Island Girl (4 page)

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Authors: Lynda Simmons

BOOK: Island Girl
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“I don’t understand.”
I smiled and ran my thumb across his. “Don’t play dumb, Mark. You know how I feel about this, how I’ve always felt.”
“Ruby, if you expect me to take you out and shoot you—”
“I don’t, so you can relax.” I sighed and took my hand back, knowing I shouldn’t be weak, shouldn’t lean, and more important, I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself. “Just because I don’t want to hang around for the long good-bye doesn’t mean I’d ask you or anyone else to do it for me. I’ll take care of that end of things while I still can.”
“You’re being hasty. You need to explore alternatives. There are new treatments all the time. New drugs, therapies—”
“Nothing permanent, nothing guaranteed to stop the progression. All roads eventually lead to a nursing home, and I’ve styled enough hair in those places to know that I don’t want it and I won’t have it. End of discussion.”
“Ruby, I can’t let you kill yourself.”
“Fortunately, you don’t have a say in this.”
“You’re being selfish.”
“I’m being practical.”
“And what about Grace? Have you thought about her at all?”
I laughed, I couldn’t help it. “All I ever do is think about Grace, you know that.”
“Have you told her you’re sick? Does she know about your plan?”
“I have no intention of telling her about my plan.” I raised the glass, finished the juice, and pushed the empty toward him for a refill. “I’ll tell her about Big Al once I have everything in place. Which is why I’m here. I need you to help me prepare.”
Thankfully, he didn’t argue. Just carried my glass to the bar and opened the bottle. “You’ll need a new will. Power of attorney—”
“Eventually, yes. But first I need Liz to come home. You have to help me find her.”
He started to protest and I held up a hand. “Don’t tell me you don’t know where she is because it wouldn’t make sense, not even to my mind.”
He refilled my glass. “I can’t betray—”
“A confidence? Come on, Mark. Stop thinking like a lawyer and think like a parent instead.” I walked over to the bar, waited until he stopped pouring. “It’s time for Liz grow up and come home, take her proper place in the family again. I don’t expect you to tell me where she is. Just set up a meeting and I’ll take it from there. Can you do that for me?”
He sighed and set the bottle down, slid my glass toward me. “Fine.”
I let my breath out slowly. “I appreciate it, Mark.”
He didn’t answer. Simply walked back to the desk and sat down.
I turned the bottle around, examined the label. Hadn’t I read somewhere that pomegranate juice is good for the brain? I chugged the stuff like water then went back to the desk. Opened my notebook and took a pen from his holder. Wrote
Meet Liz
on the second line.
MEET LIZ
. I wrote again and underlined it. But where? When?
“Tomorrow at Fran’s on College Street. Six o’clock.” I scribbled that too and glanced over at Mark. Saw fear, frustration, everything I felt myself clearly written on that sweet, ravaged face.
“Ruby,” he said softly, “you can’t do this alone.”
I wasn’t ready for the sudden tightness in my throat, the threat of useless tears, the heightened emotions of Alzheimer’s. I picked up my purse. Walked briskly to the door. “Like I said, don’t worry about me. Just make sure Liz is at Fran’s on Wednesday.” I paused with my hand on the knob, but couldn’t risk looking back. “And Mark. Tell her not to be late.”
LIZ
 
So I was standing outside Fran’s, talking to Mark on my cell phone, when the question came to me. Do you have to forgive someone just because they’re sick?
“Your mother’s not just sick,” he said. “She has Alzheimer’s.”
A streetcar arrived at the stop behind me, the driver ringing the bell to summon the last of the rush hour crowd aboard.
Ding, ding.
Next stop, one block west.
Ding, ding
. Come one, come all.
Ding, ding
. Plenty of room in the back.
Ding, ding, ding
.
“Irritating prick,” I muttered, and pressed the phone closer to my ear. “No, not you,” I assured Mark. “But I’m curious. How exactly does Ruby having Alzheimer’s change anything?”
The streetcar moved off and I stepped closer to the glass, watching my mother through the restaurant window. I’m pretty sure Fran’s has been around forever—a landmark for apple pie—and I swear I could smell apples and cinnamon out there on the street while Ruby tossed her jacket into the booth and smiled at the hostess before sliding into her seat.
I hadn’t seen my mother in over two years yet she looked as normal as she ever had: body fit, back rigid, red hair skillfully colored and cut. Nothing about her suggested confusion or anxiety, and I admit I was vaguely disappointed, hoping I’d catch her talking to herself or flirting with the coatrack. Something that would get her carted off to a safe place with coded doors and bath chairs, giving me a good story for the pub.
So my mother went crazy at Fran’s.
“Liz?” Mark said. “Are you still there?”
“Where else would I be?”
“Inside with Ruby, perhaps?”
“Dream on,” I said, paying close attention to the way she opened the menu and studied the pages, biting her lower lip and shaking her head as she moved through the choices. Pretending she was tempted by everything she saw when I knew damn well she was merely avoiding eye contact with me. Trying to make us both believe she had no idea I was standing on the other side of the glass in my orange and white Donut King uniform—complete with flattering hairnet—while Mark pleaded her case and the streetcars rumbled past.
Ding, ding. Ding, ding
. Assholes.
My boss at the Donut King two doors down knew I was there. I was already late for my shift when I’d walked into the place earlier, and I should have ignored the voice in my pocket hollering
Answer your goddamn phone!
The phone was new, an update from Mark, and I’d been playing with it at the pub the night before, snapping pictures and sending them to my buddies at the next table. I took one of the bartender and she said, “Hey, let me program that for you.” So I handed her my phone.
I should have known better—that woman has always had a twisted sense of humor. But I kind of like the obnoxious tone, and who ever calls me anyway? Only Mark. And only if it’s important. So I’d ignored the Donut King’s dirty look and answered my goddamn phone, hoping it wasn’t bad news. Hoping harder it wasn’t about Grace.
I almost hung up when Mark said he was calling about Ruby. But when he mentioned Alzheimer’s and suicide, and told me she was at Fran’s at that very moment hoping to meet with me, morbid curiosity had me walking away from my post behind the crullers and down the street to Fran’s with the King himself, Mr. Lau, right behind me. “Hey, you. Where you going?”
“I’ll be back,” I said. I even smiled and waved, but he didn’t smile back. Just shook his pointed head and went inside. Chances were good that I was already fired, which was just as well. This was my third week on the job, and boredom had set in after the first. But I was going to miss the free day-olds at the end of the shift—Mr. Lau’s idea of a benefit plan.
“What’s your mother doing now?” Mark asked.
“Ordering tea.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because she’s doing that embarrassing pantomime. The one where she shows the waitress that she wants the tea bag
in
the pot,
not
on the side.”
I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “I remember,” and I felt genuinely sorry for him. To be Ruby’s child was a cruel twist of fate, but to be in love with her was a curse, one not easily lifted.
“Liz,” he said. “Will you please go inside? Just say hello.”
Just say hello. He made it sound so easy. But what to do after hello, that was the hard part because she would say hello too. Then she’d probably invite me to sit down, join her for dinner, maybe even try to hug me, and then what? Hug her back? Order a burger? Or simply be honest and throw the tea at her. Hope it burned. Or melted her. Either one would be appreciated.
“I don’t have time,” I said, glancing along the street to the Donut King. “In fact, I should be at work right now.”
If I got there and discovered I no longer had a job, so what? The good people at the Mucky Duck would love to see me walk in early. The Duck is my hangout, my local, my Cheers. It isn’t much, just a little dive near Spadina, but the bartender knows how to make a decent Car Bomb, and I know enough to drink it fast.
Take one for the team, Donaldson?
No problem. After that, I’ll drink whatever I can afford—vodka if I’m flush—or whatever anyone will buy for me if I’m not. The day I go home sober will probably be the day I kill myself. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.
“What’s she doing now?” Mark asked.
“Ordering something else.” I watched Ruby hand the waitress her menu. “Twenty bucks says it’s a grilled cheese.”
“You’re wrong.”
The waitress grabbed a bottle of ketchup from a neighboring table and set it down beside the teacup. I smiled. “You want to take that bet?”
“Can you afford to lose?”
He knew damn well I couldn’t. Payday was Friday, and my worldly wealth now amounted to what was in my pocket—five bucks and a streetcar token. But Ruby had always loved Fran’s and since she had named the meeting place, I figured she was taking a stroll down memory lane while she still could, and that would definitely include a grilled cheese sandwich.
“Okay, you’re on,” I said. “What’s she ordering?”
“Avocado and sprouts on whole wheat.”
I had to laugh. “Mark, if you want to give me money, it’s easier to send me a check.”
“I’ll send you a check if you come with me to an AA meeting.”
And there it was. Mr. Bernier’s Monthly Meeting Reminder. He meant well, and he’d always been good to me, even after Ruby packed his bags and left them at the ferry dock while he was at work. I was seventeen and Mark was the closest thing I’d ever had to a father, so of course I lugged those bags straight back to the house. Started unpacking his stuff while she was down the street putting streaks in a neighbor’s hair.
I was almost finished, just his stick deodorant left to put in the medicine cabinet, when she came back. Ruby likes to tell people she never hit us as kids, but I assure you she couldn’t hit me hard enough that day. Mary Anne had to come and pull her off.
An hour later, every trace of Mark was gone—Ruby’s declaration fulfilled. But he never lost touch with Grace and me. He even put me through law school and gave me a place to crash whenever I missed the last ferry, which was most of the time. But honestly, who decided the last ferry should leave the city at 11:30 P.M? What do they think we are over there? Pumpkins?
To this day, Mark buys me dinner once a week, pays my annual fees to the law society, and keeps my cell phone turned on. If he would stop nagging about AA, he’d be the perfect father figure, but he can’t help himself. The poor guy still thinks I have potential, and it bothers him that my law degree is sitting in the bottom of a drawer. I know he sees it as a personal affront, but my decision had nothing to do with him. After everything that happened to Grace, I don’t have the stomach for law anymore. Don’t believe in right and justice or truth and fairness because there was nothing right or just or true or fair in what happened to my sister. The law failed her, failed me, failed us all, and I am done. It’s just a pity I can’t sell the degree on eBay.
But Mark is right. I should stop drinking. Clean myself up. Get a full-time job. Be a contributing member of society again. But the thing is, I like to drink. And I like who I am when I’m tipsy. I’m more jovial, more fun to be around. I’m also sexier. Men tell me that all the time. Man, you are one sexy bitch. Let’s dance. Let’s kiss. Hell, let’s fuck.
Okay by me, only not at my place because I don’t want you to know where I live. I just want to close my eyes and let the world spin while you take care of business, understand? And I don’t want you to call me later, and I’m sure as hell not going to call you because honestly, honey, I don’t want to know you. I just want to screw you and take that streetcar home.
Ding, ding. Ding, ding
.
Things were easier when I was married. Sex was there all the time whether I wanted it or not. Mostly I wanted it. Like mother like daughter again. Once Mark was gone, Ruby’s libido became legend across the Island. I honestly don’t remember a time when there wasn’t a man in my mother’s life. Young, old, even someone else’s, it didn’t matter to Ruby as long as she was getting what she wanted. The way I see it, I’m just carrying on a family tradition.
“What do you say?” Mark asked, his voice soft—not pleading, but close. “Will you come to the meeting? The church is just around the corner. I can pick you up after you talk to Ruby.”
I should go, if only to humor him, but there’s been enough coffee and donuts in my life lately. And I doubt I’d be popular at AA.
Hi my name is Liz. I drink and I’m happy, so leave me the fuck alone.
Better to let Mark keep thinking better of me.

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