Chapters 2 & 3

Margo

So stupid of me. Why did I call Ruby and try to back out? I was probably hoping she’d ask me what had happened. Hoping she’d be concerned enough. Fat chance. Not when she had her boss hat on. And not that I’d have told her. I wasn’t about to talk about my husband’s reveal, not on the phone anyway, and there was nothing I could do to make it magically go away if I cancelled on the girls and stayed home.

Girls. What a laugh. Nearly fifty, all of us. Well, Zan was actually turning fifty on Sunday when we were together, but look at her. Fitness queen of Maryland, if there was such a thing. Managing all those centers—the face of them, in fact.

What a life Zan had. Beautiful mansion on a lake, great job, handsome and successful husband who adored her. Even though he wasn’t home much. Hardly at all, it seemed. In thinking about recent developments, I decided it would be a cushy life to have a husband in absentia.

Actually, at this point I was so mad I wouldn’t have minded if my dearly beloved died. Okay, so not actually died, dead, because the boys would hate that. Ron always was—still is—a wonderful father, I had to admit, and a father by choice. We’d both been desperate to adopt those kids—Jon a toddler and Bobby just a baby—when we became their foster parents all those years ago. Took Jon a month to talk, he was so frightened. And then it was Ron who finally managed to get a smile. They are hardly kids any longer. Don’t they deserve to know the truth?

Not to hear Ron tell it. “Can’t we wait?” He asked.

“You can’t be serious. They’ll be home for Christmas. Bobby’s graduating, and Jon’s bringing his fiancée, to meet us. His from-a-good-Christian-home fiancée. Remember?”

“Let’s wait.” He repeated.

Wait for what? There’s no delete button for this mess. If only I could go back and not answer Ron’s phone. Just let it ring, dummy.

Vince, his name was. Came up that way on the caller I.D. Wanted to speak to Ron. Sure, just a minute, I said. Walked out to the pool area, handed the phone to the grill master. He was burning hamburgers.

“Thanks, Babe,” Ron said as he took the phone. “Hello?” Then that look. I’d never seen my husband look so terrified before. I thought he’d faint. I was ready to catch him. “I’ll have to call you back,” he said.

I couldn’t let it go, of course, and the rest was a nightmare of epic proportions. We must have talked well into the next morning. I screamed and cried. He apologized—he didn’t mean for it to happen. He never meant to hurt me—which made me madder. I asked for details, and then wished I hadn’t. At one point I threw up.

Thank God, I didn’t have to go in on Monday, the salon being closed. Ron did go to work, which gave me some hours to sleep as well as some time to think, for all the good that did. Too exhausted to answer more of my questions when he got home, even though I had some, Ron slept in the guest room on the fold-out sofa. “At least I came home,” he said, as he closed the door.

Genius that I am, I decided I wouldn’t go on the trip, I’d stay home, deal with this. That’s what I’d do. As if that would change anything.

On Tuesday I was preoccupied and couldn’t afford to be. If I messed up with one of my wealthy clients, she’d find another stylist in a South Beach minute and would badmouth me to the heavens and beyond. Besides, I needed my job because I was probably getting a divorce. How could I not?

But canceling the trip was the worst idea I’d ever had. Thank God Ruby didn’t take my feet-dragging seriously. When she said, ‘Fuck Ron,’ well, I wanted to invite her to give it a shot. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. I hope the girls—one of them at least—will help me figure it out. Olivia possibly. She’s always been our voice of reason.

Olivia

Mio Dios, Abuela would say. I was excited to be getting away with my friends. It had been so long. Those girlfriends were like sisters to me. I felt closer to them than to my own sister. And to think I nearly did not allow myself to go. Because of all that happened—so many things.

I was needed at work, as always, and it was I who had the hardest time finding a date the four of us could agree on. When the girls were free, I had a conflict. It was frustrating for poor Ruby, I am sure. At last, we all agreed on the weekend of December eighth—Zan’s birthday. I quickly made my flight reservations. It was done. Nothing would interfere.

Many years ago when I left Miami to work for Mr. Drakos in Chicago, I never dreamed the company would grow so large. My job as administrative assistant eventually became the director of human resources of Drakos Industries. Each year we grew, and each year more was demanded of me.

My assistant Matthew had reminded me that I had not taken a vacation last summer. He claimed to be concerned for my health. Like a mother hen, he was. Arranging for this time off, even though it was but two work days, made him smile. As he processed the paperwork, he said, “At least it’s a small step in the right direction.”

So there I was deciding what to pack when my little sister relapsed—again. Isabella had been doing so well, going to her N.A. meetings, and speaking often with her sponsor. Only days before, she and her children Matias and Mariella had Thanksgiving dinner with me, and I saw how happy she seemed. She even helped me in the kitchen, something she rarely did. I should have paid more attention to my nephew’s wary demeanor. He knew his mother so well.

Two days after that dinner, on the Saturday afternoon just one week before I was to leave, Matias called. He was calm as he told me what was happening, but I could hear the fear in his voice. I insisted he and his sister gather their belongings and come right away.

This was the first time since their great grandmother left us that they would be living here with me. When they were small, my abuela had been their caregiver. In our home, as they grew, they always had rooms of their own. She provided daycare and then after school care, and they stayed with us when Isabella was not capable of being a good parent. She raised them more than Isabella did. My role was minor then, but with Abuela gone, I would be on my own.

When they arrived, I saw that Mariella had been crying. She allowed me to hold her, while Matias appeared as a stone. As they unpacked their belongings upstairs, I overheard my nephew instructing his sister in an authoritarian manner. “I’m not a baby, Matias,” she said.

I fixed us some food, and we sat in grim silence at the kitchen table. My conflict was great at that time, and I thought about cancelling, but they begged me not to change my plans. “Aunt Olivia, we’re old enough to be on our own.” Matias assured me.

“It’s not like we have that much adult supervision, anyway,” Mariella said. I hated knowing this was probably true. But they could see my reluctance to leave them, so later Mariella phoned Mrs. Baumgarten, our neighbor, to ask if she was available to keep them company while I was gone.

Mariella handed me her phone so I could hear Mrs. B’s answer: “Olivia, my sons have long since married and moved away, I rarely see them anymore. Besides, your grandmother and I were good friends, and I’ve known those kids since they were little. It will be my pleasure to have young company for a few days. I’ll teach them mahjong.”

I was not convinced, but the next week they got up and went off to school every morning, and I could see that they had done this on their own many times. At work I told Matthew about it, and he was cavalier about their situation. “At sixteen and thirteen, they know the drill by now. I know we did. My older sister ran roughshod over us. Sadly, issues of absentee parents didn’t originate with your two, and it won’t end with them.”

“It makes me happy to have them there with me, and sad that they have to be. I think that makes me loco.”

“It makes you normal, boss. A little on the obsessive side, but we both knew that already.” Ruby would have called him cheeky.

With Mrs. B’s willingness to stay with them, I decided I would not deprive myself, nor would I disappoint my friends. I was determined to set all my worries aside, go on my trip, and enjoy myself.

People I had told about our lengthy friendship were amazed that I would remain close with my three school friends since our first year of high school. We were totally different in personality, but there was much love between us, and laughter. We always had many things to talk about, as well. Even if years passed, when we re-united it felt as if it was just yesterday.

It was Ruby who did not let us drift apart. All of our retreats had been organized by her. “I work with blokes all day every day,” she said. I believed she meant men, and this was why she claimed to need her women friends—“the ones who knew me when I was likable,” so she said. It had been five years since we were able to spend a long weekend with one another. That time we had met in New Orleans, and this time we were going to South Carolina. I was sure the home she picked would be lovely.

It was growing quite cold now in Chicago, and on the beach in South Carolina it would be warm enough to walk barefoot. It is something I missed—the Atlantic Ocean.

Zan’s flight from Maryland was scheduled to land shortly before mine in Charleston, so we arranged to drive to Kiawah island together. It was to take us around a half hour. Perhaps, in that time, I would ask her about that bad thing that happened to her some time ago, almost two years, I think. It was something I had not forgotten about.

She never answered me several times when I asked, except to make light of it and say it was not important. I could not imagine being robbed being of no consequence. Anyone would be alarmed by that, and I wondered if she had needed more help than she received—especially from her husband. He had not even bothered himself to come home from his travels when it happened.

Even though she told me that she had not been concerned, she had bought three dogs. That did not feel like the actions of a person who was not concerned.

Ruby

There I was, key in the door, knackered from a dog-eat-dog day at work with people I didn’t like, frustrated with Miami traffic, desperate to take my bra off and have an adult beverage, when my purse rang me up. It was Mum, calling from London, where she had raised me until I reached adolescence and we moved across the pond. Eventually my family went back to London. There’s a story behind that, but I sure as hell didn’t want to think about it. Ever.

When I saw the call was her, I considered not answering, analyzing my energy level and comparing it to what I knew it would take. In the end, guilt won. I was worried. What if something had happened to my father? “Hiya, Mum, how’s dad?”

While it was true that we could no longer chat about anything meaningful—either to her or to me, Dad couldn’t talk to me at all—not without crying, things being what they were. So Mum and I made small talk, something I’d rather gouge my eyes out than to do, but I couldn’t seem to find a way to wrap up another awkward half hour with the woman who gave birth to me. Which made me feel shitty. But when she started in on how sad she was about my long-dead marriage to her favorite son-in-law, I left off with the guilt and pretended I had another call.

When I pressed the end call button, I didn’t know whether to cry or curse, so I did both. And then I made a drink, got comfortable, and called my mate, Margo. “What do you think about a girl’s holiday with the Quartet?”

“What happened?”

“Why do you think something happened? It’s fucking August in Miami. It’s hot. We haven’t seen the other two for—what is it now—five years? Six? Near about that. Our forty-fifth. In New Orleans.” I paused for a beat. “And, my mum just called.”

“Ahh. There it is. Your dad okay?” Even Margo worried about him, poor dear.

“Yes.”

“Well, sure then. I’m up for a getaway with our girlfriends. Start the process.”

“Why does it always have to be me?”

“Because it does.”

~~~

World leaders can come together easier than the four of us. Seventy-four bloody emails, and at least a hundred texts later, the four of us had a date: the first week of December. Conveniently, Zan, coming from Maryland, would celebrate her fiftieth birthday then. She was the first of us. I was next in April, Margo in July, and Olivia September–next year. Looking for positives, at least the dates we picked had a few things going for it: Thanksgiving would be over, Christmas still a few weeks away, and the weather. It would be cold most places but not so much on the beach in South Carolina. We would talk most of the time anyway. “Besides,” Olivia said, “no matter where we stay, it is sure to be warmer than Chicago.”

I had my eye on Kiawah Island, and when I found us a grand four-bedroom home with the beach at our front door, it felt like a sign. Not only that, but some poor tosser had cancelled the day before I got through to the realtor. I gave her my credit card information and forwarded the “Beach Escape” address to the other three. It was all sorted. I thought so, anyway. But the gods weren’t done fuckin’ with me, were they? No, they weren’t.

First, three weeks before we were to go, Zan rang me. “Ruby, I’m sorry, but my pet sitter backed out. She’ll be out of town on those dates. I can’t leave these brutes with just anyone.”

“Work on it, please, love. Find someone else. You have time. We can’t do it without the birthday girl, can we? I won’t cancel yet.” I didn’t tell her, but if I had to cancel then, I forfeited my deposit.

I stalled before ringing up Margo and Olivia, fingers crossed that Zan would come through. Because if all of us weren’t there, it wouldn’t be the same.

And then sure enough, there was Zan with good news. “My regular sitter felt so bad she found someone—a vet tech, no less. I met her, and so did the boys.  It looks good. But, listen, Ruby—”

“Yes?”

“No announcing my age to strangers. Got it?”

Got it. We were on again.

Then just days after that, Olivia had a family emergency. It seemed her sister’s two kids had moved into Olivia’s home, which sounded bad, I’ll admit. But two days later she’d sorted it by getting her neighbor to stay with them. “Lo siento, Ruby. I am so sorry to have been bothering you with this,” Olivia said. “Not to worry, Chica. I will be there.” Olivia was Cuban-American, born and raised in Miami. She’d moved to Chicago about twenty years ago for a job, and her Papi and Abuela had moved north with her.

Olivia’s grandmother, her abuela, had never spoken more than a few words of English, which made her fit right in with much of the population in Miami. Apparently, after they moved, she’d managed just fine in Chicago, too, until her death just a couple of years ago. Olivia’s accent had softened a lot since we first met, but there was no mistaking her for a gringo.

The last thing I needed was a frantic call from Margo, just a few miles from me. She was all a-dither, which isn’t at all like her. “I’m not sure I should go right now, Ruby,” she whined, also strange for her. Margo isn’t a whiner.

“Margo, what are you going on about? You work hard. You deserve this and you know it.” I’m not above sycophantic flattery to get my way, needless to say.

“Well, I know, but—”

“Margo, love,”—I was trying not to go off the rails on her—”Olivia solved her family emergency, and Zan—her with those giant dogs, big as ponies, aren’t they? She’s sorted. You have to come.” All in my calmest voice.

“I’m worried about taking off right now. Ron’s going through a mid-life crisis. And there’s work—”

I’d had it then. “Fuck work, Margo. Don’t be daft. All those posh women needing highlights or low lights or whatever, they’ll be there when you get back. And they’ll still have hair. Fuck ‘em. And fuck Ron and his crisis. We’re talking about four days. Nothing can be so important you can’t take four days off to spend with your life-long mates. I’ve made non-refundable reservations. Think of it as my bachelorette party.”

“I thought it was for Zan’s birthday. And you. Don’t use that ploy. You haven’t even set a date yet.”

“But I’m meant to.” My fingers were crossed behind my back, as if Margo could see me. “We have the two things to celebrate. I can’t get my money back at this late date. Are you going to be the only one—”

“Okay, never mind.” I could hear her sigh. “I’ll come, okay? I’m coming, I promise. It was a moment of panic, that’s all. Something happened—it’s okay now. I’ll be there. Give me the information again.”

“For the third time, you mean? What do you do with your text messages, anyway?”

“The dog eats them?”

“You don’t have a dog, you wanker.”

“How do you know? I could have a dog. You haven’t been to my house in—”

“Margo—”

“Okay, okay. I deleted them. Happy? Just email me. I’ll print it out, again.”

“Can you not just save it on your phone?”

“Let me print it out. I have a folder. I never lose paper.”

Who was I to argue with that?

Of all the people who should be having trouble getting away, it was me. I was meant to be planning a wedding. Well, not exactly a wedding, but picking a date, choosing a venue, and gathering the nerve to get married again. Botched the first one up something fierce, didn’t I? Not keen on doing that again. Worked with blokes all day long, not many of them nice. Gave me little confidence that their gender had anything to do with evolutionary progress.

But then Alan, who all along had been content with our arrangement—the one that included lots of shagging—he had been making noises lately that we’d been dating long enough. He wanted a commitment. The shagging was quite nice, actually, and I’d been putting him off, promising we’d talk about it when my daughter became an adult, which had happened. So what was I dragging my feet about?

Eighteen-year-old Regina—she wanted to be called Reggie now—didn’t actually live at home, anyway, did she? Hadn’t done in at least five years. She visited her bedroom when she and her dad had an argument, but she spent more time with him and his second family than she has ever done with me.

“It’s not about you, Mum,” Reggie said. But we both knew it was.

I had a fierce temper. And moods. I was pretty sure her dad’s brilliant new wife wasn’t moody. Didn’t get plastered either. Cooked healthy meals. And kept a clean house. In other words, the opposite of me.

Unbeknownst to my girlfriends, I’d picked Kiawah for a reason, although no one even asked, which disappointed me a pinch, I’ll admit. Google said Joe was still living in Charleston. Yes, Joe. I know, I was supposed to be making a commitment, but first, something needed sorting.