Page 16 of The Fadeaway

“Makes sense,” Molly agrees. She is the oldest and by far the most pragmatic of the group. “You’ve got an attachment to your mother’s house, and if you don’t currently need the funds from the real estate, then hanging on to it seems like a good choice.”

“Boxing up her stuff was hard,” Ruby admits. Her eyes go glassy as she remembers the letters, the closets full of clothes that still smelled like Patty’s favorite perfume (a Dior that she’d been wearing for years), and all the framed black and white photos that Ruby had had to take down from the walls and box up so a potential renter could make the space their own. She’d FedExed a few items to herself on Shipwreck Key for storage, including the potential Picasso that she’d need to get appraised, the blown glass hibiscus flower, and all of the correspondence between Patty and Ellen, which she thought Ellen might want to look through at some point.

“In some ways it feels more final than a funeral,” Heather says, looking out the front window at Seadog Lane as she sips her iced coffee. “When my mom died, I never really believed she was inside the box at the church; my brain just wouldn’t acceptit, so I didn’t cry through the entire funeral. But once I had to decide which of her bracelets and necklaces went to which family member, and what sweaters and coats to give away to a charity shop, it felt real. I felt like, if I give her things away or take everything out of her house, then she’s not coming back, you know? She’sreallynot coming back.”

The other women are quiet for a long moment. At their ages—all late forties to mid-sixties—they’ve been through a number of losses collectively. They’ve all gone through most of the changes that menopause brings, spouses dying, parents passing, divorce, children growing up and leaving the nest, and so much more. Without planning to, each of them reaches for one another and suddenly they’re all holding the hand of the woman on either side of them.

Ruby is the first to laugh. “Look at us: we’re a web of womanhood,” she says, squeezing Marigold’s right hand and Heather’s left one. “I feel so lucky to know all of you.”

“Thank god we’re from a generation that likes to read,” Marigold says in her throaty voice. “Younger women today are going to have to make friends in AI-moderated groups or something instead of good old-fashioned book clubs.”

Molly shakes her head. “I can’t even imagine their world. As sad as it is to grow older at times, I’m occasionally grateful that I won’t be here when the robots take over.”

Sunday cackles. “Oh, Molly,” she says, “the robots won’t ever take over.”

Molly raises her eyebrows skeptically and tips her head to one side. “Don’t be so sure. When I was young, we all watchedThe Twilight Zoneand thought that everything was made up science fiction. But sure enough, now we have self-driving cars, airplanes can fly at supersonic speeds, and people are falling in love with AI robots.”

“Oh, I remember that episode,” Ruby says, taking a sip of her coffee. “Where the artificial intelligence fell in love with her programmer. Very prescient.”

“I’m just saying,” Molly says. She stands and holds up her hands in adon’t shoot the messengerstance as someone walks through the front door of the shop. “Hi there,” Molly says to the customer with a smile. “Get you something?”

The other women lean in closer and keep talking while Molly makes an iced coffee for the man at the counter.

“Okay, robots aside,” Sunday says to Ruby as she reaches for the cream that Molly has brought for the table. “What’s the first step now that you have things ironed out in Santa Barbara?”

Ruby blows a breath out of her pursed lips. “Hmm. I don’t know that I totally have things ironed out, but I feel like I’m on more solid ground now that I’ve cleared out the house, found a company to help oversee the rental, spoken to Mom’s accountant, and been to the reading of the will.” She squints as she looks out the large window. “I just have a lot more questions about my mother than I did when I went out there.”

“I think that’s the nature of the beast,” Molly says as she returns to the table. The bells over the front door jingle as the man leaves the coffee shop, and they’re alone again in the air conditioning with the sounds of 1970s soft rock playing from the speakers overhead. “Our parents are kind of unknowable to us. When we’re kids, they’re living totally separate adult lives; when we’re teenagers they feel like ancient, out-of-touch relics; and once we’re adults and can actually peel back some of the layers and learn more about them as people, we’re either too busy living our lives and raising children, or perhaps they’ve lost a bit of their edge and forgotten the past.” Molly shrugs. “So then when they’re gone, we’re left wondering who the hell these people actually were who birthed and raised us. Happens all the time.”

Ruby looks around the table. She gets a nod from the ladies who have gone through it—even just once—and then sighs. “I suppose you’re right. It’s unfortunate though, because I always thought my mom and I were extremely close, but clearly there’s a lot she didn’t tell me.”

“Do you think you want to know all of it?” Heather asks.

Ruby ponders this as she stirs a spoon around in her coffee, mixing in another packet of Splenda. “I think I do.” She nods. “I think finding out who she was when I wasn’t around is a way to honor her.”

“Or maybe to upset yourself,” Sunday says gently. “What if you find out things you don’t want to know?”

“I’ve considered that,” Ruby says honestly. “But while I may not have known every single thing about my mom’s life, I did know everything about her character. And so I feel really sure that I won’t find out anything that will change how I see her.” Ruby pauses, swallowing around a lump in her throat. “Sawher.”

The women give her a moment to compose herself before anyone speaks.

“Memorial service? Are you working on that, and is there any way we can help you with it?” Molly offers.

“I’m working on it. It’ll be November twenty-sixth, which would have been her seventy-seventh birthday. I think she would have liked that,” Ruby says with a sad smile. “Any excuse for a party, plus it being her birthday will mean that we have to make it a little more festive. If I didn’t do that, she’d be furious.” Ruby laughs through the tears that have started to slide down her cheeks. “So I have that coming up, and of course I appreciate the offer of help and will let you all know if I need to take you up on it. Mostly I’m just grateful to have all of you.”

Molly slaps the table with both hands and stands up again when a timer goes off in the back of the shop. “My afternoonmuffins are up,” she says, bustling behind the counter with an energy that belies her sixty-five years. “And we’re grateful to haveyou,” she calls out, disappearing into the back kitchen area.

“You let us know how things are going, and if you need me, I will be on the first plane to wherever you are,” Sunday promises, taking Ruby’s hand again. “Where are you headed first?”

“Jekyll Island,” Ruby says, grateful for Sunday’s constant support and friendship. “I’m going to start there, then head up to New York City to meet with the woman and her children who are living in my mother’s apartment there, and then I’ll end up in Austin, where she’s been partially supporting a man in a nursing home.”

The women are all watching Ruby closely. “It’s a bit of a mystery—all of it,” Heather says in a breathy voice.

“It is,” Ruby agrees. “But it’s one I’m ready to solve.”

Ruby

Jekyll island isn’t much different than Florida in terms of its topography. Ruby arrives there around three o’clock with Banks in tow, and as they settle into their rooms at the Jekyll Island Club Resort, she stands on a small balcony and looks out at the green lawn and trees beyond.

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