Chapter 12 Ruth
twelve
Ruth
The moment Bill fades down the hallway, muttering about burger buns, I allow my shoulders to drop.
Phew.
Not that I’m upset, but I was distracted. Like my body is too aware when he’s near, and I have the hardest time relaxing. He kept looking at me like he was about to bring up something more personal. I don’t need Noah to overhear anything.
I can’t risk it.
Everything has been going so well for Noah. He has been managing his anxiety disorder, thanks to some new meds. I hate to be the cause of a flare-up if he starts to worry about all the things that didn’t happen between me and his boss.
Yep, it’s best I stay away from Bill Baker.
Coach Carlon claps loudly, aiming his attention toward the players. “Guys, take your places at the signing tables, so this can be somewhat orderly.”
“That’s my cue, Mom,” Noah says. “This might take a while too, because the line is huge.”
“Enjoy every minute of it.” It’s hard for my smile not to grow as he takes his seat at the table. Everyone from small children to elderly women line up to get my son’s autograph. I stand back, snap a few photos, and then glance around.
Noah was right.
By the size of this line, signing will take hours.
There’s no need for me to stand over his shoulder supervising him.
I sidestep from the line, pondering the best way to get out of this huge arena.
I’m not exactly fleeing, just strategically taking a breather outside the room.
This way, when Bill returns from his bun emergency, he won’t find me standing here and try to strike up a conversation.
I move toward the front entrance, but a wave of people swarms in from the lobby.
Everyone is loud and laughing. It’s shoulder-to-shoulder people with no way to move in the opposite direction.
I pivot fast, as the only way I’m getting out of here is through the back exit.
My gaze lands on a side door I never noticed before.
Clearly marked with an Exit sign above it, but the door also says, Employees Only.
I pause and study it. From the location, my guess is it loops out to the parking lot.
I cut my gaze to the back exit, which is clear across the packed arena.
It could take me another ten minutes to force my way out of here.
Bill will likely return by then. My gaze cuts back to the side entrance that’s wide open, as if it’s waiting for me.
If I’m fast, no one will even know I took that door.
That’s the plan.
Just slip in and slip out the back door, and I head forward.
The crowd has other ideas!
Someone elbows me hard in the ribs as I stagger on. The swelling crowd is more reason to take a breather outside. Before I talk myself out of it, I pass through the side door and cut into the dim hallway.
There's nothing out of the ordinary.
It’s a long hallway with closed office doors on both sides. Halfway down the hall, light emits from one door that’s cracked open. With the chemical tang of cleaner hanging in the air, I assume it’s more than likely a janitor’s closet. I slow as I approach, eyes darting toward the narrow gap.
Then I hear it.
Bill’s unmistakable baritone booms from somewhere, echoing all around me, “Why would you put the buns way up on that shelf?”
I’m cooked!
I whip around, my eyes darting to find somewhere to hide. He must be right behind me! This could be bad. I don’t think! I just duck inside the open door and smack straight into a warm, solid chest. “Oof!”
My hand flies forward, pressing myself off whoever this is, and packs of buns go flying in every direction.
I’m terrified to look!
My heart says I already know who it is when I cringe and make eye contact with Bill! “Oh no, I’m so sorry!” I say, stumbling backward. “I didn’t know you were—”
“In an employee area,” Bill says, one brow arched, trying not to laugh as a pack of sesame buns lands by his shoe.
I immediately crouch, reach for the plastic-wrapped package, and restack them on the nearby shelf, where the others are.
With my heart hammering in my throat, I accidentally blubber out, “I was trying to avoid you. I mean—not you specifically. Just, you know all the people who came rushing in from the lobby. I was feeling claustrophobic and couldn’t get out the front door. This looked like a short cut.”
He chuckles low under his breath. “Yeah, I can’t believe how many people are here. It’s like the whole town showed up.”
I stretch to grab the last bag I made him drop. My elbow bumps the edge of the door, just enough that it floats back, and I hear a soft click.
I freeze.
“Was that click—” I clearly am overstressed, as it shouldn’t be a big deal.
I find myself lunging for the door and tugging at the knob to check.
To my horror, the knob doesn’t even turn!
My palms break out in a sweat, making it even harder to turn the doorknob, but I don’t quit as I jiggle it and wiggle it in all directions.
“Oh, it must be stuck.” Bill moves in, and I take a giant step away from him as he wraps his hand around the knob, giving it a firm rattle.
“Well, that’s interesting. It’s self-locking.
” He pats his jacket pocket, retrieving a set of keys triumphantly, but pauses when he can’t find a keyhole on this side of the knob.
“So, it appears the door only locks from the outside. It’s weird because there’s no release on this side.
” He inspects the knob, testing it, but looks at me with a frown.
“Okay, no, this is worse. Something’s jammed. The latch must be faulty.”
He pulls out his phone and dials, not saying anything. The only sound is the dull roar of the crowd in the arena filtering through the door. After a beat, he lowers his phone. “I’m trying to call Cleo, our building manager, but he’s likely not even hearing his phone with all the noise.”
“I can call Noah.” Yanking my phone out of my pocket, I quickly tap out a call, but it goes straight to voicemail. “Well, maybe he can’t hear it either, but I can text."
Hey, I got stuck in a closet that locks from the outside. It’s down the hallway marked Employees Only. Come get me. I’m with Bill. Don’t ask.
My cheeks warm as I stow my phone back in my purse and smile politely at Bill.
“Noah should be here right away. Hopefully.” I look around, seeing the stacks of pantry items. Everything from cups to ketchup to huge bags of chips, and it inspires me to crack a joke.
“At least we shouldn’t go hungry. We have all kinds of snacks. ”
“Right.” He chuckles as his gaze floats over the shelves. “What kind do you like?”
“Oh, I like all kinds of snacks. It’s actually my thing. I don’t discriminate.”
He reaches above his head and slides out a box of individual-sized chip bags, and opens it, grabs a bag of pretzels for himself, and holds the box open toward me. “Which kind is your favorite?”
“That’s easy,” I say, unable to resist a distraction and pluck out a bag, stating my selection, “Sour cream and onion.” We open our bags and take noisy bites as we stand, staring at the door like it might spontaneously pop open any second.
I shift my weight awkwardly as he clears his throat.
“Well,” he says, flashing a kind smile, “if I had to be locked in a closet with someone…”
I’m smiling a little when I reply, “I agree, there could be worse situations.”
“Like who?” His smile turns crooked. “Who would be the last person on earth you’d want to be locked in a closet with?”
“Well, truthfully, not many people.” I rub the bridge of my nose as I ponder how personal I want to get.
Bill has this way of getting me to open up.
He did it on our non-date. Now that I’m aware of that superpower, I resist it.
“So, if we are going for real-life people, my great aunt Nellie, who wears way too much perfume. If we are making hypotheticals, I’d say Ross from that TV show Friends. ”
“How do you have anything against Ross?” Bill raises his brows, mocking shock. “He carried that show, especially the last two seasons.”
“I don’t have anything against him, but he’s one of those book smart guys who has all the smart facts, but zero life skills.
Like he can tell you all about the history of the door locks, and all about the evolution of technology, but he’d crashout if he had to stand here for any real length of time. ”
“Clearly, the panic was for comedy, but if that’s your pick, then fair enough.” Bill pushes out his lower lip into a thinking position. “I’ll be honest, that's not what I was expecting. I’d have thought you’d say an ex or something.”
“An ex?” my voice squeaks, as all a sudden we are in uncharted waters.
“No, I, uh, don’t have many of those,” I say a little too quickly.
“I haven’t dated since I was married to Noah’s dad.
” There’s a pause, just long enough for the curiosity to settle in the air.
“He passed away,” I add softly. “Asthma attack. It was just a normal Tuesday workday. He was running late because he stayed behind to help me get Noah ready for a doctor’s checkup.
Noah was just little and a handfull. There was never enough time in the morning.
” I offer a small, awkward shrug, like that somehow makes this conversation less personal.
“He never went anywhere without his inhaler or his phone. Except that one time…because he was running behind.”
His expression shifts instantly as his jaw drops in surprise, then something softer.
“Wow. I had no idea,” he says, his voice low.
“That must’ve been devastating. Especially with Noah being so young.
” He goes quiet, which frankly I like that he doesn’t try to say anything to comfort me.
That’s the worst. I hate when people pity me, or even more awkwardly make a weird joke to cheer me up.
He just stands there, and after a pause says, “For what it’s worth, you did an amazing job raising him. ”