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Banks has yet to say a word, and he isn't about to let on to Dave Hutchens that he's already taken the information he has on the man and run it through the usual channels that he uses to get a profile on someone. Most people aren't even remotely aware that they've been thoroughly vetted before they're allowed into Ruby's inner circle, and Dave will be no different.
"How do you like being down here, away from civilization?" Dave folds his arms over his lean torso and watches Banks curiously. From Banks's source, he's already found out that David Rodrick Hutchens is seventy-one, widowed, has three adult children and four grandchildren, and has a degree in Economics from UVA.
"It actually suits me well," Banks says, finally breaking his silence. "I've been here a full year now, and I think the people are incredibly kind."
Dave looks up and down the street. "Good to hear. My lady friend says the same." He winks at Banks, like they're sharing an inside joke. "I've been located in Rhode Island for most of my adult life, but I suppose a guy could be convinced to come down to paradise and buy a boat, you know?"
Banks gives him a half-smile, which is as much as he gives most people--maybe more than he gives most people--and he nods. He himself has visions of being down here on Shipwreck Key until he's ready to retire, at which point he'll acquire a boat himself and take Sunday on trips around the Keys. Maybe even to the Bahamas or Turks and Caicos. Who knows.
"Heather trying to convince you to move down, is she?" Banks continues to skim Seadog Lane with his eyes out of habit, though the chance of any sort of threat presenting itself on a peaceful Tuesday morning at ten o'clock is unlikely.
"Seems that way," Hutchens says. His arms are still folded and he's watching Banks amiably. "Do you think these girls will let me join their book club if I do?"
It's clear that he's teasing, and while he knows that older men sometimes refer to younger women as "girls," Banks is still slightly annoyed by it. Some retired economist from Rhode Island blowing into town and deciding that the former First and Second Ladies and their island cohort are nothing but a gaggle ofgirlsruffles Banks's feathers a little. In response, he folds his own arms across his chest and puffs it up slightly.
"No," Banks says firmly. "I do not think they'll let you in."
"Well," Dave laughs a little uncomfortably as he shrugs, "I could probably find better ways to spend my free time than to sit around discussing Danielle Steele novels with the hens, huh?"
"Sure," Banks agrees. He's not going to debate the finer points of womanhood, success, and the value of the female experience with a man who clearly thinks that women don't have the capacity to ever grow up. Instead he makes a huffing sound. "You could probably get started with your boating adventures while the ladies knit and gossip about boys."
Dave reaches out and gives Banks a light, playful punch on the shoulder. "My man," he says, nodding appreciatively. "I'm still thinking about the whole thing, but I'm at that age where I've got to make a move. It's either now or never, you know? Actually, you probably don't know yet--but you will. A young guy like you probably thinks he has the whole world by thecajones. But let me tell you: one day you do, and then the next day a doctor has a finger up your bum and he's telling you that you need to eat more greens, take nitroglycerin pills, and lay off the whiskey."
Banks cringes. At all of it. He's about to turn fifty--coincidentally, he and Ruby Hudson are both about to take that particular leap in May--and while he still feels like he has some good years left in him before he starts talking to other men about doctors putting their digits in his nether regions, he can see that scary time looming on the horizon where he starts to consider taking wild leaps into the unknown just because he still can.
"Right, right," Banks says like he gets it. "Life gets away from you in a blink, doesn't it?"
"Sure does." Dave Hutchens glances back at Fed Men Tell No Tales just in time to see Heather exiting the store with a handful of plastic shopping bags. She scans the street for him and her face lights up with joy when she spots him.
Hey, if he makes her happy,Banks thinks, lifting a hand to her this time rather than just giving a little smile. He's listened in on enough book club meetings in the past year to know a fair amount about each of the women, and he can boil Heather Charleton-Bicks down pretty succinctly: forty-six; blonde; Southern belle from Kentucky; married five times, each time to a man at least twenty-five years her senior. Which means that old Dave here just makes the age cut. From what Banks has gathered, she has a soft spot for the older gents, and while he's sure there's some reason for it that might come out in therapy should she choose to undertake that particular venture, he's taken it at face value and assumed it's just her preference the same way some guys prefer brunettes, or some women like short, stocky men. After all, who really knows what lights the flames of love?
“I see the current source of my happiness now.” Dave smiles in Heather’s direction before reaching out to shake Banks’s hand. “Wonderful chatting with you,” he adds before striding confidently across the street on his way back to Heather’s golf cart.
Banks gives a low whistle as he sinks back onto the bench, putting one hand on his knee as he does. He figures he's got a solid twenty years to pull it all together before he starts feeling that "it's now or never" push to start dating younger women or buying sports cars.
At least he hopes he does.
Chapter2
Ruby
Ruby Hudson is sitting in the leather chair at the airport's private terminal, legs crossed and arms folded. It's less a statement of wanting to be left alone, and more of a self-protective measure because flying is one of her least favorite activities to do.
"You alright, boss?" Henry Banks asks, sliding into a seat but leaving one empty chair between them.
Ruby has her back pressed against the leather seat and her head turned slightly so that she's looking out the window behind her, watching the planes taxiing to and fro. "Eh," she says, shrugging. "I feel like every other time I fly I end up panicking. Last time we went to New York I did alright, but now my stomach is in knots and I'm dreading everything about setting foot on that plane."
She turns her head fully and focuses on the sun that's beating down on the tarmac. They're at Pensacola International Airport, waiting to board a Delta flight to Charles de Gaulle, and Ruby can feel her entire body humming in anticipation. Deep down, she knows it's not just the turbulence or the feelings of helplessness that are setting her on edge, but it's easier to blame the flying than it is to pinpoint the real source of her nerves: Etienne Boucher.
Ruby glances up as Banks stands, and when he catches her eye, he holds up a hand. "Let me grab you something to drink," he says, walking away without waiting for her to respond.
A drink could work, Ruby thinks.Particularly an alcoholic one. But she knows that, in the end, she'll be better off staying clear-headed during the entirety of this trip, so when Banks returns with a glass of ice and a can of grapefruit flavored sparkling water she smiles up at him, taking the drink gratefully and pouring the bubbly liquid into the glass.
"I'll be right by your side," Banks says calmly as he sits back down in the chair he'd occupied before going to get her a drink. "If there's any turbulence at all, you can just reach over and grab my hand. I don't mind."
Ruby smiles at him wanly; this is so Banks that she can't help but feel a tug in her chest. He's been with her for five full years, and frankly, she isn't sure what she'll do without him if he ever leaves, though she can't tell him that because they don't have the kind of relationship where either of them is overly emotive with the other. Ruby could easily be the one to breach that unspoken agreement and go in for a hug or overshare her feelings, but she's known Banks now long enough to understand what his boundaries are.
She sips her sparkling water and watches as a 747 moves down the runway, the strips of silver chrome on its wings glinting under the bright Florida sun. Being in an airport with Banks always reminds her of his first week with her family--back when they'd just started to be a family with a capital "F"--as in the First Family. He'd joined them as soon as Jack won the election, and while he'd been quiet and melted into the scenery personality-wise, he'd stood out to Ruby because of the way his presence lent a comforting solidity to any room or occasion.
