have
  to make a point to leave lots in our marriage.
Coming
  home is great." Taking his hand, she bent down
to
  Eric, who was still sleeping. "Hey, Eric," she
said
  softly.
  Eric blinked up at her. "Hi Sally."
  She frowned at Dean.
  "He's getting pretty bad," he whispered.
"Keeps
  forgetting where he is.
  Ruby sagged against him. Dean anchored her in
  place with an arm around her waist. 'We watched
  you and Nora on The Sarah Purcell Show. You
were
  great."
  Ruby grinned. "It was fun. In a reporters-
  following-you-into-the-bathroom-stall sort of
way.
  Being famous is harsh. I turned down the
sitcom
  offers."
  "Really?"
  "I took a book deal. A novel this time. I
figured it
  was something I could do up here."
  "Hey, guys!" Nora shouted, waving. She
came beside them, limping on her brand-new walking
cast.
  She touched Dean's shoulder. "How's Eric?"
  Dean shook his head, mouthed Not good.
  Eric's eyes opened again, focused. "Nora?
Is that
  you?"
  She knelt beside him. If she was shocked by how
  bad he looked, she showed no signs of it.
"I'm here,
  Eric." She held his hand. "I'm here."
  382 
  "I knew you'd be here any minute. Have you seen
  my eraser? I think Sally hid it."
  "No, honey, I haven't seen it." Her
voice was throaty.
  "But do you know what day it is?"
  Eric looked at her. "Monday?"
  "It's the Fourth of July."
  "Are we gonna have our party?"
  "Of course."
  "With sparklers?" He smiled sleepily.
  "You go ahead and sleep for a minute. I'll get
your
  brother to start the barbecue."
  "Dean's shitty at barbecuing. He drops
everything
  onto the coals. You always let me cook the
fish."
  She stroked his forehead. "I know. Maybe you
  could supervise."
  "Yeah." He grinned up at Dean. "Just take
the meat
  off before it bursts into flames."
  Nora leaned forward and kissed Eric's cheek.
By the
  time she got to her feet, he was asleep again.
When she
  turned around, Dean saw the moisture in her
eyes. He
  reached for her hand, held it. The three of them
stood
  there, holding hands in the middle of the yard for a
  long, long time. No one spoke.
  Finally, Ruby said, "Let's get this party
rolling."
  Dean gave Nora a last, heartfelt look.
"Thanks," he
  said softly. June hadn't yet rounded the bend
into July,
  but this party was exactly what Eric needed.
  While Nora and Ruby set the groceries and
supplies
  out on the picnic table, Dean went
upstairs and turned
  on the stereo. Music had always been a big part
of
  their celebrations. He stuck the old-fashioned
black
  speakers in the open window, pointing them toward
   383
  the yard. Then he found the local golden-oldies
station (none of them needed to be reminded now of the
  passing of time), and cranked the volume. For this
one
  night, he would do his best to turn the clock
back a
  dozen years.
  As if in answer, the first song to blare through the
  speakers was Dire Straits" "Money for
Nothing."
  By the time he got back outside, Nora and
Ruby
  had everything ready. The corn on the cob had been
  shucked and wrapped in tinfoil; the store-bought
  macaroni salad was in a pottery bowl and ready
to be
  served; and the salmon was seasoned and layered in
  slices of Walla Walla Sweet
onions and lemons.
  The music changed. Now it was "Crazy for You
  by Madonna ...
  Dean looped an arm around Ruby's shoulder and
  drew her close. They moved in time to the music.
  "God, this brings back memories."
  She pulled him away from the picnic table.
"Dance
  with me."
  He took her in his arms and danced back in time.
If
  he'd closed his eyes, he would have seen the high-
  school gymnasium, decorated in glitter and
tinfoil and
  tissue paper. He would have seen Ruby, wearing
an
  ice-blue polyester dress with braided
spaghetti straps,
  with her long hair flowing down her back.
  Only he didn't close his eyes, didn't
look back.
  From now on, he only wanted to look ahead.
  When the music changed again, to Shaun
Cassidy's
  "Da Do Ron," Nora limped out and
started dancing
  with them. On the lounge chair, Eric was doing his
  best to clap along to the song.
  384 
  They spent the rest of the day laughing, it seemed.
  They talked, they reminisced about the old days and
  spun dreams about the days to come. They ate dinner
  off paper plates balanced on their laps. Eric
even managed a few bites of salmon. And when the
darkness finally came to their party, they lit up the sparklers
and
  shot off the fireworks.
  Ruby stood at the bank, with her back to the
Sound,
  and wrote RUBY LOVES DEAN in glittering
white bursts
  of light. Beside her, Nora wrote I LOVE
MY GIRLS and
   FOREVER. They were both grinning
as
  they waved at Dean and Eric.
  Eric turned his head. When their gazes met,
Dean
  felt a clutch of fear. His brother looked
hopelessly old
  and tired. "I love you, baby brother."
  The world spiraled down to the two of them, sitting
  in this darkened yard. A silence swept in,
snuffing out
  the music and the sound of the women's laughter. The
  4 sudden quiet felt endless, dark, and
dangerous.
  "I love you, too, Eric."
  "No funeral. I want you guys to have a party,
something like this, like the old days. Then throw my ashes
  off the Wind Lass. Maybe under the bridge at
Deception Pass."
  Dean couldn't imagine that, standing on the boat,
  watching gray ashes float on the surface of the
choppy
  green sea, thinking about a pair of blue eyes that
  would never look at him again ...
  Eric's breathing grew labored. He closed his
eyes. "I
  can't find the practice roster."
  "I'll get it for you."
   385
  Eric opened his eyes. He didn't
seem able to focus.
  "Get Mom, would you? I need to talk to her."
  Dean froze.
  "She's here, isn't she?"
  Dean nodded quickly, wiping the tears from his
  eyes. "Of course she's here."
  Eric smiled and leaned back into the pillows. "I
  knew she'd come."
  "I'll go get her." It seemed to take Dean
an hour to
  cross the small patch of lawn. As he
walked, the
  sounds came back to him-the music, the laughter,
  the waves on the beach. "That's What Friends Are
  For" was playing on the radio.
  "Come on, Dino." Ruby laughed, reaching for
him.
  "You haven't written my name yet."
  Dean couldn't hold out his hand. He felt as if
he
  were unraveling, and the slightest movement could
  ruin him. "He's asking for Mom."
  Nora immediately covered her mouth with her
  hand. A small gasp escaped anyway.
  Ruby dropped her sparkler. It shot
sparks up from the
  grass, and she carefully stomped it out with her
foot.
  In utter silence, the three of them walked toward
  Eric. Dean could hear everything now, down to the
  crushing of the grass beneath their shoes.
  Ruby was the first to kneel beside Eric. She stared
  down at him, and Dean could see the tears in her
eyes.
  Eric smiled up at her. "You're unclenched
... "
  Dean frowned at the garbled words; amazingly,
  Ruby seemed to understand. "I am," she said
softly,
  leaning down to kiss his cheek.
  "You take care of my brother."
  386 
  "I will."
  Eric sighed and closed his eyes again. Dean moved
  in close to Ruby, took her hand and squeezed
it.
  "'Oh, God"" she whispered, and he knew
she
  was wondering how she would possibly get past this.
How
  would any of them?
  Eric fell asleep for a few minutes, then
opened his
  eyes, blinking hard. "Mom?" He looked
around. There
  was an edge of panic to his voice. "Mom?"
  Dean clung to Ruby's hand. The feel of her was
a
  lifeline, the only thing that kept him steady.
  Nora lowered herself to the chair, sitting on the
  edge beside him. "I'm here, honey. I'm right
here."
  Eric stared up at her, his eyes glassy and
unfocused.
  "Dino came home ... to me. I knew you would,
too.
  I knew you wouldn't stay away. Where's Dad?"
  Nora stroked his forehead. "Of course I came
  home. I'm sorry it took me so long."
  Eric let out a long, slow sigh. Then he
smiled, an
  for a split second, his eyes were clear. "Take
care
  of Dino for me. He's going to need you now.
  Nora swallowed hard. "Your dad and
I will watch
  over him," she said in a throaty voice.
  "Thanks ... Nora. You were always my mom
  Eric smiled and closed his eyes. A moment
later,
  he whispered Charlie, is that you?
  And he was gone.
  Epilogue
  DECEMBER
  The chapel on Summer Island was a narrow,
pitch-roofed, clapboard building set on the crest
of a small
  rise. Even now, in the middle of a cold, gray
winter;
  the building was cloaked in glossy green ivy.
Ropey
  brown clematis vines framed the double doors;
in a
  few short months, they would again produce a
riot of
  green leaves and purple blossoms.
  "I still can't believe you wouldn't let me fill the
  church with flowers."
  Ruby laughed at her mother. They were standing in
  the tiny gravel parking lot adjacent
to the church,
  waiting for the ferry to dock.
  "Thank you, Martha Stewart, for that wedding-
  fashion update. This is exactly how we
wanted it.
  There's only one decoration that matters to me."
  "It's the dead of winter. You know there's no heat
in
  the chapel." Nora crossed her arms. Her
elegant green
  St. John knit suit set off the flawless
ivory of her skin.
  There wasn't a breath of wind to upset her
carefully
  388 
  arranged hair. Unfortunately, it was about
thirty
  degrees out here--unusually cold for Christmas
week.
  To her credit, Nora tried to smile. "I
wanted to plan
  this day for you. Make it perfect in every way.
  Ruby's smile was soft and understanding. "
o,
  Mom. You wanted to plan it for you.
  "And that's my right, damn it." A quick smile
tugged
  at her mouth. "Maybe Jenny will do it right?"
  "That's a fight I'd pay to see--you and
Caroline
  battling for control over Jenny's big day.
You'd probably settle on a small service
at the Vatican."
  Nora laughed and moved closer. "I love you,
Ruby,"
  she said softly, then, "Oh, damn, I'm crying
already."
  Ruby started to say something, but the ferry honked
  its horn.
  Within minutes, three cars drove up, parked
side
  by side. The doors opened, and the rest of the gang
  appeared.
  Caroline, looking as cool and elegant as a
water
  flower; was in pale ice-blue silk. Beside her;
Jere brought
  up the kids. They all belonged in a Ralph
Lauren ad.
  Caroline hugged Ruby fiercely, then
drew back. Her
  eyes were full of tears as she smiled. "My
baby sister
  in-" She frowned. "What are you wearing?"
  Ruby posed. What had once been her dress
of shame
  had become her wedding gown. "Isn't it great?"
  Caroline's narrowed gaze swept her from head to
  foot, noticed the plunging neckline and the
ankle-to-crotch slit up the side. "You
didn't find that in M ier
  Bride."
  "It's Versace."
  Caroline grinned. "It certainly is. You look
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  gorgeous." Jere came up beside his wife and
took her
  hand. "Hey, Ruby," he said, settling
Freddie on his
  hip. "You look great."
  Ruby grinned. "I could get used to this."
  Then Rand was there, wearing an elegant black
  tuxedo. Marilyn was beside him, holding their son.
  Lottie was there, too, wearing her frilly
"town" dress
  and a big straw hat. The only concession she'd
made
  to winter was a pair of oversized black snow
boots.
  Rand kissed Ruby, whispering, "Heya,
Hollywood,
  you look like a princess," before he drew back.
  "Hey, Dad." Ruby looked up at
Marilyn, who
  stood back from the crowd. Ruby gave her a
bright
  smile. "Hi, Marilyn--it's good to have you here.
  How's that beautiful baby brother of mine?"
  Marilyn broke into a smile and moved forward.
  "He's great. You look fabulous."
  After that, they all started talking at once, their
  voices climbing over one another.
  Then another car roared into the parking lot. Dean
  stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut. In
  his black Armani tux, he was so handsome that, for a
  moment, Ruby couldn't breathe. He walked up
to her
  and gave her a smile so slow and seductive that
she felt
  heat climb into her face.
  Gently, he took her hands in his. "Are we
ready to
  do this thing?"
  I've been ready all my life, she wanted
to answer;
  but her heart was so full, she could only nod.
  "Then let's go."
  Together; they went into the church. Inside, an
aisle
  separated two short rows of rough-hewn benches.
  390 
  The altar was a plain wooden trestle table that
held
  two thick white beeswax candles. Their
flickering
  flames released the sweet scent of hand-dried
lavender.
  A gold silk scarf decorated with a single red
cross
  draped the width of the table. In the corner stood a
  small noble fir that sparkled with white Christmas
  lights.
  The family found their seats and crowded in. Jere
  whipped out a video recorder and started filming.
  Dean walked down the aisle alone and
took his
  place at the altar.
  "Are you ready?"
  Ruby heard her father's voice and turned
slightly.
  He came up beside her; offered his arm. She knew
her
  smile was a little shaky, and that it was okay. She
  slipped her arm through his and let him guide her
  down the aisle.
  At the altar; he stopped, then leaned down and
kissed
  her cheek. "I love you, Hollywood," he
whispered.
  Her emotions teetered on the edge of control. It
was
  all she could do to nod as he stepped back, leaving
her
  standing beside Dean.
  Directly in front of them, on the altar; was a
big
  photograph, framed in ornate, gilded
wood. The only
  decoration that mattered.
  Eric.
  In it, he was about fifteen years old and standing on
  the bow of the Wind Lass, half-turned back
to face the
  camera. His smile was pure Eric.
  Dean stared at the picture. He sighed, and she
knew
  he was remembering. She slipped her hand in his and
  squeezed tightly, whispering, "He's here."
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  "I know," he answered, holding her hand
tightly. "I
  know."
  Father Magowan smiled at them. Sister Helen
gave
  Ruby a quick wink, then waddled over to the organ
  and sat down.
  "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here
to celebrate
  the union of this man and this woman in holy
matrimony." His rich, melodious voice filled
the small
  chapel.
  Finally, he came to "Who gives this woman
to be
  wed?"
  It was the only thing Ruby had requested of this
service, that question, and when she turned around and
  saw her mom and dad standing together; she knew
  she'd done the right thing. It was a vision that would
  stay in her heart forever.
  Rand looked down at Nora, who was weeping
  openly. He slipped his arm around her and drew
her
  close. "We do," he said proudly, "her mother and
I."
  Caroline was crying now, too, and Ruby saw the
  way Jere moved closer to her; sliding his arm
around
  her waist.
  Ruby turned back to Dean, gazed up into his
  shining blue eyes ... and forgot everyone else.
The
  service kept going, words thrown into a silence
  broken only by the soft organ music.
  You may kiss the bride."
  Dean stared down at her; his eyes moist.
"I've
  waited a lifetime for this," he said softly.
"I'll always
  love you, Ruby."
  She saw it all in his eyes: her past, her
present, her
  future. She saw tow-headed children playing in the
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  cold, cold waters of Puget Sound ... and
Christmas
  dinners with lots of chairs at the table ... she
even
  saw them when they were old, their hair gone white
  and their eyesight dimmed, and she knew she'd never
  forget this moment.
  "That's good," she said, grinning up at him, tasting
  the salty moisture of her own tears. She knew
she was
  ruining the makeover her mother had paid for; but she
  didn't care.
  He leaned down and kissed her.
  Behind them, the family clapped and cheered and
  Laughed out loud.
  Suddenly Elvis-in full beaded white
jumpsuit-
  pushed through the doors. The King ran a hand through
  his pompadour; gave a sneering little half
smile, and
  burst into song.
  He was all shook up.
  The End