Ruby in the Sky

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Ruby in the Sky Page 14

by Jeanne Zulick Ferruolo


  I felt the tears filling my eyes. I would not blink. I would not speak. I would not cry.

  “Ruby—” Mom started.

  I shook my head. No. No. No.

  “Sweetheart. If we don’t start talking to each other … really talking…” She took a deep breath. “You and I, Ruby … I’m afraid we’re going to disappear, too.”

  Talk. That was the thing about Mom. She always thought what she had to say would change things. As far as I could tell, talking just made everything worse.

  Mom stared at me. When I wouldn’t meet her gaze, she stood. “I need to get ready for work. Mr. Saleem is counting on me to have the orders ready for tomorrow.” She stepped into her room and closed the door behind her.

  I wrapped my arm across Bob’s belly, grateful for the rise and fall of each breath.

  A little while later Mom came out with her coat on. She stood by the door.

  “Stay inside,” she said. “We’re supposed to get a bad ice storm.” The door shut behind her. I heard the Fiesta’s engine roar. Soon frozen drizzle pinged against the windows.

  I got up and added a log to the woodstove, then snuggled back close to Bob. “You’re going to be okay,” I whispered. His tail thumped the floor.

  As frozen rain pelted the roof, I closed my eyes, wanting to disappear inside the darkness of sleep. Instead, the image I’d seen in the old newspaper—of the car being towed from the icy water—popped into my brain.

  I opened my eyes, wondering if Abigail was out in the storm. I wondered if she’d ever come in.

  CHAPTER

  15

  All day Sunday, I tried to talk to Ahmad, but every time I called Rucki’s, Mr. Saleem answered and said he was too busy to come to the phone. On Monday morning, I got up extra-early to meet him at the store before he left for school. But when I got to Rucki’s, Ahmad was already gone.

  When I entered Mr. Andrews’s classroom, Ahmad kept his head buried in a book. I sat down and stared at the back of his shirt. Right then I knew how Michael Collins must have felt when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin left him alone in the Columbia while they made their way to the moon—lonely. Bob was barely eating. Annie and Mom were busy preparing for the trial. Abigail never wanted to see me again. I couldn’t stand to lose Ahmad, too.

  Mr. Andrews stood at the front of the room. “There is exactly one week until the Wax Museum,” he said. “Today we are finishing costumes. If you need extra help, you may see Mrs. Puerto in the art room.”

  I slid out of my seat and moved in front of Ahmad’s desk. He wouldn’t look up from his book.

  “Ahmad,” I said.

  He didn’t budge.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ahmad turned a page.

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Ahmad. I’m really sorry.”

  Ahmad lowered his book. “Prove it,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Prove you are sorry.”

  “How?”

  “You must do something to show how sorry you are.”

  “Can’t you just believe me?”

  Ahmad started reading again.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He peered over the page. “The Wax Museum. If you are sorry, you will do the Wax Museum with me.” Ahmad pushed up his glasses with his fist. “Neil Armstrong and Michael Collins are supposed to be a team.”

  I shook my head. “You know I can’t talk in front of all those people.”

  Ahmad started reading again.

  “That’s not fair, Ahmad.”

  He turned a page.

  I started to sit down, then I turned back. “Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll do the Wax Museum.”

  Mr. Andrews walked over. “What’s happening here?”

  “Mr. Andrews, can Ruby and I go to Mrs. Puerto’s room?” Ahmad asked.

  “Of course.” Mr. Andrews’s eyes crinkled.

  Ahmad’s face broke into a giant grin. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed it until that very moment.

  “Come on, Michael Collins,” he said. “Let’s go to the moon!”

  * * *

  In the art room, Mrs. Puerto had rolls of paper and different-sized cardboard boxes and fabric. “Who’ve we got here?” she asked.

  “Astronauts Michael Collins and Neil Armstrong reporting for duty,” Ahmad said.

  “Let’s see what I have.” She lifted a big sheet of silvery tinfoil. “This should work.”

  “Do you have something I can use to make a helmet?” If I was going to do this, I would need more protection than my bangs could offer.

  Mrs. Puerto showed us how to form helmets from cardboard and white contact paper. I made mine extra-big with a small visor. I put it on. Perfect.

  Ahmad turned cardboard boxes into jet packs and oxygen tanks. We decided to wear white clothes underneath. When we had finished, I looked him straight in the eye. “Ahmad,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “You are my friend, Ruby. There is no need to talk—”

  “Yes, there is.” I took a deep breath. “Ahmad, you have been my friend since I came to Fortin. You were kind to me, no matter how I acted.”

  “You will always be my friend, Ruby,” he said.

  And I knew he meant it.

  * * *

  Mom and I spent the rest of that week getting ready to move. I wouldn’t let her forget what she’d said that morning at the animal hospital. We would leave for Washington, DC, as soon as the trial was over. We would find a place to rent, hopefully near our old home. Things could finally go back to the way they used to be.

  The Sunday night before the trial started, we finished stuffing as many of our things as we could fit into a whole new set of garbage-bag suitcases. Although I’d promised Ahmad I’d do the Wax Museum, I couldn’t stop trying to come up with ways to get out of it. I hadn’t had the courage to tell him we were moving right after Mom’s trial finished, either. Thinking about not seeing Ahmad made my heart feel heavy. I had never had a friend to say goodbye to in any of the other schools I’d been in since DC.

  When we had finished packing, Mom stood near the woodstove ironing her dress for court.

  “I still don’t understand why I can’t go to the trial,” I said. “You let me go to court before.”

  “That was different. The trial could go the entire day, maybe two, and I don’t want you to hear Chatty’s lies. Plus if you’re not at school tomorrow, they won’t let you do the Wax Museum.”

  Another reason to go to the trial, I thought. “If it finishes Monday, can we leave right away for DC?”

  “After all the work you’ve done to get ready for the Wax Museum?” Mom shook her head. “And don’t expect things to wrap up Monday. Everything moves so slowly in court. Annie says that after the evidence is done, the attorneys do closing arguments and then we have to wait for the jury to deliberate. There’s no telling how long that will take.”

  She let the iron sit a little too long and I could smell burning. “Oh!” She lifted the iron and examined the spot. “It’s okay.”

  “The jury will know you’re innocent. They have to.”

  “Of course. I didn’t do anything wrong,” Mom said. She pressed the moon charm against her lips.

  Later that evening, Mom made chicken cacciatore, which cheered us both up. I told her it was the best thing I’d ever eaten. As I was cleaning up, Mom said, “I’m going to hit the sack early. I’ll be gone before you get up.” She gave me a kiss on the forehead, then disappeared into her room.

  As nervous as we both were, I was relieved it was almost over.

  That night, I wore Dad’s Air and Space Museum sweatshirt to bed, thinking about how much he loved flying kites at the Washington Monument. We’ll be home before the cherry blossoms are out, I thought.

  * * *

  On Monday morning, I woke to the sound of the Fiesta’s roar. It was still dark out.

  I padded into the kitchen. Mom must have added wood to the stove before she left.
The house felt warm and cozy. There was a basket of blueberry muffins on the table. Next to them sat a small box wrapped in tinfoil. The box was decorated with a red ribbon and a big heart. I had forgotten it was Valentine’s Day.

  I bit into a blueberry muffin. Still warm. I unwrapped the box. Inside was Mom’s crescent moon necklace. I lifted the necklace, watching the silver moon spin. It was engraved: I love you to the moon and back. A small piece of paper was tucked into the box: a note. I unfolded it.

  To my very brave daughter (aka Michael Collins):

  Dad gave me this necklace when he got his first job as a police officer. I had begged him not to take that job. I told him I’d worry every single time he went to work. He told me this necklace would help me to be brave, all I had to do was wear it and think of him.

  I asked your father why he needed to be a police officer so badly. He told me something I’ll never forget: “Even when you can’t see it,” he said, “courage can be found when you simply stand up.” He told me it was his turn.

  Over the last two years, this necklace has helped me get through many challenges. I want you to have it now, Ruby. I hope it will help you be brave at the Wax Museum tonight. Remember, just like the moon in the sky, even when you can’t see it, courage is there. All you have to do is stand up. Stay brave, my Ruby Moon, and remember, no matter what happens, I’ll see you on the moon tonight.

  I love you with all my heart,

  Mom

  I lifted the necklace. So many times I had begged Mom to let me wear it, but at that moment, it only made my heart feel heavy.

  “Mom gave this to me even though she needed it for court,” I said to Bob. I took a deep breath and fastened it around my neck. I touched my hand to its moon charm and I stood up.

  CHAPTER

  16

  At school, I still couldn’t bring myself to tell Ahmad that we were moving, or that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my promise to him that evening.

  “Ruby, I will take our costumes to Rucki’s,” Ahmad had said in Language Arts. “You will meet me there. Neil Armstrong and Michael Collins must go to the Wax Museum together.”

  I nodded, but my throat felt tight and itchy.

  Later, as the afternoon bus made its way up Specter Hill Road, I scanned the woods for a sign of smoke coming from Abigail’s camp as I had every day since Bob’s accident. But the sky was clear and empty.

  I got off the bus and made my way up our driveway hoping to see Mom’s Fiesta packed and ready to leave. But the driveway was empty, too.

  Mom had said court would go until five and even later if they were near finishing. I hoped that didn’t happen. If I was stuck keeping my Wax Museum promise to Ahmad, I needed Mom to be there.

  Part of me wanted to believe Abigail would keep her promise, too. She had said that if I did the Wax Museum, she would come.

  But when I thought about the dark look on her face, and the mayor’s threats, I knew Abigail wasn’t going to risk getting arrested to keep a promise to a trespasser like me.

  As I unlocked the front door of our house, Bob hobbled up. I hitched his leash and took him outside. Since the accident, he was only able to walk down the driveway and back.

  We slowly moved to the edge of Specter Hill Road. Bob sat down and lifted his head to the sky. I smiled. It was as if he was so used to seeing me look for the moon, he had decided to start doing it, too. I pressed Mom’s moon charm against my lips as I followed Bob’s gaze. Even though it wasn’t dark yet, a giant full moon hovered just above the horizon.

  Did you know that at the next full moon, there is going to be a Ruby Moon?

  Abigail and I were supposed to watch the lunar eclipse together. That was the deal we’d made on the Moon Bench. I thought back to the night we’d watched last month’s full moon rise in the pink-and-purple sky. For that one moment, I had believed that something as magical as a Ruby Moon could be real.

  I swallowed hard and blinked. It hurt too much to remember. It hurt to think about everything that had gone wrong since I broke Abigail’s trust.

  Right then, I wished with all my might that Mom would drive into the driveway, the trial over. It would be so easy to jump into the Fiesta and take off without ever looking back.

  But as the full moon crept higher and higher, the driveway seemed emptier and the weight on my shoulders heavier. I knew right then that I would never feel right until I apologized to Abigail.

  Back inside the house, I stepped around the garbage-bag suitcases. The place felt as cold and lonely as it had the afternoon Officer Prattle fishtailed his way up our driveway. I grabbed some veggies for Scrappy. I needed to say goodbye to her, too. On my way out, Bob started to follow. “Not yet, Bob,” I said. I locked the door behind me.

  * * *

  As I made my way down Specter Hill Road, I breathed in the sharp, cold air thinking how I wouldn’t be taking this walk again. I felt a pang thinking how much I would miss these woods. They had scared me when I first got to Fortin. But the hikes with Abigail had made me realize they weren’t scary once you got used to them. I could breathe in the woods. Somehow, I felt lighter there.

  When I got to the frozen gate with its NO TRESPASSING sign, I ducked under the pine tree. “Scrappy,” I called. Wind rustled the pine needles. I felt a chill and pulled my scarf tight around my face. The wind gusted.

  “Scrappy!” I dumped out some lettuce and carrot tops.

  But Scrappy didn’t come.

  I stared down Abigail’s driveway. Then my feet started walking.

  It had been nine days since Bob got hurt. Nine days since Abigail told me to never come back. My heart raced at the thought of seeing her. I worried she would tell me to leave before I could apologize. I worried that when I apologized anyway, she would slip into her shed and disappear.

  Abigail’s driveway seemed longer and colder than ever. The wind through its empty trees even lonelier. When I reached her camp, I blinked and spun around, confused. It was as if I’d taken a wrong turn.

  The camp was empty. The stones of the fire pit had been removed, the charred wood scattered, the red teapot gone.

  I stumbled toward the shed. Its door banged open and shut in the wind. The window frame that had held the shabby quilt was empty. I peered inside. The shed was bare. And then a sinking feeling came over me as I imagined Abigail being handcuffed and dragged away by Officer Prattle and Mayor Eton.

  The wind kicked up and the empty feeders bumped together.

  I hustled toward the seed can and opened it. The keys weren’t there, and I wondered if they were still sitting on the workbench where I’d left them. The front door I had once entered seemed to frown at me.

  My body ached to hear Abigail call the chickadees over. I stared at the shed, feeling as empty and hollow as it looked. I longed to see Abigail’s gap-toothed smile.

  Without thinking, I opened the seed can and filled the scoop. My feet made their way to each feeder as I emptied the seeds.

  “Come back,” I whispered as I poured seeds. “Come back.” My throat ached as I blinked back tears. I studied the house. Its dark window-eyes glared.

  What? I wanted to ask it. What do you want from me?

  But the house stayed silent.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered hoarsely.

  Prove it, the house seemed to say.

  Chick-a-dee, I heard. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee. I turned to see a tiny bird land on a seed can. It watched me watching it, then snagged a seed and flew off.

  More chickadees landed on the feeders, flying up and down in their crooked, roller-coaster way. I sat on the snowy step, staring at my fingertips where the first chickadee had landed. I thought about how that tiny bird had studied me up and down before deciding to trust me. I remembered how it was brave enough to fly toward me, when the bigger blue jays flew away.

  Abigail had made that happen, I thought. And so much more. I knew that her magic was as real as the chickadee’s. I had known it all along.

  Things I had learned
from Abigail suddenly began to fill my head—how to snowshoe through the forest without getting lost, how to fly in the middle of a snowstorm, what needed to happen for a lunar eclipse to become a Ruby Moon—things she’d kept hidden all those years beneath her scarves and sadness.

  But Abigail had peeled back her layers when she was with me. Some moments were amazing—like gazing at the stars from the Moon Bench—and some weren’t—like when she went to her dark place and disappeared. Not every moment was pretty and happy, but I wouldn’t give up a single one of them.

  I knew right then that it wasn’t an apology the house wanted from me. It was a story. Abigail’s story. And I didn’t need a moon rock to tell it.

  I had to find Abigail. Mom must be back from court by now, I thought. She would know what to do. Annie and Cecy, too.

  I took a step, then froze. I needed to leave Abigail a sign, in case she was able to get back here. I needed to let her know that I wouldn’t disappear on her again.

  The house stared down at me with its bandaged eyes. I lifted Mom’s moon charm to my lips, then I slipped the necklace over my head and stepped up to the front door.

  If Abigail got back here, she was going to need courage. I hung the necklace on the nail Officer Prattle had left in the door. I watched the silver crescent moon spin in the breeze. I love you to the moon and back. Then I started running.

  I ran until I got to my driveway. I unlocked the front door and raced inside. I unzipped my backpack, digging through its pockets until I found Mr. Andrews’s cork baseball center. I stared at it as if it could talk. Then I started writing.

  I wrote and wrote and wrote. I put down everything I knew about Abigail Jacobs. I wrote what it was like to soar through a snowstorm and feel like you could really reach the moon. I sang, “Come, Josephine, in my flying machine,” at the top of my lungs as Bob barked along. I scribbled on about the chickadees and what it was like to touch real magic and how every time we were together she made me feel as if I had something really important to say.

 

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