AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I tug Ruthie away, leaving Freeman to solve that conundrum. Knowing him, he’ll order them appetizers to go instead of reminding them that they’re eating here for free, and that should be enough.
We step out into the hallway connected to the private room, and I close the door behind us. The smell of sauce is just as strong out here. Do they pump it into the air?
There are two chairs across from the door, a couple of private bathrooms to the right and the rest of the restaurant is accessible by a long, narrow hallway to the left, ending in a closed door.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Ruthie, leading her a few feet away from the door and then leaning in close, one hand on the wall by her head. If someone comes by, they’ll think it’s an intimate conversation, no more or less. If it’s someone other than Josie, they won’t be inclined to interrupt us.
She bites her bottom lip, and I restrain the urge to soothe my tongue over it.
“I just…I don’t really want to hear what she has to say.”
“I can’t believe anyone does, but you know most of it is nonsense.”
“That’s not true,” Ruthie says, suddenly looking close to tears. “She knows lots of things she shouldn’t. What if…”
“What, honey?” I ask softly, running my free hand over her jaw. I’ve rarely seen her like this. Ruthie’s always ready with a smart remark, a retort. She’s not the kind of woman who lets life rock her.
She ruins the effect by laughing.
“You’d prefer your other nickname?” I ask.
“No, sorry, it’s just…” Her short-lived humor dies, and I regret being the man who killed it. “I…I…really want to try with Vanny. I’ve been working hard all week, and Eden’s having this big close-out party at the diner next weekend. She wants me to use it to promote my business. I guess I’m…” She swallows. “I’m worried that I’m going to try this time, really try, and I’ll still be a failure.”
Shit. Fuck. This is my fault. Me and my catastrophically big mouth. I didn’t mean to throw her into a spiral of self-doubt.
“Ruthie,” I say, tracing her face again. “You are not a failure. I didn’t mean for you to walk away thinking that last week. That’s not how I feel. You…amaze me. I’ve never known anyone else with so many ideas and the strength to keep getting up and trying again. You probably won’t thank me for saying so, but I’ve always thought we were a bit alike. We have the same drive. I just…I thought maybe you wouldn’t have to try so hard if you stuck with one idea.”
She laughs, but tears glimmer in her eyes. “You’re going to want to remember this one for posterity, Vain, but you were right. I kept giving up because I couldn’t stand the thought of pouring myself into something and failing. I still can’t. And I’m too much of a coward to stand it if Josie tells me that’s what’s going to happen in front of everyone. I know you think I’m dumb for believing her, but I do.”
“I don’t think that at all,” I say, leaning in to kiss her forehead, because she hasn’t given me the go-ahead to do more, and I need to comfort her. “You’re one of the bravest people I know. Brave people feel fear, Ruthie. Don’t think they don’t. Only a dumb person is never afraid. Fear can be useful. Fear can drive people to do great things.”
“You don’t feel fear,” she says as she glances up at me. Somehow her hand has found its way to my chest, her fingers playing with my tie.
I layer my hand over hers. “That’s not true. I’m afraid you’re going to throttle me.” But there’s disappointment in her eyes, and I know she was hoping for something real. I feel the press to give it to her, even though my heart is beating in my ears and that smell is overwhelming. Maybe the need to unburden myself has been building inside me for a while now, unseen, the way most diseases are. The words burst out, like water from a dam. “I’m afraid I won’t create a legacy big enough to be remembered.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, her brow wrinkling.
“It’s a vain wish,” I admit, my hand flexing slightly over hers, because I don’t want her to pull away. I couldn’t bear it if she did. “My father wasn’t remembered. He….” I pause, swallow, taking in the scent in the air. “I don’t know what you know, probably not much, but he died in front of me and my mother. He came into the dining room holding a pot of sauce for dinner, and he dropped it. That’s what the burn on my arm is from, and we were cleaning it off the walls and floor for months. After that, he just…collapsed. We called the ambulance, but I knew he was already gone. His eyes were open.” My voice is shaking, and I’m full of shame, but I keep going, because now that the words have started they won’t stop. “I found out later they call that type of heart attack a widow-maker because so few people survive it.”
I don’t look at her. I can’t. But I feel her burrowing into me, holding me in her arms as if she’s the one who’s taller and larger. I feel myself needing it. I’ve never said any of this out loud before.
“Everyone wanted to talk about him at first, Ruthie. They talked about what a good man he was. How much people loved him. But he lived a quiet life. They stopped coming after a few months. It didn’t take them long to forget about him. They moved on. Forty-eight years on this earth, and in the end, what did it matter? His own brother didn’t come to his funeral. The people who came cried and carried on and said it wasn’t fair, and the next day they were doing the same shit they’d always done, without a second thought for him. Like it didn’t matter. The only ones who remember are my mother and me, and she can barely get out of bed some days because of it. Still. So, yes, I’m afraid of things. I’m afraid I’ll fail, and I’ll be forgotten too—and the last bit of him that’s left, the bit I carry, will be lost forever.”
“Shane,” she says, her voice shaking slightly. One of her hands travels up my shirt and finds my face. The other stays on my tie, mine layered over it. I meet her eyes and am relieved to find sympathy there but no pity. There’s also warmer emotion that hooks into me and makes it impossible to look away. “Oh my God. I thought you were going to say you were scared of spiders or something. I…I remember when it happened, but I didn’t know any of that.”
“I know,” I say, bowing my head. “You were probably about ten. I was a dick. I didn’t mind you hanging around with us. I knew what it was like for you at your place. But I…” I swallow. “I didn’t have a kind word for anyone back then, not even your brother, but he stuck with me anyway.” And part of me has never been able to forgive him for what he knows. For the weakness he’s seen in me. “I’m sorry. I guess that kind of set us up for…” I wave, not able to put what we’ve become into words. Because we’re not enemies, but we’ve acted like it. It’s part of the game we’ve played—one for which we never discussed the rules.
The hand she has around my tie flexes, and she pulls me down to her. I’ve never been so glad to be partially throttled.
This isn’t a gentle kiss, like the one in the car, and it’s not at all chaste. She’s attacking my mouth, and I’m attacking her back, crowding her into the wall, because the need I’ve been trying to tamp down—the need that drove me to wear this tie, those stupid pajamas—is spilling out and overcoming me. And all that exists is Ruthie and her sweet mouth and her forceful attitude. Ruthie, my Ruthie.
I keep my mouth on her as I lean down to run my hand up that dress, finding the slit that’s been driving me mad all evening. She hopefully chose this dress because she wanted to drive me mad. I need to feel the rasp of her stockings against the tips of my fingers. All night, I’ve imagined the pleasure of pushing them down. Of tracing my hand to her core.
I shouldn’t have done this last week.
I probably shouldn’t be doing it again now.
But Ruthie has a rare talent for making me break the promises I’ve made to myself—and maybe some of them should be broken. I’m beginning to think Rule Number One is at the top of that list.
