by Connie Cook
"It has been a while."
"Guess I haven't seen you since you worked at Turnbulls'."
"That was dogs' years ago," Ruth laughed. "Technically, it was only about three months. But time is relative. A whole lot has happened since then."
"I heard. I'm sorry. Maybe it was for the best, though. About Graham, I mean."
Same old Mars. He hadn't gained in tact since Ruth had seen him last. She didn't answer but turned back to the window display, admiring the red, wool A-line.
"I mean, you're a free woman now."
"Not quite free, Mars. I still have obligations."
"Y'know what I mean. You're free if you choose to be."
"It's not that easy, Mars."
He made a sound of impatience.
"How long you gonna go on mourning for a guy who wasn't worth your giving the time of day to?"
"I don't know."
"That's foolishness," Mars snorted. "You need to get on with your life."
"Foolish or not, it's how I'm built, Mars. Look, sorry to rush off, but I'd better keep moving. I've got to get home."
"Ruth!" He caught her by the arm as she turned away.
"Ruth, he doesn't need to stand between us now. He's gone."
"Stand between us?"
"You told me you were a married woman, that it didn't matter what he did, it wasn't going to change the fact that you were a married woman. Well, I admired your convictions. Not sure I completely saw it your way, but I admired them. But you're not a married woman anymore."
"Mars, I ..."
"I realize that you may still need some time, but don't let one bad marriage keep you running scared the rest of your life."
"Mars ..."
"I'd be good to you, Ruth. We'd be happy together."
"No, Mars, we wouldn't. I wouldn't."
"Wha'd'you mean? I can understand if you need more time, but I promise you, I'd be good to you. I'd never hurt you like that. You know I care. I've cared for a long time."
"But I don't! Not in that way. Not the way you'd need me to. It's no use, Mars. I know you'd try to be good to me, but it's not enough. I don't need more time. You need to forget about me. And we can both forget this conversation ever happened."
"Is he still standing between us? Why should he stand between us forever?"
"Mars, please. I don't know how much more plain I can make it. Maybe I will never recover from Graham. I think what I felt for Graham could only come once in a lifetime for me. I can't imagine feeling about anyone else the way that I felt about Graham. But even if there had never been a Graham, even if I'd never met him, I couldn't feel that way about you, Mars. I'm sorry. I tried to explain before, and I thought you understood. But it ... could, just ... never be, Mars. I'm sorry. Please believe me. You have to believe me. There is never going to be a me and you."
Mars looked at her for a moment. There was a pleading in his brown eyes, but he'd finished pleading with his lips. Without speaking, he turned away to walk in the opposite direction down the street.
Ruth's insides seized with a violent spasm. It brought enormous discomfort to watch someone hurt and know she was responsible even if it hadn't been her fault. Even if it was just Mars who spent more time aggravating her than anything else. But why did he have to have that sadly, hopeful look in his brown eyes to remind her of Joshua Bella?
Her day was ruined. All the pleasure she'd felt in the day off and the beautiful, sunny, autumn weather and the amble down main street had dissipated. She couldn't keep a little anger from being mixed in with her other emotions. The whole thing had been so unnecessary. How could some men be so stubbornly, needlessly obtuse? Honestly!
* * *
It never rains but it pours.
At the beginning of her second week in her new job of training Bo in the art of keeping books, Ruth was to learn the truth of the old adage.
An easy comradeship had developed quickly between the two of them in their evenings together. Bo was good company. They often found themselves laughing over some childhood incident or over Bo making fun of Francois or over Ruth making fun of Bo and his bookkeeping skills (or lack thereof). They'd known each other so long that Ruth found herself letting down her guard with him – a guard almost as habitual as certain famous ones at a certain famous palace.
But there had been a time or two when something had signalled her toward caution. Once or twice, she'd turned suddenly to catch his eyes on her, and he'd turned away a little too quickly.
She told herself it was her imagination. Who was she to go around thinking that every man she came into contact with must find her irresistible? The whole idea was too ridiculous. Bo's glances meant nothing. Obviously.
Yet, in a subconscious kind of way, it bothered her that Bo seemed to avoid looking her in the eye, and when he did, something in his look bothered her. As though he was trying not to look at her and found he couldn't succeed.
There were one or two moments of uneasiness for her, but she brushed them off. They were old friends and nothing more. Of course there was nothing to worry about.
That was what she told herself after their first week of working together over the packing-shed books.
However, by their second week together, she discovered there was indeed something to worry about.
* * *
"Dat's jus' d' way I know to do it," Bo said in his best French Canadian, trying to justify a particular bookkeeping decision.
"Okay, Francois," Ruth said, laughing. Bo's imitation was outrageously bad. "But I don't care if that's the way you know to do it. It's the wrong way. See? Totals have to be recorded here. Got that?"
"I shoulda chosen a different profession. I should've been a farmer or something. Or maybe the manager of an apple packing shed. Don't ask me how I ended up doing the bookkeeping for this place. That was not part of the deal when I got hired here. I've never had the patience for all this nitpicky kind of stuff, dotting your Is and crossing your Ts, whether it makes sense or not. That's just the way it's always been done, so that's the way it has to be done," he grumbled without meaning it.
"You? Ha! You always had more patience than anyone I ever knew. Remember that carving of a bird you did that took first place at the school fair? That was a fantastic piece of work. Must've taken you months. Don't tell me you have no patience."
"I mean I have no patience for things that I can't see the point of. There was a point to carving that bird. It was something I enjoyed doing. I still have that bird, too. I found it in a drawer I was cleaning out a few months ago. It doesn't look quite as impressive now as it did in my memory. Seeing it isn't quite as grand as I was remembering it, kinda glad now I never did work up the nerve to give it to you."
"You were going to give it to me?"
"I carved it with you in mind."
"Me?"
"It reminded me of you somehow. I thought about you constantly when I was working on that carving."
Ruth said nothing, turning her eyes away.
"You must've known I had the most terrific crush on you back then. The first girl I ever fell for," he said lightly.
"No, how could I have known that."
"I assumed it was so obvious everyone knew it."
"You had a funny way of being obvious."
"You couldn't tell by the fact that I always showed up wherever you were, always trying to carry your books or do anything I could for you?"
"I assumed you were just being nice. You were nice to everyone, as I recall. You were especially nice to me, though, come to think of it. I remember you wading into Barbors' pond to rescue my favourite hair ribbon after Billy Gorling threw it in there. That's why it wasn't obvious you had a crush on me. Little boys with crushes aren't nice to little girls. They do things like throw little girls' hair ribbons into ponds. Not go wading in after them. How was I to know you weren't like other little boys?"
To herself, Ruth said, The only boy I ever noticed back then was Graham – my first and only crush.
/> Bo went on, the moment lost to reminisces, bookkeeping forgotten. He was definitely in a chatty mood. "Then you went away for those seven years. Guess I had time to get over you somewhere in there. I suppose there were a few other crushes I had after that. I was completely bowled over when I thought that Lily Turnbull would have me. I would never have dared to go thinking of her if she hadn't started it, I can tell ya. I knew she was completely out of my class. Guess that was the appeal there. I was flattered, and it went to my head, pure and simple."
"You're right, you're not in her class. She's in a class all her own. And I mean that as a compliment to you. Not to Lily," Ruth said drily.
She wanted to take back the words as soon as she'd said them. It seemed that the scales were off Bo's eyes as far as Lily was concerned, but all the same, she knew how she flared up when Mars criticized Graham openly. Maybe Bo had some lingering feeling for Lily.
"Sorry," she said quickly. "I shouldn't've said that."
Bo laughed.
"You always were one to say just about anything."
"Anyways, why shouldn't Lily have noticed you? You were the best catch around," Ruth said candidly, proving the truth of Bo's last statement.
Except Graham, a piece of her mind wanted to add loyally. But her heart wasn't in it. Why should she say that to Bo? It would sound hopelessly idealistic, considering how Graham's story had ended. And why should she say it to herself? It wasn't true. Bo was by far the better man. Graham just happened to be the one she loved.
Ruth wasn't sure she should ask, but she did anyway.
"Did you ever have regrets? I mean, that the engagement broke off?"
Bo looked startled.
"No. Not regrets. Not about the engagement ending. Maybe about it ever starting," he said.
"If you don't mind my asking, what ended it?" Ruth said. There was a part of her that still desperately wanted answers while fearing them at the same time. But she needed to know the truth about Graham and Lily. What was behind their abrupt break-up in the first place? Was there foundation to the town gossip which said that Lily had gone after Bo to make Graham jealous and Graham had pursued Ruth to reciprocate? The question that nagged her day and night after Graham had left still nagged. Had Graham ever really loved her?
Bo shrugged.
"Time. Getting to know each other. Somehow we were planning to marry each other without really knowing each other," he laughed. "We were completely wrong for each other, and that started to be obvious soon after we got engaged. She wasn't crazy about the idea that I wanted to be a farmer. That profession wasn't prestigious enough for her. I would've made more money as a lumber man. Her dad offered me a good job at the mill, but I turned him down. That didn't go over well. Then she hated the fact that I was supporting my mom and the kids. She tried to convince me that someone else could look after them. That didn't go over well with me. And, I dunno, about a million different things. She did the deed and broke it off, but we both knew it had to happen."
"Is it painful to have her living ... back in Arrowhead?" Ruth asked.
"Not for me. I don't ever run into her. I can't imagine what you're ... I can't imagine you doing what you're doing. Talk about painful! But then, that's just like you, isn't it? I remember you taking in every stray puppy, kitten, rodent, you name it, that crossed your path."
"Yeah, except that I was never allowed to have pets, so I had to hide them. Sometimes I had quite the zoo living in our old hay shed. I'd always save bits from my meals to take out and feed them." They were both laughing now.
"There's part of me that still feels responsible for Lily and what becomes of her. It's not like I don't care what happens to her," Bo said, sobering suddenly. "I want you to know that it means a lot to me that you took her in. If there's anything I can do to help ..."
"You're doing it," Ruth said. "You think I don't know you rigged this job just to give me extra income?"
"Ha!" Bo said. "You can see for yourself how needed you are here. Believe me, I know I'm the one owing all the favours. It's not easy to a man's pride to be obligated, but I am, and pride or no pride, I want you to know I'm grateful. Maybe you don't want me to bring it up, but it kills me not to let you know I appreciate what you did for Mama and the kids. I know what a sacrifice... "
"Wha'd'you mean?" Ruth asked, her heart pounding through the wall of her chest. How could Bo have known? She'd never told a soul about the reason she was fired from Turnbulls'.
"You know exactly what I mean. Don't play innocent! You must think I'm not very bright if you thought I wouldn't figure it out. I haven't said anything to Mama or anyone else, don't worry. I figured you wanted it kept secret. But it was quite obvious to me that the whole thing was your doing. First of all, Ruth MacKellum begins working in the office at Turnbulls'. Then suddenly, a month or two later, word gets out around town that Gus Turnbull has escorted Ruth MacKellum out of her job onto her ear. The whole town knows that he's hopping mad at her about something except he won't tell anyone what it is. Then, right around that time, Mama gets a very unexpected cheque in the mail from, guess who? Gus Turnbull. For the whole amount of money he owed her. It's as plain as the nose on your face that Gus didn't have a miraculous change of heart overnight all on his own. I may not be a bookkeeping genius, but I can put two and two together. I'm sorry we lost you your job, but I can't be sorry that someone in this town found the guts to stand up to Gus Turnbull."
"Oh," Ruth said in a small voice. It hadn't occurred to her that, of course, Bo would know what she'd done. He was looking at her now and no looking away. She looked away instead.
"Don't be sorry I lost that job," she said, grimacing. "That one was no loss. Besides, you found me this one. We'll call it square. But if we don't quit jabbering, I might be out of this one on my ear, too. So might you. We can take the last half hour off of our time. We didn't do a lick of bookkeeping, I'm afraid."
"Ruth ..." Bo said, and the tone of his voice gave her fair warning.
She met his eyes without meaning to. What she saw there was what she was afraid to see.
"Ruth ..." he said again.
"Well, are we done for the evening then, or do you want to keep going?" she asked brightly, getting up and gathering the books together without waiting for an answer to her question.
"Ruth, I still have that bird I carved for you."
"Sure, I'd like to see it again," she said.
"I've still been thinking about you too much."
"Oh?" she said, wishing madly for something brilliant to say that could head this thing off at the pass.
"Some things haven't changed since we were kids. Maybe I thought those seven years when you were away were enough to get over you, but, well ..."
"Bo, please ..."
"Listen, I'm sorry. I know it's far too soon. I didn't mean to do this to you, put you on the spot. Forget I said anything, okay?"
"I will. I mean, I'll try."
"Don't forget it entirely. Forget it for now, I mean. We'll have to talk this thing out someday."
Ruth took a deep breath and plunged in.
"We might as well talk it out now, Bo."
The memory of her encounter with Mars hung heavy on her recent memory. She didn't want to leave Bo, for months on end, in the state of uncertainty where she had unintentionally left Mars. She had to say what she had to say, and she had to say it now, and she had to be clear about it.
"I have to be very honest with you. It would be easier for both of us in the long run," she said. "I highly value your friendship. It's been wonderful to laugh again. I've so enjoyed this time working with you. I enjoy your company. And I meant what I said a minute ago about you being the best catch around. You are a good man. You're an exceptional man. Maybe that's the problem." She sighed.
"Wha'd'you mean?"
"I mean, maybe I'm not capable of appreciating ... someone like you. Maybe I was drawn to Graham because of his weakness. Maybe I felt like he needed me, and I need to be needed. But whatever the
reason, please believe me when I tell you that I don't believe I'll ever love anyone again. Not like I loved Graham. And that wouldn't be fair to you."
"I know it's too soon ..."
"It's not that it's too soon," she half shouted. "I mean it is, but that's not the point. I don't feel ... I don't feel for you the way you feel for me, Bo. I never will. That part of me is dead. It died with Graham. And even if I hadn't known Graham, I ... I don't think I would have ... that I would have seen you in that way. You've always been a good friend. But I've never thought of you as anything else. I don't think I could. I'm so sorry. I don't know why it is. I want you to believe me when I tell you that I know you're far too good for me, and I'll always think of your caring for me as one of the finest compliments I could ever receive. You are a wonderful man, and you'll be a wonderful man for the right woman, but she isn't me. I envy her. I almost wish she could be me, but she just isn't. You know me, Bo. You know I don't say things I don't mean. And I know my mind. It doesn't change easily. Believe me, I wish I could have given you a different answer."
Ruth was near crying from earnestness by the time she finished this long speech. It was vitally important to her that Bo understand how strongly she meant every word she said. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt her old friend – her good friend. If only he could realize how sincerely she valued him as a person and a friend. Maybe it would help. Maybe it wouldn't.
Yet it was just as important that he realize how sincere she was about not ever being able to see him in any light other than that of a highly valued friend.
"Thank you," Bo said at last. "I mean that. I'm not saying it sarcastically. I do understand. You were right not to leave me living in foolish hope. Well, I don't think there's any point trying to work on the books anymore tonight. C'mon. I'll take you home."
She'd fallen into the habit of letting Bo drive her to and from the packing shed on their evenings of working together, a habit she deeply regretted that night.
The silence in the pickup was unbearable. And yet, there was nothing to be said. She'd said it all, and so had he. Neither of them were capable of small talk at the best of times, and tonight was not the best of times.