Page 43 of The Fadeaway

The women have left the bookstore and Ruby has locked up behind them. The trash bag is full of paper plates and napkins, and another is tied up and full of soda cans. Their first meeting back together after Ruby’s trip has been a success and more fun than she’d even hoped. With Thanksgiving and Christmas right around the corner, the women had lots to talk about and plan, and they’d all decided together to throw a giant holiday on Shipwreck Key, inviting everyone they know and love to come down to the island for Christmas. Ruby can’t wait.

But now that she’s alone, she’s trudged up the narrow staircase to her second floor office, passing the memorabilia she’s got on display from her time in the White House—mostly gifts from foreign dignitaries and their wives—and looking at each item absentmindedly as she passes it. That whole time feels like another era of Ruby’s life, and in fact, it is another era. A time gone by. A slice of her life that she’s almost fully boxed up and put away. Sure, she still gets noticed and recognized everywhere she goes, but her drama is less current. Jack has been gone for more than two years. Her girls are grown women now, and she’s living a whole new life out of the public eye.

Some habits have been hard to break: no matter what the day might bring, Ruby always finds herself dressing as if she might end up in front of the paparazzi or might be needed for some official photo. She never leaves her beach house without brushed hair, makeup, and tasteful jewelry—even when she’s just in a matching shorts and tank top set with sandals or Converse. She still walks and runs almost daily, staying fit and tan from thesun. There are no professional beauty experts on hand to groom her brows, cover her grays, and choose her outfits, but Ruby has been on display for enough years that she knows how to present herself no matter the occasion.

Her desk at the top of the stairs is tucked away under a slanted roof, and it faces a blue and white stained glass window that looks out onto Seadog Lane. Ruby sits, staring out at the dark evening as she switches on the lamp on the edge of her desk. She opens her laptop and pulls up an email to Dexter.

Hey, Dex?—

For some reason talking about the book feels more like an email conversation than a text one, so just indulge me here. I read the first five chapters, and they’re brilliant. What else can I say? You found a way to capture Jack’s early years by incorporating some of his journal entries, and you really approached him as a whole person by doing that. As I read it, I didn’t think, “Oh, here’s a play by play take on my late husband’s presidency,” but rather, “Wow, Jack lived an entirely human existence before we even met. He entered the White House not as a lump of clay to be molded by the political machine, but as a man who’d grown up in the 70s, informed by that era. He’d played baseball, gone camping, loved his parents, gone to Disney World the year it opened, and he loved banana splits and hot summer nights. He was a father, a friend, a husband, and someone who appreciated books and long discussions. He was a person.” And Dexter, that makes the book so much more accessible. You have no idea how much I wanted to keep flipping pages beyond the first five chapters in order to see his entire presidency—and the rest of his life—unfold.

I wish I could thank you for leaving and taking the time to write this as you have, but thanking you for leaving is like thanking you for leaving ME. And yet I know you needed to dothat. I understand now that the book is better for it. You wrote some things through my eyes that I think I would have tried to edit if you told me you were using them, but now that I see it all on the page, I think this story couldn’t possibly be told any other way. You’re a genius, and I CANNOT WAIT to read the rest!

But now…on to our next topic: you and me. We talked in NYC about seeing each other during the holidays, and I’m holding you to that. Can you come to Shipwreck Key for Christmas? I just had a book club meeting with all the other ladies, and we’re thinking of inviting our families to all come here so that we can have a giant island party. Harlow and Athena will be here, I’m inviting Helen Pullman and her husband and daughter, and I really want you—more than anything, Dex, I want you here. Will you come?

Yours—always,

Ruby

She isn’t ashamed to be so bold with Dexter; after all, they already discussed the holidays when they were together in New York, but more than ever, Ruby is ready to lay her cards on the table. She wants Dexter to come to the island, and she wants him to stay. If he decides to keep his apartment in Manhattan or his tiny home on Christmas Key then she’ll understand, but she’d really like for Dexter to make Shipwreck Key his home base. If there’s anything Ruby has learned this year—between turning fifty and losing her mother—it’s that time is short. The years pass quickly. Existence is impermanent, but real love should be indulged and cared for. And she’s ready to care for Dexter, to be his right hand, to be his home base.

If he’ll let her.

With a sigh, Ruby closes out of her email and opens up a list she’s been keeping of items to complete for her mother’smemorial. It’s only two weeks away, and though it could potentially dampen the holiday, she’s decided to honor Patty on the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend anyway. After all, her girls will be on the island, and her friends will be there too—if they want to join. In order to keep things low key, she’s only invited Carmela and her kids (and offered to pay for their airfare), and Ellen as well, who readily agreed to fly in from Seattle in time to join them for the actual Thanksgiving holiday as well.

There are certainly hundreds of other people she could invite: people Patty sat on boards and committees with; former colleagues and law firm partners; neighbors from Santa Barbara; perhaps even close friends that Ruby hasn’t yet uncovered. But the only people she reallywantsthere have already been invited.

Ruby checks a few items off her list: flowers—ordered; wine and food for the dinner she’ll serve at her house—chosen; playlist of music that Patty loved—being prepared by Harlow; poems and readings for the actual memorial—in Athena’s hands.

She closes her laptop and turns off the desk lamp. It’s been a busy afternoon and evening, and while she wants to sit there and stare at her computer screen until Dexter replies and tells her that he’s on his way to Shipwreck immediately, she’s promised her girls that she’ll head home as soon as she’s done at the bookstore so that they can cuddle up on the couch together and laugh through several episodes ofThe Golden Girls. Ruby knows that these moments are fleeting, and that being with her girls isn’t a given, so she won’t pass this up.

As she locks the front door of the darkened bookstore behind her, Ruby can hear the ocean rolling onto the shore just across the street. The stars are out and starting to twinkle overhead. She climbs into her golf cart, which is parked at the curb, andmakes the short drive home to her brightly-lit house, where her girls are waiting.

Ruby

Thanksgiving is warm and full of candlelight and good food and laughter. Ellen stays at Ruby’s house with her and the girls, and on Friday night, Dexter arrives by boat, dragging his duffel bag up Ruby’s front steps tiredly.

“Wish I could’ve gotten here yesterday,” he says, leaning in close to kiss her on the lips as he sets his bag on the floor at the entry to the house. “But I couldn’t find another flight.”

“I know,” Ruby says as she wraps her arms around his waist and lays her cheek to his chest. “You aren’t in charge of the weather.” Dexter laughs as he squeezes her back. “I’m glad you’re here now, though.”

“Dexter!” Athena calls out from the living room, waving at him. “You made it!”

Ruby lets go of him reluctantly and they exchange a meaningful look.

“Let me get settled and then maybe we can take a walk on the beach?” he offers.

Ruby smiles up at him. “Of course.”

She brings out a fresh bottle of wine and another glass for Dexter as he settles in the front room with Ruby’s daughters and with Ellen, who she introduces him to right away. Dexter isfull of questions for everyone, and he gives thoughtful, thorough answers to anything that’s asked of him. He’s just so damn good at talking to anyone that Ruby can’t help but lean back, cross her legs, and listen in to the way he discusses New York City with Harlow, talks politics and current events with Athena, and discusses the way Seattle’s changing laws have left Ellen’s hometown a far different place than it was even a decade ago.

Finally, once everyone has grudgingly gotten up and wandered to the kitchen for another round of Thanksgiving leftovers, and after Dexter has demolished a sandwich that Ruby makes for him out of the turkey, cranberry sauce, and stuffing from the holiday, he grabs her by the hand and pulls her closer.

“Walk with me now?” he asks. Ruby nods and follows him out the kitchen door.

“It’s brisk tonight,” Dexter says. He’s wearing a thick fisherman’s sweater, and Ruby has put on a Pendleton wool wrap that ties around her body to fight off the late autumn chill.

“It’s almost December.” She slips her hand into his and they fall into step beneath the moon, which reflects off the water.

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