“What if you moved in with me and we took it from there? You stay the summer. Then decide.” I tap the tines of my fork on Ruby’s plate and grin.
“You’d want me living with you? I’m practically a criminal according to you.”
“Knock it off.”
“I’m serious. Plus, I don’t want to disrupt your family thing. Seems like you guys have it figured out. And I should go back to Paris when I planned on it anyway. It might be better for me to figure this out from afar.”
“I disagree. If you leave, you might not come back. I don’t want you to leave.”
“This town is a little crazy. I don’t even know if I could handle living here.”
“It is crazy. But I’d be here to protect and love you. We could get our own place if you don’t want to live at the farm. Want to hear a crazy secret?” I ask.
Her eyes lift like I asked her if she’d streak naked through my hardware store. Hmmm.
“That depends,” she says. “Will it incriminate you?”
“Ruby, I’m warning you. I will paddle your ass if you don’t cut that shit out.”
“Tempting.” One corner of her lips lifts. “Fine. Tell me a secret.”
“Etta and Dick Kline are an item.”
“Lovers?” She laughs and claps her hands. “Holy shit!”
“Yup. Apparently since high school.”
“Talk about a closet of skeletons. No one in this town knows, I’ll bet.”
“I would have heard by now. This town is stitched together with gossip and secrets.”
Ruby scoops my chambray shirt off the table and slips into it, confirming she absolutely will be moving into my home. She begins to button it, but my view is too good for it to vanish.
I shake my head. “Don’t touch another button.” I undo the two she buttoned.
“This is fun.” She grins. “I hope we have to sleep here.”
“We’re grownups. We can sleep wherever the fuck we want. I plan on sleeping with my cock buried in you.”
“Words...and it’s all yours. No words and you’re sleeping over there.” She points to the far corner where a mop and a bucket reside.
“The hell I am.” I curve my hand behind her knee and pull her toward me.
“You think I’m messing with you?” Ruby takes a sip of wine and waits for my answer.
I mouth one word, “Yes.”
“I’m not. I can’t be with a man who won’t offer forgiveness I’ve begged for.”
“I think you’re lying, but I’ll make you a deal.”
“I’m all ears.” She leans in and opens her eyes wide as she pulls at her ears.
“You move into my house and sleep in my bed every night and forgive me for not showing up that night. And I’ll forgive you.”
She sits back, crosses her arms over her chest and taps her chin. “How about this.” She smirks. “You forgive me, tell me you’re sorry for the name calling, and promise me I’ll be your wife someday, and I’ll move in. We’ll call it a trial run and take it from there.”
“You will?” I practically fly off my chair, haul Ruby off hers, and whirl her around. “Holy fuck, promise me!”
“In one month,” she says when her toes touch the ground. “You have one month to prove you can do all that. I’ll extend my stay to give you the wiggle room.”
“One week.” I kiss her hard on the mouth. “We can do this.” Hope for us is suddenly a promise of our life together.
“You don’t know me anymore. Two weeks. I need courting.”
“Courting? Two weeks. You got it. And, Ruby? I know you. I still know you even though shit has gone down. You aren’t that different.”
Except for the part where she might be a murderer. Other than that, she’s not so different.
Chapter 42
Ruby
A week passes with Rebel courting me like I’m a queen. Not one fight. Not an ounce of guilt. Just fun and the pure bliss of navigating the new us. We do old things, like skinny dipping in the river and picking cherries at my favorite farm. The very farm I will someday own if I decide to stay. And we do new things too. Rebel fucks me in the tape and rope aisle of his hardware store, proving to me he is no longer a teenager. And we hang out with the Valentines in their crazy castle, along with the Cox family. All of us playing a role in their Sunday circus event.
Our week is reassuring. So much so that I consider moving into his house earlier than proposed because I sleep there most nights anyway. The only thing I’m still working through is the idea of living here. I know full well it’s the only way we’ll have a future together. So, can I do it? Give up my other life, which on the scale of simple to over the top is WAY over the top. It’s champagne, caviar, first class from Paris to New York and everything in-between. Versus skinny dipping in the river, fish boils on Friday nights and a local band at the Tincat for a real zinger of a time. Amazingly, the simple life sounds appealing. Under one condition. Rebel and I can continue to work toward trust and forgiveness. Time will tell.
On the following Sunday, Mom and I prepare for the deads day potluck like it’s Thanksgiving. She even buys a turkey and names it Fred. She felt naming him Fred would be of great importance to all the guests and set the tone for the dinner. Who could argue with her logic? Her new logic.
At six on the dot, Rebel, Rifle, and Etta arrive with armloads of food. Pies, casseroles, and something covered in puff pastry. Everyone sets their wrapped re-gifting gift on the table, where Mom made name tags out of macaroni and sequins. A craft project she and Echo worked on for the last few days. She keeps calling them maniacal. I’ve been trying hard not to correct her use of words, but I’m dying to know if she means magical.
Etta travels across the room to come face-to-face with Mom. I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am when Mom’s gaze drops to Etta’s crotch and she purses her lips.
“Those are form-fitting pants. I like the floral pattern, though I prefer dresses to avoid camel row,” Mom says.
“Camel what?” Etta asks, smoothing one hand down the front of her pants.
“It’s why schools are banning tight pants. Boys simply cannot concentrate around camel row. I read it on Yoogle.”
“Google. Mom, slow down.” I bite my inner cheek and throw a look at Rebel, who’s rolling his eyes. “Camel toe, and everyone here is an adult.” So much for trying not to correct her. I had to make an exception.
“Opal isn’t.” She motions to a chair.
I nod. She is dead serious, no pun intended.
“I wanted to thank you for the solarium housewarming gift.” Mom points to the center of the table, where she positioned Etta’s creation. “It’s quite a feat of artistry.”
“Terrarium,” Etta says. “You’re most welcome.”
After an awkward silence and quiet sips of our beverages, which Rebel was smart to serve seconds after arriving, Mom clears her throat. Three times.
“Shall we sit?” she says, gesturing toward the table. “I’ll get Fred.” Then she marches toward the kitchen.
I nab her arm as she passes me. “Don’t forget you were going to make some men with a certain someone today.”
“Make amends, Ruby. You should have gotten a college degree.”
I growl and grind my teeth. “Rebel can get Fred.”
“Who’s Fred?” Rebel asks as Mom and I enter the kitchen.
“The turkey. He’s in the oven.”
“You man the crew out there,” he says. “I got Fred.”
I rise to my toes and kiss him on the mouth. “Thanks for indulging us today. You’re a good man. This is kind of crazy, right?”
“Isn’t that the definition of family? Crazy. And fun. It’ll be fun, Ruby.”
I nod and cross my fingers. Fun? Okay, sure.
Rebel carries Fred out on a large platter and sets him at the head of the table, where Mom placed his name tag. I never asked if Fred was considered one of the deads. I suppose the name tag answers that.
“After we say grace”—Mom cl
ears her throat three times—“I’d like you to cut Fred, Rebel.”
“Whatever you want, Mrs. Rose. It would be my honor.”
I steal a long look around the table. Person. Deads. Person. Deads. And so on. I have to believe we aren’t the only family who has made-up holidays. Then I lock eyes with Rebel.
“Lenny’s going to say grace,” Mom announces, tapping her spoon against her crystal wine glass like we’re at a wedding.
We sit in silence for about a minute. Then Mom nods, smiles, and has her own moment with Lenny. After she thanks him, everyone introduces their deads guest upon her urging. It gives awkward and funny a new name.
Opal is my guest. Lenny is Mom’s. Etta introduces Rocket, who died when…well, back then. Rebel—ever the good sport—introduces Jesus and scores big time with Mom. Echo introduces Santa. And Rifle, bless his soul, introduces Bob Marley.
Then the real fun ensues.
“What parts do you like to eat, Etta?” Mom asks. She passes a bowl of squash to Etta, a tight smile gliding across her face.
“What’s the topic?” Etta asks.
Rebel hands a plate of Fred to Etta after she’s passed the squash to me. A heaping mound of dark meat covers her plate.
“Turkey parts. What else would I be talking about?” Mom says.
I scowl at her.
She looks toward the ceiling, cupping a hand at her ear. “Okay, Len… I’ll try harder.”
I know she’s trying to make amends. But her way of connecting makes unique appear ordinary.
“Dark meat,” Etta says.
I take a sip of my wine and cheer her inside. Etta is my spirit animal. Her grace, calm, and ability to deal with Mom makes my insides form row after row of rainbows.
“I prefer the breast,” Mom says.
My gaze ping-pongs between them.
“Speaking of, what parts do you have now? Now that…you know.” Mom waves a hand up and down her body.
The rainbows in my belly swirl into a black tornado. Please pick me up and take me to Oz.
Rebel pins his lips between his teeth, and I pray that a food fight ensues before some other ugly hits the fan.
“I have lady parts, just like you.” Etta doesn’t flinch.
And I want to shout out her Olympic score: TEN! I can’t look at Rebel or I will die laughing.
“What did they do with your reproduction parts?” Mom asks like she’s a librarian needing to account for lost books.
“They saved them in formaldehyde for the high school science classes to dissect,” Etta says, not a hint of a smile cracked. Then she sips her wine and follows up with a World Series home run. “I got a tax break for that donation.” She’s smooth and cool as freshly Zambonied ice.
I burst out laughing, a mouthful of Fred and wine glazing my cloth napkin. Family. Dear God. Is there anything better? Is there anything odder?
“That’s very thrifty,” Mom says.
Rifle coughs a laugh into his fist. Then he slides an arm around Etta’s shoulder and squeezes her. It’s such a sweet moment to witness that my eyes well up.
“What’s the corpse?” Etta asks, continuing to hold court, pointing to the puff pastry.
“Meatloaf. Was trying something new and going with tonight’s theme,” Rifle says. “Would you like some, Mrs. Rose?”
“I would love to try some,” I say.
“Me please,” Echo says, holding his plate up.
“There isn’t any dog in it, is there?” Mom asks.
Everyone quiets.
“No dog,” Rifle confirms.
I want to strangle her, but instead, I smile.
“How about rodents?” Mom asks.
My spine stiffens.
“No rodents, either,” Rifle says flatly, laying a thin slab on my plate.
Mom grins and holds her plate out. “I would love some too. Thank you.” Then she tilts her head and focuses in on Etta. “What about you? Do you like rodents?”
“Only if a snake is chasing them.” Etta raises her wine glass to Mom, who smiles merrily.
I realize she’s sure she’s making some serious amends. She’s proud of the conversation they’re having. I blush for both of us.
“Is that what the gays do? They release the rodent then a snake? That is rather inventive.”
“Excuse me?” Etta covers her mouth with one hand.
Shit. Mom has crossed a line. An ugly line. A tripwire.
“Don’t play coy,” Mom says, patting her mouth with her napkin. “You know what we’re talking about. Gays have fascinating habits.”
“I’m not gay.” Etta’s lips thin when she enunciates each word.
I want to crawl under the table then inch toward the back door and evaporate.
“And even if I was,” she says, “that’s quite an assumption to lump masses of people into boxes the way you do. It’s offensive.”
Pin. Drop. Silence.
I pitch a death stare at Mom. Then I roll my eyes as I push my chair back from the table and begin clearing plates.
“I’m sorry,” Mom says. “Lenny tells me I stepped over the rind.”
“Over the line, Mom. Line,” I say harshly at her ear as I stand behind her. “And yes, you did.” I snag her plate then move down the table to gather the others. There might be steam coming out my ears.
“Thank you for your apology,” Etta says. “It’s quite all right.”
After the table has been cleared and everyone’s nerves seem settled by another pour of wine, we move to the screened porch overlooking the lake. The wind whips at a mighty rate, but it’s refreshing considering the stale air that hung around the table. Mom asks the deads to join us for our re-gifted exchange, calling each one out by name. She’s always had a thing about re-gifting stuff. Even if it’s offensive, she feels the truth will set everyone free. I’m not convinced.
Mom opens a gift first, because gifts and winning are the most important things in the world to her.
“A squirrel mask!” She cheers. “What will Father H. say when I wear it to church on Sunday?”
“He’ll probably want one.” Rebel snickers.
Mom puts the mask on and urges us to continue. Echo opens a box of bacon mints, pops one in his mouth, then hands a gift to Etta.
“I made it,” he says, rubbing his hands together as if he’s given Etta a kidney. “Because you’re my best friend.”
Rebel scoops my hand in his when Etta tears up. And the sweet look she offers him when she holds her shaky hand out for his forces my tears to surface too. I’m a sucker for beauty, and this just happens to be a memory I will never forget.
“What a kind thing to say, Echo. Thank you.” Etta stares at the tinfoil-covered box in her hands. Then, as if opening something worth a small fortune, she peels the foil away and removes the top of the box. Her face, though, is the furthest thing from appreciative when she peers in at the contents. She gasps then bites her knuckle, her face flooding in crimson. “Thank you, Echo, I will treasure this.” She closes the box and tucks it into her purse.
“But…but…but…” Echo whines, his eyes watering like a child who’s been told no. “Put it on. I made it.”
Etta stares at Rebel, panic racing across her face.
“You okay?” Rebel asks. “You look like you might pass out.”
“I’m—” Etta pauses, her wet eyes meeting mine in a haunting stare.
“What did Echo make for you?” Mom asks. “Put it on!”
“I can’t,” Etta says softly. “It belongs to Ruby.”
Chapter 43
Rebel
Etta reaches into her purse and pulls the small box out. Then she stands and walks to Ruby’s side.
“Ruby, sweetheart. This isn’t a conversation we can have here.” With a trembling hand, she places the box on Ruby’s open palms. Then she leaves the room without another word.
Holy fuck, it’s gotta be the box of jewelry.
Echo bursts into a full-blown piercing cry that includes
a dive onto the floor, which has him kicking and punching everything within reach.
Ruby’s face becomes ghost white and shock filled when she peeks inside the box. Then she slams the top closed. She stands and glances at her mom then me.
“I… Excuse me.” She floats out of the room as if a ghost is carrying her.
And I’m certain one or two are.
Monday flips her squirrel mask up onto her wig then canvases the room with a bewildered sneer. “She always needs to be the most important one.”
“Mrs. Rose?” I say. “Let her be.”
“It’s true,” she says in a childish whine.
“It’s not true. Don’t do that to her.” Words scrape my teeth as my jaw tightens. “Rifle, you coming with me? I need to find Ruby and Etta.”
“You need help, Dad?” Rifle stands and grips my arm.
My pride for the young man he’s becoming swells. “Nah, I’ve got a pretty good guess as to where they are.”
“You go ahead,” Rifle says. “I’ll be at Bubble’s place. Call me if you need anything.”
“Mrs. Rose,” I say to her, “thank you for including us today. This was… Well, thank you.”
Looks like shit’s about to get real.
With the Jeep absent from the driveway, my mind races with anxious thoughts. I travel the easiest route home in my truck, assuming I’ll see Etta, unless she and Ruby went somewhere together. As I pull into my driveway minutes later, my stomach knots. No Ruby.
Etta’s comment that they couldn’t have a conversation earlier is worrisome. Why couldn’t they? Etta told me exactly where she found the ring and that the crosses had never made it to the twins. I know that second part is a lie. But the other stuff? I have to assume that the only reason she would lie to me this much is to protect someone. But who?
Unsure of how to proceed without being point-blank, I knock on Etta’s bedroom door, which is closed.
“Come in,” she says.
An eerie awareness coats my gut. I don’t know what I’m walking in on, and I’m scared as fuck I’m not going to like it. Etta is seated on the edge of her bed, her back to me. Her jewelry box has been emptied onto the quilt next to her.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Sunshine Bleeds A Black Edge (The Wild Things (standalone) Book 3) Page 17
