Under a Cloudless Sky

by Chris Fabry

  She had her hand on the phone when the most terrifying thought came. Her mouth dropped and the air went out of her lungs.

  No. She didn’t go there. That can’t be where she went.

  She closed her eyes, surveying her life, her choices, her own need of forgiveness. The pain and abandonment that had brought her life to a screeching halt years earlier. What if Ruby had gone down that road of forgiveness? If she had, could Frances follow?

  She found the number on her phone, took a deep breath, and dialed.

  “Hello?”

  The voice sounded groggy and annoyed on the other end, but it brought back pain and sweetness to Frances. The man she had known and trusted and divorced. She had awakened him and she regretted it, but her fear about her mother had trumped all other concerns, even reaching out to her ex.

  “Wallace, it’s Frances. I’m sorry to wake you.”

  “Frances . . .”

  He said the word like it was a noose he had forgotten was there. She was noose and trapdoor, even after all these years.

  “What time is it?” he said.

  “Close to midnight. But I wouldn’t call if this weren’t important.”

  “Is it Julia?” he said, sounding like he was sitting up.

  “Why? Do you know something about her?”

  “Frances, I don’t even know who I am right now. I was in the middle of some dream . . .” He let that thought go. “Why did you call?”

  “I don’t think it’s about Julia, but I’m not sure. I thought you might be able to help.”

  “Okay.” He was waking now, gaining his faculties. Wallace had always been a hard sleeper, able to drift off without any help. Just put his head against the window on the passenger side or the end of the couch and roll through sleep’s silent gate. It was sweet at first and then she resented his ability to drift on that sea while she stayed onshore holding all the towlines.

  “Has my mother made contact with you?” she said.

  “Ruby? No, why would she?”

  “It’s a hunch. It’s either you or Julia. And I was hoping it was you.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “I think my mother needs to forgive someone. But I’m not sure.”

  “It sounds like you’ve worked yourself up about something that has nothing to do with me.”

  “Wallace, I need your help. My mother is gone.”

  His tone changed. “What do you mean?”

  She told him the story in one long stream of consciousness and included her fears about Jerry, Julia, the deputy at the door, the pastor on the radio, the man down the street, and Ruby’s inability to keep her car between the lines. She told him about the missing cash but left out the part about taking Ruby’s keys. When she surfaced from her monologue to take a breath, Wallace jumped in.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve called the police.”

  “Jerry didn’t want us to.”

  “Why not?”

  “He said we should be sensitive to her and not make a fuss. And then I found a check she had written to him.”

  “Frances . . .”

  “Wallace, I think Jerry is in some kind of financial trouble. I don’t know. I feel like we have to consider all the possibilities.”

  “Jerry wouldn’t hurt your mother. You know that.”

  “You know how much she’s worth. If Jerry is in debt . . .”

  “You’ve been watching too many crime shows on TV.”

  “Maybe so. Maybe there’s a better explanation. Another theory is that Julia’s in some kind of trouble and Mom went down there.”

  “What do you base that on?”

  “They’ve been talking on the phone.”

  “Frances . . .”

  “I’m not making things up. I called her but she hasn’t called back.”

  “It’s understandable you’re upset about your mother. All these theories are not helping.”

  “Don’t dismiss this. It took a lot for me to realize I needed help. I’m swallowing my pride. Just hear me out.”

  A heavy sigh. “I haven’t hung up, have I?”

  “No,” she said, her voice whimpering. “What do you think? Doesn’t this sound like foul play?”

  He paused. “What happened between you and Ruby?”

  “Jerry and I took her car keys.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Frances.”

  “She’s going to kill somebody, Wallace.”

  “Taking that woman’s car keys is like taking a microphone away from Rush Limbaugh. She’s making you pay.”

  The way he said it made her think it was less about Ruby and more about her. He was saying, It’s in the blood. You and your mother make everyone pay for their mistakes.

  “I’d guess she’s within fifteen miles of you, holed up in some hotel, sleeping like a baby.”

  “Jerry was going to follow up on her credit card, but he won’t speak to me.”

  Wallace didn’t respond.

  The thought that her mother might be in a nearby hotel encouraged Frances, particularly coming from Wallace, who had spent years in law enforcement. He had worked his way up the ladder and been close to achieving his dream of detective when the dream crashed. It was a split-second decision in a darkened stairwell. His action was deemed a “bad shoot” and his career was over. Wallace’s life spiraled and their marriage followed. He numbed the pain with alcohol and didn’t contest the divorce.

  “I know this is a lot to ask, but do you think you could come up here?”

  “Frances . . .”

  He said her name without anger as if he were looking for something he had misplaced. Lost keys in the couch. For the first time since she had called, she wondered if he had hit bottom yet or was still in that long death spiral a plane takes when it loses both engines.

  “I haven’t asked about you,” Frances said.

  “I’m fine. But I can’t come up there right now. New job.”

  “I understand. It’s a lot to ask.”

  “She’ll probably call in the morning. Apologize for making you worry. You should try to get some sleep.”

  Frances slept on the couch, if you could call it sleep, staring at the ceiling and listening to the clock tick and chime. She pulled the living room phone with the fifty-foot cord to the coffee table. Before dawn she got in her car and drove through the parking lots of five hotels.

  Daylight came and she returned to the house and made coffee and stared out the front window. Just before eight, Jerry pulled up the driveway and got out alone and sauntered inside. Eyes looking at the floor.

  “Credit card company said the system’s down,” he said.

  “Wallace thinks she’s punishing us.”

  “You called him?”

  “I was desperate.”

  He looked at her. “I’m surprised he would talk to you.”

  Frances glanced at him but let it go. No sense stirring things up that had been settled in a courtroom.

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Just that he thought she’d call and apologize for worrying us by this morning.”

  Jerry chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.”

  “He asked if we’d called the police.”

  “That’s the only thing left to do.”

  She held back saying she had been right, that it was the first thing they should have done. She leaned against the wall. “I feel like there’s something we’re missing, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Yeah, we’re missing Mama.”

  “I’ll call them,” she said.

  Frances picked up the phone just as a car pulled up outside in the gravel. Jerry looked out a window. “I don’t believe it.”

  Her heart skipped a beat and she looked outside but instead of her mother, her ex-husband got out of his car. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She remembered him in the courtroom, looking hungover, defeated.

  Wallace walked in the door a
nd shook hands with Jerry. His hair was cut short and a little more gray around the edges than she remembered. He’d lost weight but not in a bad way. From the day’s worth of stubble she figured he had gotten up before sunrise and made the trek without shaving. He wore jeans and a tucked-in polo shirt that fit snugly and showed off his muscular arms.

  “I thought you had to work,” Frances said.

  He looked at her with those deep-set brown eyes. If she had seen more of his eyes, maybe all the problems they’d had would have gone away. Eyes are the window to the soul and Wallace had kept the curtains drawn their whole marriage.

  “I told them it was important.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered back to the kitchen, looking around. “Just like I remember it. We had some good talks at this table.”

  “And some hard ones,” Frances said.

  “For sure. I thought about coming back when your father passed. Just didn’t happen.”

  “My mother kept the card you sent,” Frances said. “It must have meant a lot.”

  Wallace looked at the pile of clippings on the dresser. “Looks like she kept a lot of things.”

  She smiled. “You look good, Wallace. I mean, you look healthy. Like you’re taking care of yourself.”

  “Been going to AA. That’s helped keep me on the straight and narrow. It’s surprising what you can accomplish when you’re not drunk every other day. Or not having to be drunk in order to face the day.” He pointed at the mound of clippings and the calendar. “Is this how you found everything?”

  Frances showed him around the house, pointing out the empty spot where her mother kept her cash. She was like a kid showing her house to a new friend, letting him in on the secret things no one else ever saw. He scrolled through caller ID, then walked around the bedroom and inspected the front and back doors and all the windows. He went downstairs and walked out to the garage and around the perimeter of the house and stood on the ramp leading to the front door, with the green Astroturf that curled up at the edges.

  “Did Julia ever call?” Wallace said.

  Frances shook her head.

  “I’ll reach out to her.” To Jerry he said, “When did you talk with the credit card company?”

  “I called last night and before I came over. The system was down.”

  “Can you try again?”

  “Sure,” Jerry said, heading into the house.

  “What do you think?” Frances said.

  “Nothing makes me think there was any kind of forced entry. Her bed was made. She took her cane.”

  “How do you know she uses a cane?”

  “Her age. Marks on the linoleum. A picture Julia showed me of the three of you.”

  Frances let that hang there. It was something she would have to think about—her ex-husband looking at a picture of her mother, daughter, and her so closely he noticed the cane. Maybe all men did that. Or all ex-police officers. But something about it sent a shiver through her and she wasn’t sure whether that was bad or good.

  “Is there anybody who comes in and checks on her other than you two?”

  “She’s pretty independent. Has a cleaning lady every couple of weeks.”

  He rubbed his cheek. “This is Thursday. Julia has a nine o’clock, I think.” He got out his cell phone.

  “You know her class schedule?”

  He glanced at her sheepishly and tapped the side of his head. “You know me. Hard to get stuff out of there once it gets in.”

  Frances checked her watch. “If she’s headed to school, you don’t want to distract her driving.”

  Wallace cocked his head. “She walks. From the new apartment.”

  “Oh? When did that happen?”

  He turned away and put the phone to an ear. “Hey, it’s me. You headed to class?”

  Frances heard her daughter’s voice but couldn’t make out any of the words because of the wind and the birds.

  “Good. I don’t want to bother you, but I’m here at your grandmother’s house. She—” He pushed the phone a little closer to his ear. “Yeah, she is. It sounds like Ruby left yesterday morning. We were wondering if you’d heard anything from her. Has she called in the last few days?”

  Julia replied and it was all Frances could do to hold back from ripping the phone out of her ex-husband’s hand. She waited, watching the back of his head. He was built like a cinder block, stocky with broad shoulders. He listened to Julia intently without making the sounds she did, the mm-hmms and gasps of a mother paying attention.

  “But nothing other than that?” he said.

  Frances wanted to ask if Julia was having an abortion. Or if she was seeing that ne’er-do-well boyfriend again. She wanted to tap Wallace on the shoulder and give him a list of questions, but right then Jerry bounded outside.

  “The system’s back up at the card company,” Jerry said, out of breath.

  Frances looked at Jerry’s handwriting and tried to make out what he’d scribbled. When Wallace ended the call with Julia, he joined them.

  “The card was used Monday, the twenty-seventh, at the FoodFair.”

  “Maybe she took her cash to avoid using the card,” Wallace said.

  “Is that good news or bad?” Frances said.

  “It just decreases our chances of finding her.”

  “I knew we should have called the police.”

  “Thinking that way is not going to help,” Jerry said.

  “I knew from the moment this happened something was wrong. She could be lying in a ditch somewhere right now. Lying out there all night in a pool of blood.”

  Wallace went inside the house as they argued. He returned a few minutes later. “I called the sheriff. They’re on the way.”

  Frances put her face in her hands. “I knew it. We pushed her too hard.”

  She felt a hand on her arm and looked up to see Wallace. “Your mother is a strong woman. Maybe she stopped at a hotel on her way to . . . wherever. The pastor you mentioned.”

  “Pastor?” Jerry said.

  Frances waved a hand as if she’d explain later. “I didn’t tell her I loved her. I should have seen what it would do to her. And now she’s gone.”

  “Stay with me, okay?” Wallace said. “Whatever happens, you were trying to love her. Nobody can fault you for that. You waited a long time. Even in the waiting, you were caring.”

  Frances nodded and turned away. She went inside for a box of tissues and didn’t go back out until the sheriff arrived.

  17

  RUBY GIVES BEAN A ROOT BEER FLOAT

  BEULAH MOUNTAIN, WEST VIRGINIA

  SEPTEMBER 1933

  Ruby hadn’t seen Bean for a few days, which was uncharacteristic, and she wondered if something was wrong. Late on a Saturday afternoon Ruby spotted something moving through the honeysuckle behind the company store. She opened the window and waved Bean up the fire escape. The two sat on her bed, Bean taking off her shoes, Ruby staring at the holes in her friend’s socks. Bean had turned the socks around and around to get all the wear out of them, but even so, the cotton was as thin as hosiery on the bottom.

  “Where have you been?” Ruby said. “You were supposed to come over two days ago.”

  “My mama took sick. I’ve been caring for her. The company doctor’s not too good with miners—let alone their pregnant wives.”

  “Is she going to be okay? And the baby?”

  “I think she’s turned the corner. She was up at the stove when I left.”

  Ruby’s face beamed. “I have good news. Mrs. Grigsby showed me how to make root beer floats.”

  “Really?”

  “There’s not much to it, just root beer over ice cream. When the store closes, I’ll take you down and make you one. Would you like that?”

  “Boy, would I!” Bean said. “But are you sure it’s all right?”

  “They lock the place tight but we can go down the dumbwaiter. Nobody will know.”

  Bean rubbed her hands in delight.

  The two talked and lo
oked through a new catalog Ruby’s father had received. As they studied the pages, Ruby opened her heart to her friend.

  “There’s something I don’t get,” she said as she flipped another page. A man in a three-piece suit with perfect hair stared at her. “Why do some have it good and some have it bad?”

  “You mean, why do a few have it good and the rest of us don’t?” Bean said.

  “Maybe.”

  Bean stared at the page. “Some say it’s the luck of the draw. Some call it God’s will. I think it’s somewhere in the middle. You got to take the good with the bad. Now for you, you have lots of nice things and your daddy is well off and you probably won’t want for anything the rest of your life. But you don’t have a mama. That’s a load to bear. Me, on the other hand, I’ll be scratching and clawing till kingdom come. But you know what? I’ll still have my mama. And she’s always going to love me.” She picked up the pearl-handled brush on Ruby’s nightstand. “I wouldn’t trade with you. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Ruby stretched out on the bed, hands behind her head, and looked across the room at the picture of her mother she saw each morning and night.

  “Would you trade fathers with me?” she said.

  Bean sighed. “I guess that’s another story, ain’t it? Some things in life are good and some are bad and they all get thrown into the stew and you try to eat around the gristle. God doesn’t give us the option of a Sunday potluck where you pick what you want and leave the rest. He gives the whole kit and caboodle and we have to deal with what we get.”

  “Why don’t you hate me for what I have?”

  “Who says I don’t?” Bean said. Then she smiled and both of them laughed.

  Bean pointed at the open steamer trunk in the corner. “Where’d you get that?”

  “My dad gave it to me.”

  “What’s it for?”

  Ruby rolled onto her side. “He’s sending me away.”

  Bean furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”

  “He promised my mother. There’s a school in Pennsylvania where she went as a girl. She told him before she died that she wanted me to go there. At least that’s what he said.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  Ruby shrugged. “Maybe she said it. But I think he doesn’t want me here with all the problems he’s having with the mine and the workers and Coleman.”