Through Fire (Portland, ME #3) (24 page)

“Shhh, baby.”

I hadn’t noticed she was crying, until my mom looked from Ruby to me, her hand pressed to her mouth.

She hadn’t answered me when I asked her if she was all right. My folks are wonderful people, but a bit much at times. I’m not sure what triggered the silent tears tracking down her cheeks. I hate seeing them.

I scoot an arm under her legs and lift her off the stool. As if by rote, her hands wrap around my neck, and her face presses in my chest as I carry her out of the kitchen, ignoring the questioning looks of my family. 

I sit her down on the counter in the powder room, closing the door behind us. Grabbing a towel, I mop at the steady flow of silent tears on her face.

“Talk to me, Ruby,” I encourage her, as she appears to come back from whatever place her mind had been.

“Your family is nice,” she says in a soft voice.

Not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t that. “I know.” It’s all I can think of to say.

“I’d forgotten what it was like. My memories of mine have always been filled with pain. The only thing clear in my mind was the fear and panic right before they...” I patiently watch as she takes a deep breath and focuses her eyes on me. “They loved each other. I just remembered how good things could be before they went wrong. I miss them.”

I don’t say anything. What is there to say? I step between her legs and wrap her up in my arms, stroking my hand over her hair. I feel guilty. In my eagerness to bring her home to my parents, I hadn’t thought about how it might affect her. Fuck, I’d basically forced her against her will. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, with my face pressed to the top of her head. “Sorry I made you come.”

“No.” Her hands push at my chest and I take a step back. “I’m not sorry. It’s given me back some treasured memories, I thought I’d lost. I want to remember my parents with a bittersweet ache, instead of the sharp pain and crippling guilt that I felt for years at their death. These are the tears they deserved all along,” she assures me, cupping my face in her small hands and pulling me down for a sweet kiss.

A light knock on the door interrupts us. “Everything okay?” My mom’s soft voice sounds from the other side.

“We’re alright, Mom,” I croak out, my throat a bit tight.

“You sure? Can I come in?” she persists, and I look at Ruby for guidance.

“Come in,” she calls out, surprising me. Her eyes never leave mine, as she presses another soft kiss to my lips, and mumbles, “Thank you.”

The powder room was never intended for three bodies simultaneously, so when my mom pushes her way in, I have no choice but to step into the hallway to give her room. Before I know it, the door gets shut in my face, leaving Ruby at the mercy of Mom, and me outside in the hall.

“Third quarter just started,” Mark says, sticking his head around the corner before he disappears down the stairs. Reluctantly I follow him down.

At the two minute warning, with the Pats up by six on the Raiders, there’s still been no sign of the women. Concerned, I get up to investigate when Dad calls me back. “Sit your ass down, Son. Your mother will take care of her.”

Right. That’s what has me worried, leaving Ruby with my less than tactful mother. “You don’t understand, Dad. Ruby is...she’s...”

“Don’t underestimate your mother. Or me for that matter,” he adds, pointing his finger at himself. “You really think with our years, we don’t recognize your Ruby has had a rough life? It’s all but spelled out in those big expressive eyes of her. Trust your mother.”

Under my father’s commanding stare, I sit my forty-three-year-old ass down as instructed. That doesn’t mean my mind is on the game as New England manages to hold on to their lead. Years of experience have perfected my mom’s call for dinner, which comes at the same time the last whistle is blown. Mark grabs the empties and heads upstairs as Dad turns off the TV, turning to me.

“Come on. Get your lazy ass up. Our women are waiting upstairs.” With a wink, he follows the scent of Mom’s Sunday dinner up the stairs. I take one last look around to make sure our mess is cleaned up before I turn off the lights and head up too.

R
uby

“You don’t have to tell me a thing.”

Tim’s mom has stepped into the spot her son occupied, just seconds ago, and puts her hands on my knees. Her face is kind and her eyes show no judgement. I don’t know if it is because I trust Tim wouldn’t have exposed me to his parents, if he didn’t think they’d be accepting, or whether it is the sudden craving for some nurturing of my own. Maybe both—but whatever it is has me put my forehead to her shoulder, and with her hand stroking my hair, much like her son did before her, I spill.

“So what are you waiting for?” is what she says when I tell her about the FBI offer on the table. I’ve just finished compressing thirty years of my life into a fifteen minute sound bite, and her abrupt question takes me aback. Her face doesn’t show any of the judgement I imagined those words to hold. I realize there is none, just open curiosity to understand why I’m delaying what must seem to Jane to be the logical next step. That simple. No oohs or ahhs. No prying questions. Not even a reaction, other than the sudden shiny eyes and relentless, unwavering stroking of my hair.

“Nothing. There is absolutely nothing that I’m waiting for,” I concede on a watery smile.

“Excellent. Then let’s get dinner ready before those boys tear my kitchen apart.” She helps me down from the counter and pulls me along behind her by the hand. “Oh,” she throws over her shoulder. “By the way, we seriously need to go shopping. That shirt does nothing for you. In fact, I think the last time I saw anything like it, my mother was wearing it to her senior’s social. That was twenty-five years ago.”

I can’t help it. The laughter bubbles from me. I’m finding it more funny than insulting. Or maybe it’s funny because it’s so insulting. In any event, the two of us stumble into the kitchen, giggling like loons, and a smile stays on my face long after the hilarity of the moment has gone. 

Jane is taking her promise to teach me to cook seriously. Outfitted with an apron to keep any spills off me, she hands me a bowl and a bag of flour and step by step instructs me on how to prepare fresh biscuits. So when, by the time the men surface from their football game, I pull my one-handed creations out of the oven, I’m thrilled to see golden, fluffy biscuits staring back at me.

“Damn these are good,” Mark says around a mouthful of one, just stolen off the baking tray I set down on the counter. It earns him a smack on the head from Jane.

“Still like starving animals, the way you boys attack any food in sight,” she mutters, swinging a potholder in Arthur’s direction, who’s trying to sneak a biscuit for himself. The only one who is not focused on the food is Tim. His focus is squarely on me as Jane herds the other two with pots and plates to the dining room.

“You baked?” he says with half a smile, and I grin back at him.

“I did. With one hand,” I happily tell him, with not a small amount of pride. “Your mother told me what to do, but I made them.”

“You know...” he starts as he stalks toward me. “It’s a little bit disturbing how incredibly enticing you are, wearing my mother’s old apron, covered in flour.” His face is inches from mine as he scans my features with tender eyes before slowly lowering his mouth to my very willing lips.

“Tim, grab the mashed potatoes on your way in,” his mother’s firm voice interrupts, but doesn’t spoil the sweet moment. With a last peck on my mouth, he takes off my apron for me, shoves the plate of biscuits in my hand, and ushers me into the dining room, following closely behind.

Dinner is a casual affair. I find myself relaxing more and more amid the easy banter and light teasing around the table. I even smile back at Arthur when he directs his crooked grin my way. My biscuits are delicious, if I say so myself, and I ask Jane to write the recipe down for me. I could eat these every day. It’s all very light-hearted and even Jane’s not so subtle jabs at Mark, to find himself a good woman already, seem par for the course. Then she turns to Tim.

“You made me wait a long damn time, boy. But I’m glad you did,” she says, turning her smile to me as she covers my hand on the table. “You two will make a beautiful family.”

Just like that the happy bubble I imagined myself in bursts, as I feel the blood slowly draining from my face.

“Jane,” Arthur’s voice cautions his wife, but his eyes are watching me. All others follow his lead and I find myself squirming under the scrutiny of four sets of eyes.

“Ruby? Are you sick?” Tim asks. Sick? Sure I’m sick. Not the way he means it, but that doesn’t make it less true. Grabbing the opportunity I nod at him with a wobbly smile—the only one I seem to be able to produce right now.

With requests for continuous updates and a stack of containers with leftovers, Tim hustles me out of the house not five minutes after.

That night, when Tim crawls into bed, long after tucking me in, I don’t feel heat crawling through my body as he pulls me close. Instead, a numbing cold fills me to my fingertips.

T
im

“Is Ruby alright?”

I look over to where Ruby is curled up on the couch, her eyes staring blankly at the screen of the TV. She hasn’t been all right since dinner last night, and I don’t think it has anything to do with feeling sick. She seemed distant last night and has barely said a word this morning. Something’s definitely up.

“She’s okay, Mom.”

“Maybe I should come by and check on her.” My mother is nothing if not persistent, but I don’t want her over right now. I plan to get some answers out of Ruby first, and I don’t need my mother’s interference. So I bend the truth so I don’t have to hurt her feelings.

“She’s fine, Mom. Really. She’s already got something planned with Syd and Viv. They should be here shortly. Another day?” I don’t tell her the girls won’t be here until this afternoon, which gives me the rest of the morning to try and get her to open up. Mom only grumbles a little, but promises to call back later in the week.

Setting my phone on the counter, I walk into the living room. Ruby pretends not to see me, but I can tell she does from the slight shift in her shoulders. Almost like she’s steeling herself for what’s coming. I turn the TV off and sit down on the coffee table, right in front of her.

“Alright, Boop. You’ve had the night to stew on whatever it is that’s going on in your mind. Time to talk about it.”

She tries on a look of innocence, but she’s not an actor, and doesn’t quite pull it off. Noticing I’m not fooled, she shrugs her shoulders, dropping her gaze to the ground. Ah. So avoidance is the next move. Well, not if I can help it. Before she can crawl deeper into her shell, I move to sit down beside her, and in one smooth move lift her on my lap.

“Tim,” she protests softly.

“Ruby,” I counter, bending so I can look into her downturned eyes.

“I’m fine,” she says, equally unconvincing.

“But?” I try to prompt her to say more.

“Geeze, you’re pushy! I’m trying to find a way to tell you I want to go home.”

“And why would that be?” I want to know, not quite believing the sincerity in her eyes.

“It’s best.” This time I can hear resolve in her voice. Whatever is going on, she really believes it.

“Ruby,” I coax. “I can guarantee not having you right here is not
best
for me. It’s not even best for you, seeing as you still need help with your arm out of commission. Not to mention the fact, you’re not exactly safe out there by yourself.”

“I’m going to tell Mark I want to talk to his friend. I’ll tell them everything, and then I think it’s best if they take me to a safe house.” I’m too stunned to stop her as she scrambles off my lap and stands in front of me with her arms folded around herself. “I’m sure someone there can help me strap on the sling or do my buttons.”

The thought of some beefed up G-man having his grabby hands anywhere near my Ruby propels me into action. Grabbing Ruby’s good arm, I pull her down and push her back on the couch, rolling on top of her with my elbows braced beside her head and my nose almost touching hers. Those liquid brown eyes of hers are teeming with emotions, but there’s one I focus on.

“Do you love me, Ruby?” Immediately her eyes turn away.

“It’s too soon,” she mumbles.

“Maybe,” I give her. “But even if it’s too soon, I know how I feel. Wasn’t looking for it but here it is: I love you.” I watch as she searches my face with her expressive eyes before closing them, but not before I get a glimpse of the tears gathering.

“I don’t feel the same.” Her voice is hoarse with emotion, and I don’t believe her for a second.

“Liar,” I whisper against her lips. “Something happened last night that’s got you running scared. I see that. But don’t lie about your feelings. I don’t deserve that.”

“No. You deserve so much better.” Her face is completely turned to the side as the pained words leave her lips. My mind is struggling to understand what she’s saying as I try to curb my frustration. With one hand on her cheek, I turn her to face me again.

“What happened, Ruby?”

Her eyes fly open. “You. You deserve better. You should be with someone you can build a future with. A family with.”