Reinventing Ruthie, page 7
“But it was nothing compared to this generation.” I realized I was still clinging to the soggy Kleenex; I stuffed the wad into my pocket. “In high school, my wildest shenanigan was having a crush on Mick Jagger. I was afraid to give my parents any guff. My father would have sent me to my room. And, unlike Harriet, I would have gone.”
“In my family, it was my mother who was the drill sergeant. I took on that role, too, but I’ve turned into a marshmallow and spoiled my last one, a fourteen-year-old boy.”
We pulled up front of the house. “You and I don’t live so far apart.” She eased up on the gas. “Keep going straight three blocks, then left for one.”
I figured I must have passed her house on one of my many neighborhood walks with Bonnie.
“Great, I hope we run into each other again. Thanks for the ride.” A simple thank you didn’t seem sufficient for a woman who’d shown me such kindness. “Jackie, you’ve seen me at my worst, but I want you to know until recently I led a boring, normal life.”
“I’m sure you did and will again.” Then she wrote her telephone number down on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.
7
The next afternoon, I headed outside to the rental car Drew had picked up for me. I’d decided Gloria was right: moping around the house all day was doing me no good. All morning I’d found my body moving at snail-speed, while my mind whirled with projects that needed doing, none of which I could accomplish until my arm healed completely. Dr. Garcia had promised I could stop wearing the brace in another week if I continued to coddle my wrist.
With no destination in mind, I dropped into the Ford Taurus’s velour seat and adjusted the mirrors and lowered the steering wheel—thus removing all traces of Drew, who stood just under six feet tall. The sky released a sprinkling of rain; the clouds seemed no higher than the top of the birch tree down the street. I cranked on the windshield wipers and listened to them sigh.
I decided to visit a discount store north of town for a pick-me-up, even if it did mean burdening my Visa debt. Over the past few months, I’d used shopping as therapy—to salve my wounds and elevate my mood. When I revealed my splurges to Gloria, she assured me I could always take the stuff back. “After what you’ve been through, you deserve to indulge yourself,” she’d said, although I wasn’t sure I believed her.
Twenty minutes later, I was pushing a shopping cart between shelves laden with china and glassware and knickknacks. My eyes rested on a ten-inch-tall wooden lighthouse. With its blue-and-white stripes, it would look perfect up at the island, as would the ceramic seagull lying next to it. But there was no point. Drew and I would sell the cabin soon. I couldn’t afford to keep the place, and there was no way I’d allow him to hang on to it. The thought of his bringing another woman there made my scalp tighten. If he and I couldn’t own it as man and wife, neither of us would.
Moving up the cooking aisle, I recalled the last weekend the family had spent there. I remembered with clarity waiting on the beach that August afternoon as Drew toured the bay in our ten-foot metal boat checking our crab pot. Behind him, snow-topped Mount Baker filled the sky. I’d listened to the hum of the motor and stared at the mountain’s flat triangular shape. Big and powerful and steadfast, I’d thought, it had stood for thousands of years and would endure until the end of time.
I was wiser now. Nothing lasted forever.
At the register I paid for a couple of kitchen towels and a paring knife I didn’t really need, then returned to the car. Tossing the bag into the backseat, I considered not going home, maybe taking in a movie, then having dinner wherever I happened to end up. But sitting alone in a theatre sounded gloomy, and I hated eating by myself. Didn’t everyone?
I figured by the time I got home Drew would be there. At least he’d called first to announce he was planning to help Harriet with her homework. “Good luck,” was all I could say to him. The girl went to extraordinary lengths to do the opposite of what I wanted. For Drew to accomplish anything, I’d have to hide out in the bedroom.
As I drove out of the parking lot, I pictured his swanky silver BMW 530i, which he’d purchased just weeks after our separation, lounging out front of the house. Apparently his seventeen-year-old Toyota Land Cruiser didn’t fit his new carefree bachelor image. There had been several times when I’d considered ramming my car into his new toy, just for fun. I imagined his face whitening with rage, his mouth foaming like a rabid dog’s. “Oops,” I’d say. “Sorry, my mistake.” That pleasurable moment might be worth the expense. Once, I’d coasted my car up behind his until the bumpers touched; five-mile-an-hour bumpers that weren’t supposed to be damaged by low impact. Like me: on the exterior I looked fine, but my scars festered deep inside.
I reached the freeway entrance, but on a whim continued across the overpass, then got on, traveling north. I’d drive a few miles, I told myself. Anything would beat listening to Drew beg, then badger Harriet into doing her schoolwork. He’d offered to fix dinner after, and Harriet had requested barbecued spare ribs. I couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting down to a meal with him. I didn’t want to lick the sauce off my fingers, then have to thank him, as if he were some kindly neighbor who happened by on his way to his real life.
I merged over to the middle lane. All around me, traffic raced forward, but I was washed with a sense of calm, as if my car were being pulled along by the other vehicles. Twenty minutes later, I passed through the city of Everett. I flicked on the radio and heard the oldie “You Can’t Hurry Love.” I sang the last few bars along with Diana Ross. I hadn’t felt like singing for ages, not even in the shower. When that song ended, a woman began crooning a sad melody of love lost. Determined to keep up my spirits, I switched stations until a Rolling Stones tune began to vibrate the car. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I felt like a teenager—wild and a little reckless.
In what seemed like moments, I saw the Stanwood exit sign leading to the island. I hadn’t thought about Drew or Harriet’s bad grades or even my parents for an hour, and I regretted it was time to return to reality. As I descended the exit ramp, I told myself going home was the only sensible option. But it was 5:30, and the traffic from Everett south would be clogged solid. I decided to mosey into Stanwood to snoop in the antique mall. In the old days, while Drew browsed in the hardware store, I’d pick out a mystery or romance novel, then wander through the antique mall looking for embroidered pillowcases, vintage tablecloths, or whatever captured my fancy. I liked old things and the history they carried with them.
When I reached the village of Stanwood, I drove along the lazy main street to find a Closed sign hanging in the antique store’s window. Without a second thought, I got back on the main road and headed toward the cabin. I’d never driven there by myself, and now my former timidity seemed silly. Drew had always sat behind the wheel. He’d made all the decisions: when we’d leave Seattle, where we’d stop along the way, and when we’d return home. I must have liked it that way, or thought he knew best. But he’d proven beyond a doubt he didn’t know what was best for me.
Over the last half-year, I’d started making decisions for myself. I learned manly skills, like how to run a power lawnmower, how to record on our TIVO, and where to take the car to get its oil changed. And, I’d been able to handle each task without much effort. Maybe I didn’t need a man at all.
Proceeding over the elevated bridge, I could see the tide standing high in the narrow channel that separated the island from the mainland. To the north, the crowns of other islands floated on Puget Sound; to the south stretched placid Port Susan Bay and our side of the island. The closer I got to the cabin the happier I felt. My eyes scanned the farm with the three horses I always admired, then the white church with the lofty spire, and finally dazzling views of the water through the evergreens. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed being here or how much I loved this place.
Twenty minutes later, I reached the familiar cross street and took a left. My foot pressed hard on the brake pedal as the car descended the asphalt road lined with fir trees. Passing several cabins perched on high-bank property, I was surprised to see a car parked next to an A-frame, which I didn’t think belonged to a year-round dweller. In spring few city folks came here to risk the island’s unpredictable weather that sometimes turned downright nasty.
I reached our always-empty mailbox and the path leading to our cabin. I figured by now Drew would be making wisecracks about my tardiness and Nichole might be worrying. I could come back some other time, I told myself. Earlier in the day, maybe with Nichole or Gloria, although I knew she’d have difficulty leaving her family and job. And Nichole’s weekends usually revolved around homework and friends, which is how it should be.
I cut the engine. While I was here, I might as well check the place over and make sure no pipes had burst during January’s freeze. I hadn’t thought to winterize the cabin and didn’t even know what that entailed; another of Drew’s chores. I opened my car door to find the air much cooler than in the city. The buttermilk-colored sun was sinking behind the trees growing on the hill to the west, leaving the forested area shadowed and mysterious. With purse in hand, I headed down the path toward the water’s edge. In my haste, my foot skidded across a mossy spot, then I heard rustling in the bushes. New growth threatened at face-level and brambles crossed the trail like arms stretching out to hinder my progress. But I kicked them away, then continued until I caught sight of the cabin, with its aging shingled walls and mismatched windows. The glass-paned door smiled at me. I lengthened my strides until my hand touched its smoothness. I remembered the day I’d carefully sanded and then repainted the door’s wooden frame cherry red to echo my jovial mood.
I rattled the doorknob even though I knew the cabin was locked tight, although there wasn’t much fear of intruders. Few people ventured down our road even in the summer. I didn’t carry a key; Drew always opened the door for me. I went around the side to peer in the kitchen window. How many wonderful times had the family enjoyed around that oval table? The room had brimmed with laughter, conversation, and love.
I vaguely remembered Drew’s hiding a key somewhere, but that was fifteen years ago. Feeling as if I were on an adventure, I searched under various slabs of driftwood lying at the side of the house, then looked behind the sliding bench, my favorite spot on a summer’s day. Finally, I stood on a stool to reach up under the rafters. The key, hanging from a nail, felt like ice in my hands. I lifted it off, then worked it into the lock and opened the door.
Stepping inside, I inhaled mildewed air, reminding me of my parents’ basement. In the past, we would come up several times during the winter to dry out the place. Each fall I’d purchase a thousand-piece puzzle to bring along, then over the course of the winter we’d fit the pieces together as we sipped hot chocolate and shared stories.
I glanced out the window toward the east at the pewter gray water. Darkness was surrounding the cabin and I felt goose bumps on my arms. The cabin’s only heat source was the fireplace and electric baseboard heaters in the two small bedrooms. As I stepped to the hearth, I tried to remember if I’d ever assembled a fire by myself. No, and it was time to learn. Reenacting Drew’s ritual, I reached in and opened the damper. Then I crumpled sheets of year-old newspaper, stuffed them in, and arranged kindling on top. I dragged a wooden match across the fireplace’s stone face, then heard a snap and smelled a blast of sulfur. As the newspaper, then the kindling took off, the glow of warmth comforted me. I sank down on the couch, its worn cushions conforming to my shape.
I brought out my cell phone and tapped in Drew’s number.
After one ring he answered, “Hi, there,” in a provocative tone he hadn’t used with me since we were dating.
“It’s me,” I said.
“Oh. Hello.” He sounded like he was speaking to a telemarketer.
“I wanted to let you know I won’t be home for dinner. I’m up at the beach.”
“You mean on the island?” His words gathered velocity. “What on earth are you doing there?”
With my free hand, I fed the fire a larger chunk of wood and watched the flames embrace it.
“I needed space.”
“It’s only an hour-and-a-half drive,” he informed me. “If you start now, you’ll be home in time to eat with us.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Look, if you want me to leave, I will.” He was using his irritated father voice, the one he aimed at the girls on the few occasions he took charge of discipline. “Is that what you’re after?”
The pinnacle of responsibility, I’d never not come home; I’d always panicked that something would go wrong in my absence. “I’m after solitude.” I didn’t understand my motives, only that I needed to be here. “I’d like to stay the night if you could watch the girls.”
“I can’t drop everything. I have plans.”
“I’m sure you do.” In the past I’d be doubting myself and caving in to his demands. But not today, “Nichole and Harriet are your children too.”
“Of course, they’re my children, but they live with you.”
“The other day you reminded me the house is still half yours.”
“Fine. You win.”
“Thank you.” Although it seemed ridiculous to thank a man for spending time with his own children.
I said goodbye, then put on a jacket chosen from the assortment we kept there that were too old for city wear. I strolled out onto the porch to sit on the wide high-backed patio swing. Ten yards away, the water lapping against the beach sounded like a strumming harp. I rested my head back, let my lids droop shut, and rocked with my feet.
Breathing in the salty fragrance, I caught a glimpse of peace.
8
Rain plinking on the cabin’s metal roof and the bedroom’s wall heater clicking at irregular intervals woke me. I opened my eyes to check the clock on the bed table and read 3:00, which was impossible judging by the morning’s light filtering through the curtains. The electricity must have gone out during a storm earlier in the winter and I hadn’t thought to reset the clock last night.
Clad in my flannel nightgown, I pulled the comforter up around my neck and stretched my legs. It was impossible to forget the many mornings Drew and I had nestled in this bed so close to each other we were like one being. That’s how I’d felt, anyway.
With no TV and nothing to read, I’d retired early last night. My supper of tuna and stale crackers hadn’t filled my stomach, and it growled with hunger. I kicked off the covers, wrapped myself in my bathrobe, then padded into the living room to see raindrops skating down the windowpanes. A mattress of threatening clouds hunched over the foothills across the bay and hands of wind whipped up the water’s surface.
As I shredded newspaper and fashioned a fire, I reminded myself it was Saturday morning. The girls would be sleeping in; they didn’t need me for anything this morning. And Drew? He’d do what he pleased, as always.
I made coffee and devoured more crackers with hardened peanut butter from the refrigerator. I didn’t want to leave the island until I’d spent some time on the beach. Not more than a few minutes, I assured myself, as I changed into sweats from the dresser stuffed with clothes—again, too old for the city. I zipped on a waterproof jacket, then stuffed my feet into rubber boots. I tugged my hair back into a ponytail and covered my head with one of Drew’s baseball caps. If he were here, I wouldn’t have worn it—as a statement.
I found the tide far enough out for me to walk on the beach. It seemed to be receding, but this time of year the extremely low tides, exposing the two hundred yards of muddy sand residing below the band of rocky shoreline, tended to occur in the middle of the night.
Under a smattering of raindrops, I moved slowly over the seaweed-covered rocks, heading south into the wind. As I trekked past sandy cliffs that towered almost a hundred feet above me, I listened to the slapping of the water, the dripping of rain on the bill of my cap, and the grinding of stones under my feet. The wind picked up, wailing in my ears like distant sirens. I pushed against it with defiance and was soon on the marshy spit where the girls, when younger, loved to spend afternoons building forts and pretending to be ship-wrecked on a desert island. Each winter, high tides, coupled with blasting storms out of the north, would uproot their creations, then leave a fresh medley of driftwood. Sometimes Nichole and Harriet would find a buoy or an oar, and once a dinghy with a hole in its side. They had been crushed when the current carried the boat away, leaving a dead seal in its place.
That afternoon, Drew had disappeared with the car and later returned towing our new metal skiff with a seven-horsepower motor.
“You’re the best daddy in the whole world,” Nichole had said, and I’d agreed with her.
“You’re our knight in shining armor.”
I stood looking south to where my home was—what used to be my refuge, my security, everything I believed in. When would the memories die? When would Drew be banished from my mind?
I began to sob. How could I have any tears left? This was ridiculous. I’d had enough of wallowing in the past. Was I obsessed? Stuck circling around and around like a mouse in a never-ending maze? I’d heard of children venting their rage at punching bags. Maybe that’s what I needed to do: beat a pillow with a stick or buy a voodoo doll and stab its belly with needles. No, I’d told my daughters that young ladies didn’t behave like ruffians. But I wasn’t young anymore and couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t working. I decided to shriek as loudly as I could. The sound took root in my abdomen—a guttural animal-like howl that vibrated my vocal cords. After my outburst I felt liberated, almost happy, so I yelled again, this time waving my arms like a heron. I stomped my feet, uprooting rocks, one the size of a golf ball rolling down the slope and kerplunking into the water. That got me laughing so hard I had to bend at the waist to catch my breath.
