Chapter 28
28
[Ruthie]
A s soon as I can, I duck into a bathroom stall and let the tears fall. I’m going to miss them so much. It’s only for a few days, like I said, but it somehow feels bigger than that. Separation is never easy. With my history of distrust with Clifton, I don’t want to project on Bolan. I want to believe he’ll behave.
However, my heart races. I’m scared. Scared of how I feel. Scared of missing them.
Scared of loving them.
Within minutes, a text pings on my phone.
Miss you already.
A video is attached with Tulane blowing a kiss to the camera and the tears start again, along with laughter. She’s so stinking cute.
He’ll be fine , I tell myself. We found a temporary sitter who can watch Tulane during the next few days. She’s an older woman Ford Sylver previously used and approved, and it brings small comfort to know someone who had experience with her.
This is the best time to do what I need to do, which is ship my belongings to Chicago and decide on the house.
“Do you really want to sell?” Nylah says to me, after picking me up at LAX and arriving at my home. The cute little house I had to have once upon a time. A place I thought would be full of children and fond memories.
“This is the house you and Clifton purchased together.” Nylah sighs nostalgically, looking around the small living room. The mantel is now empty, pictures which used to be there now absent. There was a time I could no longer look at photos of Cliff and me. Reliving the happier times along with the grief was too much. Out of sight did not make him out of mind, but it helped.
“I think it’s best,” I tell her, setting my keys on the small table by the staircase and stepping into the living room, doing a slow spin to face her. “It’s time.”
“In this market, you might not find a house so easily, so cheaply, when you return.”
Nylah glances around the space once more before her gaze lands on me. Her eyes are somber and worried.
“Maybe I’ll stay in Chicago.”
“Oh?” she arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “Things going that well with Bolan.”
I smile and chew at the corner of my lips. “He’s a good man.”
Her brows lift higher, and I’m reminded that her best friend, and cousin, was Bolan’s mother. The woman who abandoned her child after having an affair with another man .
Nylah’s mouth opens to argue and then snaps shut, stating, “I didn’t know him well.”
“That’s unfortunate.” I smile kindly, but think about her son, whom Nylah would claim she knew very well, and yet didn’t. I’m not certain anyone saw the depth of his demons. Only in hindsight did I recognize the signs.
“Speaking of Bolan, though, there’s a few things I’d like to discuss with Jared.”
In less than a week, my house is on the market. The belongings I want to keep are packed up and picked up to be moved across the country, along with my car. There had been a heavy discussion with Nylah and Jared about making rash decisions, but for once in my life, I am leaning into being impulsive. It’s time to leave California, and Clifton, behind, and I finally make my farewells to Nylah and Jared.
“Don’t forget to write,” Nylah teased recalling the old-fashioned form of communication: letters.
“Call if you need anything,” Jared reiterated, concern in eyes that match the color of his deceased son.
I know they feel like they are losing a child again, but I’m an adult, and I’m not Clifton. I’m only half-way across the country and a phone call away.
With every step I take through LAX headed for Chicago, anticipation blooms inside me. This is the fresh start I’ve needed for years.
And no matter how Bolan feels at the end of the baseball season, I’ll have a new place to call home, a new future ahead of me. I won’t be returning to California.
Excitement crests when I arrive at the address Bolan provided. I’m days early, having rushed through the packing of my house. I’ve made it to Chicago on opening day for baseball, but the Anchors first series of games is in St. Louis.
The place is a white, clapboard, four-story building with two front doors on a raised landing. One door enters the first floor and belongs to a duplex that includes the garden space below it. The other door leads to the second-floor duplex which includes the top floor.
I take my bags from the driver and climb the steep stairs to the outdoor landing, before entering a code into the keypad on the doorknob. As the lock zips open, I feel a zing rush up my middle.
Home.
Opening the door, I’m faced with a broad wooden staircase with a long child-proof safety gate across the top of it. The soft sound of Tulane’s jabber comes from somewhere up there.
“Hello,” I call out.
Tulane rushes to the gate and waves at me over the edge of the barrier. “Mama.”
I freeze, nearly dropping my bags and tumbling backward. “What?” I whisper, tears instantly prickling the back of my eyes.
When an older woman appears, I blink back the well in my eyes and smile up at her.
“Hi. I’m Ruthie Adler.”
And I’m home.
I dismiss the sitter, because she’s no longer needed, but pay her in full for her promised time. I’m here now and I have no intention of leaving anytime soon.
After she leaves, I wander with Tulane in my arms to inspect the duplex. The first floor has an open concept living room and kitchen combination with space for a dining table to the left of the kitchen and directly in line with the top of the entry staircase. The place came with four high-top stools along a large peninsula counter but not much else. Bolan sent me a video of the empty space when he finally arrived after a snowstorm delay set back his flight to Chicago.
He'd promptly ordered an L-shaped couch and set up a large screen television on the wall opposite it, sending me a second video when it arrived.
The place has three bedrooms, although the third one is located on the first floor and remains empty. Bolan told me how he’d become a minimalist in Japan and gave away any furnishings he had before he left the country.
On the second floor of the duplex are two bedrooms with a bathroom between them. Tulane’s room is rather sparse with only a crib and matching dresser that doubles as a changing table.
“We definitely need to spruce up this room,” I jostle Tulane on my hip as we stand in her space. My mind already races with ideas for a pretty rug, bookshelves, and a basket for stuffed animals, plus pictures for her walls.
In the final and largest bedroom is a king-sized bed with a box beside it, doubling for what looks like a nightstand. A book sits on top titled The Toddler Years .
I chuckle to myself as I flip through the pages.
“Well, baby girl.” I jostle Tulane on my hip. “This is home.” I press a kiss to her cheek. “How about we have some lunch and send Daddy a video?”
Tulane holds up her little hands, palms out, like she’s questioning something. She glances around and says, “Dada.” She’s just the cutest little thing.
“Don’t you worry, Tulip. Dada will be home soon.”