“I was sitting here thinking about some of our happier times, trying to figure out what went wrong,” Ruby said quietly.
“Did you reach a conclusion?” Andrew asked just as quietly.
“Sort of. You were different when you came back from Korea. I was angry and hurt. I blamed you for all the things that went wrong for me. It wasn’t easy for me, but I survived. You wouldn’t let me get close to you. You didn’t seem interested in Martha. I know it must have been difficult to be thrust into the role of a father so suddenly. Martha was a little person who made demands on me ... on us. I was too protective, you were right about that. For a long time she was all I had to hang on to. I was all she had. I know I tried. I’m not really sure if you did. It didn’t seem like you did. You didn’t like the diapers, the crying, the attention I gave our child. I tried to understand that. What I couldn’t understand was why you didn’t want me to go back to St. Andrew’s. You fought me every step of the way over that. I went anyway because it was important to me. You refused to let me go to Kalo’s funeral. I went anyway because it was important to me. Just as I sent a ten-dollar donation at Christmastime, even though you said no to that, too.
“I’m tired of this house being a battleground. Our children are supposed to come first, but they don’t. If it’s important to place blame, then I’ll take it all. I’m a nervous wreck. I can’t handle it anymore. It’s getting to the point where I can’t seem to help myself, and if I can’t take charge of my own life, how can I take care of the children? We have to have some kind of understanding and go on from there. We have to put all the hateful things we said to each other, all the threats, behind us and look to our future. I’m willing to try if you are. The only alternative to trying is divorce,” she said bleakly.
Andrew’s shoulders slumped. His voice was almost gentle. He was facing the inevitable, so there was no point in fighting it anymore. He was going to Vietnam, and there was a good chance he wouldn’t come back alive. It was the first time in his life he’d ever really had to face death. And even if he survived, he didn’t want to be like the other guys who returned from an overseas duty to find their wives and children gone. He hadn’t had a drink in over two weeks, and he was thinking clearly for a change. Everything she said was true, so true it smacked him in the gut like a mule kick. He felt his insides shrivel when he remembered the demands he’d made on her. He should apologize. She was right about the kids, too. He wondered if there was any way he could make things up to his family. Words, he knew, weren’t going to do it this time. Ruby wouldn’t accept words or promises, but that was all he could give her. He nodded, his voice a hoarse croak when he spoke.
“You’re right. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re usually right about everything. I was wrong to order you to intervene. I was a real bastard. I never thought about you. I cared only about myself. I’m sorry. You were right about Korea. I did change. I broke the rules, Ruby. I guess you already know that. Sorry is such a trite word sometimes. Saying it as often as I do makes it trite.
“Look, I’m scared, I admit it. Korea was a nothing situation. This ... this is different. I’ve never been this scared. Marines are not supposed to harbor fear, but anyone who goes over there and says he isn’t scared is a liar. As for my commanding officer, what I’m going to tell you now is perhaps . . . it’s terrible, but you have a right to know. I lied to you when I said he liked young girls like Martha. He does like young girls, but he prefers them to be around sixteen and virgins. I helped him when I served under him. I can’t . . . turn him in because he . . . I’m not proud of that, Ruby; in fact, I’m downright ashamed. That’s why I had to get out from under. He scares me more than Vietnam. If I bring him down, I bring myself down. I want to put in my twenty years and get out. If you can live with all this, and if you’re willing, I’d like to give it all a second go-round when I get back. We’ll pack it in and settle down in a real town; we’ll buy a house and I’ll get a job. We’ll have my retirement pay, and if you want, you can get a job, too. Financially, we’ll be okay. What do you say?”
Tears rolled down Ruby’s cheeks. She’d heard promises before. “The kids?”
“If I drive like a bat out of hell, I think we can make it up and back from the campgrounds in time to see Andy do his minnow swim.” He reached across the table for Ruby’s hand.
Ruby didn’t know if she was doing the right thing or not, but for the children she had to try. Martha would be so happy. Andy would grin and shake his fist in the air. As for herself, this was better than a hateful parting and years of recriminations. For now it was best. Best for their family.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Andrew Blue looked at his pocket calendar and ticked off another day. Just thirty-three more and he was leaving this hellhole, this cesspool of the universe and going home. Every day he thanked God that he was still alive. Every day he thought about Ruby and the kids. Every day that passed made it one day closer to the time when he could return to his family.
He was one goddamn lucky son of a bitch. Twice he’d almost bought it on a night patrol. He’d lost three good men, men he’d come to call friends. The kind of guys you would look up after you got home. The kind of guys you could have a beer with and not lie to to make yourself look good. Of course making friends had been a mistake. Now they were gone. Jesus, he hadn’t been prepared for that. Dave Harkness had stepped on a land mine. There wasn’t enough left of him to identify. And then Bic Nexus had gotten it right through the throat from a sniper’s bullet. He’d held Charlie Duvalier in his arms and felt him expire. He’d talked to him, told him all about Ruby and the kids and his football days in high school. He’d bawled like a baby when Charlie drew his last breath. They had to pry Charlie’s body out of his arms. He’d carried blood on himself for days. If Charlie hadn’t been ahead of him, he would be the one who was dead. Jesus, how he prayed after that. He made promises to God, to the angels, to every priest and minister he could remember. And he damn well meant to keep them.
And if it was the last thing he did, he was going to stick it to Lackland. Because all Andrew could think about was the look on Ruby’s face when he had told her about his part in his C.O.’s past. He’d damn well let the chips fall wherever they were meant to fall, but he was going to report everything when he got stateside. Ruby would be with him every step of the way.
Andrew swatted at the bugs bent on sucking his blood. He hated this fucking place, hated the smell, the humidity, the fighting, the dying. Charlie, Bic, and Dave had given their lives and left their families fatherless for this godforsaken place. It wasn’t right. Nothing about this fucking place was right.
He wished there were a way to line up all the Cong in a long single file. He’d pull the trigger of his M-16 until his fingers fell off and then he’d stomp the rest of them to death. Fucking bastards.
Every damn day when he wasn’t busy trying to save his life and the lives of his men he thought about his past and all the things he’d done wrong. He thought about judgment day and how he’d be called to account for his sins. He’d vowed to lead a better life, to correct those mistakes that still needed correcting. Maybe this was his hell, he thought; his punishment for all the wrong he’d done in his life.
Lackland had seen the change in him and had started to sweat. That made him dangerous. Andrew started to watch his own back. He confided his fears to a young lieutenant and wrote them all down. He told him to get in touch with Ruby and to tell her to get the sealed package out of their safety deposit box if anything happened to him. He wasn’t leaving this earth without owning up to his part in Lackland’s perverted activities. Ruby would be able to live with the shame he’d create because she loved him and they had kids to think about. Ruby was loyal and loving. Christ, he owed her so much, and he’d been such a bastard.
Andrew patted his thick breast pocket, which held letters from his family. He knew their contents by heart, and when he was scared like he was now, he ran the words over and over in his mind.
“I got the bastard! Jesus H. Christ, I ripped his fucking head right off his neck!” It was Stanapopolus, and his voice was hysterical.
“You want a medal?” someone barked.
“You’re fucking right I want a fucking medal. Oh, Jesus, sir, you better come see this.”
Andrew joined his men and looked at where Stanapopolus was pointing. “He got it on the second pop, sir.”
“Lackland!”
“Yeah, right through the back of his head. Clean shot. He didn’t suffer, sir.”
“Too bad,” Andrew said.
“Sir?”
“Too bad he bought it. He had his whole life ahead of him,” Andrew said curtly. “You know what to do,” he said, ripping Lackland’s dog tags from his neck.
“This guy had six kids, did you know that, sir?”
“No. No, I didn’t. I didn’t know . . . I’d heard he was divorced,” Andrew said.
“He was, twice. The kids were with his first wife. He showed me their pictures. He was a good soldier. It’s important for kids to know their old man was okay. You going to write a personal letter, sir?”
“You’re sure he had six kids?” Andrew said.
“Yes, sir. Six little towheads. It was an old photograph. They were all spruced up and in a line. He seemed real proud of them. What should I do with his letters, sir? There’s two in his pocket.”
Andrew held out his hand. Later, when it was his turn to sleep, Andrew read one. It started out the same way his did:
Dear Dad,
We all pray for you every night. Mom made us a special calendar and we check off the days until it’s your turn to come home. It’s my turn to write this week and everyone has something they want me to tell you. Jamie got two stars on his spelling paper. Abbie fixed the wheel on her bicycle by herself. She said you showed her how to do it. Carrie made fudge, the kind you like with marshmallows and nuts and peanut butter. Mom is wrapping it up to send you so your sweet teeth will be satisfied. She said to share it with your friends. Stan is pitching his second game. He walked everybody last week, but the coach doesn’t have another pitcher. Everyone has chicken pox. Mary Ann got a job and is working in a bakery. She brings home cupcakes every night. I’m last since I’m the oldest. I’m graduating third in my class. I got my class ring last week. I wish you could be at my graduation, but I understand. We all want you to be careful and to take care of yourself. We miss you and we send our love.
The letter was signed by all the children. Andrew folded the letter neatly and replaced it in the worn, tattered envelope. It, along with Lackland’s other gear, would be returned to his family.
Damn, he wasn’t prepared for this. If he went through with his plan, he would be destroying the trust of six children who loved and believed in their father. Better to forget it. It wouldn’t take away his guilt, but it might make him a better person. The guilt he carried would be his punishment. He nodded, it seemed appropriate.
“Lieutenant!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Lieutenant, we are going to forget everything I told you. There’s no reason to destroy this man’s family. I want your word as an officer that it will go no further.”
“You got it, sir,” the lieutenant said, snapping off a smart salute.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Andrew Blue returned from Vietnam his family met him at the airport, wearing smiles. Their arms were waving frantically to gain his attention.
Andrew took a full three minutes to take the sight of his family in. Martha was Ruby’s look-alike; even from this distance, they looked like sisters instead of mother and daughter. And Andy, he was taller than Martha—eleven, going on twelve. How mature he looked. Ruby had said he took his position as man of the family seriously. Ruby looked different, too. She’d put on weight, but it wasn’t unbecoming. Her hairstyle was different—soft and wispy. She looked more womanly, certainly no longer girlish. His family. He felt choked up. They were glad to see him. Damn, he was glad to see them, too. He ran then, his long legs pumping. He leapt the Cyclone fence and gathered them in his arms.
Things were on track. He was glad now that he’d put in his time by writing once a week to each of them. He knew who they were. He knew all about Martha’s corn on her little toe and how she hated her period and loved her first training bra. He knew that Andy was scared when he got up to bat at Little League, knew that he included his father in his prayers every night. Only things a father would know. But he didn’t know any more about Ruby now than when he left. Oh, she’d written faithfully, twice a week, but the letters contained nothing about her. She always closed by saying she missed him and was looking forward to the day when he returned. That was as personal as she got
“We’re having turkey in honor of your homecoming,” Martha said happily. “I made the stuffing. Mom said it came out good.”
“Can’t wait to taste home cooking,” Andrew said, hugging her.
“How about you, sport? What did you contribute? Tell me you made an apple pie,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair.
“Aw, c’mon, Dad, guys don’t cook. I set the table.” He grinned self-consciously.
“That’s good. It used to be my job.”
Ruby smiled warmly. The anxiety she’d felt building up the past month began to ease. Andrew was trying; the children were happy. They were a family now. It was going to be all right. She leaned against her husband, enjoying the smell of his aftershave. He was as handsome as ever. She felt a tingle of desire for him. It must have showed in her eyes, because Andrew whispered, “I can’t wait, either.” She laughed then, a sound of pure delight. She caught the wink he gave Martha and saw the way he poked his son’s shoulder.
It was wonderful. She said a prayer that it would last.
It did. For a while.
Two years and two months later the Marine Corps packed up all the Blues’ belongings and moved the family to Rumson, New Jersey. Ruby was so thrilled, she thought she would burst on the drive up the Atlantic coastline. Martha chattered all the way about the scholarship to Princeton she was sure she would get. When she took a deep breath, Andy plunged into a long discussion about cars. Would he have one when he was old enough to drive? Andrew yessed them to death as he concentrated on the sandy roads. Sand was as treacherous as ice, he told them. Ruby smiled. She’d never been happier.
They were really going to buy a house, one with an upstairs and a basement. A garage, too, and a yard with trees. A nice, residential neighborhood that she hoped wouldn’t be too far from where Dixie lived.
Her eyes sparking, Ruby Blue marched into the autumn of her life, certain her happiness would last forever.
PART THREE
AUTUMN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1975
Andrew Blue sat behind the wheel of his new Buick Special, his eyes glued to the greasy windows of the Knife & Fork Diner, where he’d just had his breakfast. It was the same diner he’d eaten breakfast at for the past five years. The waitresses called him by name; the owner always poked him on the shoulder playfully when he paid his check. Routine. His routine.
He should move along. Sitting here like this was out of character for him. He knew the waitresses were watching him through the steamy window. The thought was enough to make him turn the key in the ignition. He backed out of his parking space in front of the building and drove around to the back, where the produce trucks were already lined up for their morning deliveries. He cut the engine and slumped against the seat. Today was not going to be a good day, he thought shakily.
Until this very minute, he hadn’t really noticed how chilly it was, but then he saw steam escape the mouths of the truck drivers as they hefted crates of lettuce and eggs. He turned on the heater. A blast of stale air hit him in the face. He turned off the heater and rolled down the window. The cold air felt good aga
inst his freshly shaven face. He felt perspiration bead his forehead and wondered, not for the first time since getting out of bed, if he was getting sick.
Andrew lit a cigarette and blew smoke out the window. Christ, how he hated New Jersey. He hated this frigging diner and he hated the Sears, Roebuck store, where he was supposed to be this very minute, getting ready to take inventory.
With the cigarette clamped between his teeth and the smoke spiraling into his eyes, Andrew took stock of his hatreds for the day: his job, his home life, his routine, the bucket of bolts that he was sitting in, the waitresses in the diner, Ruby, Martha, his job selling Rototillers and garden supplies, his boss who reminded him of his last commanding officer in the marines, New Jersey, Rumson in particular, the house on Ribbonmaker Lane, his thinning hair, his four root canals, his paunch, his age, and his gambling. The last two were the kickers. Ruby would divorce him on the spot if she ever found out about his gambling problem. On the other hand, she didn’t seem to care that he was within a hairbreadth of turning fifty. Fifty goddamn years! And what did he have to show for it? A house that was mortgaged to the hilt because he’d forged Ruby’s name to a second mortgage and used the money to gamble. There was every possibility they could lose the house in the next few months if he didn’t come up with some ready cash. He’d even gambled away young Andy’s college tuition. Come August, when the bills came in, Ruby would find out there was no money in Andy’s account. He ticked off the months on his fingers—seven and a half to come up with the kid’s money. He could feel the sweat rolling down his back. He started to shiver, not with cold, but with fear. He owed Stan three grand and another two to a bookie in Asbury Park. They were starting to crowd him, making noises he didn’t like. The jungles of Vietnam hadn’t evoked the kind of fear he was feeling now.
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