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I shower and change, driving my tiny rental car around to the other side of the lake where Main Street meets Mitchell Road. After getting a coffee from the tiny little coffee shop, I spend a few hours perusing every single shop, enjoying the little tchotchkes and souvenirs.
I buy a few small things—a keychain with trees and the word Cedar Point on it, a magnet for the fridge, and a screen-printed tee of John Cusack that says Grosse Point Blank, but the word ‘Grosse’ is crossed out and replaced with ‘Cedar.’ Fiona is obsessed with dark comedies from the 90s, so it was quite a find.
Once I get back to the house, I open the little veggie tray I got at One Stop and post up on the deck, cracking the book I started reading a few days before I left. I planned to finish it on this trip, but I clearly haven’t been taking any time to get a few words in.
When I’m changing after I get out of the shower, a firm knock at the door draws my attention. At first, I assume it’s Boyd. Maybe they got back early and he’s coming by to get me. But when I walk over and pull the door open, my jaw drops.
Ken is on the other side. He looks different than I expected him to, and it takes me a hot second to realize why. In the picture he sent to me, he was sitting with his wife and boys, smiling at the camera, not a care in the world.
Right now, standing in front of me, he looks like one of the unhappiest individuals I’ve ever seen in my life, and it seems pretty clear what the cause of his disgruntled attitude is.
Me.
“Hey,” I say, not sure what words to use when greeting my ‘dad’ for the first time in almost twenty years. “Ken.”
It comes out choppy and awkward, his name so clearly said after having to think about it.
“Ruby,” he grunts.
And just like that, with just his gravelly voice saying my name with such irritation and displeasure, I’m struck with a memory that I’d long ago forgotten.
I couldn’t have been more than five at the time, and I was standing in the doorway of my bedroom. Mom and Ken were in a fight. I don’t have many memories of Ken, but in them, the two were always fighting, and my mom was always, always crying.
Even at that young age, my loyalty line was clearly drawn in the sand. My mother was my person. Ken wasn’t the enemy, but I had little trust in him, especially when all I could see was his gruff face and my mother’s tears.
I was supposed to stay in my room. That I remember, but how do you watch someone cry and do nothing? Even at that tender age, I knew I couldn’t just stand there, so I went to my mom. I went to her and wrapped my little body around her neck, telling her it would be okay.
“Ruby.”
Ken’s voice hit me like a slap, his irritation with me clear as day. Then he picked me up, pulling me out of my mother’s arms, and walked me back to my bedroom, closing the door on my own tear-streaked face without a word.
Now, as he stands before me, that memory clear in my mind, I wonder what the hell I’m doing here.
Why did I ever agree to come to this place to get to know an angry man who abandoned me? He discarded me and my mother like we were yesterday’s trash, and I’m here doing…what? Wanting a relationship? Wishing we could erase it all?
“I was supposed to get back from my trip tomorrow,” he says, yanking me almost violently out of the gray-toned pain lurking in my mind. “But there was a change of plans, and they told me I could come home early.”
I nod at him, though I keep my mouth shut. The anger that’s coursing through my veins feels like it could boil up at any moment.
“Did Linda help get you settled alright?”
My head jerks back, my face surely displaying in every uncomfortable line and irritated wrinkle just how stupid the question he just asked me is.
“Did she get me settled?” I repeat, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands.
The girl my mama raised would normally keep the peace, wouldn’t dream of ruffling feathers or causing problems, especially as a guest in someone’s home—but that’s not the girl I am today. Just as quickly as I told myself to hold in the anger, I also tell myself it’s okay to let it pour out.
“She’s treated me like shit since the moment I arrived,” I bite out, unsure whether or not I enjoy the shock plastered across Ken’s face. “She barely spoke a word to me when I got here, made it clear I wasn’t welcome in your home, and forbade me from interacting with the boys. So, no, Ken, she didn’t help me get settled. What she did do was make sure I know how unwelcome and unwanted I am.”
He gapes at me, and any other time, I might find the expression funny: a guy in his fifties, mouth wide enough to catch flies, eyebrows high.
Right now, though, it’s infuriating. Doesn’t he know his wife? Doesn’t he know what kind of person she is that she would treat me this way? Like I’m the devil come to ruin her life?
“I didn’t…” he starts, glancing behind him as if Linda might appear at any moment to explain herself. “I didn’t…” he says again, clearly unable to finish his thought.
Well that’s just fine by me. I’ll fucking finish it for him.
“You didn’t what? Know your wife would treat me like I’m worthless? Talk to her about what would happen when I came to town? Prepare your kids for the fact that they’d be meeting their sister for the first time?” I shrug my shoulder sarcastically. “What, Ken?”
