They’d cried and blubbered, hugging each other as their memories, at least some of them, were laid to rest.
They’d promised to keep in touch, to call once a week, and to write every two weeks. Tears flowed at the airport as Ruby, with her children at her side, watched until the plane was a speck in the sky.
Ruby dropped Martha off at a friend’s before she returned home with Andy, who was asleep in the backseat. Andrew wouldn’t be home; he never was on a Saturday. On Sunday either. Or most nights.
She had her own life now, and it was full and rewarding. She and Andrew lived in the same house, ate at the same table occasionally, and slept together rarely. Their married life had gone straight downhill after Andrew’s return from Korea. She’d taken the full blame for it. Sometimes she didn’t feel anything for her husband. The rest of the time she detested him.
In true military fashion, according to Andrew Blue, she had to keep lists and charts. Even Martha, young as she was, had a list—one for chores, one for personal hygiene, and one for the children she played with. And little Andy had a chart, which Ruby was forced to maintain. Saturdays, before Andrew left to play golf with his friends, he made a point of checking off the charts. The first time he’d done it, Ruby had been flabbergasted; he’d made a sloppy star at the top with his dull pencil. Martha lived in fear of the stars, or lack of them. When she didn’t see the squiggly pointed design, she knew her father would threaten her with loss of privileges. The child was a nervous wreck, trembling and shaking in her father’s presence. A bicycle was the prize she’d been striving for, but so far it eluded her. She needed, according to Andrew, four stars in a row, or a whole month of perfect behavior. To date, she’d fallen off the flagpole six times in her try for the bicycle.
Last month Ruby railed at her husband when he checked the list on the last Saturday of the month. Martha would have earned the bicycle but for a stray sock found under her bed. Andrew had looked triumphant when he stared down at his daughter and told her she had to start over. Not only had she railed at her husband in defense of her daughter, she’d actually given him a shove that sent him sprawling across the kitchen, and then she called him a son of a bitch in a voice that dripped venom. He’d laughed as he gathered up his golf clubs and hadn’t returned till three-thirty in the morning, reeking of liquor.
Time and again she questioned why she stayed in her loveless marriage. The best she could come up with, as she’d told Opal, was that she didn’t want to fail and deprive her children of a father. Opal had looked disgusted and told her in her own way she was no better off than their mother. And it was true.
Andrew was having affairs, one after another. She’d seen the pitying looks on the faces of the few friends she’d made, but she didn’t care who he shacked up with, as long as he left her alone.
Andy woke as soon as the car pulled into the carport. He scrambled on chubby legs to the back patio, where he started to tinker with his little bike, yelling at the top of his lungs that he was going to “fix it.” Ruby smiled indulgently. He was so normal in every way because Andrew hadn’t gotten to him yet.
A packet of letters had arrived in the afternoon mail. A thick one from the bank in Washington drew a frown. A letter from Amber with the same postmark made her clench her teeth. What was Amber doing in Washington? The third envelope sent her heart thumping: it was from Dixie Sinclaire. The last had been forwarded twice. The original postmark was months old.
She ripped at the envelopes of the three letters, though she knew in advance she wasn’t going to be able to handle the news in any of them. If she had been a drinker like her husband, she would have headed for Andrew’s liquor cabinet and swigged straight from the bottle.
The letter from the bank was simple but full of surprises. George and Irma Connors had contacted the bank (because that’s where their monthly checks came from) and asked that the bank forward their letter to Ruby. It really wasn’t a letter at all, but a demand for housing in Florida because Mrs. Connors was suffering from severe arthritis and Mr. Connors had retired from the monument works. Ruby laughed hysterically when she read it. She tossed it on the floor and sifted through the other pieces of paper. One, written on crisp French Embassy letterhead, was an outright offer to buy her house on Poplar Street at a price three times what she’d paid for it. A note from the bank clipped to the French offer, recommended doubling the rent and offering an option to buy with a lump sum settlement up front. The note went on to say Washington was now in a supply-and-demand cycle. If, the note said, you decide in the future not to honor the option, the option monies will be returned to the French Embassy. The second form was for the renewal lease on O Street. The bank’s recommendation was to terminate the current lease when it came due in thirty days because the present tenants were behind in their rent payments and owed back late charges. Embassy personnel would snap up the property at twice the rent. The bank’s final recommendation was so startling, Ruby felt light-headed; if you decide to honor your parents’ request, we recommend you take the option on Poplar and let us see if we can get the same kind of deal for O Street. The option monies, along with the one-month advance, will give you sufficient money for a down payment on a house for your parents.
Ruby’s eyes were wild as she fought to quiet her breathing. She’d paid off her debt a year earlier and now this. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t owe her parents anything. What in the goddamn hell were they doing with their money? Between her two sisters and herself, they’d paid out almost eighteen thousand dollars. Opal said she’d paid for a few years and then stopped. Mac, she’d said, had forbidden her to send another cent. If her parents sold their house in Barstow, they would have more than enough to pay for a house in Florida or, at the very least, to make a down payment. Of course, if her father wasn’t working, no bank would give him a mortgage. She wasn’t working, so where did they think she’d get a mortgage? Why me? she grated.
“I fix, Mommy,” Andy said, tugging on her skirt, his red plastic screwdriver clutched in his chubby fist.
“Honey, I wish you could,” Ruby said, hugging the little boy. “Mommy has to read the mail. Fix your wagon now and make it run, okay?”
“I fix,” the little boy chortled as he attacked the rubber wheel on his wagon.
Ruby unfolded the letter from Amber. She’d probably gotten the same letter from their parents and wanted to know what to do.
The letter was short and to the point. They’d been wiped out by a typhoon and lost everything. Saipan, she said, had been virtually washed away. Nangi had appealed to Calvin, who pulled some political military strings and managed to get them all to Washington. With what little money they had, they rented a house in Arlington, Virginia, but the seven kids had to share bedrooms, and they were so cramped, she couldn’t stand it. The bottom line was that they needed a loan of five hundred dollars. Calvin had loaned them two hundred to see them through. If she could find a competent baby-sitter, she was going to go back to work. Nangi was looking for a job. She could live for a year on what they had to pay out for one month in the D.C. area. “I know what a major’s pay is, Ruby, and I know you’re a saver. Lending me five hundred dollars won’t kill you. I’ll pay you back.”
Ruby crunched the letter into a ball and tossed it across the yard. “My ass,” she muttered. There had been no mention of their parents, so that could mean only that Amber hadn’t been asked to contribute. She didn’t even want to think about Calvin’s contribution to her sister’s welfare.
She unfolded Dixie’s letter. Her hands trembled as she smoothed out the single sheet of paper.
Dear Ruby,
I imagine this letter is going to shock you. I’m sorry for that. If I knew where you were, I would call. I put out a few feelers to see if I could locate you, but nothing came back. I can only hope this letter will be forwarded, and in true military fashion, I am prepared to wait at least six months for it to catch up to you and for you to respond.
Ruby, I’m sorry I didn’t
say good-bye. I wanted to, more than you know. I wanted to write, too, but I was too ashamed. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t think of you. It wasn’t fair to you. We were such good friends.
By now I know you must have heard the rumors about Hugo. Yes, they’re true. How often I wanted to confide in you, but my pride wouldn’t let me. I didn’t want to see pity in your eyes. You were the sister I always wished for.
I never blamed you for Hugo losing out. He did, though. When Andrew got his promotion, I was really happy for you. I wanted to write to you then, but Hugo was watching me like a hawk. I was so afraid.
Hugo made captain this year, and we both know he won’t go any further. Of course, he blames me and takes it out on me. He doesn’t beat me anymore because he knows the military is watching him. I don’t love him; I’m afraid of him. I’d leave, but have nowhere to go.
We’re stationed at Quantico, and I think we’ll be here until Hugo puts in his twenty years. He says we’re going to retire to Rumson, New Jersey. Last year he put a deposit on a piece of land, and he says we’ll build our own house there.
Thanks to you, Ruby, I’ve gotten a little gumption this past year. I’ve rented a post office box and that’s where I want you to write me if you decide to reply. I’m also working part-time, for all the good it does me. Hugo takes my money so fast, I don’t even get a chance to count it. Once in a while I stand up to Hugo just to hear the sound of my own voice. I truly believe the Corps turned him into what he is. He was never like he is now until he started with all that Semper Fi stuff. Maybe I’m being unfair, but I no longer care. It’s all baloney, if you want my opinion.
Please write to me, Ruby, a long letter, and tell me everything that’s gone on. I’d like to hear everything from the day we left. Did the others miss me, even a little bit? We really had a good time fixing up that rat’s nest you moved into. I think about that all the time.
It’s time for me to go to work, so I’d better close. That’s funny, isn’t it, me working? Once Hugo got it through his head he wasn’t going to get any more promotions, he decided I could work. You want to hear something else that’s funny? I wish he’d cheat on me so he’d leave me alone. I’ll say good-bye on that note.
All my love,
Dixie
Ruby blew her nose and wiped at her eyes. This wonderful letter canceled out the other two by a mile. Seven years to retirement. Rumson, New Jersey. She said the words over and over like a litany. She now knew where she would retire, and if Andrew had no desire to go to Rumson, she’d go alone. Seven more years. Seven more years.
Ruby fixed herself a glass of iced tea, gathering her writing materials together before she rejoined her son on the patio. First she wrote to Amber. It was a short letter. She apologized for not having any available cash to send. She wished her luck on her new move and said she was confident things would work out. She included a recent picture of Martha and Andy.
The letter to the bank was carefully worded; the letter she enclosed to her parents was even more so. She instructed the bank to sell the house on Poplar Street and to pay cash for her parents’ house in Florida. The deed was to be in her name alone. Her parents could stay in the house for their lifetime and pay her one hundred dollars per month rent. It was a take-it-or-leave-it offer, and she fully expected her parents to reject it—not that she cared one way or the other.
Her conscience pricked her as she walked around to the front of the house to put the letters in the mailbox. She could have offered Amber the house on O Street until she got on her feet financially. She could still offer her five hundred dollars if she wanted to tap the money the bank would get for the option on her remaining house. She didn’t owe Amber anything. Not one damn thing. She had to keep reminding herself that she hated Amber.
All afternoon she stewed and fretted about her curt response to her sister. At six-thirty she called Opal in San Diego to ask for advice.
Ruby read Amber’s letter over the phone. Opal laughed. “You know you’re going to do it, you just want me to agree with you. If it was me, I’d do it. What the hell, Ruby, you’re the only one of the three of us who’s solvent. Jeez, you must have felt great when you wrote to Pop and the bank. You finally got your pound of flesh.”
“Is that what it is—my pound of flesh?” Ruby asked in a hushed voice.
“You bet. Actually, if you stop and think about it, it’s a double whammy. You’re socking it to old Amber and at the same time you’re helping her. I’m not sure if Pop will realize you got him by the short hairs. Go for it, Ruby, but you were too cheap on the rent. Think about that!”
“I’m thinking about the way you talk,” Ruby said sternly. “Where did you learn such things?”
Opal whooped with laughter a second time. “From my navy flier husband.” Opal’s voice turned serious. “It makes you the better person, Ruby. Just do it. The reasons don’t matter. Listen, my husband is due any minute now, and while he was generous in allowing me to visit you, my time is his once he walks through the door. I love you, Ruby. I’ll write. Hey, I hear Mac’s car; he drives the way he flies. See you.”
It took Ruby an hour to rewrite the letter to Amber. She didn’t experience any wild rush of elation when she closed the mailbox. Obviously, only one wild rush of elation was allotted to her on any given day, and she’d gotten hers with Dixie’s letter.
A week later she received a letter from Amber, chastizing her for not forcing her tenants to move a month ahead of schedule. She said she wasn’t going to be responsible to some damn bank and an Egyptian Gypsy. Ruby scribbled off a reply that told her sister to take it or leave it. Amber didn’t respond, but the bank informed Ruby that Amber and her family had moved in an hour after the tenants moved out.
A week later she received a telegram from the bank confirming that her parents had agreed to her terms. Three days after that, she received a hateful letter from her father, which she tore into shreds.
Nothing, not even Andrew, could dampen Ruby’s spirits now that she had Dixie’s friendship again. She wrote twice a week and called as often as she could from one phone booth or another. Both women were determined to keep their friendship secret. Men, they agreed, simply could not be trusted or depended upon. Their last conversation still rang in Ruby’s ears; she had confessed to Dixie how she’d been filing amended tax returns every April and keeping secret all her business dealings. Dixie giggled and said if she was ever in serious trouble, Ruby was the one she’d go to.
Ruby’s spirits were so high that she found herself being more tolerant of her husband. She went out of her way to be accommodating and responsive. Andrew’s reaction was to accuse her of having an affair, which he used as an excuse to withdraw even more from their family life. Ruby hardly noticed.
Her life these days was her children, Dixie, and her sister Opal.
Once again Ruby Blue was happy.
CHAPTER TEN
It was a dreary, stormy afternoon. Rain slashed at the windows, and Ruby hated the sound. Today, she hated everything. Dr. Ainsley, the base shrink, had just called to render his current evaluation of Martha, who had been seeing him for over a year. God, what was it he’d said? She needed continued therapy, but therapy could go only so far. If Andrew wasn’t prepared to come in for counseling, treatment would take years. Martha, it seemed, was seeking her father’s approval. He’d also suggested that if she was certain Andrew would not make the effort, she should think seriously about taking the children and leaving her husband. Her own sessions with the doctor always left her feeling morose and withdrawn. She’d done everything she could for her child. She’d argued and tried to assert herself for Martha’s sake and Andy’s, too. Andrew’s response was that Martha needed her ass whipped, and this psychological shit was from Ruby’s kooky side of the family. “Go ahead, Ruby, tell that jerk about your old man and then come back and tell me I’m to blame.” She had talked about her father, with tears streaming down her face. The doctor hadn’t said her daughter’s problems were he
r fault or that anything was hereditary, but neither had he again asked to see Andrew after that session. That was two years ago.
She was smoking these days, something she swore she would never do. It gave her something to do with her hands. It also seemed to help her twanging nerves. She used cigarettes the way Martha still clung to her security blanket. That blanket was another thing. Andrew had forcefully ripped it from Martha’s arms on the first night she’d wet the bed at the age of seven, which happened to be also the first time she’d come close to winning her first star. Ruby had fought him like a wild woman. She’d even gone so far as to pick up a butcher knife from the table, and in a voice so terrible she still remembered it, ordered her husband to give Martha the blanket and never to touch it again. He’d thrown it at the child and advanced with his hand raised to strike her, but Ruby had whipped the long blade upward, murder in her eyes. She doubted now that she would have had the guts to lash out at her husband; she wasn’t a violent person. But Andrew obviously believed she was capable of harming him.
At least she had some power over him. In general, she wasn’t strong anymore; she was weak, jelly in her husband’s hands. She even found herself getting upset over his extramarital affairs. Because she wanted to blame someone, she blamed Calvin for her present state. In the end, though, she put all the responsibility on her own shoulders.
Seasons of Her Life Page 33