7. Ruby
Ruby
Four Days Later
In the days since we had gone out to dinner, I had done a lot of thinking. Oscar made that easy by not talking to me.
I still felt good about what I said, but maybe good wasn’t the right word.
I didn’t feel good about telling Oscar that things were over.
I wasn’t happy about that. It wasn’t what I wanted.
What I wanted was to be married to the man I loved.
But I also wanted to feel that love in return.
And I didn’t. I hadn’t for a really long time.
This was the right decision for both of us. Oscar would understand one day. At least I hoped he would.
I went down in the morning to make my tea and found Oscar already at the counter with the coffee going.
"Morning," I said.
He didn't answer right away. He got a mug down from the cabinet, the same one he drank from every morning, and I stood at the other end of the counter waiting for the kettle and wanting to say something to him.
Not about the separation. Just something.
About Jeremy, about the weather, about anything that would land the way things used to land between us.
I couldn't think of a single sentence that he would actually hear. So I said nothing.
"You're up early," he said finally, not looking at me. "Big day on the porch?"
Ouch.
I turned off the heat from under the kettle, and poured the hot water over the tea bag. As I watched the steaming water go dark, I decided I was not going to drink this tea in this kitchen or anywhere where he might be.
"I'm going out," I said, grabbing a travel mug and pouring my tea into it.
Without another word, I took my keys and left.
I didn't know where I was going other than out.
When Oscar got like this, there was no talking to him.
I felt bad that my wanting a separation was news to him, considering he knew how unhappy I had been for years, but there was no reason I needed to put up with his bad mood. Even if I was the reason for it.
I pulled out of the driveway and headed down the road. After a quick series of turns, I merged onto the highway. Twenty minutes later, I was approaching a junction of three highways and chose the one that would take me south, toward the shore.
The shore was always where I went when I needed some comfort. There was something about the salt air, I couldn’t explain it, but since I was a kid, it put me at ease. Another twenty minutes past before I realized I was heading to Ocean City.
Off-season was the best time of year to go down the shore, and the only time I went. I couldn’t stand the crowds that were there during the summer, and I never liked sand anyway.
The Ocean City boardwalk was one of the few that I knew of that stayed open year-round.
There were times when Jeremy had off from school that we would take the drive down to Ocean City for pizza and the arcades.
Those were some of my favorite memories with him, and I would tell him about how I did the same with my grandfather when I was a kid.
But today wasn’t about spending time on the boardwalk having fun, today was about the project.
I had been lying to myself for days since Adam mentioned the project. I. kept telling myself that I wasn’t interested, but the truth was I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I exited the Parkway and drove past the Grilled Cheese and Crab Cake Company, one of my favorite places to go to for lunch when I was in the area. I slowed down, thinking about the gooey delicious Crab Melt that was my go-to order, but I had other things I needed to get to first.
The Ninth Street Bridge felt longer today than it usually did. In the past, I would look out at the water, pick out where Atlantic City was in the distance, and see what other landmarks I could spot. Today I was focused on getting there.
I drove around the city, taking in the bungalows, classic Victorian homes, as well as multilevel new construction homes that had been built after the damage from Hurricane Sandy several years ago.
There was a mix of homes with for rent signs and others for sale, but the majority of the homes looked lived-in with year-round residents.
I saw deep porches, balconies, and rooftop decks.
After driving through the city, I drove over to the boardwalk, parked, and started walking.
I was close enough to hear the sounds of the waves breaking on the beach. The salt air mixed with the scent of pizza from the Manco and Manco’s on the boardwalk. A few seagulls stood by a trash can and loudly squawked while they waited for someone they could steal some crust from.
I recognized the Harding Homes sign before I realized where I was.
An open-air pavilion was in the center of the property.
Inside was the old carousel Adam had mentioned needing to remove.
The arcade beside it had been closed a long time.
The signs were still up, sun-faded, announcing skee-ball, frozen custard, and one too weathered and aged for me to read anymore.
Most of the original property had been deserted except for the carousel. The horses were covered for the season, but I lifted a cover so I could get a better look at the horses’ carved bodies. A hundred years of families had ridden these horses.
I could see them. The families that had come here, the sunburned kids begging for one more ride while the organ played.
And then it happened, just like it used to twenty years ago when I was still an architect.
I could see the new families, running across a green toward the refurbished carousel in the center of the development.
The tree-lined streets and walking paths would all lead to the carousel. It would be a touchstone to the past, a reminder of the town's history.
I pulled out my phone and began taking pictures.
Of the carousel, of the arcade, of the boardwalk and beach in the distance.
Ideas started forming in my head and I quickly rummaged through my purse for a pen and paper so I could take notes.
I stood there a while longer. Then I walked back to my car and drove home.
* * *
I came in through the garage and went straight to the guest suite where I kept all my old sketchpads and things from school.
It was weird seeing Oscar’s things there. His shoes were lined up near the closet, and a shirt hung over the chair. His car was in the garage, but I didn’t know where he was, and I wasn’t going to look for him.
I went to the closet where I stored my old boxes, and found the one I wanted on the second try. My old sketchpads were there, plus my favorite pencils, the ones in the tin.
I carried my stuff to the kitchen, heated some water in the microwave for a quick cup of tea, and then brought my mug, my sketchpad, and my pencils to the back porch.
The back porch was off the great room. Wide French doors opened to the screened-in porch that was my favorite place in the house.
The porch was the length of the house, with a stone fireplace in the center for when it got colder.
A navy blue sectional was in front of it.
To the far right was a stone wall with venting for the gas grill.
To the left was a hammock that Jeremy and I would rock in together when he was a toddler.
I sat on the couch, positioning myself so I got a clear view of the tree-lined backyard, balancing the pad on my knee, and started sketching.
First, the carousel, then the park around it.
How the walking path would curve throughout the neighborhood, but ultimately lead to the park and the carousel.
The houses came after that with porches deep enough to entertain.
Last were the rooftop decks for the ocean views.
My pencil moved as fast as I could. I flipped the page and did the green again but larger. I wrote some notes alongside my sketches, and when I ran out of space on a page, I flipped the page and started another sketch.
When I looked up, the sky over the yard was dark.
The mug beside me was cool and had been cold for hours.
My fingers had the familiar ache from where the pencil pressed against them.
I stretched my fingers and cracked my knuckles before straightening my hand.
I massaged my palm like I did when I was back in school.
The timer had turned on the porch light like it did every night after sunset.
Dusk had come and gone, and I hadn't even noticed.
All I could think about was what I was going to sketch next.