by Victor Allen
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Three months later, Ruby was dead.
Jean had sensed it when the phone’s irritating chirping sliced through that dreary March day with an urgency that was somehow unnatural. She was almost afraid to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Jean?” Her mother’s voice sounded right, but something about her tone sounded dangerously close to relief.
“Hi, mom. You caught me at a bad time. The baby’s sick and now the laundry….”
“Jean,” her mother interrupted, “Ruby’s dead. Harold shot her. The police have him in custody right now. Ruby died at the hospital not ten minutes ago.”
Jean let the phone drift away from her ear. Her eyes closed and the image of Ruby slowly surfaced. Ruby, with her harlot’s lipstick and cannibal teeth and a heart as black as her face was fair. Ruby’s lips parted and Jean heard the words come out as clearly as if they had been whispered in her own ear: I always get what I want.
Yes, but do you get what you deserve?
“Jean? Are you still there? Jean!”
“I’m here, mom.” Jean looked at Lance. His chubby legs pedaled the air above him. Jean felt like she could leap a ten story building. A totally inappropriate, beatific grin spread across her face. Harold had killed Ruby. He’d probably come home from a business trip and found Ruby in the sack with the UPS man. Ruby always was that kind.
“The funeral is three days from now,” her mother said. Jean noted that her mother was upset, but not exactly broken up. Ruby had burnt her bridges with her, too.
“Are the police sure Harold did it?”
“He turned himself in, Jean. He told them he came home and found her in bed with another man. Much as I hate to say it, that’s not really too hard to believe. Harold said he couldn’t control himself. Still….” Jean’s mother lowered her voice. Relief edged to sadness and even a little grief.
“Jean, I know you and Ruby didn’t get along. She was my own daughter and I couldn’t get along with her. But she was your sister and no-one should be murdered. Ever.” Her voice broke just the tiniest bit, a hairline crack in a crystal vase. “My own daughter and I can’t truthfully say that it isn’t better for her to be gone. Would you at least come to the funeral? Sit with your father and me?”
“Yes, mom. Alright. I’ll come. And I really am sorry she’s gone.”
“It’s hard on your father. Ruby was the first born, daddy’s little girl. You know how that is.”
“I know, mom.” Jean felt real sorrow for her father, much more than he had ever felt for Ruby. Even when she had nearly sent him to a premature grave with worry, she had been firstborn and he had always loved her best.
“Don’t be hard on your father, Jean. It could have been you.”
“I know.” Jean paused. “Mom?” Jean was hesitant, trying to make sure her words came out in such a way it didn’t seem like she was dancing on Ruby’s grave. “Did she suffer?”
“No, Jean. I don’t think so. I think she passed before she got to the hospital.”
“That’s good, then,” Jean said. “No matter what happened between us, I wouldn’t want that.”
“I have to go now, Jean. Your dad needs me.”
“Alright, mom. I’ll be over shortly.”
“Maybe you should wait a while, honey. When your dad feels better. I don’t want you to…. see him like this.”
Though it was yet another slap in the face to her because of Ruby, Jean remained diplomatic.
“Okay, mom. Call me tonight when dad feels better.”
They said their goodbyes and Jean clicked the phone off.
It’s over. She can never try to take Lance again.
Jean had told the truth when she said she was glad Ruby hadn’t suffered. There had been too much of that laying waste to their happiness- hers and Ruby’s- over their lifetimes. It was time to bury it along with Ruby.
