“Unca Evvy! You come and play planes?”
“Not right now, Maisy Girl,” Cam says with a soft chuckle. “Mommy is gonna take Uncle Ev to see Aunty Roo, and you and I are going swimming. Remember?”
“Swim, Daddy! I swim!”
Cam grins at his daughter, who wriggles free from his grasp and runs back into the house.
“She’ll be okay, man. She’s tough stuff. Whatever’s going on, the girls will help her figure it out.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “I sure hope so.”
“I know so.” Cam claps me on the shoulder through the window as Amie emerges with a duffel bag in hand. She tosses it onto the back seat before Cam grabs her by the waist and pulls her close. They hold a quiet conversation, with Amie running her hands through Cam’s floppy hair before she kisses him, and I avert my eyes, even though I’m just seeing them through the mirror. Then, Amie slips back into thedriver’s seat, and without much conversation at all, she drives us the fifteen minutes to Ruth’s apartment.
There’s something familiar about the smell of the stairwell, even though I’ve never been here before. The closer we climb to the fourth floor, the more my nerves begin to set in. I’ve no idea what to expect, what I’m going to find behind that door. My sweet, beautiful Ruth looked utterly broken for the brief moment I saw her on yesterday’s call, and that was the first time I’d seen her face or heard her voice for almost a week. She’s been radio silent, ignoring all of my messages, and I can’t pretend it hasn’t hurt. That I haven’t been completely terrified about why that might be.
Paloma is at the cracked open door when we reach the top of the last flight.
“Has she eaten anything?”
“Nope. Katy made breakfast and she just picked at the edge of some toast.”
“Hi Paloma.” I know I’m short with her, but I can’t help myself. I’ve waited far too long. I push my way through the door, leaving Amie, Paloma, and my own duffel bag behind as I hurry into the room. It smells just like Ruth: vanilla, a little caramel, a little coffee. The scent of toast and eggs lingers; an abandoned plate still full of food on the coffee table, three empty ones stacked neatly on the counter near the sink. I drop to my knees in front of my wife, huddled in her brother’s arms, hiding from the world.
“Baby girl…” My hand barely makes contact with the blanket wrapped around her body before her shoulders begin to shake. She twists in Jay’s arms, reaching out for me and clinging on for dear life.
She’s lost weight since I saw her a couple of weeks ago. Through the blanket, I run my hand up and down the length of her spine, feeling the ridge of every single bone along the way. My other hand movesaround to her side, holding her ribs, feeling each one. I can’t see her face properly; she’s already buried it in my shoulder, and her tears are soaking through my shirt, but I know she’s pale and gaunt. My beautiful, broken girl.
“What’s going on, honey?” I press my lips to her hair, inhaling her vanilla perfume mixed with the musk of days spent on the sofa without showering. Even unwashed and tear-streaked, she’s beautiful, and there’s a hard clench in my gut that doesn’t begin to relax until her arms tighten around me.
“I fucked up, Ev.”
“No, honey, you didn’t. I’ve got you, Ruth.”
“I did. I ruined everything. I’ve let everyone down.”
“What do you mean, honey? You haven’t let anyone down.” Amie is as Ruth always describes her: a calm voice of reason. She takes a seat on the very edge of the sofa, where Ruth is perched halfway between my arms and Jay’s. One of her hands strokes down Ruth’s hair, while the other rests on my arm for stability. It’s warm, even through the thick flannel of my sleeve, and her nails are glossy and a pretty shade of almost-black green. It looks nice against my green plaid. But then Ruth mumbles something into my shoulder, and I’m immediately reminded of why I’m here, why I packed so hurriedly and pushed my truck faster than it should be able to drive, why I rushed from Austin to London without even remembering to pack a toothbrush.
“Please, baby girl,” I plead. My throat feels thick, raw; my own voice is distant and hoarse and fighting to be heard over the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears. “Please, talk to us. Let us help you.”
“I’m a failure,” she whispers between sobs. She lifts her head from my shoulder and looks me dead in the eyes. In front of me, Jay snorts. Katy whacks him lightly in the chest. “I’ve let everyone down. I’m so sorry.”
“You keep saying this, Roo, but you haven’t told uswhy.” Paloma sits with her legs crisscrossed beside me. She reaches one long, tattooed arm up to Ruth, resting a hand on her lower back. Ruth’s eyes harden slightly as she swings her brown gaze to meet Paloma’s blue one.
“Everything. I’ve failed at everything.”
“Because…” Jay stands from the sofa, swinging his right leg back and forth slowly, stretching it out. I remember Ruth telling me that’s the one he injured before he left the army. Katy looks up at him with concern, until he curls his lips into a tight smile. Paloma glares up at him and he shrugs.
“Because I’m useless and selfish and a terrible person and—”
“You stop that right now, Ruth Patricia Bevan, I won’t hear another fucking word.” Jay’s voice is a low, rumbling warning, and from the look of surprise in all three of the girls’ eyes, it’s unexpected. “You have never failed at anything in your life. You’re a fucking brat sometimes, but you’renota terrible person.”
I hold my tongue when Jay calls Ruth afucking brat. He’s her big brother, and I’m sure he looks at Ruth the way I look at Ashton—and Ashton is definitely a brat from time to time. But Ruth is my wife, my heart, my soul, my sun and my moon, and all of the goddamn stars. No one gets to call her a brat except me.
“Roo…” Katy says quietly. She hasn’t said a word since I arrived, only sat in the corner of the sectional with her feet tucked beneath her and eyes red and slightly puffy from tears. “Roo, we love you. Always. No matter what you do or where you are.”
“Even when you try to sing,” Amie mutters from somewhere behind me. Paloma snickers quietly. I bite back a smile. I’ve been unlucky enough to hear Ruth singing a few times now. She’s absolutely atrocious, but damn, I love the sound of her voice regardless.
“I quit my job.”
