Saving Ruth

by Zoe Fishman

  Here I was, expected to put it all on the line, and he was living a full-on secret life. Maybe that’s why he had no trouble ignoring the facts and claiming sobriety—he’d been spinning his own cobweb of lies for months. This wasn’t how the Wassermans operated. I was the endearing fuck-up who couldn’t lie my way out of a paper bag but always attempted to nevertheless (No, Mom, I didn’t sneak out—I have no idea why the window screen is broken / No, Dad, I wasn’t drinking, I just smell like this because everyone else was / No, this isn’t a new shirt that I bought with your credit card last week—I’ve had it forever), and David was the perfect son. He never lied because he didn’t have to. He made excellent grades, he didn’t drink or do drugs, and he could always be counted on. If those tenets of his persona were erased, who was he? Who was I? Who were the Wassermans?

  I stopped in front of Miss Carol’s house. Jason’s and David’s cars were parked outside already, along with the familiar cars of the board: a navy blue Volvo for Cynthia Sherman (her family had built the pool and she was my favorite of the bunch—a no-nonsense, crimson lipstick–wearing former debutante with a liberal streak); a silver minivan for Bill Whitaker (dad of Tyler and beleaguered member of every board in town courtesy of the bossiest wife I had ever encountered); and a giant black Suburban for the infamous Dusty Forsythe (co-head of the board along with Miss Carol and the most good-ole-boy-iest good ole boy there ever was).

  I parked my bike and rubbed my sweaty palms on my shorts. Here we go. I rang the doorbell.

  “Well, heyyyyy, honay,” Miss Carol said, opening the door to a foyer filled with War Eagle paraphernalia.

  “Hey, Miss Carol.” I smiled down at her. She was as broad as she was tall—the human version of a potbelly pig. Standing, she came up to my collarbone, and at least three inches of that height was teased blond hair.

  “Come on in, we’re all just sittin’ around and talkin’ about nothin’. Are you hungry, darlin’?” She beckoned for me to take the lead.

  “Oh no, I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Well, if you change yer mind, I’ve got chips out for y’all.” I heard her stop behind me. I turned around to make sure she hadn’t been eaten alive by the giant macramé eagle adorning the wall.

  “Let me git you somethin’ to drank, at least.”

  “A Diet Coke would be great, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetie. I’ll git it for you. You go on in. I’ll be right there.” I followed the hallway down to the wood-paneled living room. Everyone was sitting together on a giant, forest green couch, but they only filled three-quarters of it. It was one of those circular couches with pop-up footstools that made laziness optimal at every angle.

  “Hey, Ruth,” greeted Jason, obviously desperate for an out from the conversation he was having with Bill. Bill was in standard form, wearing a white golf shirt, khakis, and boat shoes, the bald top of his head gleaming like an ice cube. He had the bad luck of being pear-shaped—a phenomenon I had never before witnessed in a man. It was unfortunate, but very fitting considering Bill’s personality. If there ever was a man who fit being pear-shaped, it was him. He had the machismo of a toy poodle.

  “Hey, Jason,” I replied. “Hey, Mr. Whitaker.”

  “Hey there, Ruth. How are you?” He struggled to get up, but the depth of the couch fought him like quicksand.

  “Oh please, don’t get up! That’s okay. And I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Hi, David,” I said curtly. He was sitting at the far end with a handful of chips and a glass of soda at his feet. He gave me a tight smile and shoved what appeared to be ten chips into his mouth. His chewing sounded like road construction.

  “Hey, Mr. Forsythe, hey, Cynthia,” I said. Cynthia had ordered me to drop the “Miss” the first time we were introduced, thereby cementing my fondness for her immediately. I attempted to perch daintily on the couch’s edge. It was useless, though—the sheer volume of the seat affected the gravity of the room. Against my will, I was soon reclining.

  “Ruth, you’re what, nineteen now? I think it’s okay to call me Dusty, sweetie.” He was a giant bear of a man, standing six feet four inches tall and weighing what had to be 285 pounds. Even the couch looked small underneath him.

  “I’m sorry, I always forget!” In contrast to Bill, Dusty was the epitome of maleness, at least by southern definition. Wealthy, sporty, heterosexual, and Republican.

  “Dusty, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were flirtin’ with her,” interjected Cynthia. She rolled her eyes and smiled conspiratorially at me. Her silver hair was pulled into a loose bun, and she was wearing a men’s chambray work shirt and white jeans.

  “Here’s Ruth’s drank!” Miss Carol came bustling in with a glass of ice and soda and handed it to me with a nervous smile. “I thank we’re all here, right?” She sat down in a rocking chair facing us. The room was silent except for the whir of the ceiling fan blades.

  “Yes, we’re all here, Carol,” said Dusty. “Let’s cut the small talk, shall we? We’re all in a world of shit right now.” I glanced at David. His face was obscured by his drinking glass.

  “It looks like this Tanisha’s mama is gonna sue the pool.”

  “Are you kidding me? How? How is this our fault?” asked Jason. “She almost drowned and Ruth saved her! She saved her damn life! These people should be kissing our asses, not riding them.”

  “Jason, I know tensions are high, but if you could not curse, I’d appreciate it,” scolded Miss Carol. “You too, Dusty.” She looked to the wooden cross adorning the wall as if to guilt them into submission.

  “Apologies, Miss Carol. I’m not myself at the moment.” Jason smiled at her. “But, Dusty, on a legal level, do they even have a leg to stand on? You’re not assured 100 percent safety at a swimming pool, I mean, gawleeeeee. Let’s get real. Shi—, I mean, stuff happens.”

  “You have a point, Jason. I’m not sure if this lawsuit will even take shape, but I know that we need to be on point if it does.”

  “We need to know exactly what happened,” added Cynthia. “We want to make absolutely sure that everything is on the table.”

  “No surprises,” added Miss Carol.

  “There are no surprises,” said David, his mouth finally chip-free. “She was in my blind spot, she went under, Ruth saw her, dove in, got her out of the pool, and saved her. There was no resuscitation necessary.” I detected a spark of irritation beneath the buttery surface of his speech.

  “Ruth, is that what happened?” Cynthia asked me. Her blue eyes searched my face like a flashlight.

  “Yes, that’s what happened,” I answered, forcing myself to maintain eye contact and keep my voice level.

  “You sure nothin’ went on before the Kiddy Kare got there that would have impaired your ability to watch the pool? Y’all were on point?” Dusty asked both of us. My mouth went dry.

  “We’re sure,” answered David quickly. “Why would you think that?” He appeared completely calm and at ease, as though his outright lie had soothed him somehow.

  “Aw, I know y’all didn’t do anything wrong, son,” said Dusty. “I just want to be sure that we’re all on the same page. We all know that they’re gonna get some nigger lawyer who hoots and hollers all over the place.”

  I cringed and opened my mouth to say something, but Cynthia beat me to it.

  “Dusty, I will not have that language spoken in my presence, do you hear me? And you sure as hell better not use it in regards to this case.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Cynthia. All due respect, we know exactly how this is gonna go down. I apologize for that word. That was ugly.” He reached out and put his hand on her knee. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

  “Don’t you know that this is how we’re going to be expected to react? To be the racist jerks they perceive us as being? To say something derogatory about black people and swimming pools and prove their poi
nt that we didn’t care about their child the way we would have cared about one of our own?” Cynthia was practically yelling.

  “She’s right, Dusty,” agreed Carol. “We need to defy expectations.”

  “I know that’s what Tanisha’s mom is thinking, but I swear that wasn’t the case,” I said. My voice sounded strange to me—like it was coming from the bottom of a well. “The fact that she was black had nothing to do with her accident, at least on our part.”

  “Not at all,” agreed David. “The truth of the matter is that Tanisha couldn’t swim. If anyone should be sued, it’s those Kiddy Kare people. They’re the ones who let her wander off. And without floaties.”

  “And what about her mama?” asked Mr. Whitaker. “Obviously she knew that her daughter couldn’t swim, but agreed to let her go to a pool anyway. Surely she would have had to sign a permission slip. She knew about the risk she was taking, and now she wants to cry wolf?”

  “That’s a damn good point, Bill. A damn good point,” said Dusty. Bill swelled with pride at the compliment.

  “Have y’all reached out to a lawyer?” asked Jason.

  “Yes, I have a friend who’s agreed to take this on if need be,” answered Cynthia. “He’s quite reputable.” I thought about my dad’s offer to defend us. By not telling him the whole truth either, we’d be asking him to lie on our behalf. I wondered if David’s conscience would get the better of him if our father was on the line. I certainly hoped so, but watching him lie so effortlessly here made me doubtful.

  “Cynthia, if they do sue, will they sue the pool as a whole, or will they single out David and me?” I asked.

  “We’re all in this together, Ruth. All for one and one for all.” She gave me a sad smile.

  “Are we all set then?” asked Miss Carol. “For now?”

  “I believe we are,” answered Dusty. “Ruth, I want to commend you again on a job well done. You saved a little girl’s life, and we’re lucky to have you on our team.”

  “Yes, absolutely,” agreed Cynthia.

  “Thanks,” I replied. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Well, I guess we’ll take off then,” said David. “Miss Carol, thank you for hosting.”

  “Yes, thanks, Miss Carol. I’m taking a cookie to go,” said Jason, grinning.

  “Please, Jason, take the bag! My behind doesn’t need any more of these, believe me.” She got up to get them from the kitchen.

  “You are such a kiss-ass,” I whispered.

  “Don’t say ‘ass’!” he whispered back. “Jesus doesn’t like that word.” He pointed to the cross.

  “You guys ready?” asked David. He stood up and loomed over us.

  “You all right?” asked Jason. “You look about as nervous as a whore in church.”

  “I’m just ready to get outta here, man.” He popped his knuckles.

  “Here are your cookies, Jase. And David, here are yours.” She handed them Ziplocs filled to bursting. “Ruth, I would have offered some to you, but I know how good you are.” She winked at me. “I wish I had half the self-control that you do.”

  What if I did want a damn cookie? It was ironic that I had started not eating to look like everyone else, but had ended up sticking out even more. We waved good-bye a final time and wandered into the yard.

  “You want a ride?” asked David.

  “I can’t. I rode my bike.”

  “I’ll drop your bike off in my truck,” volunteered Jason.

  “No, that’s silly,” I said.

  “But it’s far. Seriously, it’s no problem.”

  “Well, if you’re sure, Jason. I am a little tired.”

  “You got it.” He picked up my bike and deposited it into his truck bed with a clank. “See ya’ll. I’m headed to the pool to see what’s what.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. ACDC poured out of his truck’s speakers, the beat shaking its body and, seemingly, the pavement beneath its wheels. “I’ll just park yer bike in yer carport, ’kay?”

  “Great. Thanks.” He drove off, leaving David and me in awkward silence.

  “What did you think about the meeting?” he asked as we walked to his car.

  “Mmm, I guess it was productive. I mean, nothing was really resolved or anything. But really, what could be resolved at this point?”

  “Yeah, it was more about getting ready for battle, I guess,” he answered. We opened our doors and got in.

  “Battle?”

  “Yeah.” He started the engine. “Battle.”

  “That’s a pretty aggressive way of phrasing it.”

  “What else would you call it? If they sue the pool, it’s on.”

  “I guess.” We pulled into the road, and I watched Miss Carol’s house grow smaller in the rearview mirror. “I just don’t see how they would really have a case, though. And why spend all that money if you don’t have a case?”

  “I think they could make a case pretty easily, actually. People love that shit.”

  “What shit?”

  “The race card and all that goes with it.” He glanced at me. “Why do you look so surprised?”

  “I guess I just can’t believe that they would accuse us of being the kind of people that would wish a kid dead because she was black.”

  “Whoa, that’s a little over the top. Take it easy.”

  “What? In essence, that’s what they would be saying, isn’t it? That we didn’t watch Tanisha carefully because she was black, right? That we didn’t care if she drowned?”

  “Well, yeah, if you put it that way.”

  “But how could that even stand up in court? We’re Jewish. You were the freakin’ BBYO crusader in high school. Didn’t you spearhead that whole trip to New Orleans after Katrina?”

  “That has zero relevance, believe me. Just because I helped some black people build houses doesn’t not make me a racist. And you, you don’t even have that to hide behind.”

  “Are you kidding me? I have black friends! I’m not a racist.”

  “Congratulations. You have black friends. You’re a regular civil rights crusader.”

  “Well, I mean, think about the alternative. People like Kevin and Dusty.”

  “What does Kevin have to do with this?”

  “He called Jill’s boyfriend the ‘n’ word the other day.”

  “Malik? Shit. Where?” David frowned.

  “When he was up at the pool.” I shook my head angrily. “We have a black president, for chrissake, and this is still happening here.”

  “The only thing worse than being black in the South is being Jewish in the South,” said David.

  “What? Are you serious? I don’t think that’s true, David.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, if you don’t think that Kevin hates us, you’re nuts.” He stopped suddenly as a squirrel darted in front of us.

  “Give me a break. He probably does, but let’s get real. Black people have had it a lot harder here. Getting converted to Christianity at your locker is one thing, but having a separate bathroom is another. C’mon now.” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or just trying to get a rise out of me.

  “Ruth, you c’mon. At least black people are liked by other black people. Jews are hated by whites and blacks alike, and there are only, like, five other Jews here to like them back. Think about it.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Oh, I forgot, you have black friends.” He rolled his eyes. “Ruth, I’m not a racist by any stretch of the imagination. I’m just calling it like I see it.”

  “You really are out of your mind.”

  “Maybe the reason it makes you so mad is because you see a little bit of truth in it,” he said smugly.

  “Oh, fuck off, David.” We rode along in silence.

  “I mean, look at stupid Dusty back there,” I said a few minut
es later. “The ‘n’ word rolls off his tongue like nothing. It’s just a word to him—a word he probably uses daily. And it’s wrong! It’s horrible!”

  “It is horrible. I agree. This place is filled with Dustys and Kevins. That’s why Tanisha’s parents would have a case. To not be a racist on some level is an exception to the rule. It’s just the way it is. Same thing for Jews. People might pretend to embrace us, but believe me, they all think we have tiny horns beneath our hair. They just might not say it as much.” I stared out the window.

  “David, people made fun of your Camp Maccabee T-shirt a couple of times. It’s not like they burned a cross in our front yard. Relax.”

  “Yeah, sure, that’s all they did. You think you know everything.”

  “What?”

  “They beat the shit out of me in the third grade. You don’t remember?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s true. A bunch of rednecks ripped that shirt right off of my back and beat me up. Plus, every sports team I was ever on as a kid had some asshole there to flick pennies at me or wisecrack about Jesus.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. So don’t tell me that I don’t know of what I speak, okay?”

  “How come nobody ever told me?”

  “You were little. It didn’t matter. Besides, that stuff pretty much all stopped once I got good at soccer. Athleticism trumps all else, I guess.”

  “I never knew all that.”

  “Now you do.” Had they kept that from me on purpose, or had I just been too clueless to see it? “So, you don’t still think I was high, do you?” he asked. I didn’t answer.

  “Do you?” I stared out the window. “Jesus, Ruth!” He pounded the steering wheel. “I told you I wasn’t! What the hell do you want from me? A urine sample?”