Ruby's Slippers

by Tricia Rayburn

  “Nothing,” Momma says. “There was a teeny tiny accident at work today, but everything’s fine now.”

  “Fine?” Nana Dottie says. “The club had to close. They’re not sure when it will reopen. You call that fine?”

  “So a bunch of superrich people will have to entertain themselves with activities that don’t involve hitting small balls into holes and over nets. They’re superrich. They’ll find something.”

  I look at Nana Dottie. She looks at Momma.

  “Francine—”

  “It was an accident, Mom,” Momma says, sitting up. “I told you I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “And I told you we’re going to talk about it. We spent so many years not talking when we should have, and where did that get us? But you and Ruby are here now. We’re family. And we’re going to discuss things when they need to be discussed.”

  I start to stand, prepared to excuse myself and let them talk privately, but Nana Dottie presses down on my shoulder until I’m seated again.

  “I did exactly what I was asked to do,” Momma says, her voice low. “They asked me to flip a switch and reboot the computer system. That’s what I did.”

  “They said rebooting the computer system was as easy as flipping a switch. You weren’t supposed to literally flip a switch.”

  “Well, how was I supposed to know that?” Momma bursts. “I’ve spent as much time on computers as I have eating tofu. I have no idea how they work.”

  “Then you should’ve asked,” Nana Dottie says. “And if there was no one there you felt comfortable approaching, you should’ve called me. I would’ve talked you through it.”

  “I’m thirty-two years old. I’m an adult. I’ve never had my mother’s help before, and I don’t need it now.”

  Nana Dottie pauses, clearly taken aback by Momma’s words. When she speaks again, her voice is firmer. “You’d rather pull the plug on the entire club, plunging guests into darkness and costing the owners thousands of dollars? That’s the better option?”

  Momma frowns. “No one was hurt, and I’m sure the club will survive the financial setback.”

  “Today’s, yes. But what about tomorrow’s? And the next day’s? Whatever you did, it not only cut off the normal power supply, but it fried the generators. There’s no telling when everything will be up and running again. And until it is, employees still have to be paid, members have to be reimbursed, additional income from the restaurant and public golf course will be lost. All because you were too stubborn to ask for help.”

  “I have some money,” I say quickly. “From babysitting in Curly Creek. It’s not much, but it’s something.”

  “That’s a lovely offer, Ruby,” Momma says, “but we don’t have to pay back the club. It was an accident. Accidents happen all the time.”

  “This kind doesn’t.”

  I turn to Nana Dottie. Her bright pink lips press together, and her thin black eyebrows lift. She looks more serious now than she did when she first entered the room, which makes me think we haven’t heard the worst of it yet.

  Unfortunately, I’m right.

  “Given the severity of the situation and your brief period of employment,” Nana Dottie continues, “the owners feel that action must be taken.”

  “Action?” Momma’s voice is softer now . . . timid, even. “What kind of action?”

  “They can’t fire her,” I say, resisting the urge to run to Momma and give her a big hug. “Can they?”

  Nana Dottie looks down at her hands, which are clasped in her lap. “I’m afraid they can.”

  Momma gasps, then releases a light, nervous laugh. “But they won’t. I’m your daughter. You’re their friend—and a responsible, dues-paying member. They wouldn’t want to upset you like that.”

  “We’ve already spoken. They said you have two choices: You could repay every dollar your technological mishap cost them, or you can leave. For good.”

  “They talked to you before talking to me? What kind of—”

  “I offered to cover the cost.” Nana Dottie’s eyes lock on Momma’s. “Every last dime, no matter the amount. I wanted to save you the stress of finding another job.”

  Momma sits back. Her shoulders slump. She looks tired, defeated, completely unlike herself. “Thank you. That was very generous.”

  “Yes. Well.” Nana Dottie pauses. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Momma’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

  “You’re thirty-two years old. You’re an adult. If you don’t need my help, fine. I won’t force you to accept it. You’re on your own.”

  And with that, Nana Dottie stands up and leaves the room.

  I look at Momma. She’s staring at the empty spot next to me, like Nana Dottie’s still on the couch. Her mouth hangs open. She doesn’t blink. I’m about to ask if there’s anything I can do when her chin shoots up and her head snaps toward me.

  “Get your things,” she says before jumping up and disappearing down the hallway.

  I hurry after her. By the time I reach the bedroom, she’s already pulled our old duffel bags from the closet and started stuffing them with clothes. She moves quickly, yanking drawers open, shoving them shut, grabbing bottles of hairspray and lotion and tossing them toward the bags on the bed.

  “Pack,” she says without looking at me. “Grab your clothes, camera, laptop, iPod—whatever you can carry.”

  “Are we going somewhere?” I’m not sure whether to be hopeful or nervous. On the one hand, with Citrus Star only two days away, I barely have time for bathroom breaks. On the other hand, if I can’t make Citrus Star because of some sort of family emergency, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

  “I picked up a bus schedule weeks ago, just in case we ever needed it. The next one leaves in fifteen minutes.” Momma gathers shoes from the closet floor. “We have to hurry.”

  “Are we going to Disney World?” My heart races at the thought of a vacation.

  “Even better.” Momma drops an armful of shoes on the bed, stands before me, and takes my face in her hands. “We’re going home.”

  She releases my face and my chin falls. “Home, home?” I ask.

  “The only one we have.”

  I stand there, my thoughts spinning like a tornado has somehow wiggled through one ear and into my head. I don’t have to be in Citrus Star. I don’t have to mortify myself in front of a thousand strangers. I don’t have to go back to Sweet Citrus Junior High. I don’t have to wear sundresses or metallic sandals. I don’t have to see Ava Grand ever again.

  There’s just one problem.

  “What about Nana Dottie?”

  “What about her?” Momma zips up the duffel bags and slings them onto her shoulders.

  “I know you just had a little fight, but—”

  “A little fight?” Momma faces me. “Ruby, I hope you and your grandmother have a nice relationship one day. Truly, I do. But my mother and I will never be close. I hoped we could be—even though she left me years ago for a fancy house, a fancy car, and a fancy life she thought she’d never have in Curly Creek. I hoped that our moving here was a chance to start over and make things better. But I was wrong. Our relationship is too broken to fix.”

  I know Momma and Nana Dottie don’t always get along, but after everything that’s happened in the past few months, it doesn’t feel right to just up and leave. Unfortunately, Momma’s determined to make the next bus out of Coconut Grove; she’s heading down the hallway before I can suggest taking a later one after talking to Nana Dottie.

  I quickly gather my stuff and fly from the bedroom to the family room. As Momma collects her knitting supplies, I turn on my laptop and connect to the Internet. I’ve just started an e-mail to Megan and Sam when Nana Dottie appears in the doorway. She’s holding a plastic-wrapped package in one hand and a zucchini in the other.

  “I’m making swordfish and steamed vegetables for dinner,” she says, her voice even. “Will you be joining me?”

  My excitement
knots in my stomach. During the countless times I’d imagined going home over the past few months, I felt like I couldn’t leave Coconut Grove fast enough. But now that my dream is on the brink of reality, leaving isn’t so easy. Nana Dottie hasn’t talked much about Papa Harry, but she must still miss him. What if losing us makes her feel even worse about losing him? What if she’s lonely?

  “Francine?” Nana Dottie says when Momma continues to gather her knitting supplies without answering. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re leaving,” I say when Momma doesn’t answer. I didn’t imagine this part, either. I always thought Momma would sit Nana Dottie down for a nice, calm conversation well in advance of our departure. “We’re going home.”

  “Home? What do you . . . ?” Nana Dottie’s voice trails off as her eyes land on Momma’s duffel bag.

  “You said we had two choices,” Momma says. “We could pay for everything we damaged, or we could leave. So we’re leaving.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Francine. No one meant for you to leave the state. Now, put down your things and have a seat. I’ll make some tea and we’ll talk this through.”

  “No.” Momma grabs one last ball of yarn, stands up straight, and looks at Nana Dottie. “No more talking. Ruby and I are going home. It was a mistake to come here, and now we’re going to get our life back on track. Our bus leaves in twelve minutes.”

  I glance at Nana Dottie. Her mouth opens and closes like she has so much and nothing to say at the same time.

  “Go,” she finally manages.

  “Nana Dottie,” I say, stepping toward her, “I—”

  “Outside. Now.” She gives me, then Momma, a stern look.

  We were already leaving, but getting kicked out throws even Momma. Her face softens for the first time since she walked in the door.

  “Do you have any idea how many germs are on those buses? It’s a miracle they haven’t been condemned.” Nana Dottie opens the front closet and removes her purse. “I’ll drive you.”

  “You’ll what?” Momma shakes her head like she didn’t hear right. “Mom . . . Kansas is two thousand miles away. You haven’t driven farther than the Super Walmart in twenty years.”

  “I’ll stop twice an hour for bathroom and junk food breaks.”

  Momma looks at me. I shrug. “Can we eat in the car?” she asks.

  Thirty seconds later, we’re standing on the front stoop, waiting for the garage door to open. Momma stares at a palm tree, not speaking. I want to ask if she’s okay, but since I think I already know the answer to that, I distract myself with my camera. I take pictures of the yard, the pink house next door, and our old dead hatchback parked on the street. I suddenly want to remember everything about the place we tried to call home for a few months, and I take so many pictures I finish one roll of film and have to load another.

  I’ve just closed the camera when the garage door opens . . . and Papa Harry’s yellow convertible backs out.

  “Well?” Nana Dottie calls out when Momma and I don’t move from the stoop. “Are we going, or what?”

  Momma looks at me. “Shotgun.”

  “Please keep the interior clean,” Nana Dottie says as we hurry to the car and climb in. “You may eat in here, but you may not engage in food fights or any other activity that might harm the leather seats. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal,” Momma says.

  “And don’t ask me to put the top down. There’s a five percent chance that it might rain later, and that’s a chance I’m not willing to take.”

  Surprisingly, the convertible’s interior and top are Nana Dottie’s only sticking points. For the next three hours, she lets us do whatever we want. She lets Momma blast oldies on the radio and doesn’t bat an eye when we both sing along at the top of our lungs. She doesn’t say anything when we roll down our windows and wave good-bye to some of our favorite landmarks from our drive down, like the country’s biggest Cracker Barrel restaurant, the coffee shop shaped like a coffee bean, and the giant sign announcing Alvin’s Alligator Farm and Casino. And she exits the highway twice an hour for bathroom breaks and junk food, just like she said she would. She even tries beef jerky at Momma’s insistence—and likes it.

  Riding in Papa Harry’s car with Momma and Nana Dottie is probably the most fun I’ve had since leaving Curly Creek. It’s just too bad we didn’t do it sooner.

  The good times continue through the fourth hour. In the fifth, the rain starts. Softly at first, and then harder and harder, until it’s falling in thick sheets around us and pounding the car so aggressively I worry the top will buckle under the beating. Nana Dottie’s been cruising at a good clip until this point, but she slows to a crawl when the sky opens up.

  “You’ve been driving for hours,” Momma shouts over the rain as a shard of lightning rips through the blackness in front of us. “Why don’t I take a turn so you can rest?”

  “I don’t need to rest.” Nana Dottie’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “I feel fine.”

  It’s eleven o’clock at night. I’ve eaten more Doritos, cookies, and Milky Ways than most kids eat in a month. I’m exhausted, I’m full, and I wish I were sleeping . . . especially since the fun is about to come to a grinding halt.

  “Mom,” Momma tries again when thunder booms overhead and the car jerks to the left. “It’s pitch black. If you don’t want me to drive, will you at least pull over until the storm passes?”

  “I don’t need to pull over,” Nana Dottie says. “You want to go home, and I’m going to get you there.”

  “And you will.” Momma glances in the backseat, and I know she’s making sure I’m wearing my seat belt. “But there’s no rush. We’ll get there when we get there.”

  Nana Dottie doesn’t respond—or if she does, I don’t hear her. The wind’s picking up now, and it grows from a whisper to a roar. It nudges the car from side to side. I peer through the window and see road signs flapping and branches flying from trees.

  “This isn’t good,” I say, even though no one can hear me.

  “I didn’t leave you,” Nana Dottie shouts.

  “What?” Momma shouts back.

  “Years ago, when I met Harold and we decided to leave Curly Creek. I didn’t leave you.”

  I watch Momma watch Nana Dottie. Her eyes are wide and her mouth’s open, like she can’t believe Nana Dottie has chosen this moment to finally say what has needed to be said for decades.

  “I asked you to come,” Nana Dottie continues, her fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly I think it might crack. “I begged you to. For years I tried to get you to join us. You wouldn’t do it.”

  “I was eighteen. I had friends in Curly Creek. I had a life. You knew I didn’t want to leave—and you left anyway. You had a choice, and you chose a fancy new life over the one you already had.”

  Another bolt of lightning tears through the sky. It lights up the car, and I see Momma leaning forward in her seat, looking at Nana Dottie. I’m pretty sure they’ve both forgotten about the storm raging outside, which makes me squeeze the door handle even tighter.

  “Harold was a kind, decent, caring man,” Nana Dottie fires back. “He would’ve done anything for you if you’d given him a chance.”

  “I tried,” Momma says. “When Ruby was born. I invited you both back to spend time with us, and you didn’t come.”

  “We were busy—”

  “You were at a business convention!” Momma declares. “In sunny Puerto Rico! You had another chance, and you made the same choice!”

  “That convention had been planned for months! I asked if we could come two weeks later, and you said no. And you never invited us back. I might never have met Ruby until you moved here if I hadn’t surprised you with a visit five years ago.”

  “Um, guys?” I shout when a gust of wind shoves the car to the right, over the double yellow line and into the next lane. “It’s pretty bad out there; maybe we should—”

  “It hurt too much,” Momma says, ignoring me. �
�Okay? Are you happy? I was so excited to spend time with you both, and I was crushed when you didn’t come. It hurt as much as it did the day you left, when I was eighteen, and I didn’t want to feel anything like that ever again.”

  Nana Dottie’s head snaps toward Momma. “You think knowing you’re hurt makes me happy? Nothing could be further from the truth! And I missed you, too. So much. My heart ached every single day.”

  “Then why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you tell Harry that you wanted to be with us and come back for good?”

  “You stopped talking to me. I didn’t think you wanted to see me.”

  I stare at Nana Dottie’s trembling shoulders. Now’s really not a good time for an emotional breakdown.

  “I called you,” Nana Dottie continues. “I wrote. I invited you to visit. And when you ignored me, I just longed for the day when we would mend our relationship and begin healing as a family.”

  “Well, I guess that day hasn’t come yet, has it?” Momma shouts as six lightning bolts zoom toward the ground. They’re so close I think I could reach out and touch them.

  “I won’t disappoint you again, Francine,” Nana Dottie shouts back. “I know living together hasn’t been easy, and I wish you would stay so we could work it out, but if you don’t want to, I’m not going to stop you. I’m going to bring you home if it’s the last—”

  “Look out!” I scream as two metal garbage cans fly at the windshield.

  The car veers sharply to the left. It spins slowly, then seems to lift off the ground and float through the air. When it hits the pavement again, it takes three more tight, fast spins before sliding across the shoulder and landing in a shallow ditch.

  “Ruby!” Momma yells once the car stops. She unbuckles and twists frantically in her seat. “Oh my goodness, Ruby, sweetie, are you okay?”

  “Give her a second.” Nana Dottie’s voice is calm as she presses one hand to mine.

  My eyelids feel weighted down with bricks when I try to open them. They finally lift on my third attempt, and at first, I think I’m dreaming. I must have a concussion or be in a coma.

  Because I don’t see Momma and Nana Dottie inside Papa Harry’s car. I see them planting flowers in the backyard. Talking in the living room. Playing Scrabble. I see Nana Dottie doing her crossword puzzle and listening to classical music. I see Momma surrounded by balls of yarn and jumping into the pool in her grass skirt and coconut bra. I see other people, too. Mr. Fox holding my lunch box. Megan listening to her Walkman. Ava dancing in her bedroom. Miss Anita gliding down the hallway. Sam grinning in the lighting booth. Oscar dancing by the pond in his flower shop.