I hate my mother.
Nora looked up sharply.
Ruby was crying now, so hard her cheeks were bright pink and her shoulders were trembling. “Its article for C-Cache” magazine. "
Nora drew in a sharp, gasping breath. She knew was all in her eyes-the stinging betrayal, the achy sadness . . . and yes, the anger. “How could you?”
Ruby clamped a hand over her mouth, grabbed the suitcase, and ran out of the house.
As if from a great, unbreachable distance, Nora heard the car start up and speed away, sputter: through loose gravel.
It was quiet once more.
Nora tried not to look at the yellow pages, their scrawled blue words marching across the lines, but she couldnt help herself. Those horrible hateful words leapt out at her.
I hate my mother.
She took a deep, deep breath, then looked down again. Her hands were shaking as she lifted the pad began to read.
The story of us starts a dozen years ago, in a few of you have ever seen: the San Juan Islands in Washington State.
It was only a few sentences later that Nora began to cry.
Ruby made it all the way to the end of the driveway, then she slammed on the brakes.
She was running away again, but there was nowhere to hide on this one, no way past except through.
Shed done a terrible, selfish thing, and she owed more to her mother than an empty house.
She put the minivan in reverse and backed down the driveway Parking, she walked down the path, through the fragrant garden, and out to the edge of the bank. he would have gone to sit on her favorite rock, but her mother couldnt get there on crutches.
She wanted to be seen. When Mom finished the article, she would undoubtedly head for the porch; it was her favorite place. Then she would see her daughter, sitting out on the edge of the property.
She sat down on the grass. It was a beautiful summers day. The islands were an endless mosaic of color--blue, blue sky, green forested land, silver, choppy sea.
She lay back on the grass and closed her eyes. The air smelled sweetly of grass and salt, of her childhood.
She knew she would remember this day for the rest of her life, and probably at the oddest times-when was elbow-deep in sudsy water; washing the dinner shes. In the shower; with the sweet, citrusy scent of her mothers favorite shampoo all around her; or holding the babies she prayed someday to have. At times like that, she would remember this moment, and all the others that had led up to it. In a very real way, this would be the beginning of her adult life; everything that grew afterward would be planted in the soil If what she and her mother said to each other right here.
She wondered if she would ever get over her shame, or if she would carry it with her always, the way shed once been weighed down by anger.
Now Ruby would be the one sending gifts across the miles, leaving phone messages on machines, waiting, forever waiting, for an answer.
“Hey, Rube. ”
Ruby opened her eyes and saw her mother standing beside her. She was leaning awkwardly forward on her crutches. The sun haloed her auburn hair in brightness.
Ruby jackknifed up. “Mom,” she whispered, finding that her throat was too tight to say anything more.
“Im glad you came back. You cant get away from me so easily on an island, I guess. ”
Mom tossed the crutches aside and knelt slowly onto the grass, then sort of fell sideways into a sitting position. She set the article on her lap and stared down at it. The curled edges fluttered in the soft breeze. “I read every word you wrote about me, and I have to admit, it broke my heart. ”
Ruby wanted to curl up and die. She considered how far theyd come, she and her mom, the winding, shaded road that had taken them from then to now, and she ached for what her selfishness had wrought. If not for the article, Ruby would be laughing right now, telling her mother about the night before. Maybe they would have talked about ridiculous, girly things like wedding rings and bridesmaids and flower arrangements.
“Im so ashamed,” she said. “I knew those words would hurt you. In the beginning, thats what I wanted to do. ”
“And now?”