Read Online Mothers and Other Liars by Amy Bourret - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amy Bourret
Tags: Fiction, General, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Family Life, Large Type Books, Contemporary Women, Young Women, Mothers and daughters, Foundlings, Santa Fe (N.M.)
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gripping her hand, only one thought was possible: save this child, protect her.
Now Ruby rubs her eyebrows with her knuckles, as if she can manually push those unwanted pictures back into that dark corner. And she feels the same steely resolve.
Somehow, she’s got to protect this child.
TWENTY-SIX
That evening, Ruby kneels in the garden. She’s always been able to find solace wrist-deep in soil; this time she finds only dirt. The weeds bear the brunt of her emotions.
Inside, Lark is making beaded bracelets with Numi. Ruby didn’t hesitate when Numi’s mother called to ask if she could drop off Numi while she ran some errands in town. Lark needs a friend right now.
Ruby is not deliberately eavesdropping; Lark knows she is weeding below the open bedroom window. So Ruby supposes that what Lark tells Numi with a pinkie swear is what she wants to tell her mother instead.
It’s like my whole life ’til now has been a ginormous game of pretend. And now I go live with people I don’t even know. A whole different house with whole different parents. In a whole ’nother state. That’s not really my bed. This isn’t really my room. My mom’s not really my mom. I’m not even really me. I don’t know who I am.
The bird clock tweets 7:00 p.m. shortly after Numi leaves. “I think I’ll just go to bed,” Lark says.
She hasn’t gone to bed this early since she was a toddler. With a sigh as heavy as her sorrow, Ruby follows her into Lark’s bedroom, trying to think of how to tell a child that you have to do what is right, even if you hurt her in the process.
Lark flings off her clothes, yanks on her pajamas. She slams shut the drawer, stomps down the hall, carrying around her own little cloud of anger like Pigpen carried his stink. Anger again , Ruby thinks. Now if I can just get Lark through the other—what, five, seven?—stages of grief before —She chokes off the rest of her thought.
The rush of water against porcelain drowns out Ruby’s soft sob. Lark manages to make even tooth brushing an act of anger, bristles scraping gums with vigor.
“Baby.” Ruby tries again as Lark trudges back to her bedroom. As Ruby reaches out to give Clyde a good night pat on the head, Lark turns toward the wall like a sulking spouse. “Am I just a manicurist or a woodworker? No, what I do isn’t who I am. And where you live isn’t who you are, either.”
Ruby sits on the edge of the bed and waits, for questions, maybe tears. All she hears, though, is Lark’s breath slowing, deepening, in rhythm with Clyde’s mucousy snores. “Good night, sweet dreams, I love you…” Ruby pauses, finishes Lark’s part of their nighttime send-off herself. “To the moon and back.”
When Ruby stands and moves toward the bedroom door, Lark finally speaks. “I wish you had never found me. Why couldn’t you just leave me there to die?”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Later, Chaz arrives. Ruby checks to see that Lark is sleeping soundly, then fills him in on the events of the evening and reports from her lawyer. John checked out the story from the magazine. The police did follow up with the girl, but no charges were filed against her because she was fourteen at the time and was just along for the ride, so to speak. They also tracked down the boyfriend—to a cemetery in East Texas.
That means if anyone is going to pay for the crime, it will be Ruby. John contacted his friend, the federal prosecutor, and they have “begun a dialogue.” She’s reasonable, he said, has no ax to grind.
As for Lark, Texas’s Child Protective Services will have the ultimate say, but John and the prosecutor both agree that gradual turnover would be best, to give Lark time to adjust. “Turnover” they call it, negotiating details as if Lark were a pretty necklace being returned to its rightful owner. Nothing is right about any of this.
Chaz seems to hear her thoughts. “She’ll be all right.” Next to her on the sofa, he rubs his chin against Ruby’s neck.
Now Ruby rubs her eyebrows with her knuckles, as if she can manually push those unwanted pictures back into that dark corner. And she feels the same steely resolve.
Somehow, she’s got to protect this child.
TWENTY-SIX
That evening, Ruby kneels in the garden. She’s always been able to find solace wrist-deep in soil; this time she finds only dirt. The weeds bear the brunt of her emotions.
Inside, Lark is making beaded bracelets with Numi. Ruby didn’t hesitate when Numi’s mother called to ask if she could drop off Numi while she ran some errands in town. Lark needs a friend right now.
Ruby is not deliberately eavesdropping; Lark knows she is weeding below the open bedroom window. So Ruby supposes that what Lark tells Numi with a pinkie swear is what she wants to tell her mother instead.
It’s like my whole life ’til now has been a ginormous game of pretend. And now I go live with people I don’t even know. A whole different house with whole different parents. In a whole ’nother state. That’s not really my bed. This isn’t really my room. My mom’s not really my mom. I’m not even really me. I don’t know who I am.
The bird clock tweets 7:00 p.m. shortly after Numi leaves. “I think I’ll just go to bed,” Lark says.
She hasn’t gone to bed this early since she was a toddler. With a sigh as heavy as her sorrow, Ruby follows her into Lark’s bedroom, trying to think of how to tell a child that you have to do what is right, even if you hurt her in the process.
Lark flings off her clothes, yanks on her pajamas. She slams shut the drawer, stomps down the hall, carrying around her own little cloud of anger like Pigpen carried his stink. Anger again , Ruby thinks. Now if I can just get Lark through the other—what, five, seven?—stages of grief before —She chokes off the rest of her thought.
The rush of water against porcelain drowns out Ruby’s soft sob. Lark manages to make even tooth brushing an act of anger, bristles scraping gums with vigor.
“Baby.” Ruby tries again as Lark trudges back to her bedroom. As Ruby reaches out to give Clyde a good night pat on the head, Lark turns toward the wall like a sulking spouse. “Am I just a manicurist or a woodworker? No, what I do isn’t who I am. And where you live isn’t who you are, either.”
Ruby sits on the edge of the bed and waits, for questions, maybe tears. All she hears, though, is Lark’s breath slowing, deepening, in rhythm with Clyde’s mucousy snores. “Good night, sweet dreams, I love you…” Ruby pauses, finishes Lark’s part of their nighttime send-off herself. “To the moon and back.”
When Ruby stands and moves toward the bedroom door, Lark finally speaks. “I wish you had never found me. Why couldn’t you just leave me there to die?”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Later, Chaz arrives. Ruby checks to see that Lark is sleeping soundly, then fills him in on the events of the evening and reports from her lawyer. John checked out the story from the magazine. The police did follow up with the girl, but no charges were filed against her because she was fourteen at the time and was just along for the ride, so to speak. They also tracked down the boyfriend—to a cemetery in East Texas.
That means if anyone is going to pay for the crime, it will be Ruby. John contacted his friend, the federal prosecutor, and they have “begun a dialogue.” She’s reasonable, he said, has no ax to grind.
As for Lark, Texas’s Child Protective Services will have the ultimate say, but John and the prosecutor both agree that gradual turnover would be best, to give Lark time to adjust. “Turnover” they call it, negotiating details as if Lark were a pretty necklace being returned to its rightful owner. Nothing is right about any of this.
Chaz seems to hear her thoughts. “She’ll be all right.” Next to her on the sofa, he rubs his chin against Ruby’s neck.
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