Ruby Among Us

by Tina Ann Forkner

  “Three months old,” Mike said. “A son.”

  “What’s he called?” The driver had turned on the sirens, and their voices could barely be heard.

  “Matthew!” He yelled his baby’s name.

  Blake smiled. “Ruby!”

  “A name like Ruby will indeed fit a girl who could survive an earthquake. If she’s a girl, she’s a spitfire!”

  Blake smiled. “Are you a doctor?”

  “Just a glorified nurse really, but maybe my son will outdo me someday!”

  “Maybe so!” agreed Blake.

  Later, when Blake finally saw Kitty holding their baby, Ruby, safe in her arms, he became lightheaded. Freda led him to the chair beside Kitty’s bed and gently handed him his Ruby. She hiccupped and he smiled, quickly overcome with a mass of emotion he tried to stifle, but with very little control.

  SEARCHING

  Lucy

  7

  Kitty was different to me after talking about La Rosaleda. Her dyed blond hair tied back with a sheer emerald scarf. Her lush figure still attractive in a curvaceous way under that loose muumuu. These features were still the same. It was what I knew I couldn’t have dreamed about her only an hour before that suddenly made her different.

  I wondered how in such a short amount of time she could have become a new person in my eyes. Was my strong, opinionated Kitty really the same Kitty as in the story? It seemed impossible. The girl in the story was so in love with a man that she had been willing to anger her father to be with him.

  “Why did you leave?” I whispered, guarding my words because this Kitty seemed more fragile to me. She might decide at any moment to stop telling me her story, but what I was most afraid of was losing her. She gripped the handle of her cane, but it seemed not to be the arthritis that hurt her as she stood.

  “It’s hard to believe that was me, isn’t it?”

  She walked toward her room, and I wished I could take away her pain.

  “Kitty?”

  She paused and turned back, the lines in her face all slanted downward, her obvious exhaustion making her look older than she was. Her brown eyes were vivid in her dark face, and now I knew why her blond hair had never matched the darkness of her eyebrows.

  “So we are Mexican-American then?”

  She paused. “Does it matter, Maria Lucero DiCamillo? We are American.”

  My face grew warm. “I’m sorry, Kitty. I didn’t mean…”

  “My mother was Mexican-American, as your generation would call it, and my father was Spanish-American. The vineyard was in my mother’s family, and my father met her in the same way I met Blake, who as you heard, was Irish-American. Isn’t that a mouthful? We are first and foremost Americans, mija. Haven’t I taught you that always?”

  I stood and walked over to her, a deeper respect mounting in my heart.

  “Will you finish the story?”

  She reached out and put her hand on my face. “Another day, Lucy. When I am not so tired.”

  I nodded, holding out my arm to walk her to her room. I felt bad I’d kept her up late since it was the time she always hurt the most.

  “Kitty?”

  She paused, her hand on her doorknob. Her nails were red, a typical Kitty color that also reminded me of Ruby.

  “What about my father? What was he?”

  I’d meant his race or heritage. Was he Spanish, German, Irish? He’d looked more European to me.

  “He was… He was not your father. Ruby said he was, but he never wanted you, so it doesn’t matter, mija.”

  Calling me mija softened the blow. It had also been Ruby’s pet name for me.

  “You are part of me. You are part of Ruby, a part of all the people I have told you about. Why must you still ask me about him? Just because Ruby left us with the claim that he was your father doesn’t mean he was any kind of father at all.”

  She turned her doorknob, then paused. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  I nodded in acceptance of her words, but in my heart I didn’t accept it. I had to know, even if the truth was as bad as Kitty claimed. I just wanted to know.

  “Not everyone wants to know who their biological parents are, Lucy.”

  Susannah and I had decided to grab lunch and sit in the park after class. As we were walking away from the classroom, I’d noticed Max’s gaze. I met his eyes and smiled but didn’t trust myself to speak. I was again nearly frozen to the spot as we both paused outside the door, a question in our eyes that I wasn’t going to be the first to ask.

  Fortunately Susannah jumped in to save the day. “Max, why don’t you join us?”

  His face broadened into a grin. “There’s nothing I would like more than to escort you two lovely ladies to lunch in the park.”

  At the park we sat next to a giant oak tree on the manicured lawn that looked like a golf course. Max was busy feeding a squirrel, and Susannah had her day planner out, arranging her week. They’d both been listening to my story. I’d felt only a little bit uncomfortable that Max was there, but as I told the story, he pumped me with questions as if he were actually interested. The story was so new to me that I couldn’t have contained it even if they both thought it was the driest thing they’d ever heard.

  “Why would anyone not want to know who their parents are? Your daughter even knows. You even went to her mother’s high school graduation.”

  “Troy and I are Maria’s parents,” she corrected gently. “And, yes, we know Anna well. I guess we aren’t giving Maria the choice but are making it for her. However, out of the adoptive parents I’m friends with, some of their older children don’t want to know. According to their parents, some of them even live in fear that their biological parents will find them.”

  “That seems so strange. I so want to know who my parents are. Not only do I want to remember more of Ruby, but I want to know about my father and grandfather. I want to know them.”

  Susannah shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Some kids are just comfortable with the parents who raised them and feel no connection to their pasts at all, at least not a positive one. I think that’s okay. And it’s okay to want to see them. It’s their choice at that point. Just like it is yours.”

  “I’m not adopted, so maybe it’s not the same.”

  Susannah reached over and placed her small hand over mine. It was milky white, mine almost tan.

  “You are adopted, Lucy. You were an orphan, and Kitty took you in.”

  “Of course she did. She’s my grandmother. My only living relative.” I laughed halfheartedly. “At least known relative.”

  “Believe me. If you were familiar with adoption, you’d know that not all relatives are interested in or even capable of caring for the orphaned children in their own families.”

  I didn’t say anything. How could I argue with her reply? I had never really acknowledged that I was an orphan, and I had never even bothered to ask Kitty what legal steps she’d taken to get me. Knowing her, I doubted she’d taken any.

  I glanced over at Susannah, who was still planning her week.

  “Midterm exams! I have three in one day!” She clucked her tongue. “Troy is traveling, and my mom has doctor appointments. I’m going to have to find a sitter.”

  “How do you even manage to go to college?” I asked her, somewhat envious.

  She shrugged. “Oh, it’s not a big deal. I try to grab chunks of time at night or when Troy takes Maria on a date. The rest of the time I let my mom watch her.”

  “That is so cute about the father-daughter date.” I smiled, sneaking a look at Max. He was stretched lazily on his side, still tossing fries at the squirrels. Kitty would be aghast that we are eating fries, I thought.

  “Well,” said Susannah, “motherhood and being a wife come first.”

  I wanted to protest, but how could I? I wasn’t a mother and I didn’t really have one.

  She saw my chin rise and smiled. “What’s the matter?”

  “Well,” I said, choosing careful words, “I think women
should not forsake their dreams for anything or anyone.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Max stop throwing fries as he turned to listen to our conversation. I found myself wondering if he would be the type who would expect a wife to stay home with the kids and not enjoy her intellectual pursuits or a career, or if he would encourage her interests. When I realized I was thinking in the context of being his wife, I felt my face warm and I looked away.

  Susannah didn’t get angry. “I never said I was forsaking my dreams.”

  I felt my face darken with embarrassment.

  “For me,” she continued, “what I did say—or mean—was that being a wife and mother comes first and everything else second.”

  “But that’s not fair,” I said.

  “Why not? Kids are helpless. They need someone to take care of them.”

  My heart cracked a little, but I knew Susannah couldn’t have meant for me to think of Ruby and how much I had missed having her in my life to take care of me. Kitty had been wonderful. I couldn’t have a better mother, except for Ruby. My real mother. She, I imagined, would have been even better.

  I let my mind roam. Ruby had worked part time at the library. If she’d been married to my father, would she still have worked? I realized with a sense of peace that it didn’t matter to me whether she would’ve worked outside the home or stayed with me. Just having her there would have been all I needed.

  Max seemed to squirm in his place on the grass.

  “I like being a mom and a wife,” Susannah quietly added.

  I had to admit that Susannah had a good life. Who wouldn’t enjoy being her?

  “Kitty got the shaft when it came to choices,” I said, some negativity creeping into my voice. I looked over at Max, who was still listening but remaining quiet. He probably didn’t want to get in the middle of a conversation between two women about this subject.

  “Kitty,” she said softly, “is a grandmother who has been standing in as your mother. Motherhood came before her personal pursuits when she was young, and it does now.” She sighed. “I don’t see how that’s much different than what I’m doing by staying home with Maria and juggling school, I might add.”

  I looked up and realized I’d offended her. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” I apologized. “I think it’s great if you want to stay home with Maria. I guess that’s what people who go to church prefer to do.”

  Susannah giggled. “I don’t know about that. Some mothers at my church work, and some don’t.”

  “I’ve noticed that at church too,” Max said.

  “You two go to the same church?” I asked incredulously. I was beginning to wonder if they were trying to convert me. “Is this some kind of intervention?”

  They laughed.

  “No! Max could be Jewish for all I know.”

  I looked at him. “Are you Jewish?”

  He shook his head.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Christian?”

  Max raised his hands like he was under arrest. “Guilty as charged.”

  I learned that Max was a youth minister in his spare time and part of a rock band. What a shocker that news was, but it explained the days he showed up in disheveled dress pants as opposed to his regular student outfit of jeans and a T-shirt.

  My heart sank. I could never date a minister, could I? Not that I was dating him, of course. But maybe if he asked me, I might consider it.

  I suddenly felt prejudiced, which is the exact opposite of what I’d always envisioned myself to be.

  “It’s okay with me that you’re religious,” I said to Max and Susannah.

  They both looked at me with bemused expressions, but they wore smiles.

  “Well!” Max said. “Glad we got that out of the way!”

  Susannah dismissed Max’s comment with a wave. “I’m glad you aren’t offended, Lucy,” she gushed. “Because I like you.”

  I dropped my gaze to the ground. Susannah certainly wasn’t afraid to dole out a compliment when warranted, even if it was a little on the syrupy sweet side.

  “I like you too, Lucy!” Max said, grinning broadly. He cocked his head in mock drama as if he were an employee of Disneyland. Susannah chuckled at his silly imitation of her.

  It was all ridiculous and sappy, but it did make me smile. I felt my face turn an even deeper shade of pink at Max’s compliment even though he’d only been teasing. There was nothing I could do but concentrate on plucking blades of grass.

  Max spoke seriously, “You know, they have groundskeepers to do that, and they have these things these days called lawn mowers.”

  Susannah and I both laughed as she stood up and tossed her backpack over her shoulder.

  Max and I moaned. “You’re leaving?” we asked in unison.

  “Yes, I need to pick Maria up from kindergarten.”

  I nodded. “Call if you need anything,” I said standing. “I hope your mother is feeling better.”

  “Me too,” she said. She studied her painted toenails. “It could be breast cancer.”

  I gasped, not knowing what to say. Max offered to pray for her.

  I wished I could say I would pray, but then I would be a liar. Instead I stood up and reached for her. We hugged, which was coming naturally between us more and more these days, and she walked away, her usual bounce gone.

  Max and I sat in silence. I took a deep breath and willed him to speak.

  His tall, lanky body was stretched out closer to me now, with his back leaning against the tree.

  “So, Miss Maria Lucero DiCamillo, what’s new?”

  I laughed. “Basically nothing. I lead a mundane life,” I joked.

  “I can hardly believe your life is mundane, Miss DiCamillo. What do you do every day?”

  “Well,” I said, liking the way he said my name, “every day, I go to school, go home, study, and my grandmother and I usually visit the Market Square, the bookstore, the park, or the library. And sometimes we just hang out in our kitchen or garden and have tea.”

  “Sounds like you two are close,” he said.

  “We are,” I responded seriously. “Kitty is not only my grandmother, but she has been my mother and my best friend since I was eight.”

  “And she’s given you a topnotch education,” he added.

  “You think so?”

  “Let’s see,” he said glancing up into the tree’s branches. “You are a senior in a private university, which I might add isn’t easy to get into, and you’re only nineteen.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Okay, Miss Modest, it’s normal to be nineteen and almost entering grad school?”

  Not comfortable with talking about myself so much, I tried to change the subject.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Twenty-four?”

  “Well,” he said in mock defense, “I’m on my second degree. The first was music. The second is business. I’m taking your humanities class as a filler by special permission of the instructor.”

  He winked. “I’m still in my twenties. It’s not like I’m an old man.”

  Looking down at the grass, I busily plucked away again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you were.”

  “I’m just teasing anyway. But seriously, do you think your grandmother would approve if you went on an outing with an ‘older’ man?”

  I laughed, feeling silly. I thought of the minister thing and wondered if I dared.

  “Technically I’m old enough to go somewhere if I want, you know, with or without Kitty’s approval.”

  “But somehow I get the feeling you wouldn’t,” he teased.

  I shrugged. “It depends on what an ‘outing’ is.” I was unfamiliar with the dating world, and I had no idea what he meant by outing, so I remained cynical. “I’m not twenty-one, so I can’t go with you to a club or anything like that.”

  “I don’t drink,” he said, as if that solved everything.

  “And Kitty is afraid of cars; she thinks I’m going
to die in a car accident.”

  “We’ll walk.”

  “And I think it might freak her out to know I would be alone with a man.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “I am perfectly safe. And you’re alone with me right now.”

  I laughed at his observation. “Yes, I am,” I responded. My heart roared in my ears.

  “But,” he said, “I am old-fashioned. I don’t mind having to work for your attention. It’ll be like courtship in those old novels you say you like to read.” He waggled his eyebrows at me as his perfect mouth turned up into a captivating smile.

  I raised my eyebrows back at him. “You mean like in Pride and Prejudice?”

  “Something like that,” he said, laughing at my example. “Which means I wouldn’t even mind inviting Kitty to come along. We would need a chaperone. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about us being alone together.”

  I smiled back at him, suddenly at ease, and very formally said, “That would be wonderful, Mr. Sheffield.”

  “Then I’ll pick you and your grandmother up Saturday at eleven, and we’ll walk to the nearest park. Where do you live?”

  I told him my phone number and address, ignoring Kitty’s warnings to me about men.

  “Then since you’re close,” he said, “we’ll picnic here in the park.”

  We soon collected our things and, as awkward as usual, I started to stand when I noticed his outstretched hand. I reached out and took it, letting him pull me up, all the while reveling in the warmth of his hand encasing mine. We stood facing each other, and he let go of my hand as quickly as he’d grabbed it, shoving his hands in his pockets. I was disappointed, but I guessed I had no business holding hands with a man I barely even knew.

  And did people even hold hands anymore?

  I felt like I needed to go read a stack of romance novels to learn what was expected of me.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He saluted and walked away.

  As I walked through the rest of the park and turned down my street, I dug around for my inhaler. I wondered if I was feeling lightheaded and breathless because of Max or my asthma. I figured it was both.

  8