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“Thank you, Helen,” Sunday says softly. She turns to Ruby. “And if I won’t be cramping your style, I think I really want to move down here. At least part-time.”
A rush of joy fills Ruby’s chest. “God, Sun. You won’t cramp my style at all. It’ll be wonderful to have you here—even part-time.”
A huge grin spreads across Sunday’s face. “Then you’re getting yourself a new neighbor.”
Ruby leans over and puts an arm around Sunday’s neck, pulling her in for a quick hug.
“Now, I hate to break up this happy moment,” Helen says, her voice taking on thelet’s get down to businesstone she’s famous for. “But the real reason for my visit was not to deliver this runaway bride to a far-flung island.” She presses her lips together and looks at Ruby with a straight face. “You’ve got a big problem, and it’s incoming.”
Ruby frowns. “What are you saying?”
“Ever heard of Dexter North?” Helen drains her rosé and sets the empty glass on the wide armrest of her wooden chair. “The author?”
Ruby racks her brain. “The guy who wrote the book about Monica Lewinsky?”
Sunday makes a face. “Oooh. It was good. I stayed up all night finishing that book.”
“Same,” Helen agrees. “He really has a way of getting into the darkest corners of his subject’s mind and heart.”
Ruby feels impatient. “Okay, I know who he is. I have the book in the shop, but frankly, I didn’t get around to reading it yet because I’m tired of stories about the women who unravel powerful men.”
Helen and Sunday make fleeting eye contact. “He’s coming for you,” Helen says flatly, not pulling any punches.
Ruby splutters and stands up, walking over to the railing. She spins around so that she’s facing the women and her back is to the ocean. “He’s coming forme? But why? There’s no story here. I’m a widow. If anything—“
“No,” Helen says, holding up a hand. “You misunderstand me. He wants to talk to you and get your input, but he’s writing a book about—“
It’s Ruby’s turn to hold up her hand. As she does, she closes her eyes tightly as if blocking out Helen and her words will make them stop. “No,” she says in a whisper that sounds like she’s begging. “No. Please do not tell me that he’s writing a book about…Jack’s death. Can’t somebody wait another forty or fifty years to do that? Can’t they wait until I’m long gone?”
When she opens her eyes again, Helen and Sunday are both watching her with concern.
“Honey,” Helen says, her voice rough and ragged. “There’s a story there. And if anyone is going to tell it and make it compelling, it’s Dexter North. I really think you should talk to him, because you’re not going to stop him. And if the story isn’t written by him, then some talentless hack might get to it first.”
Ruby’s heart is beating wildly in her chest and her wine glass is shaking in her hand. She turns back to the water to hide her emotions from two of the women who know her better than anyone.
Helen is right: she probably won’t be able to stop Dexter North and his freight train of words. But that doesn’t mean she has to cooperate. It absolutely does not mean that she has to speak to him.
She has a house to manage, a bookstore to run, and a new life to live. If she can just avoid him and refuse to talk to him, then maybe the story will die out and no one will care about Jack and Etienne and any of it.
But even as she thinks this, she knows it’s not true. The public will be insatiable for a book by Dexter North about the late president and his private romantic affairs and ensuing death. They will chew Ruby up and spit her out as they sharpen their teeth on the gory details of her husband’s life and indiscretions. Ruby will not be able to avoid it, and saying nothing won’t keep her out of the story.
But what shecando is decide how to do damage control before Dexter shows up on her doorstep. She can take control of her own narrative and hold her head high, because Ruby knows that she’s done nothing wrong.
Sunday stands up and walks over to Ruby, putting her arms around her taller friend from behind and resting her cheek on Ruby’s back. Even though Sunday is five years older than Ruby, their personalities have dictated their relationship for years, and it’s very much been one where Ruby acts as the stoic big sister, while Sunday is the fun-loving kid sister who wears her heart on her sleeve.
“We got you, Rubes,” Sunday says gently. “No matter what, okay?”
Ruby smiles at the ocean as tears fall down her cheeks, because there’s only one thing she knows for sure right then: having both Sunday and her girls with her on Shipwreck Key is going to make everything better, even as some man she doesn’t know starts digging through the wreckage of what’s left of her marriage.
Harlow
A full month after the bar shooting, Harlow’s mental state has improved, but she’s still not feeling like herself. As promised, Ruby helped her to find a therapist and she’s been talking to her once a week by Zoom call, but what Harlow is discovering is that she onlythoughtshe was living a full life in New York. She’d been under the impression that having her own apartment, working at the marketing firm, and going out with friends at night was enough to make a life, when truly, it was only the beginnings of a life.
On Shipwreck Key she’s had time to think. Harlow has kicked around everything in her brain, turning it over like a pebble in her hand as she walks the beach alone, with Eldrick trailing after her at a discreet distance. His presence has always made her feel safe, and while three Secret Service agents on Shipwreck Key feels like overkill sometimes, Harlow is more aware than ever that it’s necessary to have someone watching your back. Going home to New York feels less and less like something she wants to do, and with every passing day, Harlow is integrating herself more into Ruby’s life on the island.
It started with dropping in some mornings to bring her mom a cup of coffee from The Scuttlebutt, the coffee shop on Seadog Lane with the owner who seems like she could make you a cup of coffee and then go out back and gut a fish that she’s just caught with her bare hands, and before she knew it, Harlow was pitching in with shelving books and picking up a shift here and there at Marooned With a Book.
She’s there now, standing behind the front counter with Tilly, who is a constant source of entertainment for Harlow.
