7. Ruby
“Have you heard? It’s madness!” Sunday throws open the door to Marooned with a Book on the 23rd of December. She’s wrapped in a warm sweater, a scarf, and her light brown curls are smushed under a knitted beret as she walks into the store.
Ruby has a stack of the latest book by the author of “A Gentleman in Moscow” piled in her arms and she can barely see over the top of the pile. “Heard what?” she asks, setting the books down on the front counter with a thud.
“Snow!” Sunday says as she whips the cap off her head, leaving her curls wild and disheveled. “It’s supposed to snow in Destin on Christmas Day!”
Ruby shakes her head with a smile for her friend. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Sun. And I’ll tell you what: I’m never going to see it. Not in Florida. There’s no way.”
“Bev Byer says he remembers a time when it snowed four inches in Santa Rosa,” she says breathlessly. “Well, he barely remembers it because it was in 1954 and he was still in diapers, but regardless. It happened.”
Ruby picks up the top three copies of the book she’s just set down and places them carefully on a table, moving other books out of the way as she sets up the new display. “Huh,” she says noncommittally.
Disappointed, Sunday’s face falls. “You’re not excited.”
“I’m not believing it.” Ruby turns to her pile and grabs another handful of books.
“Can’t you feel how cold it is out there?” Sunday walks to the window and looks out at Seadog Lane, which is normally filled with people wearing shorts and tank tops and sunglasses. Instead, the pedestrians and golf cart drivers alike are decked out in sweaters and scarves in holiday colors and patterns, and many of the balding men wear hats to fight off the chill.
“Can you see your breath?” Ruby says, kneeling on the floor to unbox more new books.
“No…not yet.” Sunday is still facing the street. Outside, Molly is writing on the pub blackboard that she uses to advertise The Scuttlebutt’s daily coffee specials. She has a piece of chalk in one hand and is bent at the waist, writing something. “But look, even Molly has a turtleneck sweater on.”
“So?” Ruby is amused by how hung up her best friend is on this snow talk. And it’s not that it wouldn’t be fun, but she just doesn’t see it happening. “Molly always wears jeans and flannel shirts.”
“But not turtlenecks. Molly knows things. She’s been around.”
Ruby rips open a box top loudly, tearing the tape away. “She has been everywhere,” she says mildly. “But I still don’t think it’s going to snow, even if Molly’s wardrobe choices predict that it might.”
Sunday gives a groan of aggravation. “Okay, okay, Ebenezer Scrooge. Have it your way.”
“What’s going on at your house today? How did you get away from all the holiday prep?” Ruby pulls more stacks of books from the box.
“The girls are baking, and their men are watching Owen, so I thought I’d come over and say hi on my way to the grocery store.”
Ruby can hear something in her best friend’s voice; a note of uncertainty or some slight hint that she’s got something on her mind. She stacks the rest of the books and stands up, wiping her hands on the front of her jeans. “What’s on your mind, Sun?” Ruby squints at Sunday as she looks more closely at her face. “Other than the baking and the rumors of snow, what’s tickling your brain today?”
Sunday exhales and visibly deflates. She tosses her purse on the front counter and her shoulders fall. “Ruby, I have to tell someone. It’s killing me to keep it bottled up, but I’m not ready to talk to my girls just yet.”
Ruby waves for Sunday to follow her through the store, which is currently empty, and they sit in two upholstered wingback chairs, facing one another right smack in the middle of the bookshop. “Okay,” Ruby says urgently, leaning forward. “Tell me everything. Is it Banks? Your health? What is it? Did Peter do something crazy?” She’s legitimately worried—all of the worst possibilities flit through her brain.
Sunday waves both hands around wildly as she shakes her head. “No, no, no,” she reassures Ruby. “It’s nothing bad—although Peter is going to do a documentary about being a gay man?—“
“WHAT?” Ruby puts both hands to her chest. This was not what she was expecting Sunday to say. Not at all. Peter Bond doing anything that might tarnish his public reputation or that could, God forbid, benefit anyone other than himself, is a foreign concept. “I cannot believe that.”
Sunday is still shaking her head. “That’s not it though, Rubes.” She takes a deep, fortifying breath to calm them both, holding Ruby’s gaze as she does. “Banks and I are going to adopt.”
Ruby’s brow furrows. “Adopt what?”
Sunday breaks out into a loud laugh. “A baby,” she says. “He wants to adopt a child, and I said yes.”
“Oh, God. Sun.” Ruby stands and pulls her friend to her feet, enveloping her in a huge hug. “I’m sorry—my mind didn’t go right to babies for some reason!” She’s thrilled for Sunday. Absolutely ecstatic. Not to mention for Banks, who has been a devoted Secret Service agent to her for years, and also a devoted man to Sunday. Ruby’s heart couldn’t be more full at this news.
“I’m guessing our age had something to do with the fact that you thought ‘puppy’ and not ‘baby’ there when I mentioned adoption,” Sunday says, hugging her back. “But Banks and I stayed awake late last night talking in the dark, and we both think that if we found a slightly older child—maybe five or six years old—that we could give him a life and a home here on Shipwreck Key. We could be a family.”
Chills run up and down Ruby’s arms as she imagines this: Sunday and Banks and a boy of about five, walking the beach together, living in Sunday’s house, being a sweet little family. The image brings tears to her eyes and as she and Sunday let go of one another, Ruby puts her fingertips to her eyes to pat them dry. “Oh, Sun.” She shakes her head as she sniffles. “That’s incredible. Truly. That you two would do that is beyond generous.”
“Well, it hasn’t happened yet. But I think being part of the National Council for Adoption might bring me some kind of clout. And the fact that I’ve adopted twice before and put my own child up for adoption all those years ago—I certainly have plenty of experience with it. I’m hoping that counts for something and helps us move through the process quickly.”
“You would be incredible,” Ruby says loyally. “And Banks would be a wonderful father. I can see that already. I’m so excited for you guys.”
“We are too, but we wanted to get through the holidays and talk about it a bit more before telling Cameron and Olive.”
“How do you think they’ll react?”
Sunday squints her eyes as she considers this. “Oh, I guess their dad appearing in a documentary and essentially publicly coming out while their fifty-five-year-old mother adopts a baby with a Secret Service agent should keep them in therapy for another decade or so. Maybe more.”
The women laugh together, and Ruby looks around the shop, which is totally decked out for the holidays. She has a tree in the back corner of the store that’s wrapped in tinsel and lights and covered with tons of homemade ornaments decorated by the island’s school children, and the front counter has lights tacked up around its edges, as does the front window. The shabby chic chandeliers in each room of the bookstore are draped in baubles and bits, and the banister that leads upstairs to Ruby’s tiny office is wrapped in tinsel as well. She’s always loved Christmas, and now that she no longer has to adhere to the formal decorating plans of the White House staff, she lets loose on the bookshop and on her house, tossing up whatever kitschy and blingy holiday decor she feels like.
“I’m hosting a Christmas party here tonight,” Ruby says as she glances down at her jeans and sweater. “Or rather, John and Cathy Mayhew are.”
Sunday frowns. “Who?”
“They’re visiting the island—the giant yacht at the dock?”
“Right, right. I saw that.” Sunday looks around the shop. “Why here and not the Black Pearl?”
Ruby shrugs tiredly. “I guess so they can say they had their holiday party at the First Lady’s bookshop?” She raises both eyebrows. “But I don’t really mind. I’m just feeling a little rundown.”
“What can I do to help?” Sunday walks around the shop, looking from every angle. “It looks nice.”
“I need to set up a table over there,” Ruby says, pointing at the side of the shop underneath a window. “And they’re actually having it catered by the Black Pearl, so I need to be here while the servers come in and set everything up.”
“Listen, listen,” Sunday says, cutting her off. “You go home for a bit. I’ll stay here and keep the shop open, and you can shower and get ready or do whatever. What time are the guests coming?”
Ruby looks at her watch. “I’m supposed to greet the Mayhews at five, and their guests will start coming around six.”
“Great. Then leave me here to run things and you come back at five. I’ll get things set up as far as the buffet, and if anyone needs to come in and buy a Danielle Steel novel, I’ll ring them up.”
Ruby is grateful, but tired. “Sun, you don’t have to do this.”
“Well, I am.” Sunday steps behind her and jokingly starts to push her to the door. “And where are your employees, by the way? Did Vanessa leave the island for the holidays? Or why can’t Tilly come and help you out this evening?”
Ruby is reaching for her purse behind the front counter as Sunday shoves her out. “They’re both coming at five as well. Vanessa’s parents are here for Christmas, and Tilly is just getting over a cold, so I didn’t want to ask them to be here all day doing things I can do myself.”
“Nonsense,” Sunday says as she blocks Ruby from walking back into the shop any further. “Get out of here. Make yourself a cup of coffee. I’ll run the vacuum and handle things till you come back.”
“But Sun, you’ve got your own stuff to do for Christmas, I’m sure?—“
“Get!” Sunday says forcefully, pointing at the shop door.
Ruby chuckles and then surrenders. “Okay, okay. I’ll be back at five.”
Outside, she’s hit with a blast of air so cold that it makes her shiver. It actually does feel like it could snow, and Ruby tucks her hands under her armpits as she makes the short walk down Seadog Lane to where her golf cart is waiting.
Maybe it will snow, she thinks as she drives over the sandy, unpaved road that leads to her house. Maybe it will snow, and maybe Santa will crash land on Shipwreck Key, and maybe Ella was wrong and the only success she’ll see this coming year won’t be just at the bookstore. Maybe she and Dexter will have worked together on a best-selling, Pulitzer Prize-winning, multi-million copy selling biography.
Maybe, maybe, maybe, Ruby thinks. Maybe I just need a teeny, tiny nap…
* * *
John and Cathy Mayhew are polished, charming, and thrilled to meet Ruby. John is a descendant of the Boston Mayhews, owners of a huge plastics company that’s worth billions. Cathy has her hair styled almost exactly like Ruby’s, and she greets all of their cocktail party guests like she’s the First Lady. Ruby does her best to be both chatty and also in the background, as this certainly isn’t her party, but she knows she’s expected to chime in on occasion.
“So what made you decide on Shipwreck Key?” a balding man named Mark asks her as he holds the tail of a shrimp in one hand, keeping it poised over the small plate that the Black Pearl has provided for the hors d’oeuvres. “It’s so quaint.”
Ruby pastes a smile on her face and tries to look engaged. “I just loved the way it felt in my heart,” she says, placing a hand over her chest. “My late husband and I came here for our anniversary one year, and I never forgot it.”
Mark’s eyes light up at the very mention of the president, and Ruby gets the same sinking feeling she always has when it becomes clear that all a person wants is insider info on Jack Hudson’s life.
“And what did President Hudson like about Shipwreck Key?” Mark asks, dropping the shrimp tail onto his plate and picking up a stuffed mushroom cap. “Was he into sailing?”
Ruby has suddenly had her fill of the conversation, but she doesn’t want to be rude. “Actually, Jack didn’t like it here. He thought it was too small and rustic. But he doesn’t have to live here.” She smiles at him winningly. “Oh, excuse me—I think I’m needed at the front desk.”
Ruby gives him the slight dip of her chin that is meant to close the conversation, then steps away and weaves through the gathered partygoers to escape Mark’s questions.
The only parties she’s ever had in the bookstore are her own book club gatherings and a Christmas craft party the year before for the local kids, but this is going fairly well. Ruby looks around at the people gathered in Marooned with a Book, noting that they’re all well-heeled (which tracks, given that they’ve shown up on boats and yachts decked out with Christmas lights and are spending the holidays moored on an island). The men are all in pale pastel sweaters over open-collared bespoke dress shirts, and they have the kind of winter tans that come from endless golf games at Pebble Beach and days spent on the water.
The women, on the other hand, are groomed to within an inch of their lives, but tastefully so. Hair is colored and styled just so (many of them booked appointments that very afternoon at the Bodacious Booty Salon, which Ruby knows from overhearing the scuttlebutt at The Scuttlebutt), and they’re clad in cashmere and diamonds. Cathy Mayhew’s jewelry is sparkling more than the Christmas tree in the corner of the shop.
“This is perfect,” John Mayhew says, approaching Ruby with two glasses of champagne in his hands. He holds one out to her. “We can’t thank you enough for hosting us and our friends, and I have to say, Shipwreck Key is truly paradise. All we need here now is a golf course, and most of us would probably buy property.”
Ruby takes the champagne from him and laughs politely. “A golf course would certainly make it more of a vacation spot, wouldn’t it?” she says.
John looks out the front window, which is collecting bits of frost around its edges. “I’m thinking maybe a spot on the north side of the island. There’s room there for a community of villas, and then if you drive east, there’s that huge open area that would make a nice course…” Ruby nods and takes tiny sips of the champagne as she pretends to listen and agree, but the idea of a golf course and a traveling band of snowbirds invading Shipwreck Key annually doesn’t actually sound that great to her.
“You have some big ideas, Mr. Mayhew!” Ruby says, putting her hand on his forearm in a way that she hopes feels friendly and conciliatory. “But I think you’d be up against some opposition here. Most of the residents are year-round and have been here for decades, and I don’t think many of them are golfers.”
John Mayhew’s booming laugh fills the front of the bookstore. “That’s never stopped anyone from moving into an area and making improvements, has it?”
Ruby looks at his smooth forehead and high cheekbones; he’s clearly had an easy life and is used to his money, or perhaps his family name, paving his path in any situation. “I guess it depends on whether you truly see something as an ‘improvement,’” she says, lifting the corners of her mouth in the approximation of a smile.
At that moment, the front door of the shop opens slightly and Dexter pokes his head in. The sight of him sends a rush of comfort through Ruby.
“Dex,” she says, walking away from John Mayhew without another word. “Hi.”
“Hey.” He steps close to her and glances around like he might be interfering. “Okay if I’m here?”
Ruby puts her free hand against his chest and reaches over to set the champagne glass down on the front counter. “God, yes,” she whispers. “I need backup.” Ruby glances around the room at the mingling guests. “I’m usually so good at this, but for some reason I’m just not locking in here. Everyone is annoying me tonight.” Dexter watches her with concern as she puts the back of her hand to her forehead. Ruby’s cheeks are flushed, and she feels clammy to her own touch. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.”
”You don”t look well, Rubes,” he says. Dexter puts a hand on her lower back and leads her over to a chair. ”Why don”t you sit for a bit and let your bookstore employees do the detail work. And I”ll make the rounds myself and ask if anyone needs anything. How”s that?”
Ruby nods feebly. Normally she”d never agree to sit down on the job like this--acting like some sort of visiting royalty--but she”s truly not feeling well.
”Hi, how are you this evening? Dexter North,” Dexter says to John Mayhew as he walks through the crowd confidently, smiling and nodding at people. That”s the thing about Dexter, Ruby thinks as she watches him: he”s completely at ease in a crowd, and he knows how to talk to anyone. ”Great to meet you.”
”John Mayhew,” John says, shaking Dexter”s hand. ”Read your latest article that ran in the New York Times.” Mayhew looks impressed to be talking to a journalist of Dexter”s caliber. ”Good stuff you had there.”
”Oh, the one on the mayor?” Dexter takes a glass of champagne from the tray Vanessa carries around the room, but it”s just for show; Dexter doesn”t like to drink while he”s working, and with Ruby down for the count, she knows he considers himself as her replacement.
”Yeah, very insightful.” Mayhew goes on for a bit and Dexter nods, catching Ruby”s eye every once in a while. She does her best to smile and nod at everyone as they pass, chatting with anyone who stops to talk to her, but her stomach is roiling, and she can feel a fever burning her skin.
By the time the cocktail party ends and Dexter has everyone out the door and drunkenly singing Christmas carols as they make their way down the dock to their warm, festive boats, Ruby is completely done.
”Dex,” she croaks. ”I can”t clean this up tonight.”
”Tomorrow,” he says. ”I”ll come over here tomorrow and whip everything into shape. You weren”t opening the shop on Christmas Eve anyway, were you?” Dexter helps her to stand and he gathers her purse and keys, turning off the lights and locking the front door after them.
”No,” Ruby says, one arm wrapped around her own stomach as she doubles over slightly. ”I wasn”t going to open up, but there are cups and plates everywhere--”
”Tomorrow,” Dexter says again, leading Ruby out to the golf cart to take her home.