Page 26 of The Fadeaway

Carmela nods sagely. “I think everyone is far more than we know them to be.” She reaches over on the couch and pats Ruby’s knee as she smiles at her. “Even you.”

This gets Ruby’s attention and she lifts one eyebrow. “Even me?”

“Yeah,” Carmela says, pulling her hand away from Ruby’s leg. “I mean, forgive me for saying so, but you were the First Lady and we all felt like we had the right to watch you, judge what you wore and how you acted…and then after the President’s death, we realized that you were this whole person on your own.” Carmela makes a face at her own choice of words. “I’m sorry. That sounds bad and very anti-feminist.”

“No, not at all. I actually know what you mean.”

“I hope so. Because what I’m really trying to say is that we see people in one light, and then something happens and we realize that there’s more depth, more gravity, to them than we ever understood.”

Ruby chews on the inside of her cheek as she listens. This has been true for so many people she’s known, and of course the same holds true for her own mother—how could it not? “Right,” she says, tipping her head to one side. “Naturally. We never get the full view of people when they’re looking us in the eye. It’s only when they turn in profile or walk away that we see them for who they are, and we can observe them in every light.”

Carmela gives a nearly imperceptible shrug as she watches Ruby with sympathy. “I’m sorry that it’s only as your mother is walking away that you’re seeing her in this light, because it’s a good one. She was someone who did so much for others, and she was a godsend to me and my children.”

“I’m seeing that now,” Ruby says. She looks around the apartment again. “I just wish I’d known about it…about you.”

“Hey,” Carmela says. She smiles widely to break the mood. “How about if you and I meet tomorrow morning and I take you to the kids’ school. I want you to see how well they’re doing, and how much your mother has helped them. We can drop by my office, because that’s all thanks to your mother as well.”

Ruby takes a long, deep breath and nods. “Yes,” she says. “Absolutely. I want to see everything. I want to know all thethings my mother touched, and to visit the school. One hundred percent.” It’s her turn to reach over and touch Carmela on the arm. “But if you’ll forgive me, I think I’m going to head back to my hotel for the evening and rest. Maybe process this a bit more. I’m excited to meet up tomorrow though.”

Carmela stands. “Of course,” she says. “I can imagine that every bit of this is overwhelming for you. Losing Patty has been hard for all of us, but you’re her daughter, Ruby. That’s a whole different relationship.”

Ruby follows her to the door and impulsively hugs her. “Thank you for inviting me into your home and introducing me to the kids.”

“You’ll see them again tomorrow,” Carmela assures her. “They loved your mom and called herabuelita,” she says. “The kids miss her terribly.”

“Thank you,” Ruby says. She’s fighting tears again, so she turns to go.

“I’ll text you a time and address, and I’ll see you in the morning,” Carmela says, watching Ruby walk to the elevator.

Downstairs, Ruby emerges to find Banks sitting on the same bench where she left him. His back is to a wall, and he looks like he’s observing people nonchalantly, though she knows him well enough to know that he’s taking in every single thing that happens in the lobby of the building.

“Ready?” he asks, standing as she crosses the marble floor.

Ruby nods. “On to the next order of business,” she says crisply. “And this part I can handle on my own.”

Banks looks at her quizzically. “You’re saying you don’t need me?”

But Ruby is already walking to the door, the heels of her boots clicking against the marble. “Not for this,” she says over one shoulder. “But you can drop me off.”

“Where?”

Ruby pauses as the doorman opens the glass door with great ceremony. She looks up at Banks and smiles tiredly. “Dexter’s apartment.”

Ruby

It’s awkward, and there’s no way around it. Ruby and Dexter sit on opposite ends of the same couch, him with a bottle of beer in hand, and her with a glass of wine. She takes a sip to fill the empty space between them and to give herself another moment to think of what to say.

He looks good. It’s been a few months since they’ve seen one another, and in that time, Dexter’s hair has gotten a bit longer, his beard has grown in and he’s trimmed it all so that it hugs his chiseled jawline, and he looks tan for November.

“I’ve missed you a lot,” Dexter says, elbows on knees, beer bottle dangling from his hands as he fixes his gaze on the coffee table. This is the most hesitant Ruby has ever seen him. Gone is the investigative journalist with the ability to dig deep into his subjects, make long, meaningful eye contact, and to move from topic to topic deftly. In place of those things, she sees someone nervous—almost boyish—who has things he clearly wants to say but doesn’t know how to. “I’m so sorry about your mom, Rubes. You have no idea. She was such a bright star.”

Ruby scoots forward on the couch and sets down her wine glass with aclink. “Thank you,” she says. Ruby stands and walks over to a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, admiring the titles onDexter’s shelves. For as long as they’d been seeing each other, she hasn’t spent any time in his Manhattan apartment, and she’s taking it all in as he watches her.

There’d been a hug at the door when he opened it, deep and meaningful and full of sorrow for both Ruby’s personal loss, and for their shared loss in not seeing one another for so long. When Dexter released her, Ruby had immediately walked in and started to look around. A sense of pleasure fills her as she scans the small apartment and appreciates every item. It’s all so Dexter, and she’s happy to see that there’s nothing shocking, nothing out of character. If anything, his tiny home on Christmas Key—where shehasspent time—is the place that’s out of character. Someone serious enough to have a shelf full of Russian literature, a clear interest in mid-century modern furniture, and a framed black and white photo of himself sitting across from President Obama in the Oval Office is quirky enough to buy a tiny home on an island that’s decorated for Christmas all year long is a bit of a disconnect. Each time Ruby visits him on Christmas Key she’s stunned all over again that a man as cerebral as Dexter North wants to take his morning coffee at a place called Mistletoe Morning Brew with a bunch of octogenarians. And yet she loves this about him.

“Tell me about this journey so far,” Dexter prompts her. He leans back on the couch and puts one ankle on top of the opposite knee as he watches her. “You started in Georgia with a beach house you never knew your mom owned, right?”

Ruby slides the copy ofAnna Kareninaback where it belongs and turns to face him. “Actually, it started in Seattle right after she died.” Ruby walks back over to the couch and flops down, feeling more relaxed now from the half glass of wine she’s already ingested. She leans her head back on the cushion and stares up at the ceiling. Dexter has crown molding and a very simple, somewhat masculine chandelier. “After I talked to youthat day at her house, I went up to Seattle and met her oldest friend, Ellen. I learned a lot.”

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