by Chris Fabry
“And he doesn’t want you being friends with me.”
Ruby waved a hand. “You’re the least of his worries. Now, your father, that’s another story. But I think my father likes you.”
“Do you want to go?”
Ruby hung her head.
“Can’t you talk him out of it? I was all-fired ready to have you in our school.”
“And I was all-fired ready to go.” Ruby smiled.
“Tell him that. He seems like the kind who will listen.”
“He’s already sent the money. They’re letting me start late. He gave me that trunk to pack up all my stuff. Clothes, shoes, my birth certificate and pictures and everything I need. He’s sending it ahead and then I’ll take the train.”
“Your whole life in a trunk,” Bean said. “Doesn’t seem fair. How long will you be there?”
“Till college, I guess. My father will probably move back to Pittsburgh and live there after he settles things here.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“The only thing that would make it tolerable was if you were going with me.”
Bean’s eyes grew big. “Wouldn’t that be something? You and me sharing a room at some fancy school? Learning things and eating dinner together and talking till all hours of the night. And you helping me with my schoolwork.”
“I doubt you’d be the one needing help, Bean. You’d probably be the one to help me.”
“Pshaw. You’re a lot smarter than me. I just got survival instincts.”
“If you went, you wouldn’t have to worry about food or being snakebit or getting cold at night.”
Bean got a far-off look. “Yeah, but we could never afford it.”
“My father has enough money to send us both a thousand times. I told him it would be good for me to have a friend instead of going alone.”
“You asked him to pay my way?”
Ruby nodded.
“What did he say?”
Ruby sighed. “He said even if he agreed, your family wouldn’t.”
“He’s right about that. But you know what? If I went with you, I wouldn’t have to have a trunk. I could get all my things in a pillowcase.”
Ruby laughed. “I swear, Bean, you’re the funniest thing. Would you go if you had the chance?”
Bean shrugged. “I’d go in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for Mama. It would be hard to leave her and the new baby. She’s going to need help. My daddy won’t be much good.”
A door slammed downstairs and a lock clicked. Ruby held up a hand. “They’re closing. Let’s go!”
Ruby rode the dumbwaiter downstairs and sent it back, and Bean appeared a few moments later. She looked around the darkened store. “It’s so exciting I have to pee!”
“The bathroom’s in the back and around the corner,” Ruby said. “I’ll make your root beer float.”
Ruby scanned the counter and set out two glasses. She would need to leave things the way she had found them. She put ice cream in one glass and poured root beer over it. In the other she put only root beer.
Bean returned and sat on the stool in front of the counter.
“You should have seen all the foam that came up when I put the soda on the ice cream,” Ruby said. “What were you doing back there?”
“Doing what everybody does in the bathroom. Don’t get so nosy.”
“When we go to school, we’ll be in dorms and share a bathroom.”
“I’ll just be glad I don’t have to run outside every time I get the urge.”
Bean took a sip of the concoction and closed her eyes. Her face was beatific as if she had been transported to some higher plane of heaven. “I declare, that’s about the best thing I ever tasted. It’s all bubbly and sweet.” Ruby handed her a spoon and Bean scooped out some vanilla ice cream and moaned with pleasure. “I’ve never had ice cream.”
“Are you serious?”
“There was some kind of family reunion on my daddy’s side that was supposed to have it all churned up in a bucket with ice and salt, I think, but he took off the day before and we never went. Mama said I cried all day wanting something I’d never tasted.”
“Well, you’re going to have all the ice cream you can eat at the boarding school.”
“Ruby, you know that’s another dream I’ll never wake up to. Besides, I don’t belong in a place like—”
Bean stopped talking as footsteps sounded on the wooden porch. Keys jangled and the door opened. Ruby ducked her head behind the counter.
Bean sat, transfixed by the opening door, the spoon in her mouth.
Mrs. Grigbsy toddled inside and closed the door and flipped the light. When she saw Bean, she gave a hop and dropped her keys.
“How did you get in here?” the woman said. “And what are you drinking?”
Bean looked at the empty counter, then back at Mrs. Grigsby. “I’ve never had a root beer float and thought I’d try one, ma’am.”
The woman pointed a finger. “You stay here. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Grigsby retreated to the front door.
“Go get in the dumbwaiter,” Ruby whispered.
Before Bean could react, Mrs. Grigsby stepped back inside followed by Ruby’s father.
“And I found her right there at the counter. Now the door was locked, so there’s no question who let her in.”
Ruby’s father put his thumbs in his vest pockets and nodded. “Hello, Bean.”
“I didn’t mean nothing bad, Mr. Handley. I’ll pay you back for the root beer float.”
He ignored her words. “Ruby? Come on out. I know you’re here.”
When Ruby stood, Mrs. Grigsby gave a flustered sigh. When she was done with her harangue, Ruby’s father held up a hand.
“Bean, did you enjoy it?”
“Boy, did I. I’ve never had ice cream. I’ve seen it in the cooler and watched other people eat it, and I’ve always wondered what it tasted like.”
“Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t mean you can steal it,” Mrs. Grigsby said.
“She didn’t steal it. I gave it to her,” Ruby said.
“That’s enough,” Ruby’s father said, a smirk on his face. “But how did you get in here? The doors are locked—no, on second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I just don’t want you doing this again. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Bean said.
Before Ruby could speak, the front door opened and Thaddeus Coleman walked inside with three other men. Ruby took a step backward and knocked a glass to the floor, shattering it.
“Oh, now see what you’ve done,” Mrs. Grigsby said, scurrying to the other side of the counter.
“Looks like you’ve got a couple of stowaways,” Coleman said. “You forget to lock the door?”
“I can handle this, Thaddeus,” Ruby’s father said.
“This is exactly the kind of thing you can handle.” The man smiled at Ruby’s father. “Come on, boys.”
The four headed to the stairwell, mud and gravel clicking on the hardwood. Ruby noticed the pistols the men carried in holsters.
When they disappeared upstairs, Ruby’s father said, “Ruby, pour Bean another glass and I’ll walk her home.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Handley. I’m done,” Bean said. “I can walk myself, thank you.” She looked back when she got to the door. “Bye, Ruby.”
“Can I go with you?” Ruby said.
“Not on your life,” Mrs. Grigsby said. “You’ll clean up this mess and go right upstairs.”
Bean hurried through the front door but Ruby’s father followed.
“Bean, wait.”
He caught up to her and knelt, looking her in the eyes. “What do you have in your back pocket?”
“Sir?”
“It’s better to tell me now.”
Bean’s face fell and she reached in her back pocket and pulled out a cardboard box. The man studied it. “It’s for Mama’s stomach. She chews on sassafras and makes tea but
it still hurts.”
“Why doesn’t she see the company doctor?”
“She don’t like him. And I don’t blame her. I thought this might do her some good.”
The man pursed his lips. He pointed at a rocking chair on the porch. “Sit.”
Bean felt like running. Ruby’s father had caught her stealing—something she never intended to do, but when she saw the medicine section in the store and what it said on the outside of the box, she couldn’t help herself. Her love for her mother trumped her conscience. If there had been any question whether she would go with Ruby to the boarding school, this was the nail in the coffin. The sheriff would arrest her and call her a chip off the old block.
Mr. Handley returned to the porch and held out a brown bottle. “This will be better for her stomach. Take it.”
“I can’t, sir.”
“You could steal the other and refuse a gift?” He sat beside her and tipped his hat back. “Your mother is a fine woman. She doesn’t . . . She deserves to be treated better.”
Bean stared at the bottle.
“You’re probably wondering how you can give her this,” he said.
“She don’t take charity.”
He took the bottle from her, opened it, held it over the railing, and poured some on the ground. He tore some of the label and smudged the writing with his thumb. “We were talking tonight at the store about her stomach problems and I suggested she take this. I’d hate to see it go to waste.”
He handed Bean the bottle. Above them, through the open window, came the laughter of men and the tinkling of glass.
“Is Ruby going to be in trouble?”
“Don’t worry about Ruby. Seems you have enough worries, Bean.”
“I won’t sleep a wink tonight if she’s going to be in trouble.”
The man smiled. “We’ll work it out. I’m not the hard man your father is.”
“He’s a good man when he’s not drinking and carousing.”
“I’m sure he is.”
Bean thanked him and he walked with her into the moonlight. Looking back, she saw the rocking chairs moving and a light on in the window above.
18
FRANCES MEETS WITH THE SHERIFF
BIDING, KENTUCKY
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 2004
The sheriff was a tall man with a shaved head. Muscular and barrel-chested, he had kind eyes that seemed to want to comfort and search out the truth. Frances answered his questions and showed him the house, the empty cash box, and everything else. She couldn’t bring herself to mention her concerns about Jerry, however. She had enough worries of her own without bringing him into it. If the sheriff asked, she would tell him.
Wallace hung back as if he didn’t want to intrude. Jerry milled around outside. These things always fell to the women, Frances thought. The hard things of life, the injuries, blood and broken bones and tears were always put at the feet of women and she didn’t know why. Once, just once, she wondered what would happen if there wasn’t a woman to deal with the muck of life. The men would probably run to find one.
The sheriff took note of everything she showed him, and the wheels of justice began to spin quickly, but not fast enough for Frances’s racing heart.
“She lives here alone?” the man said.
It might have been just a question to confirm her status, but Frances couldn’t help but hear suspicion in the man’s voice. Behind the question was Why would you let a woman this age live alone? Why wouldn’t you help your aged mother?
“Yes, she lives alone by her own choice. She says this is where she wants to die. Which makes her disappearance even more disconcerting.”
He nodded the way men of the law did on TV, a tight-lipped assent to the response.
Jerry’s wife, Laurie, pulled up with their two kids, adding one more car to the parked search party. The children went out back to the swing set Frances’s father had installed ages ago. Laurie sat with Jerry, who had settled in front of the TV. She didn’t say a word to Frances.
The first step for the police was to put out a multistate alert with Ruby’s car and license plate number along with her description. It turned Frances’s stomach to think that there would be people judging her mother as some senile granny who had escaped an old folks’ home. Her mother wasn’t like that—she had all her faculties. She explained this to the sheriff, but there was nothing she could do about what others thought.
“Ma’am, I have to say I wish you would have called us yesterday when you found her gone,” the sheriff said in a low voice. “It would have made things a lot easier.” He wasn’t being unkind. He said it as if he were telling her this for the next time it happened.
“We wanted to think the best instead of the worst,” Frances said. “If I had it to do over again . . .”
The man nodded but the look on his face was more than grim. “Is there anyone who might want to harm your mother?”
“My mother’s the most likable person on the planet. She’s never had an enemy.”
“No one comes to mind?”
Frances took a deep breath. “There’s something you need to know. You couldn’t tell it from the house or her car, but she’s wealthy. My brother and I don’t actually know exactly how much she’s worth, but it’s a considerable sum.”
The man looked at Wallace. “Is he part of the family?”
“He’s my ex. Former police officer. Long story. I called and asked for his help.”
“So you have a good relationship?”
“We don’t have any relationship. But from the moment I told him, he suggested we call the police.”
“I see.”
“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Frances heard the pleading in her question. “I mean, have you ever seen a parent leave because they’re upset and make it back safely?”
“I’ve seen a lot of things, ma’am. Most of the time things turn out fine. The parent gets mad and drives off in a huff and then they get lost or turned around. We usually find them.”
“Usually?”
“I’ve seen some ugly things, especially when drugs are involved. I’ve seen grandchildren hurt their grandparents. The hardest ones are where everything seems fine but you uncover a family secret and the skeletons tumble. I don’t say that to upset you. I say it as a comfort because this looks different.”
Frances pondered the words and wondered if she should tell the officer about Jerry and what she’d found in her mother’s checkbook and the suspicions she held.
“I have a good feeling about this,” the sheriff said. “I think we’re going to find her.”
“Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “It’s just a feeling.” His radio squawked and he retreated to his car.
Wallace joined Frances, holding an aged photo album. “Where’d you get that?” she said.
“There’s a trunk downstairs. Have you seen it?”
“I was looking for it yesterday. Did you find the key to it? Mom always kept it locked.”
He gave a sheepish look. “Well, it’s open now. Some interesting stuff in there—stuff she had at boarding school, it looks like.”
Frances took the photo album. On the opening page was Ruby as a girl, sitting on her father’s lap with her mother right beside her. Frances put a finger on the photo and traced the faces.
“Her birth certificate is in there, too. A journal. Clothes. You should see it.”
The mailman chugged along the street in a gray Ford Bronco with a muffler that rattled from mailbox to mailbox. Frances wandered toward the road and stopped in the shade of the willow, Wallace following.
“We shouldn’t have taken her keys. It was the wrong thing to do.”
“Don’t blame yourself.”
“Who else is there? I’m the one who made the decision. Jerry went along with it. I should have left things alone.”
Wallace didn’t speak for a moment as if mulling over his options. Finally he said, “Okay, let’s say you were stan
ding here today because Ruby had gotten into an accident. Let’s say she plowed into some kids waiting at a bus stop. Who would you blame for that?”
Frances didn’t answer.
“I’ll tell you who. You’d blame yourself because you didn’t take her keys. You’d think, If only. Either way, you’d take responsibility.”
“Somebody has to,” Frances said.
Wallace faced her. “Frances, life happens. People make decisions. It’s not your fault your mother left. You tried to do the responsible thing. You tried to protect her. You love her. But everybody has an extra set of keys, and you don’t control whether they use them.”
She looked at him and wondered if he was talking about her mother or himself. The mailman rattled up to the driveway and stopped.
“I should have seen that she’d do something like this. It’s my job to crunch the information. Anticipate things. To get out in front of them.”
Wallace looked away. “So you’re responsible for the present and the future? That’s a pretty heavy load. What do you do with the past?”
She ignored the question and waved at the mail carrier. He pulled a few feet ahead of the box and stopped. “Is there something going on with Miss Ruby?”
Frances didn’t feel like a long conversation, but she could tell the man cared. She explained her mother was missing, that she’d left the previous day.
The mailman winced. “I was afraid it was something like that. My own mother’s the same way. Independent as all get-out. One day she drove to the store and there was a horsefly on the dashboard. She swatted at it and didn’t see the curve and went over the hill.”
Frances stared at him, unable to speak.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to burden you more than you already are,” the mailman said, handing the mail to Frances.
“What happened to your mother?” Wallace said.
Frances gave him a look.
“Her car went into a pond at the bottom of the hill. There were two kids fishing on the other side and they ran around and jumped in and pulled her out. She’s fine. Keeps her windows rolled up tight to keep the flies away.”