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“It means ‘sugar flower,’” the bartender says. “And rumor has it that the island is haunted by the ghosts of the men who died on that vessel. If you stay here more than a day or two, you might see one sitting on a bench on Seadog Lane, sipping a pint of beer. And Flora is rumored to walk the shores of the island at night, watching the ocean for signs of her lost lover.”
Ruby scoffs; she doesn’t believe in ghosts or in hauntings. Or rather, she doesn’twantto believe that a man who crashes and burns spectacularly has the ability to come back and haunt the living, tormenting their souls for all time while he tries to work out the penance for his own sins in some last-ditch bid to get to heaven.
But just to be on the safe side, she crosses her fingers under the table and shoots Banks a look across the bar. As always, he is impenetrable, which soothes and calms her more than she can measure.
Ruby
In her dream, Jack is alive. He’s at the helm of a small boat, and Ruby sits next to him, trying to make out his words over the rush of the wind. He’s intentionally chosen this location to tell her the real reason for his betrayal, and Ruby strains to hear him.
“I need you to understand, Rubes,” he shouts. The sharp rush of air blows his lightly graying hair around. His eyes are shielded by dark sunglasses. “I need you to know why I did it.”
Her voice is choked in her throat, though she has a million things she wants to ask, likeWhy? Are you sorry? Did you ever think of me? What kind of an asshole secretly carries on with a whole other family for more than a decade and then just dies and leaves everyone in the lurch?
“I just—“ Jack says, but he’s cut off by a loud noise. Ruby waits for him to say more, only to have the same loud, insistent sound drown out his words over and over. She begins to reach for him frantically, trying to get him to speak again, but instead of her hands landing on her husband’s arm, she jerks awake with her heart hammering in her chest. She’s clutching a pillow tightly and sweating through her t-shirt.
Ruby sits up in bed. The banging sound that’s woken her is an open window shutter, unlatched and blowing in the wind that’s coming through her bedroom window. The clock on the beside table says one forty-two, and Ruby slides out from between the sheets, putting her feet on the floor.
It’s far from the first time that she’s had this dream, and it leaves her awake and disturbed every single time. There is no good reason why Jack should have betrayed her and their girls after she’d devoted her life to him. She’d been more than just a wife and a helpmeet for her husband; Ruby was a true partner. Whatever he needed to think or talk through, she was there. If he needed a plethora of ideas laid out before him for his consideration—like a customer who wanted to see a variety of carpet and wallpaper options for a remodel—then Ruby did that. She was quick on her feet, nimble when it came to sussing out the intricacies of foreign policies, and secretive to a fault about whatever Jack told her. She’d given up her own private ambitions of somehow using her English degree in order to raise their daughters and to help smooth Jack’s way to the White House, and she’d done it all without a single bit of regret, because Jack Hudson had made a damn fine president, and probably would have done so for another four years if tragedy hadn’t intervened.
Ruby passes Athena’s closed bedroom door on her way downstairs to the kitchen, but she stops on the landing, looking down from the second floor at the gigantic, open living space. Even in the dark it’s a grand house. The empty fireplace waits for a stormy winter afternoon or a festive holiday, and the room is ready to be filled with family, friends, and laughter. She walks down there, turning on one single lamp next to a couch so that she’ll have just the faintest glow of warm light around her as she makes her way to the kitchen.
Banks is living in the guest house that’s detached from the main house, but it’s still close enough for him to reach her in under a minute. Living with a Secret Service presence isn’t always easy; it took Ruby some time to get used to sharing her personal space with people who barely speak to her, but over time, Banks has loosened up enough that Ruby feels comfortable in his presence. She found out that he’s been married and divorced once, and that he grew up in Philly and played basketball at Notre Dame. Banks has an extremely dry sense of humor and can spot a threat from what seems like a mile away. One time he realized that a sketchy looking man was walking along the periphery of a Target store, and Banks had intercepted him just before the man could approach Ruby. Sure enough, this guy had a razor blade tucked into the bottom of his sleeve, and some sort of weird notion that the opposing political party needed him to hurt Ruby in order to regain its footing in the White House. The whole thing had terrified Ruby and reminded her how much she needs extra sets of eyes—professional eyes—to watch what’s going on around her.
The stainless steel refrigerator opens up to reveal a riot of colors: grapes in red and green; chunks of cut cantaloupe in a clear container; shiny red cans of Coke Zero; a variety of wedges of expensive cheese; washed butter lettuce, spinach, and kale; and perfectly aligned containers of Ruby’s favorite Icelandic yogurt. She reaches in and pulls out a bowl of homemade macaroni and cheese that’s leftover from dinner, and pops it into the microwave to warm up so that she can eat it at the kitchen island in the semi-darkness.
With the microwave whirring behind her, Ruby’s cell phone lights up where she left it on the counter. It’s an incoming call from Banks.
“Ma’am?” he says as soon as she answers. He sounds relatively calm. “Everything alright?”
“Yes, of course. Everything is fine,” Ruby says, puzzled. How did Banks even know she was up at two o’clock in the morning?
“There are sensors in each downstairs room of your house that are set to kick on at midnight,” he says, answering her unasked question. “My Spidey senses told me it wasn’t anything urgent, but I’m up and on my front porch anyway. Want me to come over?”
“Ah,” Ruby says, reaching up to open the microwave door just as it dings. “No, no—I’m fine. I was just restless and wanted a snack. Would you like something?”
“No, but thank you. I just wanted to confirm that things were fine. I’ll sleep a few more hours. Please let me know immediately if you need me.”
“Goodnight, Banks.”
“Goodnight, ma’am,” he says, ending the call.
Ruby sets the phone down and reaches for the pepper grinder, twisting it over the bowl of macaroni and then digging in with a heavy fork. It’s delicious warmed up, and she sits in the kitchen as she eats and looks out at the way the moonlight reflects off the ocean. She hasn’t once yet been sorry that she bought a house with a view of the powdery white sand and the sea just beyond, and absolutely no part of her misses D.C. Not even a tiny bit.
For Ruby, this is truly heaven. All these years, paradise was just an island waiting for her off the coast of Florida, and all she had to do was get on a boat in Destin, and then head ten miles out into the ocean to get to Shipwreck Key. Because the house was already perfectly decorated, other than ordering a golf cart to get around the island (the preferred mode of transportation on Shipwreck) and sending trunks of clothes, books, mementos, photos, her computer, and her collection of vinyl albums down from Washington D.C., Ruby has essentially just shown up and started living her new life. It’s been easier than she ever hoped it might be.
She forks another bite of macaroni into her mouth and chews, thinking of her recurring dream about Jack on the boat. Most times when she has the dream, Jack is about to tell her something and she can feel fear bubbling up in her chest as she waits for him to speak, wishing he wouldn’t say a word. But this time she’d been waiting to hear it, full of anticipation and a need for closure.
Of course, in her waking life, she knows what "it" is: it’s Etienne. Her name might be masculine, but everything else about her is ultra-feminine. Chic. French. She is wealthy, Oxford-educated, and moves in the upper echelon of French society. Several Google searches had schooled Ruby on Etienne Boucher, and the things she’d found out had given her far too many sleepless nights.
It isn’t fair, she thinks.Jack got to live the life he already had and also the life he wanted to have, and nobody stopped him. Nobody told me I was helping him live a double life. Everyone hadhisback, and nobody hadmyback.
A light goes on in the kitchen and Ruby startles. She turns to see Athena there, blinking and looking half-asleep in a pair of pink shorts and a matching tank top. Her feet are bare, and without her contacts in, she’s put on her adorably thick glasses so that she can see.
"Mom? You okay?"
Ruby stands and takes her bowl to the sink, filling it with soapy water. She’ll leave it for morning, because doing dishes in the middle of the night defeats the purpose of sneaking an illicit snack like microwave-heated mac and cheese.
"Of course, Bean. I'm good. I was just feeling peckish. Should we go back to bed?"
