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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 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 Worn gray sweatpants; baggy, stained sweatshirts; jeans so old they were out of date.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 Rubys name, couldnt matter. . .
But she couldnt 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, less the black cashmere sweater that Caroline had sneaked past Rubys 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 shed 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 couldnt 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 shouldnt pick up the charm, but she couldnt 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 didnt need to. She knew that somewhere in these boxes were a bracelet and more carefully chosen charms-many representing the years theyd been apart.
She could imagine her mother; dressed perfectly, makeup flawless, going from store to store for the ideal 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 hadnt abandoned her children when they needed her most.
At that, Ruby felt a rush of cold auger; and control returned. A few trinkets didnt mean anything.
