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Your son is just as hot as your ex...says another commenter, who has followed up this statement with a fire emoji. Ruby rolls her eyes. It never sits well with her when people comment inappropriately about the children of famous people, but she knows that it's part and parcel of being in the spotlight.
Her eyes focus again on the comments.You really did him wrong, Marigold. Do you ever think that maybe he needed heart surgery because YOU BROKE IT, you dumb b*tch?!
"What in the..." Ruby looks up at Athena and holds the phone up, tapping at the screen with her fingernail. "Did you see this one?"
Athena has her hand on the computer mouse but she stops scrolling the bestseller list and leans closer, reading it. "No, I hadn't seen it, but I'm not surprised. Are you?"
Ruby turns the phone back around so that it's facing her. "Kind of. I'm used to having people say crazy things about me, but I was married to a President, and there's always going to be controversy surrounding the leader of the free world. But Marigold is amazing. She's smart, beautiful, ballsy, and suffers no fools. She was married to a beloved musician, and they've raised a polite, handsome son. How can anyone find fault with that? And furthermore, why would they want to point out those faults to her?"
"Mom," Athena says, shooting Ruby a disbelieving look. "People can find fault with anything, and they love nothing more than to point them out in front of the whole world. These people are called trolls, and they aren't worth our time or energy."
"Maybe not," Ruby mutters, using her finger to drag the comments up on the screen. "But Marigold sure uses a lot ofherenergy trying to fight them."
The next series of photos are from Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and Marigold has posted a few shots of their dinner table, complete with candles, fine china, and sumptuous looking meals. Comments on these range from the fawning:So. Beautiful. Where do you find time to cook on top of all the other things you're doing? You're so fabulous!!!to just plain mean:But the real question is, do you even EAT the food, or do you just chew it up and spit it out so that you can keep your figure looking even a tiny bit like it did in the 90s?
Ruby skips the rest of the comments and admires the next photos, which are of Elijah and Cobb sitting on the sand wearing Santa hats, followed by one of Marigold herself in cut-off denim shorts and a red bodysuit with the men on either side of her. They're all grinning, but in Marigold's eyes, Ruby can see...something. Exhaustion? Worry? Conflict? She isn't sure, but there's definitely a quality to her friend's gaze that makes her look different than the Marigold that Ruby has known for the past nine months.
She skips the comments on those and hands the phone back to her daughter. "Well," Ruby says, patting the counter. "She's certainly posting photos that make it all seem very adult and easy, but my personal feeling is that it's got to be anything but easy to spend the holidays with your ex-husband. That's just my opinion, and it might not be worth much."
Athena has stopped working on the computer as she listens to her mom. "I think she'll be okay.”
“I hope so.” Ruby picks up the stack of plates again and grabs the tea cups by their handles, trying to carry the whole load into the bathroom with her so that she can rinse it all and take everything back to her house in a plastic tub for a proper washing.
When she’s done, she drifts back up the stairs to her office space, opening a new email from Dexter North, who she’d been working closely with on his next book when he decided to take a breather and go to Ukraine on a special assignment for the BBC.
Merry Christmas, Ruby! I hope this finds you well. I’m home and wrapping up my freelance piece, which means I’ll be back on track for us to start working together again very soon…assuming you’re still up for it? I know I kind of vanished on you, but I’m hoping that the holidays were a busy enough time for you that it made sense for me to put our work on hold. Anyhow, I’m actually on Christmas Key rather than in New York (it’s quieter here; I work better), and I’ll be here through New Year’s. Any chance you might be up for a visit? Either me coming to you, or maybe you making a trip back over to my humble island?
Yours,
Dexter
Ruby steeples her hands in front of her face, putting her elbows on the desk. To be fair, the holidays have kept her busy. Even without the White House to decorate, she still expends an outsized amount of energy on trimming trees, baking, stringing lights and tinsel at the bookshop, and attending every cocktail or cookie party that she gets invited to throughout the month of December.Of course she’s thought of Dexter—at least a few times—but she also understands his need to step back. Writing a book on a single subject has to be grueling and all-consuming, so giving it a small break will undoubtedly allow him to return to the book about Ruby’s late husband, Jack, with fresh eyes.
She thinks for a moment about inviting Dexter over to Shipwreck for New Year’s Eve, but then she has a better idea—a much better idea.
Ruby puts her fingers to the keyboard and starts typing.
Cobb
With full clearance from his doctor in Miami, Cobb is bundled up and tucked into a corner of a boat bound for Christmas Key. All around him, the women from Marigold’s book club chatter over the rushing wind, holding their hats in place and grinning wildly at the thought of spending New Year’s Eve on some island that’s decorated for Christmas. They are like a group of happy hens, fussing over him and making sure he’s warm enough/comfortable/hydrated, and to be perfectly honest, Cobb is chuffed. There’s nothing he loves more than seeing Marigold smile, and her new friends are a great bunch of birds.
The thing about Cobb—maybe the one thing that’s kept him in Marigold’s good graces all these years—is that he has an easygoing nature. Even at the height of his addiction, Cobb was always trying his hardest to please Marigold, and not because he had to, but because hewantedto. They’d been a team from the first moment they’d met, and just because he’d hit the skids in his twenties and thirties, spending more time trying to figure out what he could ingest or shove up his nose to keep him on an even keel than he’d spent being a calm family man, Cobb had never once seen himself as separate from Marigold. If he’s being truthful with himself, he can admit that he’s never viewed himself as separate from her—even after the ink had dried on their divorce papers.
He watches her now, the sunlight warming the freckled skin of her bare shoulders. Marigold throws her head back, laughing at something that Ruby Hudson has just said. How is his ex-wife living here, in the Gulf of Mexico, and hobnobbing with American royalty like the former First and Second Ladies? He almost laughs out loud, shaking his head in wonder. That has always been the thing about Marigold: she dives in and really lives, and whatever interests her, she rolls up her sleeves and gets it done. It’s just who she is.
When they’d found out that she was pregnant with Elijah, Cobb’s first thoughts had been panicked ones:Am I ready for this? What do I have to offer to a child? How will it change our lives to be parents?but Marigold…his lovely, patient, totally capable and confident bride, had smiled like the cat that got the cream and looked him right in the eye. “We’re going to be thebestparents, Nigel Cobb Hartley. This kid is gonna travel the world with us. He’ll come with me to photo shoots, and we’ll put those little earmuffs on him so he doesn’t go deaf and take him to all your concerts. Just wait and see—we’ll be the best parents.”
So Cobb had smiled and gone along with it, convinced just through Marigold’s sheer confidence and determination that theywouldbe a great mum and dad to some lucky little bugger who’d pop out looking like its stunning mother, but with the creativity and musical ear of its dear old dad. And sure enough, Elijah had been a beautiful baby, an easy boy, and he’s grown into a soft-spoken, kind, talented, and wonderful adult son. Cobb could ask for nothing more. Except maybe for Marigold to still be his wife.
They arrive at Christmas Key after a relatively short ride across the water, and the bartender from The Frog’s Grog eases them up to a dock, tying up and helping the ladies off first, as he should. The bustle of excitement continues as a handful of women converge on the dock—young, middle-aged, old, and even a baby girl in a candy cane striped outfit on the hip of a lovely woman wearing a sundress. Cobb sits at the back of the boat, smiling and watching it all. The high-pitched chatter of women has always charmed him, and watching them all greet one another, exchanging hugs and shaking hands, he feels a stab of envy. For the past ten years, he’s been staying sober, reading books, strumming his guitar, and basically hiding out in the Cotswolds, while Marigold has been thriving. She’s built herself a gorgeous home on a quirky island, and she has friends—real friends—here.
“Come on, Cobby,” Marigold says, stepping back onto the boat with the help of Bev the bartender. “Let’s get situated here so we can explore the island.”
He smiles at her and stands, reaching for his duffel bag and holding onto it tightly when she tries to take it from him.
“I’ve got it, love.” He smiles. Cobb doesn’t want her to carry his bags for him and usher him around like an invalid in front of a bunch of strangers, though he kind ofhasenjoyed her looking after him at home when no one is watching.
“Welcome to Christmas Key,” the woman with the baby on her hip says. She glows with sunshine and goodwill, and Cobb takes a liking to her instantly. “I’m Holly, the mayor of Christmas Key, and this is my daughter, Stella.” She gives the little girl a single bounce, which makes Stella giggle.
