Nine years ago, as I slid a knife down the canal of brown skin on my arms, I decided to end myself in the bathroom of the house. I figured it’d be more considerate to do it in the bathroom. Getting blood out of tile I assumed was easier than hardwood. I thought Mom would’ve probably been the one to clean up the mess. But I found out it was Lebanon who did the cleaning and I found some satisfaction in that. Point is I wanted to make less work for Mom. It would have been my last act as a good daughter.
As crimson seeped from me, I thought God or maybe the Devil since I was taking my own life, had come to collect me. At that point, I didn’t much care. I just wanted away, from Lebanon and Mom, from seeing happiness every damn day, but never knowing it.
But it was Layla. She saved me. I didn’t ask her to. I sound ungrateful as hell, but she would have been fine without me. The world would have kept spinning. Lebanon would have kept terrorizing. Mom would have kept crying. I thought it was my one chance at glory, at freedom, to find out if what even half of what they talked about in church was true.
Gone!
Layla always wanted to rescue me and I do love her for it. But was I worth it? To have someone love you so much they’ll move heaven and earth for you—I only know about this all-consuming love through her. I worry she is too closely bound to me. When I’d spend the night over at her house, she’d hold on to me, tight. And I could hear her thoughts though she didn’t speak them out loud. She wanted to get me away from my home and have a home there with her, and I’d wanted that more than anything, but then Mom would be left alone with him. The complicated lines and knots of love are difficult to untangle, they coil again into something unmanageable and not easily pulled apart.
Cotton candy skies swirl across the horizon in Grandma Naomi’s backyard. Even the weeds slowly overtaking the grass are beautiful. Green claws through brick pavers underneath my feet.
Everything’s prettier in Tennessee.
It’s cool. Too cool to keep sitting out here like it’s summer, but I stretch my body and gaze at the sky just the same. Cold air whips in gusts against me, goose bumps rise along my scars, dotting my damaged flesh. Leaving the patio, I grab the black purse with the gold buckle and walk back through the kitchen. I hear the creak of the old red door. I didn’t lock it.
Save yourself, baby.
He walks through the door. If only it’d been him who came home first.
I reach into my black purse with the gold buckle and find the item I need to make this plan work. This time no mistakes. He dies or I die. In either outcome, I win.
“I came to get you,” Lebanon says.
His voice has a slight quiver to it, a slight uncertainty. Maybe it’s being in this house. Maybe it’s the dust or the memories. Maybe it’s the gun I take from my purse and point in his face.
It could be that, too.
CHAPTER 16
LEBANON
That girl points the gun right at my head.
“You really want to do this? I’m all you have left. You’re all I got left.”
“Shut up,” she yells. Hands shake slightly. If I keep talking, and time myself just right, I can take the piece away from her, stop this foolishness and bring her back home. She’ll learn there’s only one place for her. With me.
“I know what happens to murderers. I know about being locked up. Do you, little girl?”
“I read that file those detectives left. Doesn’t surprise me, you being a killer.”
“Apparently, it’s in the blood and if you don’t watch it, you won’t have anything left, unless you’re smart like me, unless you got heart like me. I can teach you about that.”
“I don’t want anything from you! That was Mom.”
“You wanted my help that night and I gave it to you. Without hesitation.”
“You want me to say ‘Thank you’?”
It’s hard to swallow. Could be from Jackson’s little brawl. Could be something else. I inch over toward her. If she shot now, the bullet might hit my shoulder, but not my head.
“I want you to come home with me and work this out.”
“Home?” A scowl spreads across her face. She pulls back the slide of the gun with her free hand. “That place was never a home and you, Mom and me were never a family.”
“I see what you do to family,” I fire back. “Even after all that, I protected you. I hid the gun—”
“It was your gun! You’re not even supposed to have one!”
“I kept it for protection, for the bakery.” Felons aren’t supposed to have guns, but they’re as easy to purchase as a cheeseburger.
“I should’ve used it sooner to protect me and Mom from you. I should’ve done it a lot sooner. I could’ve been happier a lot sooner.”
“I get angry, yeah. But it’s not like I wanted to hurt you or your Mom. I just get beside myself and in my head. I can’t explain it. I never wanted to do what I did. I didn’t like it.”
“Oh well that makes it better!”
“The only way we’re gonna make it better is if we stick together. It can be better between us. I promise.”
“Like you promised to not hit Mom.”
She won’t let this go. I don’t blame her. But I’m bigger than my mistakes. I did what I did that night for her, for me too, but mainly for her.
“Damn it! I’m trying to change this! Don’t you get it? That’s why I did what I did. The bakery, helping you that night with your mom, all of it!”
“You did that for yourself, not out of love! You don’t have it to give.”
“This talk about love, it’s not hugs and kisses and words. It’s protecting a friend even when he don’t acknowledge you. It’s taking money for a bakery to provide for you and Alice. It’s driving hundreds of miles to bring you home! It’s getting shit done for people no one else is gonna do. No one!”
She scoffs. “Why couldn’t you have just come home like you always do? I had it all set up.”
“You did. It was a good plan,” I admit. “I wouldn’t have seen you in that corner. The problem is you couldn’t see either but pulled the trigger just the same. If you just focused, really took your shot, maybe Alice would be in this dusty-ass house with you, but you didn’t and here we are.”
She shakes her head. “No...no...no.”
“See, maybe it’s about mercy. Maybe you did a good thing for your mom, but no one’s gonna understand that, but me,” I say. “Everyone else is gonna say you’re a murderer. Crazy. Not me. I get it. I get it.”
A glimmer of understanding dances behind her eyes. I move another inch toward her, her gun almost in my reach.
Just a few more steps.
“Don’t try to shake those memories. You’ll never be able to anyway. Remember what you felt, what you saw. It’ll drive you. What was your momma saying when you was holding her? Can you remember that?”
“‘Save yourself, baby,’” she whispers.
“Save yourself from who?”
“I don’t know. You probably.”
If I wasn’t focused on what I need to do, if words were more important than legacy, if I was weaker like Jackson, maybe what she said would’ve hurt. It didn’t. I’m built different and so is the girl.
“People like you and me, no one gets us, not really. You feel invisible. You feel like something’s breaking apart inside, but you can’t quite figure out what it is. I see that in you...now I do.”
“I—I...” she stutters.
The girl’s eyes pop wide, dirty green ponds of surprise. Sounded like a herd of buffalo came running through from all them footsteps. Thought it was the police.
Can’t say I was expecting Jackson and Layla.
Definitely wasn’t expecting Layla to stand in front of me.
“Get out of the way,” the girl orders.
“We were afraid Lebanon might find you
, hurt you again or that you’d hurt yourself again. Where did you get that gun?” says Layla.
“I’m not gonna kill myself!”
A look of relief then confusion snakes its way across Layla’s face.
“Me and the girl were just conversating about some plans, that’s all,” I say.
“Conversating on how you can keep her quiet for good. Keep her trapped with you,” Layla fumes.
The girl’s arm remains straight as an arrow.
“You don’t know a damn thing,” I reply.
Layla turns from me. “Look, Rue, we won’t let Lebanon hurt you anymore.”
“Ruby, there’s a way back from this,” Jackson counsels, stepping in front of Layla. “There’s been enough death. You can stop this. Just put the gun down.”
The girl’s breathing slows. She moves her arm slightly to the right and pulls the trigger. Splinters of wood ricochet, a geyser of small oak strips explode from the door frame.
Everything was under control. She was finally starting to listen, maybe even understand me a little, and just like clockwork the Potters come and screw everything up.
She steps closer to Jackson, placing the gun square against his temple. “Now you want to protect me? Now you grow a backbone against Lebanon? Why the hell should I even listen to you or Layla? You deserve a bullet in your head just as much as he does. You stood by and did nothing. You’re a damn coward!”
“You’re right,” Jackson says, his breath uneven. “You have no reason to trust my word, and you should be able to trust it. But I swear to you, we just want to help.”
“Tell me, Pastor, does God forgive murderers?”
Jackson glances over at me. “Yes, Ruby. I’m sure he does. God forgives us all. No matter what happened between Alice and him the night she died, no matter what Lebanon did, God loves him, too.”
“Just walk away,” I warn. “For once in your damn life don’t try and be a hero. You fail every time you try.”
“Your father gave me the weapon. The one he used that night. We can go to the police. We can make this right,” Jackson says.
Layla’s eyes go wide and she stares at her father in awe, in anger, maybe pride. I can’t distinguish her look.
“Come with us. Dad can make this right. Lebanon can go away. The police will have the weapon with his prints—” begs Layla.
“Then they’ll have mine, too,” the girl interrupts.
“What are you saying?”
“Jesus, Jackson. Isn’t your daughter the smart one out of your kids?” I say.
Jackson turns to me and scowls. He might choke me again, he might leave me to the girl, but he won’t leave without Layla.
“Your prints on the gun? What happened? With your mom... Did you? It wasn’t...” Layla trails off.
“No, it wasn’t him. I just. I didn’t see Momma come through the door. Thought it was him.”
The girl moves her arm and the gun once aimed at Jackson’s head is now aimed at mine. Layla steps forward again, in front of Jackson.
“You want my life for yours, Rue?”
“I want you to leave! Take your dad with you. I’ll deal with mine.”
The girl’s voice is even and low, like Sara used to sound. Maybe she could kill Layla or me or all of us. Maybe I should give her more credit. Alice always said I underestimated her.
“Just...go, Layla. What happened with Mom was a mistake. A horrible mistake. I never meant to hurt her. Let me deal with this, once and for all.”
“Jesus!” Jackson’s voice whispers.
“He ain’t here!” I reply.
Sirens make their way down the street. Someone probably heard the gunshot. Quiet neighborhood like this, a gunshot probably sounds like a cannon.
“You’re right, Rue, I want to save you and I get how arrogant that sounds, but it’s because I know you’re worth so much more. You’ve always been so much more, and I’m sorry I didn’t see it before. Now. Right now, before everything is taken away. We’re sisters. We’re us!”
“I don’t have anything left. I can make the world a better place without Lebanon in it. Otherwise, what I suffered, Mom... It’s for nothing. All of it.”
“Jesus, Rue! I need you to see your worth before a bunch of uniforms come in and write your story for you! You still have power. You can still save yourself!”
“What?” The girl’s lips start trembling. The gun shakes in her hand. One small move and the girl might accidentally kill again. “Say what you said again, Layla,” the girl commands.
“You can save yourself. Save yourself, Rue,” Layla begs. Her voice is cracking.
Blue lights cut through dusty white curtains. Voices outside. That shouting with authority, without consequence and a lotta malice.
“What about...Mom?”
“We’ll figure that out together. But it will be together. Always and forever,” Layla’s voice whispers, spiderweb thin. “We need to end this. We can’t keep hiding behind the past or God or guns or Bibles or self-preservation. It revisits us again and again. I’m tired of this. Aren’t you?”
“Ruby, please. Please,” Jackson begs.
The girl’s time is running short. If she’s gonna shoot us, then she better do it now. If not, then she best put that piece down before the cops shoot her.
The girl lowers her arm. Seconds later, cops run through the door and shout orders.
* * *
Police have the girl in the back seat of their car. She stares straight ahead. She isn’t crying. She rocks back and forth. Back and forth. Layla talks to one of the cops. After all this mess, I deserve a square. My stash is still lying in the glove compartment of my car.
I feel Jackson behind me before he even says a word. I light my square and take a long drag. The tobacco dances around my lungs before I blow it into the southern air. “How’s your knee?”
“Sore. How’s your throat?”
“I’ll live.” I take another toke and blow it in his face.
He waves the smoke away. “Mmm-hmm. How fortunate for all of us.”
“Well, that comment was petty as hell, Jackson.”
“I didn’t come over here to get in it with you. Ruby is ours, good, bad and ugly—but she’s ours. We’ll figure out what to do. Whatever your journey from here on out is, it’s on your own,” Jackson tells me. “If Ruby hears so much as a peep from you, everyone will know about the gun and how you got that bakery, Lebanon. How you actually got it.”
I choke and cough so hard my lungs bang back and forth in my chest.
“Alice gave me the papers,” he continues. “Said she couldn’t help cover up your sins anymore.”
“You threatening me?”
“I suppose I am.”
One of the cops comes over to me and Jackson, gives us the address of the precinct where they’re keeping the girl for now. “So you wanna go over? Say goodbye? She might be in awhile before they can set bail and such.” The cop has a slight accent, a twang at the ends of his words, spreading them out like honey over warm toast.
Jackson glares at me. He’s not bluffing, not like the other night when he had the wrench in his hand. He has nothing to lose by taking everything from me. I have nothing to gain if I try to keep the girl. The decision is made for me, I suppose.
“Anything for the girl, talk to him.” I point to Jackson.
Turning to Jackson the cop says, “Okay, sir, here’s my card and information. Let me finish getting your statement, and we’ll talk about what happens next.”
“Yes, Detective, I’ll be over in a bit.”
The detective saunters back across the street.
“Didn’t think you had it in you, but you’ve surprised me in these last hours,” I say.
“You surprised?”
“Kinda proud, actually.”
“It takes co
urage to do the right thing, Lebanon. Even if it might come too late. I hope it hasn’t.
“There’s something else I have to tell you,” he murmurs.
Sunlight burns my skin as Jackson finishes the story Sara told about my father. Maybe Sara not telling me was her only way to protect me. Maybe it wasn’t love she had for me, but it wasn’t hate either. She couldn’t love me like a mom or hug me like one, but considering what she went through, the fact she still kept me, guess I can’t ask for much more. Can’t say I’ll ever forgive her, but I understand more now.
Jackson makes his way across the street and leaves me alone under an oak tree with a half-finished cigarette. Guess it didn’t make much sense to come here, to try and keep the girl; try and make something out of life since Alice is gone. It’d be like trying to get the rotten out from fruit. You cut out the brown spots, but the decay, it’s somewhere beneath. You can never really enjoy the fruit because you’re always wondering if the fruit is good or if it’ll make you sick.
The girl doesn’t have much use for me or apologies, so I’ll offer none. But maybe not being there is best. Sara was around and a lot of good that did for me, or anyone else. Best thing a parent can do for their child is let them go. Figure out their own shit. She’s in handcuffs now, but maybe the girl, maybe Ruby, can be free like I never was. Maybe I owe her by staying away. Maybe I owe myself.
LAYLA
I fix my gaze on Dad and Lebanon speaking across the street. After the dust settled, after we gave our statements to the police and detectives, Dad pulled me aside and told me what Ms. Sara confessed in the hospital, about Lebanon. He said he didn’t want any more secrets between us. I told him what Holden told me. This exchange of truth and tragedy, of hurt and heartbreak, connected us in a way I never believed possible. So now, watching across the street, Lebanon’s stance, the slumped posture of his frame, I know the story Dad told a man who once was as close to him as a brother.
Saving Ruby King Page 26