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“Never,” she whispered. “Never. ”
When Ruby finally got home, it was past midnight. She crept past her mothers 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 couldnt 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 Christophers 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 didnt think enough about what-and who-I left behind. Now, I cant 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 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 Ive gone nowhere at all.
I want my mother. Isnt 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 cant 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 wasnt surprising, given that shed tossed and turned all night.
She knew, of course, that she and Nora would have to talk about her fathers confession. Hopefully, they could put it off for a while-like, until Britney Spearss 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.
She experienced one of those rare moments when, for a split second, you see yourself through a strangers 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 Gods 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 shed been unable to attract a decent guy. Laura Palmer looked better in Twin Peaks-and shed washed up dead on the shore.
Ruby realized shed been trying to make herself unattractive. The truth of that realization was so stunning 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, shed 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.
