Seasons of Her Life

by Fern Michaels

  The jewelry store was alight with winking gems. The man coming toward her was so austere and formidable-looking, Ruby wanted to turn tail and run.

  “May I help you?” the man asked in a nasal voice.

  “Perhaps,” Ruby said coolly. “I have a ring I’d like to sell.”

  “We don’t buy used goods, madam. We’re in the business of selling. Try a pawn shop,” he said, looking her over from top to bottom.

  “This isn’t the kind of ring that’s pawned,” Ruby said icily. She opened her purse and walked over to the counter, where she laid the ring down on a square of black velvet. She smiled when the man’s eyes bulged. From somewhere in the back of the store two other men appeared, their eyes widening in surprise.

  “Make me an offer, and if it’s satisfactory, I’ll consider it. If it isn’t acceptable, I’ll go somewhere else. I want the money now. A bank check will do.”

  One of the men picked up the ring and was about to walk to the back of the store. “No, no, no. Look at it here. I don’t want that ring out of my sight.” The man harumphed and huffed but followed her order. Ruby tapped her foot impatiently. What was taking them so long? She looked at her watch. If she hurried, she would have enough time to make the bank and cash the check. Perhaps she could call and make an appointment and explain the situation. She interrupted the hushed conversation behind the counter. “I need to know now.” She reached out to pick up the ring.

  “What do you want?” the first man asked.

  Ruby’s heart fluttered. She didn’t want to name an amount in case she was too low. If she went too high, they would think she was a fool. “I said to make me an offer. I’ll let you know when your offer is acceptable.”

  “Six five.”

  Ruby shook her head. So she was right. That’s what she would accept, but if she held out, she might get more.

  “Seven.”

  Ruby shook her head again.

  “Eighty.”

  She liked the perspiration beading on the men’s faces. She shook her head again and made as if to pick up the ring.

  “Ninety.”

  Ruby shook her head again, her hand poised in midair. Wait. He’d said ninety, not nine. It was eighty, not eight. She felt the blood rush to her head.

  “A hundred thousand. That’s as high as we’ll go.” Ruby swayed dizzily. She was offered a glass of water, which she drank greedily. “Very well, madam, our final offer is one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars. I will go next door to our bank and secure a draft if that is agreeable to you.”

  “I think that will be fine, gentlemen.” Ruby said in a voice she didn’t recognize as her own. She wouldn’t think about the amount, not now. She almost laughed. That little dizzy spell had driven up the price twenty-five thousand dollars. Oh, Bubba, do you have any idea what you did for me?

  Ruby made the bank with five minutes to spare. “Give me ten thousand dollars, no, make that ten thousand five hundred. I have some shopping to do. I’ll be back in the morning to pay off the mortgage on the house. In the meantime, apply this,” she said, producing Nangi’s check, “to the overdue mortgage.” She was out of the bank in a flash.

  When she returned to the house on O Street, it was almost five o’clock. The taxi driver carried in the bundles; she carried the bag from the butcher. The money was secure in her purse.

  They were waiting for her, the children lined up, solemn and serious, their eyes full of questions. It was hard to believe they were the same rambunctious children who had barreled through the door earlier that morning. Amber introduced them one by one. Ruby shook hands with each one. To her surprise, there was a George, an Irma, and an Opal, and the baby was named Ruby. The dog at the end of the line offered his paw. Ruby giggled and the children laughed. It was a shame she would never get to know these little honey-colored, dark-eyed children. So many mouths to feed, so many to clothe and buy shoes for.

  Ruby looked down at the oldest. “I want to talk to your mother for a little while, so how would you all like some ice cream and candy? Here’s ten dollars. Buy some soda pop, too. Shoo.” She laughed as the children ran through the door.

  “What’s all this?” Amber asked, shifting the baby from one hip to the other.

  “One bag has steak and stuff for dinner—a celebration dinner you and I are going to cook. The rest of the stuff is for you. New maternity clothes, underwear, and shoes. I know your size, since I borrowed your shoes once. And this,” she said, handing Amber an envelope, “is ten thousand dollars. Enough for you to go back to Saipan. When things are straightened out, I’ll send you another five thousand so you’ll have a little nest egg. If you start to cry, Amber, I’m leaving,” Ruby said hoarsely. Amber sniffled as she handed baby Ruby over to her aunt.

  “Where did you . . . how . . . ?”

  “I suppose I could lie to you and say I saved it, but I’m not much of a liar. I sold the czarina’s ring. Bubba gave it to me when I left for Washington. She wanted me to have it, and she didn’t say anything about sharing. I’m going to give some to Opal, too. I think that’s fair.” Please, she prayed silently, don’t let her ask me how much it was worth.

  “How much was it worth?” Amber demanded.

  “They offered seven, but I held out. Twelve five.” God would forgive the extra zeros. She held her breath for Amber’s response. Amber merely shrugged.

  “I’m surprised you got that much. I always thought that ring was a joke, you know, that it wasn’t real. You’re giving me most of it. Why?”

  “You need it the most. Bubba always said I would know when it was time to sell it. I guess this is the time. I brought it with me. I sort of thought you might be in financial trouble, and I didn’t want to lose the house. Let’s just say we both needed it. Amber, this baby is so funny-looking, she’s cute. Why does her hair grow straight up in the air?” Ruby asked, chucking her little niece under the chin. The baby gurgled happily.

  “It lays down about the same time they start to walk.” There was more than a hint of annoyance in Amber’s voice when she said, “Are you trying to tell me my kids are funny-looking?”

  “No. Well, sort of. Different, Amber. Is that why you feel you don’t fit in here anymore? They’re yours and I’m sure you love them as much as I love mine, but we can’t pretend they don’t look different.”

  “If you’d married Calvin, your kids would look like mine. Is that so terrible, Ruby?”

  There was a catch in Ruby’s voice. “No, it isn’t. I’m sorry I even brought it up.” She hugged the baby to her until she squealed. “I think it was nice of you to name two of your kids after Opal and me. I’ll take care of the baby while you get all duded up for Nangi and start supper. Call him and tell him to come home. Better yet, tell him to tell those . . . people he works for what they can do with their job; you’re going . . . home. Go on, Amber, do it. Is it okay to put Ruby on the kitchen floor?”

  “Sure, now that you scrubbed it. I won’t be long. Jeez, I hope my hair is dry. Nangi is going to be ... he’s so good, Ruby, he never, ever complains. He’s like Calvin in that respect. Calvin isn’t happy, Ruby,” Amber called over her shoulder.

  Ruby wanted to call her back, to demand to know why Calvin wasn’t happy. She wanted to know everything, every detail. Perhaps at dinner something would be said. “Amber,” Ruby called up the stairs, “yell when you’re finished talking to Nangi. I have to call Andrew and tell him I’m staying over another day.”

  Dinner wasn’t the zoo scene she thought it would be. In their father’s company, the children were well-mannered and quiet, speaking only when a question was asked. She did notice that they had trouble cutting their meat, and the baked potato seemed to puzzle them.

  Amber laughed. “We mostly eat rice, Ruby, but you couldn’t know that Usually, I make something in one pot. That’s what they’re used to. This is a real treat for Nangi and me. We haven’t had steak in a very long time.”

  Ruby found her eyes going to Nangi, drinking in the sight of him.
He reminded her a little of Calvin. She wished someone would bring up his name so she could ask questions. Nangi had seen the tears in her eyes and the picture she still carried in her wallet. Good manners would prevent him from bringing up Calvin’s name. Nangi would never embarrass her. She was stunned to hear Amber say, “It’s a shame Ruby won’t be here when Calvin arrives. It’s always nice to see old friends.”

  “I know he will be disappointed at missing you,” Nangi said quietly.

  “Why is he coming to Washington?” Ruby asked in what she hoped was a nonchalant voice.

  “Something to do with his next tour. He said he had business at the Pentagon. I think he’s going to train pilots or something like that. Calvin is usually vague when it comes to specifics. He did say he would be here for a week. He usually stays with us, but now that we’re going to return to Saipan, I don’t think we’ll wait around for his visit. I gave my notice after Amber’s call. Why don’t I ring him up after dinner and you can talk to him? I have to call him anyway. I can’t let him arrive thinking he’s going to stay with us if we aren’t going to be here. Or would you rather not talk with him?”

  In one motion Ruby knocked over her water glass, while her elbow went into one of the children’s plates, causing a baked potato to sail across the table and land on Nangi’s plate, splattering butter on his snowy white shirt. She tried to say something, but her tongue was too thick in her mouth. Amber saved the moment by jumping up to wipe up the spill and declaring in a brisk voice, “Of course she wants to talk to Calvin, just make sure what’s-her-name doesn’t know it’s Ruby on this end. I swear, Nangi, sometimes I have to think for you.”

  Ruby found her voice. There was nothing wrong with speaking to an old friend. She wasn’t betraying Andrew or even being disloyal. Calvin was in Colorado, she was in D.C., and Andrew was in Florida, miles and miles apart. Still her conscience pricked. “Well . . . I ... it probably . . . what I mean ...”

  “. . . is that she’d love to. Go do it now. We can have our dessert after I clear the table.” Ruby watched as she handed out Popsicles to the kids, who were going to watch cartoons before attacking their homework.

  “We’ll call from upstairs. It will be much quieter.”

  Ruby perched on the edge of the bed, her nervous hands busily pleating and unpleating the folds of her skirt while Nangi made small talk with Calvin in their native language. Nangi’s eyes apologized. He scribbled on a pad near the phone, “Calvin always switches to our language when he asks about you. I’ve told him nothing.” He held out the phone and mouthed the words “I just told him someone was here who wanted to say hello. I’ll be downstairs.” He closed the door softly behind him.

  “Hello, Calvin? It’s Ruby. How are you?” The silence on the other end of the phone drove the color creeping up her neck to her cheeks. They burned. “Calvin, are you there?”

  “Yes, yes, I am.” It was the same voice that she remembered. “It’s . . . I can’t believe . . . how are you?” The voice was suddenly sad. Ruby’s heart fluttered.

  “Surviving. I think of you often, Calvin. I ... I tried to get in touch with you. I called, I wrote . . . and then Nangi said you got married. I thought . . . I waited . . .” Damn, the tears were spilling over, and here she was acting like some damn lovesick adolescent.

  “It was my fault. I had too much pride. Nangi explained what happened that day, but it was too late by then. I tried to reach you when I returned to ... it was my fault.”

  “And mine,” Ruby said softly. “Are you well? Are you happy?”

  “Yes. No. And you?”

  “Yes. No. We screwed up, Calvin, big time.”

  Calvin’s voice dropped several octaves. “I’ve thought of you every day since . . . even when I’m flying I think ... it’s best then, up there all by myself. Sometimes I dream ... Nangi has kept me aware of you and your whereabouts. I always ask. And I always feel good for a week or so when he tells me news of you.”

  Ruby strained closer to the earpiece. She didn’t want to miss a word.

  “Calvin . . . I . . .” The tears were falling, choking off her voice. “I have to hang up, Calvin, and not run up Amber’s bill. I ... oh, Calvin, why couldn’t you have trusted me, believed in me a little more? Damn you, I did everything, I tried to kill you emotionally, and I ... it didn’t work . . . I did everything I could think of . . . I got married for all the wrong reasons, and now I’m stuck. And all because of you.” She couldn’t take the feelings anymore. She slammed down the receiver. God, what if he called back? She lifted the receiver once she was certain the connection had been broken. She stuffed it under the pillow and closed the door on her way out of the room. Now he couldn’t call back. Now she wouldn’t make a fool of herself again and further bare her bleeding soul.

  In the bathroom she sprinkled cool water on her face and ran her fingers through her hair. Now she had to get out of there before she started to blubber all over the place again.

  “Thanks, Ruby,” Amber said, pecking her on the cheek. Nangi hugged her and whispered, “It will be all right in the end.” She nodded miserably, refusing to meet his gaze. She kissed and hugged each of the children. They smiled shyly.

  “They’re beautiful, Amber,” she said sincerely.

  When Ruby had climbed into the cab, she stared back at the house. Amber was happy now. She, Ruby, had made Amber happy. Opal was happy, too. By God, she wouldn’t cry, she just wouldn’t.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  With silly little smirks on their faces, Martha and Andy Blue watched their father’s inept efforts at the stove. Andy kept nudging his sister and whispering, “This is the third day we’re eating eggs, and if the grape jelly gets on them, they turn green. I don’t like green eggs, do you?”

  “I looove green eggs,” Martha purred. “I even love Dad’s black toast. He said I could set the table,” she said importantly.

  “Yuk. You never liked to set the table before Mom went away. All you did was whine and try to get out of it.” He felt rather than saw his sister shrug her shoulders. Her eyes were glued on her father. It was okay, he decided, because these past few days their father had paid more attention to Martha than to him.

  He adored Marty. It was good to see her giggle and joke with Dad. She’d gotten a kiss on the cheek today after school when she showed him her big red A on a math test. She was smart, the smartest one in her class—everyone said so. “Keep that up, and they’ll give you a scholarship to Harvard or Princeton,” his dad said. Marty beamed from ear to ear. She said she’d love to go to Princeton someday, but Andy hoped she wouldn’t because it meant she’d go away, and he wouldn’t have a sister anymore.

  “Go wash up, Andy,” his father ordered briskly. Andy trotted off to the bathroom. Boy, did he ever hate green eggs. He counted to sixty-five times as he lathered and rubbed his hands together, the way his father taught him. If he got to the kitchen one second earlier, he got a check mark on his list, which was pasted to the cabinet door. He dried his hands thoroughly, then hopped from one foot to the other and counted out another twenty seconds just in case he’d counted too fast the other five times.

  The little boy took his seat, folded his hands, and waited for his father to say grace. He eyed the eggs and the mound of grape jelly on his plate. The eggs were green all around the edges. There wasn’t any bacon or sausage, either. He liked bacon and sausage. He hated eggs. He thought the toast looked like tar paper, the kind they were putting on the roof down the street. If he ate it, he was going to get little black specks in his milk. He hated black specks in his milk. He hated this whole supper. He sucked in his breath and blurted out, “I don’t want to eat this. I like Mom’s eggs better. You’re supposed to push the button on the toaster so it doesn’t get like ... tar paper.”

  Andrew laid down his fork and stared across the table at his son. “Did I hear you correctly?” he asked in a calm-sounding voice, one the little boy recognized as the tone he’d always used on Marty.

  “Yes, sir,”
Andy said defiantly.

  “If it’s good enough for your sister, it should be good enough for you. Do you find anything wrong with the eggs or toast, Martha?”

  “Oh, no, sir,” Martha said, stuffing her mouth. “I like it this way. It’s better than Mom’s,” she lied. Suddenly, she wanted to strangle the little brother she dearly loved. Now their father was going to change from the kind, sweet, gentle father he’d been since their mother went away. “He ate cookies before,” she tattled, and immediately hated herself for the look of betrayal in her brother’s eyes. “Well, maybe he didn’t eat them, but he was looking at them. I didn’t eat any.”

  “Andy, did you eat cookies before supper?” Andrew demanded.

  “Yes, sir, I did. I ate four. I’m glad I did, because you’re going to make me go to my room without supper, and if I didn’t eat them, I’d starve. I don’t care. I hate this,” he said, jamming his fork into the now-cold eggs.

  “Tell me exactly what’s wrong with this supper,” Andrew said quietly.

  Andy swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Mom always makes bacon or sausage and the toast is kind of brown and yellow, and there aren’t little black things floating in my milk. I don’t like jelly on my plate. I don’t see any dessert.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so when I started to cook? If I don’t know what your mother does, how can I duplicate her efforts?” His eyes swiveled to his daughter’s clean plate. “I think you . . . fibbed to me, Martha.”

  Martha looked terrified. She would have eaten slime if her father asked her to, Andy thought. Didn’t Dad know that?

  The room suddenly boomed with their father’s laughter. “Okay, kids, let’s see if we can’t cook up a supper like your mother does. Martha, you get the bacon; Andy, you crack the , eggs. I’ll clean up this mess. Martha, do you think you can eat anything else, or are you full?”