Ruby

Trying to make the best of a bad idea—to go Christmas shopping—Margo and I were taking a break in the food court. The place was mobbed. My trolley was filled, and over half of the gifts were for Reggie. She’d given me a list this year, no more money in a card. I assumed her coveted items were things her dad had said no to. The seat next to Margo held her packages for Bobby, Jon, and Jon’s fiancée. She’d brought re-usable bags, of course.

We’d set our trays on the nearest nearly-clean Formica table and sat across from one another. Margo rubbed anti-bacterial gel on her hands, wiped everything down with one napkin, spread another out for a place mat, and set her little boat of chicken nuggets on it. She pulled her own straw in its own little case from her purse, poked it into the drink and took a sip.

I’d already started eating, a dry-as-the-Sahara chicken sandwich made barely edible with three packets of mayo. “Thank the gods you’ve come to your senses, woman, and bless Bobby’s beating heart for helping you see what a mistake it would be to leave that man. Thirty years you’ve invested in that marriage—”

“You think I don’t know that?” She peeled open her container of honey mustard dipping sauce. “Thinking about being lied to for thirty years was what was making me feel like—”

“Tell me. Did he ever ‘lie’ to you about money—tell you he had it when he didn’t? Hide it? Gamble it away? Spend it foolishly?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Did he compliment your cooking and eat up even when it was rubbish? Because, Margo—”

“Shut up. Of course he did, but—”

“Was he there when the kids needed a responsible parent to change a nappy or clean up vomit, while you, with your fucked-up sense of smell, couldn’t get within ten feet—”

“Yes, Ruby. I’m sensing a theme here.”

“And how about when they were into mischief. Was he fair and reasonable with the discipline?”

“Okay, yes. I’ve never denied that he wasn’t a good dad.”

“Technically, that makes him a good partner, too.”

“Yes but—”

“And when you were upset? Confused? Needed a shoulder to cry on? Needed someone to listen to you?”

“You know he’s good at all those things. What does that prove?”

“Okay, I could go on and on about Ron’s virtues, and you would answer me the same way. D’you know how many women have what you have?  The one thing he was dishonest with you about was something he couldn’t help. Because telling you would’ve hurt you. In my mind that makes him a flawed human with good intentions, not a wanker who needs to be tossed to the curb—”

“So, great. Ron is a peach, and everyone knows it.”

“And you. You need to let go. You can always divorce the man next year if you want, or if he cocks up again, can’t you?”

We ate in silence for a bit, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. I was often worrying about that, face it.

“Speaking of letting go,” Margo said, “can I approach a delicate subject without getting my head bit off?”

“It’s Christmas. I’m not gonna—” Some nutter was eyeing the packages in my trolley. “Hey! You. Sod off. That’s not yours. What are you, daft?”

Margo was laughing. “I thought it was Christmas.” She’d finished her nuggets and was wiping her hands with a wet wipe she’d brought with her. She handed me one. The woman thought of everything.

“Yeah, well that wanker needs to keep to himself. Those trainers cost a bomb. What were you goin’ on about before?”

“Letting go.”

“Yeah, that. What about it?”

“Ruby, you need to forgive yourself. You know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, so we’re getting serious, are we? Okay, to answer your question, yes. Ever since we got back from Kiawah, I’ve been talkin’ to a therapist. We’re doing ‘grief work’ I’ll have you know. It’s painful as shit.”

“How many times—”

“Four. I see her twice a week. She thinks my little visit to Joe might’ve been one way I was trying to deal with my past—forgive myself, if you will—that it had little to do with Joe. Makes sense.”

“So you like her?” Margo with her hopeful smile.

“No. I hate her guts, but I think it’s helping.”

She touched the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “What’s her take on your decision about Alan?”

“She doesn’t have much to say about that, except that she wants me to keep ‘working on myself’ before I make a move as serious as marriage.”

“Sounds like wise advice.”

“Not sure how Alan’s gonna feel about it.”

“What’s his hurry?”

“Margo, you do know we’ve been ‘dating’ for, umm, five years, now, right?”

“Exactly. That’s why I want to know what his hurry is. So what if you go on dating—for a few more years, as a matter of fact. It’s not like you’re planning a family.”

“And your point?”

“Well, it has occurred to me that he might be rushing things for a less obvious reason. He might need your income to count on before he decides to move and start up his business here. And if you’re married—”

“That’s harsh.” I looked around at all the stressed-out consumers. Frowning and trying to get their ankle-biters to behave. Nobody looked like they were enjoying themselves. This holiday brought out the worst in people. Then I met Margo’s gaze. She was concerned for me.

And now, so was I. “Bloody hell, what if you’re right, Margo? I never asked him if he had his finances in order.”

“And what is it you do for a living? Something about the shoemaker’s kids never having shoes?”

“Piss off, woman.”

She blew me a raspberry then started gathering up the rubbish, shaking her head and muttering her disapproval at the Styrofoam containers, cleaning off and saving the plastic cutlery and straws and tucking them in her bag. Next she’d be hoovering the floor. The food court was thinning out, and we both had a couple more stops to make.

Margo said, “I’m about done. How about you?”

“I am, love. Quite.”

Zan

“I’ve decided to tell Trevor I was raped,” I told my therapist when I called for an appointment. “My friend Olivia thinks I need to do it.” She got me in right away.

“I’m glad to see you,” Mindy said, as she gave me a hug. I have to admit, she looked pleased. “It’s been over a year.” She was flipping through her little pad. “I felt like we had more work to do.”

Could any amount of ‘work’ fix me? Fix childhood sex abuse, fix the trauma of my parents being killed leaving me at twenty in charge of a ten-year-old sister with brain damage? Then all those unhealthy years of promiscuity. Cutting myself. Nothing in there to be proud of, for sure. An affair with a married man—a bit of a pervert himself, if I’m honest—who I later married. Can you fix all that?

One thing nobody knew, including Mindy, was that I’d had a baby. A girl. Never saw her. Gave her up in a private adoption. Had to promise never to contact the adoptive parents. No problem there. I got paid handsomely and spent the next twenty-five years thinking but not thinking about her. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to talk about that—to anyone.

When I had started going to Mindy two years ago, it was to talk about the rape. The court recommended it. There was only so much to say about it—at least that I was willing to say, but lots more stuff came up. Maybe that’s how therapy works, but after some time, I’d pretty much exhausted confessions about my family tragedies and sister guilt. One thing good came of that: Mindy had suggested I try to do something fun with Zoe, something I would enjoy, too, when I saw her. To make it feel less like an obligation. And it had helped, I had to admit. Zoe and I both liked craft fairs. Who knew? Admittedly, she liked the homemade baked goods and fudge more than the unique jewelry or art, but it was win-win.

Then I just drifted away from seeing Mindy. Maybe I thought I was cured. Hah. Maybe I was afraid I’d tell her about the baby. Maybe I was just afraid. But, Olivia was right, I needed backup once I gave into the idea of telling Trevor about the attack. Mindy suggested I could use the session to ‘elicit his support in a safe space.’ Then she asked about how we met and what the early days of our marriage were like. “So I’ll have some context.” One of her favorite words.

“I met him at a fitness center,” I told her, “I was working out. I don’t know what he was doing, aside from looking at me. He asked me to go to coffee and told he was married to a woman who’d ‘let herself go,’ his words. He was … charming, I guess. Made me laugh, anyway, and he persevered through all my reservations. He was relentless. Marriage was a deal breaker for me. I’d had enough sleeping around. If he wanted me, he’d have to marry me. How I had enough chutzpah to bring that off I’ll never know, but it worked.”

“And were you glad?”

“At first, sure. I’d known he traveled for his work, and it sounded glamorous. In fact, he actually lived in fancy hotels all over the freaking world. And now, so did I.”

“Sounds exciting. Was it?”

“No. I guess I’m not much of a traveler. Kept feeling out of place. Especially in countries where I didn’t speak the language. I got tired of shopping—can you imagine—and having lunch by myself. Once I saw that most of the hotels had fitness centers, nice ones, I felt at home, even when it was in another language. Fitness equipment is the same everywhere.”

“So you were more content to travel with your husband?”

“Not really. One time when we were in the states, I missed America. So, there we were in D. C., I wanted to stay.”

“How did you settle in Maryland?”

“This is going to sound nuts.” I smiled, and she nodded. Nuts had to be the standard in her office.  “I overheard someone say that the woman’s lacrosse team in College Park had won something like a dozen national championships. Why that cockamamie reason, I’ll never know, but I wanted to live here. Besides, it wasn’t far from my sister’s residence. I’d begun to feel guilty about going so long without seeing her, even though she hadn’t known who I was for years. Called me ‘mommy’.”

“And Trevor wanted to settle down?”

“No. Not at all. Vagabond life suited him—and paid him well.”

“So, how did you—”

“I used my best sales tactics and persuaded him that we needed a nice place to come back to—a home base with a plan toward retirement and near where there were lots of important people—people he might want to know.”

“And that appealed to him?”

“Apparently. Before I knew it, he had found a gray stone and glass mansion he liked. So he bought it.”

“Did you like it?”

“Not so much, but I liked the lake it sat on, and I felt safe living alone there. Ironic, huh?”

“So he left?”

I nodded. “I stayed to get it furnished so we could move in. Funny thing is, he didn’t make a huge fuss about me not travelling with him. Either my moodiness weighed him down, or, more like it, he might’ve enjoyed the freedom—freedom to fuck around, anyway.”

“And do you think he did that, does that?”

“I did, and I do.”

“And how—”

“Are you seriously going to ask me how I feel about that?”

“I was.”

“I’d be surprised if he didn’t. Fuck around, that is. He’s pretty much a sex addict as far as I can tell.” I’d already told her about Trevor’s … desires.

“That doesn’t tell me how it makes you feel.”

“I don’t think I minded as much as I should’ve. Could be I wanted a break. So, relieved?”

“Well, that’s a feeling,” she said.

“I have them sometimes. Anyway, I found a little gym in town, spent enough time there to learn that I was a better trainer than the trainers were. So, I decided Trevor needed to buy it. Post-coital suggestions often worked well with him.  And he was the one who proposed we make it my business. Probably had no faith it would be a good investment, and he didn’t want a loss in his portfolio. Or he wanted to gloat.”

“But he was wrong about that wasn’t he?” She closed her little pad. My signal to wrap it up.

“He was. With some remodeling, a good marketing plan, and competent staff, I turned it into a success. It made me proud—what I was able to do with that place. That’s a feeling, too, right?”

“It is.”

One thing about therapy, at least for me, is that I’m always left with shit to think about. And, when I opened Fit&Fab Forever, I had wanted—still wanted, who was I kidding—to avoid showing my age. Extreme fitness was one way. Plastic surgery was another. I didn’t admit it to Mindy because she’d want to explore that, but lately I was less motivated to work so hard. Ironically, I looked younger than I was, but I didn’t care much anymore. Trevor did though.

I didn’t need groceries, except pet food, so I stopped at the feed and grain store and accomplished that. A heavily muscled man offered to put the bags in my trunk. He got  a little too close. I could smell his aftershave.  “Can’t have a pretty lady like you hauling heavy bags around, can we?” He said it with a smile. I had a flashback to the last time something like that had happened to me and felt a moment of panic.

The cashier seemed to intuit my discomfort, and sent him on an errand. “Bill, we got this. Carl needs some help at the loading dock.” I didn’t know her name, but she knew me because I was a regular customer. “Let me help you,” she said, and we took the bags to the car. “He means well,” she said, “but he came on a little too strong, I think. Do you want me to tell the manager?” I just shook my head dumbly, got in the car and left.

“When you try so hard to look good,” I said aloud in the car, “what do you expect?” And then I remembered Trevor would be home in two days. Home with his appetite. Funny, Margo being all upset about Ron being gay. I wished Trevor was gay. I wished he didn’t come back from wherever he’d been last wanting to get laid two or three times a day, wanting to check me out naked. Make sure I was properly waxed. Smooth as a baby. “Let me look at you,” he’d say. “Turn around.” Pinching my waist to see if there was an ounce of fat there to pinch. Smacking me on the behind. “That’s my girl,” he’d say. Made me sick, but I smiled. His girl.

~~~

Trevor brought me a beautiful gold bracelet with diamonds set in a yin-yang disc. Couldn’t wait for me to open the blue velvet box. It clearly cost a lot of money. “Helping to keep you balanced,” he had said. Was I unbalanced? It was something to consider. In the two days he’d been home he hadn’t seemed to notice anything different about me. Maybe there wasn’t anything different about me, but I felt like there was.

Much of the Christian-centered world paused at this time of year, which meant for the next few days, my husband’s phone calls to business associates went unanswered. Bored, he went out and bought an artificial, fiber optic, pre-lit Christmas tree and got it set up. He got out the box of ornaments and set it near the tree, but I couldn’t muster up the energy or enthusiasm to decorate. The next day he did it, never saying a word. Honestly, I think he preferred it that way. He was the one with the precise placement theory. I could see how proud he was for the way it looked, and I told him it was the best arrangement I’d ever seen. Seemed to make him happy.

All that made me happy, ever, were those three ridiculous dogs. Didn’t have to do a thing to deserve it, but they were always glad to see me. I believed there was nothing I could do to make them not love me, and it was fairly obvious that humans had tougher standards. “What do you think will happen when you tell Trevor about your attack?” Mindy had asked. I wasn’t sure what Trevor would do, to tell the truth. I did know he didn’t have any Great Pyrenees DNA, therefore loyalty and unconditional love were probably out of the equation. But I had gotten to the point where I was willing to let the chips fall where they fell.

Mindy had suggested, naively, I thought, that I might be ‘depriving Trevor of an opportunity to be supportive of me’ with what she had labeled my trauma—the latest one, anyway. I knew better, I did. The odds were not in my favor that Trevor would want an opportunity to put himself out. But I was tired of the suspense. If it was going to come out, it had to be there. I had scheduled a couple’s counseling appointment for December twenty-fourth, her last day in the office for a week, and all I had to do was get him there with a flimsy explanation. “Try your ‘shifting moods due to menopause’,” Mindy recommended.

“Why will he care?” I asked.

“To prepare him for it, help him to recognize the symptoms. Cope with them. He’s organized. Won’t he want to formulate some effective responses to your hormonal outbursts?” She wasn’t a dummy, Mindy wasn’t.

We kept our appointment. I must have over-sold it because Trevor insisted. I think he was looking forward to impressing her with how reasonable he could be. Maybe he was curious about her. Whatever his reason, he had no clue what was in store for him. When he found out, it wasn’t pretty. My gut won.

We had plans to go to dinner after, but that didn’t happen. Neither of us had an appetite. The only question he had for me as we drove home was, “Why did you let the guy get into the house?” I don’t think we slept much that night and stayed about as far apart as you can get. He had lost all interest in sex, in spite of his usual insatiable appetite. It was as if I’d grown horns.

In the morning, we exchanged gifts with all the joy of a wake. I made breakfast, eggs Benedict, his favorite, and we ate in the sunroom. We endured a tension-filled Christmas afternoon by going to a movie. It was fascinating to me how many people went to movies on that day. And they weren’t all Jews. I smiled at that thought—Trevor didn’t even know I was Jewish. What did he know about me anyway? Besides the thing he couldn’t handle.

Someone else had stuck his dick inside me.

Was it really rape? What if I’d asked for it? What if I liked it? I knew he was asking himself those questions. He was repulsed by me. It was reflected in his expression, which I saw mostly from the side view, his clenched jaw, because he avoided even looking at me. He moved his flight up to an early one the next morning and left in the pre-dawn hours. Car service to the rescue. And he was gone.

December 26^th, I stayed in bed and cried, even though I wasn’t sure why. Sixteen years. I had no idea what marriage was supposed to be about, but I was pretty sure mine never hit the mark. He could be sweet, and certainly generous, especially in public or in front of his business associates, but his largess was based on whether it made him look good. Whenever we were out with people, he made it a point to show them the latest piece of jewelry he bought for me. I would stand like a manikin while he posed me. I knew he wanted wives of his associates to envy me. If only they knew.

What I looked like mattered to him. He had always gotten me onto the scales as soon as he got home to see if I had gained even a pound, and if so, he admonished me to fast for a few days. “You can’t afford carbs, Zan, not as you get older.” My happiness never came up. But, was that fair? I’d never told him what made me happy, since the only thing that pleased me was my goofy dogs. As if on cue, Aramis lifted his head, yawned, thumped his tail and laid his huge head down with a sigh. See? I thought. He made me smile.

So, it was me and the Three Musketeers. If Trevor never came back, what would we do? I was torn between hoping he was gone forever and being terrified of it. Was I sad? I couldn’t tell. Hell of a thing, not to even know what you feel. I thought about Mindy asking me how something made me feel, and then I saw that I had a text message from her: Call me. After all, she had witnessed Trevor’s reaction. It was anything but supportive.

That evening, ignoring her text, I went looking through the medicine cabinet, knowing Trevor had some Ambien. He had forgotten to take his new prescription with him. I took one. With a good night’s sleep I’d be able to make sense of what had happened. The dogs were allowed back in the bedroom and were ecstatic. We all slept, but I woke up crying a few hours later. Another of my famous nightmares. This time, as was often the case, I was a little girl. There was a young woman holding my hand as we leaped into the dark from a ledge. I got up, peed, went back to bed, and slept without dreaming.

I wandered around the next morning fuzzy-headed. The weather was miserable, so no hope of going for a run with the dogs. Even they went out and did their business fast. It occurred to me that I hadn’t checked the mailbox in several days. No doubt Trevor had forgotten about it, so I put on my boots and walked out to the road. There was a bunch of Christmas cards from Trevor’s clients. Black Friday sales flyers.

There was one fat letter. Addressed to me. Beautiful script writing. Oddly, it looked a lot like mine used to. I stood and stared at the intricate handwriting. Return address Arizona. I didn’t know anyone in Arizona. I barely felt the freezing rain penetrating my pajama top. A dog barked, so I looked back at the house. All three of them were watching me through the front door’s side panels. I went in and threw away all the mail except the letter. Then I toasted myself a bagel, sat on the bar stool at the kitchen center island, and read the letter.

Ruby

There we were, Margo and me, yammering on about Olivia, neither of us knowing an effing thing. Me, stuffing my face with mediocre fish and chips. Had to ask for malt vinegar. Got a blank look. Margo and I were speculating at what Olivia might’ve faced when she got back home. Asking questions in the wind. Had her sister gone to rehab again? Were the kids upset? Was her sister in real trouble this time? What would that mean to Olivia and those kids? Daft.

Feeling like a shit mate, I woke up with her on my mind and kept thinking about her through the morning. Knew I needed to go to the source. When I finally got a break, I rang her up.

“Ruby, it is you. How nice to hear from you.” She sounded like I was throwin’ her a life raft. But she also sounded all stuffed up, like she had been crying or was coming down with something. I told her about my dinner with Margo and how concerned we were about her.

“Ruby, this is kind of you. Of both of you. I am touched.” She blew her nose.

“Pet, if I’d fancied it would make you cry—”

“It is not you,” she said. “I have news. Have you spoken to Zan?”

“No, dear, why?”

“I talked with her this morning and told her—my sister was arrested.”

“Blimey. How bad is it?

“Bad. It is bad. She will spend a year, up to three years, in prison, and I filed an emergency protection order for Matias and Mariella to keep them from being—”

“Wait, wait, what do you mean ‘protection order’? You’re not the guardian of those kids? Not even Power of Attorney? All you’ve been through with your sister? All those times they lived with you and your grandmother?”

“I have not done any of those things.” My abuela was against it. And, Izzy’s been very good lately. When she was not doing so well, I never wanted to offend my sister or make her angry. I was afraid—”

“That she would stop you from seeing the kids?”

“Yes, I suppose that was my deepest fear. She can be cruel, Ruby—”

I could hear her trying to catch her breath. Must’ve been anxious off the charts.

“And they mean so much to me—”

“Of course they do, pet. I know that.”

“But I am not always sure, since my abuela is gone, that I know what is best—”

“Olivia, you know better than anyone what’s best for those kids and you know, too, that your grandmother had a different relationship with your sister than you do. You have to trust your gut. It knows.”

“Thank you, Ruby.” She took a breath, sounded clearer. “Your confidence in me is helpful.”

“You’re welcome. And I mean what I’m saying, you hear me? Now what else?”

“Nothing else. Now I must wait for three weeks until the hearing.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

“No, Ruby, I can’t—well, I will possibly need your advice about my niece and nephew’s financial futures, if you are agreeable.”

“Of course. You have money to invest?”

“Oh, Ruby, it is complicated. I have my abuela’s inheritance. She was frugal and wise and left a substantial amount. I simply deposited it into a savings account. It has been impossible for me to decide what to do with this money, as I was feeling lost without her guidance.”

“I understand. Doesn’t sound hard to get sorted.”

“But there is more: she left nothing to my sister, and that caused me guilt. I gave some money to Isabella, believing it was the thing to do. But I can now see that was a mistake. I might have been responsible for—”

“Wait, wait. What a lot of bollocks. Surely you’re not claiming to be responsible for your sister’s relapse? And her arrest?”

“Not responsible, but possibly I enabled her.”

“No effing way. Your sister has always been a few sandwiches short of a picnic, hasn’t she? And you’ve had those kids to consider. I’m betting you’ve spent plenty taking care of them, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but they needed things. I could see that. Now that they are with me, and if I can secure that, I believe that helping them to have an education and a chance for a good life will be the right thing to do.”

“Listen, love, think about this: your ability to be a part of those children’s lives could’ve been balls up by an addict’s whims. If she hadn’t been arrested, she could’ve decided to take them and move to Timbuktu, couldn’t she? And you would’ve had no legal recourse.”

“I suppose you are right.”

“Of course I’m right. Look, I’m no lawyer, but if your sister is headed to prison—even if not—you have to get custody. Look at this as your wake-up call. Let’s get that done before you start making arrangements to send them to college. Horse before cart, right? Do you see what I mean?”

“I do. You have reminded me that I have been too trusting.”

“I love that about you, sweet woman. Don’t ever stop. Now, it seems like it’s time to talk to Matias and … what’s your niece’s name?”

“Mariella.”

“Right. The two M’s. Should’ve remembered. Still knackered from lack of sleep. First things first, okay? Then I’d fancy a chat with you about trusts and college funds and all that lot after this calamity is over. You good?”

“I am, Ruby. I have planned to speak with them this evening. It will be difficult. I have to tell them their mother is in jail. We will have much to discuss.”

“Yes, you will. And you’ll handle it with your usual grace, dearie.” I could see that one of my long-time clients was checking in with the receptionist and she was frowning and clutching her purse to her chest. Not a good sign. I started pulling up her account while I wrapped up my conversation with Olivia.

“How’s everything else, Livvy? You asserting yourself any better at work?”

“I asked Mr. Drakos for some assistance with an attorney, and he was eager to help.”

“So proud of you. Next you’ll be taking an actual vacation.”

“You sound like my assistant.”

“Ah, there’s another voice of reason being a nudge, is there? Just so you know, pet, Mr. Drakos helps you like he does not only because he’s a nice man, which he may well be, but also—are you ready for this? He needs you. You’re important to him. Essential even. Do you hear me? We worker bees? We’re runnin’ things, not the bosses. Don’t forget it. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, yes, I am, but also I can hear that you are busy, my dear friend. You, too, are needed. I will advise you when this matter is resolved, I promise.”

“You better. And think about what I said.”

“I will. Thank you again.”

“Ta.”

Later in the day, I thought about our chat, Olivia and me. Didn’t seem like my bloody problem with Alan was all that pressing. Blimey, she was dealing with real problems—sister in jail, no less, about to adopt a couple of teenagers. Who would invite that? And there I was, all sixes and sevens over whether to get married or not. Although, when I put it that way, it was a bit of a big deal, wasn’t it?

Olivia

Cafecito was a Cuban restaurant that Abuela had introduced us to. She had been adventurous—finding delicious food as well as kind and talented people who would speak with her in Spanish all over our Pilsen neighborhood. Our waiter greeted us warmly and said how sorry he was that Abuela was not with us. He offered menus, but we did not need them. Matias was especially fond of their ropa vieja, and Mariella never failed to order picadillo, even though her brother had become an expert with this dish. I liked the manner in which this restaurant prepared rice and beans, and we ordered tostones to share, something I seldom make.

After we had ordered, I began, “While we wait for our food, there is something I must tell you. Something upsetting.”

“Is it about Mom?” Mariella asked.

“Yes, mi amor, it is about your mother.”

“Does it involve that man who came to the house?” Matias wanted to know.

“Yes, he is involved as well.”

“What man?” Mariella asked.

Matias ignored her and said, “He was a cop, wasn’t he, Aunt Olivia?”

“He was—is—a police officer, and his news was not good.”

I told them about their mother’s arrest, and Mariella stared with her hand over her mouth as I spoke. Matias, frowning with concern, put his arm around her shoulders, and they waited for my news.

“Have you seen her?” Mariella asked.

“I have not. She did not ask for me.” I handed Mariella a tissue. “But, Mr. Rivers—the officer who came to our home last night—assured me that she was safe. She will be uncomfortable without her drugs right now, and possibly under medical care. I do not wish to see her.”

In their eyes I could see understanding. It must have been true that they had felt this way many times.

“So, we don’t have to go see her either?” Mariella again.

“Not yet, no.”

“But if we want to, can we?” Matias asked.

“Not just yet, but at some point, yes, of course you may.”

“I don’t want to,” Mariella said, and Matias looked sharply at her. “We can stay with you like always, can’t we?” she asked.

“I have petitioned the court for an emergency protection order which will allow you to stay with me. Social Services will be in our lives, but they will not be removing you from our home.”

“Was that a possibility?” Matias asked.

“Yes, dear, I suppose it was. Minor children of parents arrested by police are usually taken by Family Services for their own safety, but the officer advised me to file this morning before they knew of your situation.”

“But it’s temporary?” Matias asked.

“Yes, it is, and that is something I want to talk with you about.”

Our fried plantains were served at that time, and we waited silently for the warm plates to be set in front of us. Their faces reflected doubt and fear. Mariella was chewing on her bottom lip as I had seen her do, and Matias was twisting his napkin. My sister’s actions had caused these children so much distress.

“What are you going to do, Aunt Olivia?” Matias asked.

“I am going to eat some of this delicious food first, and then I am going to ask you to help me make a decision.”

We all enjoyed some of the plantains. I remembered Abuela’s as being better and felt her presence. When there were but a few left, I did not want to enhance the suspense, so I put down my fork and said, “As you know, I am your aunt by birth, but I have no legal position in your lives. I can make no decisions about your future nor even your everyday welfare. That is an uncomfortable position for me—to have no rights, especially now.”

I took a sip of my wine. “It is my most sincere hope that you are able to visit your mother as often as you like, that her sentence is not too long, and that when she is free again, she will make good choices for her life. I know you both love your mother—”

“But we love you, too, Aunt Olivia,” Mariella said.

“Of course, my darling. I know that. But your mother will always be your mother. I have no wish to interfere with that. However, I have a proposal you must decide upon.” As they stared at me waiting, my stomach was in a turmoil. What would their reaction be? I took another sip of the red wine and remembered Zan holding up her pitcher of Sangria asking who wanted more. Just days ago, it seemed like months. “I can file to be your legal guardian. Permanently. This is only so that I will be able to provide for your future without fear of her … interference.”

They were both watching me with silent concentration. Matias had flattened his napkin. I pressed ahead. “Abuela wanted you both to go to college if that was your wish, and she left some money to ensure that would happen. She left me in charge of that.”

They looked at one another and seemed to agree on something without words spoken. Then Matias said, “Aunt Olivia, we were afraid you were going to say something else. We want to live with you. Not because of Abuela’s money and not just now when Mom’s in jail—always. We do love her, but she’s…” He looked at Mariella.

She spoke up. “Well, for one thing, she doesn’t listen. She’s … somewhere else. Maybe it’s sadness, or that she wants to be … not where she is—”

Matias interrupted. “And she’s not like an adult, especially when she’s drinking—or high. Sometimes she asks us what she should do. As if she’s the kid and we’re the parents. Whatever you need to do so you can be our legal guardian, do it, please.”

Mariella nodded, her eyes wide. “Yes please,” she said. “I mean, if you want to.”

“Of course I want to. But I also need to be sure that you understand: you might have to appear before a judge to testify that what you have said to me is your truth. If I become your legal guardian, it will be until you are eighteen. I will be in charge of you until then. For you, Matias, that is only two years. But for you, Mariella, well, your mother will no doubt be out of prison before you are of legal age, and even if she is, I will be—”

“Aunt Olivia, please don’t worry. Whatever happens, we’ll be fine,” Mariella said. She looked to her brother.

“It’s true. As long as we’re with you, that is,” Matias said.

“But Matias, there is one thing I must tell you.” He looked frightened. “It is not bad, but it is important.”

“What is it?”

“You have taken on too much responsibility, and it is weighing you down. You are a mirror for me, as well. I am watching myself in you. You have lost your childhood to this illness of your mother’s and I want you to have more fun in your life and not so much work, to spend your final two years of high school being not only a student, but also possibly an athlete on a team, or a member of a club—something like that. Something for enjoyment. Do you think you could do that? For me?”

Our meals were delivered then, and when the server retreated, Mariella said, “Let’s say grace.” We held hands. “Thank you dear Lord for this food and for our Aunt Olivia who wants to take care of us and wants Matias to lighten up, which I totally agree with, by the way.” She looked up and grinned at me. “and who wants to be our guardian, not just for this crisis with our mom, but for all time. Amen.”

“Amen,” Matias said.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and said a silent prayer of my own. We ate then, and all three of us were lost in our own thoughts. I had no regret, but I remained fearful that Isabella would be angry—at me, surely, but with her children as well. That would break my heart.

As for the two of them, I assumed they were thinking about their mother. But it was Matias who asked, “Hey, Mare, whatever happened with your friend Julie?” Then we received the latest news about Mariella’s friend with the faithless boyfriend. Matias teased his sister with a gentleness that warmed my heart.

Margo

Bobby’s graduation went the way most do—long. It was saved by the weather. If it doesn’t rain, and it didn’t, you can’t beat Miami in December. Especially at 10:00 a.m. We went to brunch with two of our son’s friends and their parents—a buffet with enough food to save a small country from starvation, were we able to get it to them. I settled on eggs benedict, since I definitely never made that at home. As usual, what Ron got looked better, and I found myself stealing some of his stuffed French toast. The syrup was even warmed.

One of the boys, Patrick, was openly gay. He was funny and sweet, and his parents were crazy about him. He was quite thin and his mother kept piling food on his plate, especially bacon. He kept swearing he was a vegan, but she would hear none of that. He just smiled at her and rolled his eyes and slipped the bacon to his father.

Bobby’s other friend, Malcolm, brought his girlfriend, Mariah, who had another year to go before she graduated with a degree in physics. She started with dessert, several kinds, and she fed bites of her cheesecake dribbled with raspberry sauce to Malcolm. He looked like he’d won the lottery. She chatted with me about hair, of course, once she found out what I did. I vetoed her idea of a perm, something I was sure would be a terrible mistake with her thick hair.

I wondered where her parents were, and quietly shared my concern with Ron during one of her trips to the buffet line for more baklava, her favorite. He adamantly encouraged me to stifle my curiosity, so I reluctantly refrained. “What if they’re dead?” He whispered to me. Something I hadn’t thought of. I did ask her what she would do with a degree in physics, and she said, “A lot.” I was glad she didn’t elaborate, since I barely knew what physics was. Besides, some nice waiter kept refilling my champagne glass, and I wasn’t tracking well by then. By the time we finished eating, Mariah had invited all of us to her graduation. It was a fun day, and we all lied and promised we’d stay in touch.

After brunch, Bobby had plans with his friends, which was to be expected, so having a talk with him didn’t happen—in fact it didn’t happen the next day either. Even though he lived in the dorm on campus in the same city we lived in, we hadn’t see much of him. His part-time job selling smart phones and tablets and other gadgets I didn’t understand kept him busy on weekends, and even busier for the holiday rush, as it was now. In spite of his busy schedule, I was determined to talk to him, and I got him to make a commitment to skip eating in the mall one night and have dinner with us.

“No problem,” he said. “I’m always available for home cooking, as long as dad makes it.”

Ron made slow baked salmon, rice pilaf, and asparagus, some of Bobby’s favorites.  When we finished dinner, I nudged my husband under the table. We had agreed, albeit reluctantly for him, that this was the moment.

“Listen, Bobby, your mom and I … well actually I … need to talk to you about something that might … well, not be pleasant or what you want to—“

“Are you two getting divorced?”

It was a question I hadn’t resolved for myself, until that moment. “No. What? No. Why did you think—”

“Okay, here’s the deal: if you haven’t lost your jobs, you’re not getting divorced, and neither one of you has stage two, three, or four cancer, I don’t want to have this discussion. In fact, I’m sure I don’t. If you guys are okay, I’m okay. Can we go with that?”

The two of us sat there stunned—and grateful, I suppose. What to make of that? He knew all along? He suspected? He found out at some point and decided to stay quiet? In the end, I wondered why any of those questions mattered, I wasn’t willing to pursue it further, and the expression on Ron’s face reflected the same.

But he had more. “I’m going to ask you to not tell Jon what you’re going to not tell me. Okay?”

We both nodded dumbly.

“I’m glad.” He paused, thinking. “Jon—well, he’s not me, as you know. We both love you; hopefully you know that, and we love Christmas with you. I’m selfish enough to not want that spoiled any more than it has to be by adding his fiancée. Okay?”

We looked at each other with something like incredulity combined with admiration. What a kid.

Ron cleared his throat and said, “Okay, Bobby, so it’s settled. You don’t want to know we’re buying a fake tree this year.”

How could I divorce a man like that?