Chapter Seven Ruby
“The winds tell me you have a lot on your mind, young man.”
“I always have a lot on my mind, Miss Maisie,” chuckles Liam as he wipes down the bar. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“Hmm. Have you been drinking that tea I made you?”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re right. Chamomile really takes the edge off when I’m stressed out.”
Gram drums her fingers on the bar thoughtfully, observing Liam as he works with quiet concentration. Her gaze seems to track the air around him, rather than his actual body, as if she’s reading his aura… which is something she genuinely knows how to do.
Liam notices her attention and snorts quietly, catching my eye. I grin.
“You know, Miss Maisie, you don’t have to listen to whatever gossip the wind is telling you about me. You can just ask me what I’m up to and I’ll answer honestly.”
Gram chuckles and gracefully slides off the bar stool. “Now, where would the fun be in that? Come on, Ruby. There’s a storm brewing and we’re best off getting inside before it hits.”
“Did the wind tell you that?” I ask.
“No, darling. The weatherman did.”
Liam and I lock eyes again. In unison, we fight our smiles. Gram and I spent the past hour at the Siren Sword, nibbling on some new dishes that Joshie wants to add to the menu and chatting with Liam while he tends the very slow Sunday-afternoon bar crowd. It’s one of the few chances I’ve had to really get to know my sister’s boyfriend now that we’re adults, and I’m glad to say that I approve. He’s a good guy.
I wave goodbye to Liam and follow Gram toward the door. Sure enough, the sky outside is an ominous shade of dark gray. It’s a good thing that Eva and Sebastien left for their honeymoon in Santorini late last night, and most of the wedding party has also been quick to make themselves scarce today. With all the ease of those with chauffeurs and private jets, they’ve scattered to the winds less than a day after the I-dos.
I don’t have to be back in the city until later this week, though, so I’ve decided to stick around for another day or two. Hopefully, this storm won’t cause too much of a delay in my return. As soon as I get back to Manhattan, I have a rigorous training and performance schedule waiting for me.
“That boy is thinking about proposing to your sister,” Gram murmurs, tucking her hand into the crook of my elbow as we walk.
As graceful as I habitually am, I nearly trip on the pavement. “What?”
Gram smiles softly. “I’m not sure even he’s aware of it, but that love story is ready for its next chapter.”
I fall quiet as we take the shortcut behind Main Street toward Cherry Street.
For some reason, I really don’t know how to feel about the wise woman’s prediction. Of course, I’m thrilled for my twin. Amy deserves the kind of love and devotion that Liam gives her. But even though I literally just attended a wedding yesterday, the thought of going to my sister’s future wedding makes me feel oddly… uneasy.
Maybe because I know I’ll never experience something like that. My career means too much to me. Plenty of ballet dancers find convenient love by dating other dancers, but that has always seemed a little too risky to me. What if we broke up and it made everything awkward? There’s no room for awkwardness in the studio. We need to be focused.
I could date after I retire, but I’ll be in my mid-thirties at that point, and I’m sure it’ll be slim pickings, even in New York City. Plus, after my career on the stage ends, I’ll still have a hectic schedule. My goal is to teach after retirement. Unless I get a Nike sponsorship or become the face of Gatorade like some athletes manage to do, I won’t come by money easily. I’ll have to work hard. For the rest of my life.
Beside me, Gram tuts her tongue. “There are waves of anxiety rolling off you, sweetheart.”
“I’m fine.”
“That heart chakra of yours…”
“I thought it was my solar plexus?”
“Both, Ruby… both could use some unblocking.”I purse my lips and glance away. I’m not in the mood to listen to this right now. I respect Gram and the work she does, but I really am fine. I don’t need some whirlwind romance to make my life worth something. In fact, it’s ridiculous to think otherwise. My life can be full and happy without some random guy coming into it.
I’m fine on my own.
By the time we reach the purple gate, it’s started to sprinkle. I frown up at the sky and silently beg for this storm to be brief.
Two hours later and it’s evident that my begging hasn’t worked.
It’s pouring. Buckets of rain gush from the dark clouds, pelting the world with merciless force. The wind is howling—blowing so forcefully that the house is groaning around me. I hope everyone was able to get off the beach fast enough before this tempest struck. High tide will be dangerous; several times in the past, storms have resulted in a flooded Main Street and swept away some of the sand dunes.
But this isn’t a big deal. It’s just another summer storm. By dinnertime, the sky will end its punishment and leave the town to dry itself out. It happens all the time in New England. Sometimes, these storms last only five minutes. Other times, five hours. You never really know for certain.
As long as it’s over by tomorrow morning when I have to head back to New York, I’m content to watch the watery deluge from the comfort of Gram’s living room.
I’m curled up in the window seat, preparing a new pair of pointe shoes. Gram is nestled in a pile of cushions on the floor, using pliers to weave wire around various gemstones to create wearable charms. There’s an old Western film playing on the television that neither one of us is paying much attention to.
The cardboard crunches loudly in my hands when I break the shoe in half backwards. Breaking in pointe shoes is a satisfyingly violent process, and each dancer has their own routine. With the aid of scissors, I rip off the upper half of the shank and then grab my pliers to pry out the tiny little nail that keeps the inner sole attached to the outer. I always feel a bit like a mad scientist performing a forbidden experiment. Luckily, it’s like second nature now, since I go through about two pairs a week. Three or four during the height of performance seasons. It’s a blessing that the company pays for our shoes.
I reach for the liquid glue and squirt it carefully into the toe box to hopefully get a little bit more longevity out of this pair.
Gram hums under her breath, using her own pair of pliers to twist a swirl of silver metal around a jagged chunk of aquamarine. I smile to myself, thinking that we look like two witches in a workshop, dutifully crafting our magical tools.
I thread a needle and then reach for the roll of elastic just as a deafening boom of thunder rattles the windowpanes.
Gram glances up, brow furrowing. The wind moans, pummeling this little town angrily like beating fists.
“It’s a big one,” she murmurs, then returns to her work.
My stomach drops. That can’t be good.
When morning comes, I’m relieved to hear how quiet it is beyond the windows of Gram’s guest room. The rain has stopped. I roll over in bed and gaze past the narrow opening in the curtains at the dull gray light. I guess the sun isn’t in the mood to come out today after all the havoc wrecked overnight.
I reach for my phone, thinking to check if the storm front was large enough to hit New York as well, but then I see an email pop up in my inbox and jolt upright in bed.
“No,” I breathe. “No, no, no…”
My train has been cancelled. I gape at the little CapeFLYER logo in horror. The email doesn’t provide many details, but it does mention that some flooding on the tracks has left them with no other option except to cancel services today… and tomorrow.
“Please, no. This can’t be happening.”
I switch to the website I use for coach bus services, which is sometimes way cheaper than Amtrak, only to discover that they’ve also suspended their services for the next forty-eight hours. I open Twitter and discover many of the trending local news stories include detailed videos of multiple main roads around Boston and the Cape that are completely ruined. Floods, fallen trees, entire chunks of pavement torn away by a river that broke loose from its dam.
It’s all very dramatic.
I fling myself out of bed and stumble downstairs. Gram is in the kitchen, muttering some choice words for the electric kettle that she seriously needs to replace with a more updated model.
“My train is cancelled,” I announce. It comes out more like, I’m doomed and cursed and my life is over.
Gram nods and offers me a sympathetic smile. “Cedar Road is blocked off. Tree fell last night. East side of town doesn’t have power. Beach flooded too.”
“Oh, no no no.” I sink down into a chair at the table. “I need to get back to New York.”
I can’t wait another two days to go back to the city. Rehearsals for the ridiculous modern ballet Ben chose for us this summer start Wednesday morning, which means that I need to be in the studio now. I shouldn’t have even left for Eva’s wedding. If I was a worse person, I might not have come at all. That’s how much this matters.
Even if I can get on the first train out of here, I probably won’t be back in Manhattan until late Wednesday, and that’s only if there are no delays, no technical issues, no traffic, and no other storms on the horizon. Missing one rehearsal isn’t necessarily a disaster, but I have a perfect attendance record, and I can’t afford to sully it if I’m actually going to be promoted anytime soon.
Gram sighs. “I’m sure there’s some configuration of back roads you can take down to the city that haven’t been messed up too badly by the storm. I’d offer you my car, but…”
But she needs her car. Obviously. What would I even do with a Subaru hatchback once I get to Manhattan? I wouldn’t even know where to park it.
I might be able to borrow Amy’s car, since she’s away for another couple of weeks anyway, but then she’d still have to come and fetch it from New York at some point, and that’s just too much of a burden to shoulder on my sister.
Don’t panic, I beg myself. Stay calm. Think of your options.
While Gram serves me a plate of toast with a side of calming amethyst and lapis lazuli, I’m glued to my phone. I type away furiously in the bridesmaid group chat, trying to figure out if anyone from the wedding party is also stranded in Mermaid Shores and needs to get out ASAP. So many of Eva’s guests were rich and famous that I wouldn’t be surprised if I could hop onto someone’s private jet and practically airlift myself out of here.
It’s no use, though. Once Eva and Sebastien headed for Santorini, everyone else disappeared too. So much for thinking that this town is oh-so charming and idyllic. As the group chat starts flooding with sympathetic responses, I learn that most people headed to Boston, then grabbed flights to their next glamorous summer destination the morning after the wedding. A few others headed further up the Cape and have no plans on returning to the city anytime soon.
I’ll ask around for you, Olenka texts. I’m sure there’s something we can do.
Same, Lola promises. Don’t worry! We’ll rescue you!
Never mind that Olenka is already in Paris for a modeling contract and Lola jetted down to the Hamptons thanks to her friendship with an international pop star. It makes sense that they’re optimistic. They haven’t had many roadblocks in life.
But me? I’m just ordinary. I only have ordinary solutions. Ordinary options.
I drop my head into my hands. Gram offers me a mug of chamomile tea. I ask for coffee instead. She tuts her tongue but sets about fiddling with the Keurig my mom got her for Christmas last year.
Meanwhile, I descend into misery. This is so unfair. I should’ve left yesterday morning. I got all caught up in the comfortable familiarity of my hometown. I let it drag my attention away from my goals. It’s the magic of this place. It forces you to relax, even to your own detriment.
Mermaid Shores, I hate you, I think to myself. Then, a few seconds later, I don’t really mean that. I love you. It’s just that you’re kind of bringing me down at the moment.
Then I realize that I’m basically talking to myself and the non-sentient spirit of a small town.
“Maybe I could hijack one of the rich tourists’ yachts and drive it down to Manhattan,” I mutter.
“Eat your toast,” Gram says softly, setting a mug of coffee in front of me. “Everything will be okay, Ruby.”
I’m about to resign myself to complete and total failure. My thumb is hovering over the screen of my phone as I consider how to phrase my message to Aline, the artistic director, informing her I’ll be missing rehearsal on Wednesday. Aline is cold and cutthroat. She wouldn’t fire me on the spot, thanks to modern labor laws, but she’ll be disappointed.
Disappointment from superiors in a ballet company is pretty much a death sentence.
Then, a text from an unknown number comes in.
Hey… I heard you need a ride down to the city today?
I furrow my brow. The area code is one of many that I recognize from the New York City area, but nobody in the bridesmaid group chat has told me to expect a text from anyone yet.
Still, I’m desperate.
Who is this? I type back.
Those three little dots indicating the stranger is in typing hover for longer than I expect.
Then, at last, they answer.
It’s Ben Hawthorne :)
I groan out loud. Gram chuckles quietly as if she already knows exactly what’s going on.
I’m doomed. Truly, totally doomed.