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Clearly sensing that Ruby is awash in a mix of unnamed emotions, Dexter grows serious. He sets his nearly empty beer bottle on a bench seat and faces her, gently taking both of her elbows in his hands as he looks down into her eyes.
"Ruby..."
"I know that we've been dancing around this for months," she says, inhaling the night air. At the mention of dancing, Dexter pulls her closer, setting his left hand on her lower back and holding up his right hand so that she can place her palm in his and sway to the sounds of "Sailing" by Christopher Cross. Ruby melts into his arms and they dance wordlessly for a minute or two.
"But you still think we can't pull off a romance and a best-seller?" Dexter asks, nuzzling his face against the side of her silvery-blonde head.
"You're an award-winning journalist and I was married to the leader of the free world, Dexter. Neither of those are easy jobs, and both things take effort and gumption and discretion. I think we can do anything we set our minds to. Butshouldwe?"
Dexter stops moving and puts his hands to the sides of Ruby's face. Working together on the story of Jack's life and death has given them the opportunity to be completely honest and transparent with one another, but it's also given them both a shield to hide behind: First Lady on one side, journalist on the other. With nothing between them, all they can do is stare at one another with truth in their eyes.
"Ruby, I think you're the most amazing and warm and fascinating woman I've ever met. I have no idea whether weshoulddo anything, but I know that Iwantto. I know that when I'm not with you, I'm wishing I was. I know that when I see you, I feel lighter and happier. And when I hear your voice and listen to you talk about your life, that's all I want to do for the rest ofmylife."
"Well," Ruby says, unable to resist a wry smile, "maybe for the rest ofmylife, since you're younger than me."
There's levity in the moment, but also sadness, and for a second it looks like Dexter is about to drop his hands from her face and take a step back. Ruby could kick herself for ruining the moment with a dumb joke.
"I don't even care about that," Dexter says, stepping closer to her instead of moving away. "Right now, I don't care about anything but--"
Just as he's about to say the words that Ruby wants to hear, there's an incredible jolt, and the sound of gears grinding to a stop. Ruby flies forward, wrapping her arms around Dexter's neck instinctively, and with his strong, steady balance they manage to stay upright, clinging to one another.
From below there are screams and then silence. The lights have gone out and the music has cut off mid-song.
"Oh, no! The cake!" Athena cries, her words carrying in the silence and echoing over the water.
Ruby knows instantly that the sharp jolt has sent her beautiful three-tiered cake to the floor and she cringes. Does no birthday candles mean no wish, and does no wish mean that she'll enter her fifties on the wrong foot?
"Mom?" Harlow calls out, her voice lifting from the bottom deck and sounding panicked. Ruby knows she has just seconds before Banks panics and starts searching for her.
"Quick," Dexter says quietly, still holding Ruby close to him. Their hearts are both pounding from the exhilaration of the unexpected moment when the boat stopped and the power shut down. "Before anyone comes up the stairs--make a wish."
Ruby closes her eyes tightly and presses her cheek to Dexter's chest, rushing through the wish in her head that shewouldhave made as she blew out her candles alongside Banks. She puffs her cheeks just like she's really about to put out a flame with her breath, and as she purses her lips and blows, the lights and the music spring back to life, eliciting cheers from below.
"Happy birthday, Ruby," Dexter says, stepping away from her just as Banks bounds up the steps, taking them two at a time. "I hope all your wishes come true."
Molly
Oh, book club. How Molly loves these gatherings of women. As she sits in her chair now, thinking back to life on Shipwreck Key before Ruby Hudson's arrival, she realizes that something was sorely missing: a place where the women of the island--those of a certain age, mostly--could gather and just be themselves. No preening for men, no answering the calls of needy kids or grandkids for a couple of hours, and no having to explain who they are or why they feel the way they do about being middle-aged. Or slightly past middle-aged, in Molly's case.
She's sixty-seven this year, and that's no small accomplishment. In fact, most mornings Molly starts the day with a silent prayer of thanks to anyone out in the universe of any denomination who might be listening to a salty old gal living on a rock in the middle of the sea. She's grateful for her hips, her knees, her lungs, and maybe most of all, for her mind. She doesn't forget names, dates, or things she reads in the news, and perhaps the best part of "getting old," as people so delicately put it, is that she doesn't have to really apologize for anything. Gray hairs? Who cares. Squishy tummy? A sign that she's eating well. Passing a little gas as she walks down the sidewalk? Mind your own business.
"So," Heather Charleton-Bicks says as she bellies up to the buffet next to Molly. She bites into a biscotti as she assesses the foods they've brought to the table. There are samosas from India, several different fried rice dishes from Bali, and in addition to the biscotti, someone has made little lasagna bites and a basket of garlic bread from Italy.
Molly pours herself a glass of red wine. "So?" she prods Heather, putting two hunks of garlic bread on her own plate to soak up the vino.
"Ruby's party was incredible--even the mishap was fun!" Heather says, picking up a lasagna bite and setting it on her plate.
Heather is a bubbly, vivacious, and wholly excitable woman with a huge appetite for older men. Molly would be more put off by the younger woman trying to fish in her pond, but frankly, she isn't that interested in dating men her own age, and she's of the mind that Heather can have them all if she wants them.
"We hit a giant piece of metal that was floating in the water and it interrupted the flow of fuel to the engines, Heather. That wasn't just a fun mishap, it was a major issue for the owner of the boat."
Heather's smile fades a little. "You're right," she says, as if realizing for the first time that the lights and the music didn't just go out for her amusement. "I guess it could have been a lot worse."
"Well," Molly says, taking her wine and her plate to the chair she normally occupies in the circle. "I don't think we were in danger of capsizing, but that beautiful cake died a tragic death."
As Heather takes her seat and the other women finish filling their plates, Molly realizes that their numbers have grown, and she isn't sure how she feels about that. Ella, from the metaphysical shop Doubloons and Full Moons, is standing at the buffet table with a glass of wine, exchanging pleasantries with Sunday, and Phyllis, whose family has owned Fed Men Tell No Tales, the island's grocery store, since the beginning of time, is chatting with Ruby and Athena.
Things have gotten so comfortable for Molly at the book club that without even realizing it, she's started to jealously guard the group's membership, and now she's feeling pensive at the notion of newcomers.
