21. Ruby
”Let”s skip the book this time,” Marigold Pim says as she embraces Ruby in the middle of Marooned With a Book. ”No one cares about Hemingway when we need to talk about you.”
This makes Ruby laugh. ”We don”t need to talk about me! I”m just glad to be home and to see all of you.”
As Marigold picks up a plate on a side table and inspects the variety of pizzas that Ruby and her girls baked and brought to the book club meeting, she winks at Ruby. ”It hasn”t been the same without you.”
”I”ve been reading your Instagram posts,” Ruby says to her. ”It sounds like you”re about to get a book deal? Did I read that right?”
Marigold makes a zipping motion across her mouth with one hand. ”I can”t say too much, but apparently an editor follows me on Insta, and she loves my stance on aging gracefully. They”re offering a deal for a book that”s not just a beauty book, or a how-to manual, but more of a real look at what it means to age as a woman.”
”So a series of essays?” Sunday asks, picking up a plate and unceremoniously putting a vegetarian slice and a pepperoni one on it. She tucks her curly hair behind one ear as she glances at Marigold.
“Yes, that’s what we’re thinking. I have tons of stories, and I’m even thinking of writing about us—our little group here.” Marigold gestures at the other women as they greet one another, hug, fill plates with pizza, and sit down in chairs that have been loosely pulled into a circle. “Having close, supportive friendships with other women is part of what makes aging bearable, don’t you agree?”
“One hundred percent.” Sunday chooses a chair and Marigold sits next to her. “And honestly, it just makes living better. I wouldn’t have gotten through my time in D.C. without Ruby, and our friendship ultimately brought me here. I wake up every day feeling grateful for that.”
“I’m listening to this whole exchange, and I have to agree.” Ruby sits on Sunday’s other side, resting her own plate of pizza on her knees. “We go through so many things in life alone, but we process them all with our women friends, and for me, that’s where I get my clarity. After talking with you all, I always feel less alone.”
“Hi, hi, hi!” Heather Charlton-Bicks sweeps into the bookstore, waving both hands as she greets everyone. “We missed you, Ruby!”
Ruby beams at her. “I missed all of you. It feels so good to be back on the island, and to be in my bookshop.” Ruby looks around at the shelves of Marooned With a Book, feeling a thrill of pleasure at the tiny business she’s created for herself. The bookstore isn’t really making her any money, but it brings such unfettered joy to her life that Ruby would spend a million dollars a year, if she could, just to keep the doors open.
“We don’t want to ask too many questions,” Vanessa, one of Ruby’s bookstore employees, says as she nibbles the end of a piece of pizza. “But we want to hear anything you feel like telling us.”
“Well.” Ruby sits back in her chair, forgetting all about her pizza for a moment. “I went everywhere and I saw everything,” she says. “I almost feel like I met my mom again for the first time, which sounds crazy, but I learned so much about her life, and about her as a person.”
“Your mom was one of a kind,” Marigold says. She reaches over Sunday’s lap and touches Ruby on the arm. “She lit up a room, and she told the best stories.”
“Apparently she had them to tell.” Ruby smiles. “I guess, like anyone, you know someone in the capacity that you know them, but there’s this whole other angle that maybe you never get to see.”
“Particularly with your own mother,” Athena pipes up. Everyone turns to look at her and her cheeks go pink. “What? It’s true. I know my mom as my mom, and you all know her as a friend, and the whole world knows her as a First Lady. Plus there’s a ton of stuff she’s done in her life that I know nothing about.”
Ruby has to agree with this, though she feels as if she’s always been pretty transparent with her girls. She truly has nothing to hide from them.
”I bet she”s got secrets,” Harlow says as she chews on her pizza crust. ”Mom was probably totally wild when she was our age.”
Ruby smiles. ”Actually, I wasn”t,” she protests mildly. ”I think I missed out on the urge to be wild and unchained. I met Jack in my twenties and we settled down pretty quickly, then I became a mom. I don”t even think I”ve had any terribly unusual friendships, and I found out that my mother had plenty of those—the kind of unexpected friendships that I actually really admire, because they stood the test of time and defied explanation.”
“Well, I think the friendships we’ve made here have been the most rewarding of my life,” Molly says as sits down in the lone empty chair. She’s got a can of Diet Coke in one hand and a plate of pizza in the other. “You ladies have been the biggest surprise I could have imagined, if I’m being perfectly honest.” Molly, widowed in her twenties, is the owner of The Scuttlebutt and the elder stateswoman of the group. In her mid-sixties, Molly has traveled the world, lived alone, had several big love affairs, and is the most pragmatic of the group.
“For me as well,” Heather adds. “I’ve been married five times and have found and lost love over and over, but having a core group of women in my life has been such a solid feeling. I can’t imagine going through life without you girls.”
“All I can say about losing my mom and then taking this trip to discover more about her life is that it makes me even more grateful for having had her as a mother. She surprises me, even in death, and I’m pretty sure that she’s not done throwing me curveballs yet.”
The other women all look at one another and smile. “May we continue to throw each other curveballs just like Patty would have,” Sunday says. She raises her can of Diet Coke in the air in a toast and everyone joins her, holding up their various drinks.
“To Patty,” Marigold says, raising her arm high.
“To Patty,” everyone chimes in as they lift their cans. Ruby grins through her tears at this impromptu moment of remembrance. “To Patty,” she whispers quietly to herself.
The women eat and talk and catch up on island gossip for the next two hours, but one thing they do not do is discuss the book they’re reading. For as much as they all love to read, they’ve quickly come to realize that the novel they choose is just a tool to bring them together, and being together is the most important part.
The women have left the bookstore and Ruby has locked up behind them. The trash bag is full of paper plates and napkins, and another is tied up and full of soda cans. Their first meeting back together after Ruby’s trip has been a success and more fun than she’d even hoped. With Thanksgiving and Christmas right around the corner, the women had lots to talk about and plan, and they’d all decided together to throw a giant holiday on Shipwreck Key, inviting everyone they know and love to come down to the island for Christmas. Ruby can’t wait.
But now that she’s alone, she’s trudged up the narrow staircase to her second floor office, passing the memorabilia she’s got on display from her time in the White House—mostly gifts from foreign dignitaries and their wives—and looking at each item absentmindedly as she passes it. That whole time feels like another era of Ruby’s life, and in fact, it is another era. A time gone by. A slice of her life that she’s almost fully boxed up and put away. Sure, she still gets noticed and recognized everywhere she goes, but her drama is less current. Jack has been gone for more than two years. Her girls are grown women now, and she’s living a whole new life out of the public eye.
Some habits have been hard to break: no matter what the day might bring, Ruby always finds herself dressing as if she might end up in front of the paparazzi or might be needed for some official photo. She never leaves her beach house without brushed hair, makeup, and tasteful jewelry—even when she’s just in a matching shorts and tank top set with sandals or Converse. She still walks and runs almost daily, staying fit and tan from the sun. There are no professional beauty experts on hand to groom her brows, cover her grays, and choose her outfits, but Ruby has been on display for enough years that she knows how to present herself no matter the occasion.
Her desk at the top of the stairs is tucked away under a slanted roof, and it faces a blue and white stained glass window that looks out onto Seadog Lane. Ruby sits, staring out at the dark evening as she switches on the lamp on the edge of her desk. She opens her laptop and pulls up an email to Dexter.
Hey, Dex?—
For some reason talking about the book feels more like an email conversation than a text one, so just indulge me here. I read the first five chapters, and they’re brilliant. What else can I say? You found a way to capture Jack’s early years by incorporating some of his journal entries, and you really approached him as a whole person by doing that. As I read it, I didn’t think, “Oh, here’s a play by play take on my late husband’s presidency,” but rather, “Wow, Jack lived an entirely human existence before we even met. He entered the White House not as a lump of clay to be molded by the political machine, but as a man who’d grown up in the 70s, informed by that era. He’d played baseball, gone camping, loved his parents, gone to Disney World the year it opened, and he loved banana splits and hot summer nights. He was a father, a friend, a husband, and someone who appreciated books and long discussions. He was a person.” And Dexter, that makes the book so much more accessible. You have no idea how much I wanted to keep flipping pages beyond the first five chapters in order to see his entire presidency—and the rest of his life—unfold.
I wish I could thank you for leaving and taking the time to write this as you have, but thanking you for leaving is like thanking you for leaving ME. And yet I know you needed to do that. I understand now that the book is better for it. You wrote some things through my eyes that I think I would have tried to edit if you told me you were using them, but now that I see it all on the page, I think this story couldn’t possibly be told any other way. You’re a genius, and I CANNOT WAIT to read the rest!
But now…on to our next topic: you and me. We talked in NYC about seeing each other during the holidays, and I’m holding you to that. Can you come to Shipwreck Key for Christmas? I just had a book club meeting with all the other ladies, and we’re thinking of inviting our families to all come here so that we can have a giant island party. Harlow and Athena will be here, I’m inviting Helen Pullman and her husband and daughter, and I really want you—more than anything, Dex, I want you here. Will you come?
Yours—always,
Ruby
She isn’t ashamed to be so bold with Dexter; after all, they already discussed the holidays when they were together in New York, but more than ever, Ruby is ready to lay her cards on the table. She wants Dexter to come to the island, and she wants him to stay. If he decides to keep his apartment in Manhattan or his tiny home on Christmas Key then she’ll understand, but she’d really like for Dexter to make Shipwreck Key his home base. If there’s anything Ruby has learned this year—between turning fifty and losing her mother—it’s that time is short. The years pass quickly. Existence is impermanent, but real love should be indulged and cared for. And she’s ready to care for Dexter, to be his right hand, to be his home base.
If he’ll let her.
With a sigh, Ruby closes out of her email and opens up a list she’s been keeping of items to complete for her mother’s memorial. It’s only two weeks away, and though it could potentially dampen the holiday, she’s decided to honor Patty on the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend anyway. After all, her girls will be on the island, and her friends will be there too—if they want to join. In order to keep things low key, she’s only invited Carmela and her kids (and offered to pay for their airfare), and Ellen as well, who readily agreed to fly in from Seattle in time to join them for the actual Thanksgiving holiday as well.
There are certainly hundreds of other people she could invite: people Patty sat on boards and committees with; former colleagues and law firm partners; neighbors from Santa Barbara; perhaps even close friends that Ruby hasn’t yet uncovered. But the only people she really wants there have already been invited.
Ruby checks a few items off her list: flowers—ordered; wine and food for the dinner she’ll serve at her house—chosen; playlist of music that Patty loved—being prepared by Harlow; poems and readings for the actual memorial—in Athena’s hands.
She closes her laptop and turns off the desk lamp. It’s been a busy afternoon and evening, and while she wants to sit there and stare at her computer screen until Dexter replies and tells her that he’s on his way to Shipwreck immediately, she’s promised her girls that she’ll head home as soon as she’s done at the bookstore so that they can cuddle up on the couch together and laugh through several episodes of The Golden Girls. Ruby knows that these moments are fleeting, and that being with her girls isn’t a given, so she won’t pass this up.
As she locks the front door of the darkened bookstore behind her, Ruby can hear the ocean rolling onto the shore just across the street. The stars are out and starting to twinkle overhead. She climbs into her golf cart, which is parked at the curb, and makes the short drive home to her brightly-lit house, where her girls are waiting.