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“Sometimes it does appear to work for people in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?”
“Well, this would be the biggest mystery of all. My dad was tough, strict, and not terribly loving. In fact, I can’t remember even one time in my life when he sat me down and told me he loved me or felt proud.”
“Aww, Banks,” Ruby says softly. “Every kid needs to hear that. I bet he was incredibly proud of you. Or is—sorry, I was talking as if I knew he wasn’t with us anymore.”
“He’s not,” Banks says. “And it’s okay—no apologies necessary on that one. I mean, I respected the man and I loved him because he was my father, but…he was everything a dadshouldn’tbe.”
Ruby isn’t sure what to say to that. Her own father, Ruben Dallarosa, had been an amazing dad. He’d loved her and laughed at her jokes and taught her how to touch her nose with her own tongue, how to tie her shoes, and how to speak Pig Latin. When he’d died unexpectedly of a heart attack just before Ruby’s eleventh birthday she’d been bereft. She’s absolutely certain as a grown woman that her life is poorer for the years she’s lived without him in it.
“Well, I can’t discount your feelings or experiences,” she finally says, glancing up as their waiter sets a gorgeous looking platter of food on their table. “But I can say that I think you’re a fine man, Banks, and that there’s no doubt that your father had some role in that. Whether directly or indirectly. It’s inevitable, because in so many ways weareour parents.”
The waiter leaves and they pause their discussion to admire the food before them: a wheel of raw cheese melted in its own container that looks absolutely sinful, and a plate of charcuterie and new potatoes and pickles. There is also a basket of hot, fresh crusty bread to tear into bites and dip in the cheese, and Ruby nearly faints with pleasure at the scent of the bread and the sight of the bubbling cheese.
“Ooooh,” she says, adjusting the thick cloth napkin in her lap as she reaches for a long fondue fork and spears a hunk of crisp, green apple on the tines. “Don’t mind if I just dig in and talk with my mouth full.”
“Don’t mind if I do the same,” Banks says, picking up his own fork.
They eat in easy silence for a minute or two as Ruby’s last words about Banks’s father sit between them. She picks up her napkin and dabs at the corners of her mouth as she chews with pleasure, lost in the tastes and the joy of eating.
“Amazing,” Ruby says. She takes a sip of wine and the combination of flavors is so intense that she closes her eyes. “Dexter and Etienne and Julien are missing out.”
Banks stabs a hunk of boiled potato with his fork and dips it into the cheese as he glances up at Ruby. “How are you doing with--you know--allof this?”
Ruby swallows and reaches for the bread, tearing off a big piece that she’ll then tear into smaller bites. “Okay, I guess,” she says, pausing and letting her eyes drift up to the ceiling, “somewhat better than when I came to your room in a panic. Incidentally, I’m sorry about that.” She smiles at him guiltily. “You already do so much for me, and interrupting a phone call with Sunday to whine about my own problems doesnotfit into the vision I have of myself as a strong, capable woman.”
“Please. No apologies necessary. A person doesn’t always have to be strong and capable.”
Ah, Ruby thinks.Now we’re getting somewhere. She puts a piece of bread onto the end of her long fork and drags it through the hot cheese.
“And you? When have you ever not been strong and capable?” she asks, averting her gaze from his face so that he doesn’t feel like he’s getting the third degree—though he most definitely is. But is he getting it from his boss, or from his girlfriend’s best friend? Ruby isn’t sure which hat she’s currently wearing, but she wants to believe that she’s asking as a caring friend.
Banks is focused on his food, but he pauses and looks at Ruby across the table. This is entirely new territory that they're in, and he hesitates, obviously pondering the implications and the wisdom of sharing such personal information with Ruby, a woman he's only known as his priority to protect.
Banks swallows. "You have no idea," he says, and then he starts to speak.
Chapter10
Banks
“And you? When have you ever not been strong and capable?” Ruby asks him with a searching look. To her, he must seem entirely capable--after all, he's spotted and diverted more than one loony toon from getting close to her, and she knows that he's a former Marine with some time in dangerous places under his belt. But she doesn't know the rest of it, and neither does Sunday, which is how he prefers it for the moment. Sharing himself with women--really and truly sharing himself--is so hard. Something in Banks holds him back from ever handing over his deepest fears and feelings, and instead he holds them in like he's protecting the world from a potentially dangerous poison that he could unleash just by opening his mouth.
But he likes Ruby. He trusts Ruby. She's wise, and she's kind, and she's asking. They're in a cozy restaurant in France with a bottle of wine on the table, and it's been years since Banks has said a single word to anyone about his inner workings. Now, here he is, sharing stories about his dad with Julien last night, and breaking bread with Ruby as they talk about their lives. It must be something in the air.
Banks swallows. "You have no idea," he says, and then he starts to speak.
Banks tells Ruby about all of the times he felt helpless as a Marine but had to put on a brave face and carry on. Seeing his brothers get shot down, hurt, killed--that makes a man feel helpless and weak. Watching other men break down, cry, feel lonely, experience sorrow, and all he could do was accept his own ineptitude and be there beside them, much like he'd crouched next to Julien in the garden. But you don't necessarily feel strong or useful as a man when all you can offer is your silent presence.
He tells Ruby about Denise, at least as much as he can get out in one telling. Ruby pours him a splash more of wine, because he holds out his hand as she holds the bottle over his glass, knowing that too much wine will render him completely useless to her. In fact, he shouldn't even be drinking at all on the job, but it's helping him to talk, so he doesn't stop.
Banks tells her what it felt like to stand on the courthouse steps just before he and Denise signed the divorce papers. He'd been cowed in the face of his own helplessness that day, filled with regret and longing for the ability to open his mouth and justspeak--to be able to talk to her the way he's talking to Ruby right now.
He can't stop himself as he begins to relive the way Denise wanted a baby, the way he pulled back from her as they cared for her sister's baby--little Ingrid, with her tiny hands and dark eyes, always seeking out someone to hold her, to comfort her, to love her. Banks doesn't hold back at all as he owns all of his own shortcomings and admits that giving Denise a baby would have been more terrifying than sitting in the trenches with his fellow Marines, waiting for what felt like certain death.
"But Banks," Ruby says, reaching across the table once again to put the tips of her fingers on the cuff of his shirt. "It's okay to feel afraid. Youshouldfeel a little afraid of that kind of love. Being a parent is the scariest and most wonderful thing in the world. It changes you, and it changes your outlook on life. You don't know what you're doing most of the time, but once you have that baby in your arms, you can't imagine living any other way."
A stone the size of a peach is forming in Banks's stomach as Ruby talks about being a parent. Deep down he knows he missed out on something important, some elemental part of being a human, but it's too late for him now. Last night with Julien, he'd gotten some small, infinitesimal taste of what it means to be someone's father, and it had sent shockwaves of comfort throughout his entire body. He knows he missed that moment in his life, and all he can do now is feel grateful that he and Denise divorced when they did so that she could go on to experience it with someone else.
"I think that ship has sailed for me," Banks says, setting his fondue fork down on the edge of his plate. "I'll be fifty in May, and..." He spreads his palms wide, turning them up towards the ceiling in a pose of surrender.
