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"I probably shouldn't have mentioned it to you," Dexter says. He runs a hand through his hair, which could use a trim. He's been letting his beard grow too, and the overall effect is of a busy writer who can't be bothered to look in a mirror. This is not far from the actual truth. "I should have just spoken to her and got what I needed. I won't talk to her if it's going to upset you."
Ruby is quiet for a minute as she sprays the flower pots, keeping her eyes away from Dexter's. "No," she says finally. She lifts her foot and scratches the back of her calf with the bare toes of the opposite foot. "That would be wrong of me to stop you from talking to her. And it would veer into the territory that we were trying to avoid all along."
"Of?"
"Of us being romantically involved with one another and of that relationship getting in the way of your journalistic integrity."
This is true, of course, but Dexter is now in a whole other, completely undefined place. Ruby is becoming a woman he cares about deeply, and her feelings are more important to him now than he ever could have imagined they would be.
“Be that as it may,” Dexter says, “we’re involved now, and your feelings matter. If you want me to work around the Etienne stuff and not talk to her—“
Ruby holds up a hand and shakes her head. “No. I’m a grown woman, and I signed up for this. All of this.” The only sound for the next minute or two is of the water spraying from the hose. “Okay, I didn’t sign up for Jack having a mistress, but I’m an adult and I get to deal with the fallout of it. Talk to her.”
Dexter nods once and doesn’t say another word about it as they sit there in the heat of the afternoon, watching the water evaporate nearly the moment it hits the flower pots. As they sit there in companionable silence, Dexter’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he slides it out: an email from Etienne.
Without telling Ruby who it is, he stands and walks into the house so that he can have a few minutes to himself to read it and respond.
From: Etienne Boucher
To: Dexter North
Dexter,
I am not surprised to receive your email, and I would be open to talking to you. I figured that at some point you’d need a different perspective on Jack or on our relationship for the book you’re working on, and I will be happy to discuss things, with the promise that I can choose what is off-limits for the book.
It is after ten o’clock here, and I will be available until midnight should you wish to call. Just let me know.
Etienne
Dexter does want to call, and she’s included a phone number with permission to FaceTime, so he goes upstairs to the room he’s using as an office while he stays with Ruby and closes the door.
The phone rings when he dials. Etienne answers, her make-up free face and short, tousled pixie haircut staring back at him.
“Mr. North,” she says, smiling guardedly. “How are you?”
“I’m well,” he says, giving her a firm nod. “And you? Thank you for talking to me.”
Etienne lowers her chin slightly. “Of course. As I said, I assumed it was only a matter of time. And I’m doing well.”
From the window of the upstairs bedroom, Dexter can look out at the front porch and yard, where he sees Ruby stepping barefoot over the manicured sawgrass with the hose still in hand. She’s sweating and the underarms of her thin t-shirt are damp.
“I want to get right to my questions, if you don’t mind,” Dexter says. He has one hand in the pocket of his shorts as the air conditioning mercifully cools him off. Florida in August is swampy, at best, and he’s already feeling like he needs an afternoon shower.
“Naturally.” Etienne takes a sip from a mug on her end and watches him with curiosity.
“Before the night of your thirtieth birthday, did you ever believe that you and Jack Hudson would be together?”
Etienne pauses for a moment as she thinks. “Yes and no,” she says, tipping her head from side to side. “Yes, because a man is a man and it’s clear when his heart desires you, but no, because I knew him for my entire life, and Jack was a man of integrity. Always.”
“So you thought he’d find a way to hold himself in check?” he asks. Etienne frowns; her grasp of English is stellar, but Dexter can tell she doesn’t understand this particular phrase. “Meaning, you assumed he’d put aside his own feelings about you and focus on being the man he needed to be at home?”
A look of understanding comes over Etienne’s face. “Ah. Yes. I did think that. Of course. In fact, we’d had some discussions leading up to that night where it became more and more clear how webothfelt, and Jack told me no, he could not—would not—do such a thing. Never.”
Dexter refrains from using the old adage, “Never say never” here, as he knows it won’t help in an way. “So,” he goes on, “what do you think eventually wore him down?”
“Paris,” Etienne says with a shrug, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. She sips from her mug again. “You put a man in Paris with a woman he desires, make it snow, and ensure that his wife is thousands of miles away. Things will happen.”
“Did you want things to happen?”
