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16
Ruth Anne
Edmonds, Washington – 2018
On Monday evening,I received wonderful news that Eddie’s parole had been denied. Elated, I called Brandy.
“She’s actually sleeping,” Troy said. “Do you want me to wake her?”
“Sleeping? It’s eight o’clock. Is she ill?”
“No. Just tired.”
Immediately, my thoughts shot to cancer. I knew it was irrational, but that’s how my mind worked sometimes. “Troy, you’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”
“Nothing is wrong, Ruthie. I promise. Brandy just stayed up late last night and didn’t sleep well.”
“Okay. I won’t worry, then.”
“Yes, you will,” he teased.
I gave a startled laugh. “You’re right. I’m always going to worry.”
“Well, don’t worry about Brandy because she’s fine. Everyone’s fine. How’s the library these days? Are you still happy with the chair?”
“Yes, I am.” Troy had brought me an overstuffed chair for one of my many reading nooks in the library. I’d set it next to the couch and added two lamps and a coffee table that I loaded with stacks of books. The kids loved the randomness of it all, especially the ones who got dropped off early and hung out in the library before school began.
“Look, Troy, the reason I’m calling is that Eddie’s parole was denied. I wanted Brandy to know. I’m sure she’ll be relieved.”
Troy hesitated for so long I thought we’d lost the connection. “Troy?”
“Yes, sorry.”
“Did you hear me say that Eddie’s parole was denied?”
“I did.” Again, he paused. Then he said the strangest thing. “That’s what you were hoping for, right?”
I almost dropped the phone. Was the man insane? “Of course, that’s what I was hoping for. Do you think I want that murderer out on the streets? If I had my way, he’d stay in jail forever. That’s what a life sentence is supposed to be, isn’t it?”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” I clenched my jaw, frustrated by his response, or rather his lack of response. As an assistant prosecutor, I expected Troy to be more enthusiastic, but maybe he was watching TV or had a big case at work. Maybe one of the boys had gotten into trouble again. Regardless, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping Eddie in jail.
After saying good-bye, I called Lia, but she didn’t answer, so I left a message telling her the good news. Then I stood in the kitchen, staring out the window at the rain. I suddenly felt the foolish urge to call my ex-husband.
Calling him wasn’t necessary. He’d learn the news from one of the girls soon enough. I supposed I just wanted someone to share my relief. Salvador, after all, was the only person who’d been through everything with me. Well, not everything, but—
Enough, Ruthie. Enough.
Needing to stop my mind from spinning out of control, I cranked up my favorite Carly Simon album and scrubbed every inch of the kitchen until it glistened. I chuckled as I came across cake batter from that disastrous cake-baking episode with Caleb and Ryan.
When I finished cleaning, I stood back and admired my work, feeling a tremendous sense of satisfaction. Once, I attended a victim’s support group. The leader advocated mindful meditation as a way of dealing with anxiety. I’d thought then, and I still believed now, that mindful meditation had nothing over vigorous cleaning. Then again, I hadn’t really given mindful meditation much of a chance whereas I’d been cleaning my whole life.
* * *
On Tuesday morning,Brandy’s twins came into the library with their class. I loved seeing the boys at school and got such a kick over the way they called me Mrs. Hermosa instead of Aunt Ruthie.
“How’s your mother?” I asked Ryan, the quieter, more thoughtful twin.
