Summer Island

Ruby walked over to the stove. “Okay, what do want me to do?”

“See that big frying pan hanging on the rack-no, the bigger one. Yes. Take that and put it on the front burner. ”

It hit with a clang.

Nora winced. “Now put about a tablespoon of olive oil in it and turn on the gas. ”

Ruby opened the oil and poured in at least a half cup.

Nora could practically feel her hips expanding, but bit back a comment as she reached for the can opener. She was proud of herself for saying simply, “The measuring spoons are in the top drawer; to your left. ” Then she opened the canned tomatoes. “Here, add these. And turn the flame to low. ”

When Ruby had done that, Nora went on. “Cut up the marinated artichoke hearts and add them. Maybe a half cup of that canned chicken broth would be good, too. ”

Ruby went to the counter; turned her back to Nora, and began chopping.

“Ow. Shit!”

Nora spun the wheelchair toward her daughter.

“Are you okay?”

Ruby stepped back. Blood was dripping in a steady red stream from her index finger; it plopped onto the tile counter.

Nora yanked a clean towel off the oven door. “Come here, honey. Get on your knees in front of me. Keep your hand up. ”

Ruby dropped to her knees. She seemed unable to look away from her finger. Her face was pale.

Nora gently took hold of her daughters hand. Seeing that blood-her childs-made Noras own hand throb. Just like old times; Nora had always experienced a phantom pain whenever one of her kids was hurt. She carefully coiled the towel around the wound, and without thinking, wrapped her own hands around Rubys.

When she looked up, Nora saw the emotion on Rubys face, and knew that her daughter remembered this simple routine. The only thing missing was a kiss to make it all better. She saw the longing flash throughRubys eyes. It was only there for an instant, but Nora had waited so long to see it . . .

Ruby yanked her hand back. “Its just a cut, forGods sake. We dont have to go looking for my finger on the floor or anything. ”

That gap yawned between them again, and Nora wondered suddenly if shed imagined the longing in her daughters eyes. If shed seen only what she wanted so desperately to see.

Her voice was shaky when she said, “Put the artichoke hearts and two tablespoons of capers into the sauce. ” She turned quickly to the spice drawer, yanking it open. But when she stared down into the drawer; all she saw was Rubys face as it had been for that one second, that instant that had somehow been both then and now.

Nora grabbed the herbs she needed and wheeled back around, adding them to the sauce. “Put a big pot of water on to boil, wont you?”

For the next thirty minutes, Ruby did as she was told without uttering a word. She was vigilant in her refusal to make eye contact.

But finally, the meal was ready, and they were seated across from each other at the round wooden kitchen table. Ruby picked up her fork and rammed it into the pasta, twirling it.

“Dont you want to say grace?” Nora asked.

Ruby looked up. “No. ”

“But we-”

“There is no we. Dinnertime prayers are one of those family traditions that went the way of our family. God and I have an understanding. When He stopped listening, I stopped talking. ”

Nora sighed. “Oh, Ruby . . . ”

“Dont give me that wounded-deer look. ” Ruby turned her attention back to the plate and started eating. “This is good. ”

“Thanks. ” Nora closed her eyes. “Thank you, God,” she said softly, her voice barely loud enough for Ruby to hear. “For this food . . . and this time that Ruby and I have together. ”

Ruby kept eating.