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"Ruby...I feel so much for you," Dexter says. He can feel the emotion tightening in his chest and he takes a beat to compose himself. "You're an incredible woman, and I want to do right by you here--in every way--but reading about your marriage to Jack, about you raising two daughters together, about theholidays, vacations, spats, adventures...it stirs up feelings in me. Can't you understand that?" he pleads. "It's hard."
Ruby is clearly biting back tears as she nods stoically. She can't speak for a moment. "Yes," she finally says. "Sure. Of course I can. And I'm trying to put myself in your shoes. It can't be easy to see all of this in writing, and to imagine me with another man."
"But it's not just that, Ruby. We're both adults who've had long lives and plenty of experiences, but there are things about it that are painful for me."
"Be specific, please," she demands, and Dexter knows that he must.
"You and I can never have it all."
"Why can't we?" Ruby asks, her face flushing with indignation. And then she realizes. "Oh...children. I can't give you children." She nods quickly, ducking her chin to hide the tears that have sprung to her eyes. "I get it."
"No," Dexter says, but unconvincingly. "It's not just that..."
"Notjustthat?"
"I mean, that's hard, and it's something I have to come to terms with--I'm thirty-five, Ruby. And while I haven't been walking around harboring a desperate urge to become a father, it's still a consideration, isn't it?"
"Sure, of course," she says, nodding as she bites her lower lip and gazes into the cold fireplace. "That would be unfair of me to make any sort of assumptions about your feelings in that regard. And it's almost wrong of me to ask you to give up that part of your life. Being a parent is huge. It's life-changing. It's life-affirming. To take that from someone is..." Ruby finally stands as she waves a hand around in the air, shaking her head. "It's cruel of me to do that to you." She nods firmly, as if she's just made a decision. "I'm sorry that I hadn't considered that before, and I'm so glad that you brought it to my attention now."
“Ruby.” Dexter can feel her slipping away--pulling back, closing her heart to keep the pain away. And he doesn't entirely blame her. "It's not that. We've fixated on one small thing here--"
"Children are not a small thing," she blurts out, tears openly falling down her cheeks now. "Not at all."
"But that wasn't my intention. I didn't walk into your house to tell you I want children and that you can't give them to me. Frankly, I don't even know how we got here." In truth, Dexter is feeling a little stunned by the direction that this conversation has taken. He shakes his head. "I wanted to tell you quite simply that I need to go back to my place for a bit and write in solitary confinement. I need to do this without the emotion of setting aside my laptop and having dinner with you while we laugh and hold hands across the table. I need to not read diary entries by your husband about the life you lived before me, and then take you to bed and make love to you with his words still ringing in my ears."
Ruby nods, still crying. "I understand."
"I don't think you do," Dexter says imploringly. His heart aches as he watches her back away and nearly trip over a box of the damned diaries. "But I think it will do us both good to take a breath. It will serve my work, it will let us step away from this particularly painful topic, and it will give us a little space to breathe so that neither of us says anything that we end up regretting."
Ruby is nodding and sniffing, holding her chin high. "I hear you, Dexter, and of course. I want you to do whatever you need to do." She clutches the bottle of water to her chest like a shield. "I'm actually going to get dressed and head over to the bookstore for a bit. It's early in the day, so I assume you can arrange a ride back to Christmas Key for this afternoon, right?"
Dexter looks at the ground sheepishly and nods.
"Oh," Ruby says, eyebrows lifted again. "You already have. Right. Okay." She gives him a close-mouthed smile that does not reach her eyes. "Then I think I'll excuse myself here and clear out while you get your things together."
There is no goodbye, and though Dexter feels like calling out to her, like following her upstairs to her room and kissing her until the uncomfortable words and awkward feelings between them fall away, he does not.
He stands there in her living room with its thirty-foot high ceilings and listens to the echo throughout the house as Ruby's bedroom door shuts firmly behind her.
Ruby
The mission is carried out with military precision from the moment Ruby walks into Marooned With a Book, heads up to her tiny upstairs office, and texts Sunday.
Sunday calls Marigold, who texts Molly, who walks across the street from The Scuttlebutt during a quiet moment to reserve the corner booth at The Frog's Grog for that evening. Tilly is too young to drink in the bar (even though her grandfather owns The Frog's Grog), and Vanessa will stay and keep the bookshop open until closing time, which leaves the four women free to meet and discuss this turn of events.
By the time Ruby slides into the wraparound booth in the darkest corner of The Frog's Grog, she is completely spent.
"Ladies," she says tiredly, sliding across the wooden bench seat that's been polished by more posteriors over the years than Ruby cares to think about. "Thanks for coming. I so appreciate your support."
Sunday slides in next to her and wraps an arm around her best friend's shoulders. "We're here for you, Rubes. Don't even worry about it."
Marigold walks over from the bar as she zips up her wallet. She's just ordered them a round of whiskey sours, and she sits across from Ruby with a sympathetic look on her face. Molly is standing to one side, still bantering with Bev Byer, the bar owner and one of Molly's favorite sparring partners.
Ruby sits there, arms folded dejectedly, shoulders slumped. The bartender walks over with a round tray and sets the drinks on the table. Ruby smiles at her wanly. "Thank you."
"Alright," Molly says, taking a long pull of her drink as she slips into the booth. "Lay it on us."
Instead of speaking right away, Ruby slides her drink closer and runs her fingers along the cold condensation of the glass. Tears gather near her lash-line, but she blinks them back and takes a deep, heaving breath. "He left," she says, tossing her head and trying to smile bravely. "And I'm not sure if he's coming back."
