Chapter Twenty-four #2
It was quiet once more.
Nora tried not to look at the yellow pages, with their scrawled blue words marching across the even lines, but she couldn’t help herself. Those horrible, hateful words leapt out at her.
I hate my mother.
She took a deep, deep breath, then looked down again. Her hands were shaking as she lifted the pad and began to read.
The story of us starts a dozen years ago, in a place few of you have ever seen: the San Juan Islands up in Washington State.
It was only a few sentences later that Nora began to cry.
Ruby made it all the way to the end of the driveway, then she slammed on the brakes.
She was running away again, but there was nowhere to hide on this one, no way past except through. She’d done a terrible, selfish thing, and she owed more to her mother than an empty house.
She put the minivan in reverse and backed down the driveway. Parking, she walked down the path, through the fragrant garden, and out to the edge of the bank. She would have gone to sit on her favorite rock, but her mother couldn’t get there on crutches.
She wanted to be seen. When Mom finished the article, she would undoubtedly head for the porch; it was her favorite place. Then she would see her daughter, sitting out on the edge of the property.
She sat down on the grass. It was a beautiful summer’s day. The islands were an endless mosaic of color—blue, blue sky, green forested land, silver, choppy sea.
She lay back on the grass and closed her eyes. The air smelled sweetly of grass and salt, of her childhood.
She knew she would remember this day for the rest of her life, and probably at the oddest times—when she was elbow-deep in sudsy water, washing the dinner dishes.
In the shower, with the sweet, citrusy scent of her mother’s favorite shampoo all around her, or holding the babies she prayed someday to have.
At times like that, she would remember this moment, and all the others that had led up to it.
In a very real way, this would be the beginning of her adult life; everything that grew afterward would be planted in the soil of what she and her mother said to each other right here.
She wondered if she would ever get over her shame, or if she would carry it with her always, the way she’d once been weighed down by anger.
Now Ruby would be the one sending gifts across the miles, leaving phone messages on machines, waiting, forever waiting, for an answer . . .
“Hey, Rube.”
Ruby opened her eyes and saw her mother standing beside her. She was leaning awkwardly forward on her crutches. The sun haloed her auburn hair in brightness.
Ruby jackknifed up. “Mom,” she whispered, finding that her throat was too tight to say anything more.
“I’m glad you came back. You can’t get away from me so easily on an island, I guess.”
Mom tossed the crutches aside and knelt slowly onto the grass, then sort of fell sideways into a sitting position. She set the article on her lap and stared down at it. The curled edges fluttered in the soft breeze. “I read every word you wrote about me, and I have to admit, it broke my heart.”
Ruby wanted to curl up and die. She considered how far they’d come, she and her mom, the winding, shaded road that had taken them from then to now, and she ached for what her selfishness had wrought.
If not for the article, Ruby would be laughing right now, telling her mother about the night before.
Maybe they would have talked about ridiculous, girly things like wedding rings and bridesmaids and flower arrangements.
“I’m so ashamed,” she said. “I knew those words would hurt you. In the beginning, that’s what I wanted to do.”
“And now?”
“I would give anything to take it all back.”
Nora smiled sadly. “The truth always hurts, Ruby. It’s a law of nature, like gravity.
” She glanced out at the Sound. “When I read your article, I saw myself. That doesn’t seem like much, but I’ve spent a lifetime running away from who I am and where I came from.
I never trusted anyone enough to be myself.
When I started my advice column, I knew people wouldn’t like me, so I made up Nora Bridge, a woman they could trust and admire, and then I tried to live up to that creation.
But how could I? The mistakes I’d made—the woman I really was—kept me on the outside all the time, looking in at my own life.
” She looked at Ruby again. “But I trusted you.”
Ruby squeezed her eyes shut. “I know.”
“I was right to trust you, Ruby. I knew it when I finished reading. You listened and you wrote, and when it was over, you’d revealed me.
From the girl who hid under the stairs, to the woman who hid behind the metal bars of a mental institution, to the woman who hid behind a microphone.
” She smiled. “To this woman, who isn’t hiding now. You made me see me.”
“I know I gave away all your secrets, but I’m not going to publish the article. I won’t do that to you.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
Ruby wasn’t surprised that her mother didn’t believe her. “I’m making you a promise. I won’t deliver it.”
Nora leaned forward, took Ruby’s hands in hers, and held them tightly.
“I want you to publish this article. It’s a beautiful, powerful portrait of who we are, and it shows who we can be, both of us.
It shows how love can go wrong, and how it can find its way back to the beginning if you believe in it.
What you wrote . . . it isn’t a betrayal, Ruby.
Maybe it started out that way, but why shouldn’t it have?
We had a long, long road to walk. And at the end of it, what I saw was how much you love me. ”
Ruby swallowed hard. “I do love you, Mom. And I’m so sor—”
“Sshh, no more of that. We’re family. We’re going to trample all over each other’s feelings now and again. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” Nora’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “And now, we’re going to go inside and call your agent. I’m appearing on Sarah Purcell with you.”
“No way. They’ll eat you alive.”
“Let ’em. I’ll be holding my daughter’s hand for strength. They can’t hurt me any more, Ruby. And I’m itching to fight back.”
Ruby stared at her mother in awe. She was doing it again, changing before Ruby’s eyes. She had a sudden glimpse of yet another woman altogether. “You’re amazing.”
Nora laughed. “It took you long enough to notice.”