Olivia realized that the girl was gulping back tears.
“And you know what? Betsy did it again. She had another abortion, and this time she got the IV, and she said it was a piece of cake and a good high and everything.” Ruby took a breath. “Of course by then, it was way too late for me.”
Olivia tried to sort through everything Ruby had said. The girl talked like a speeding train; it was hard to catch it all. There was a mention of drugs as a good thing. There was this Betsy, full of trouble and bad advice—two abortions! And she was probably only fifteen herself. And then there was Ben.
Ruby brightened quickly. “But they’ll give you drugs when you have a baby, so that you don’t feel anything. And then it’s over and I just move on.” She sat back against the pillows, satisfied. “Boy,” she said, “you get a lot of phone calls.” Ruby read from some writing on the palm of her hand. “Your mother. Amy. Winnie, twice, who wants you to know she’s in Rhinebeck in case you need anything. And your friend Janice, who said to tell you that she talked to Pete—”
“Already?” Olivia blurted.
“He’s going to call you tomorrow.”
Ruby dropped her hand and studied Olivia’s face.
“What?” Olivia said.
“Well, your husband didn’t call.”
Olivia said, “I call him right before I go to sleep. That’s our routine.”
“That’s sweet,” Ruby said.
And Olivia was sure the girl knew she was lying.
The clinic Olivia took Ruby to was thirty miles away, a dull drive on a new highway that had gobbled up all the trees and farms that had once lined the road. Ruby looked straight ahead, bored.
“Our apartment in New York,” Olivia told her, “is right in the West Village. In an old brownstone, so there’s just one apartment on each floor. We’re on the third. And in the back we have a terrace where we can barbecue and eat dinner outside. Last summer, I grew lilacs out there.” She took a breath and said, “They smelled so lovely.”
Ruby only grunted.
Olivia waited, then changed her tack. As a kid, she had taken sailing lessons, and sometimes now she found herself comparing the simple act of human communication to negotiating wind and waves: When do I head straight into the wind? When do I come at something from different sides? Ruby required a lot of tacking. Olivia thought of the girl watching those houses, writing her bad poetry or her robbery plan. With Ruby, it could be anything.
“Do you know anything about gardening?” Olivia asked Ruby. “It’s one of the most relaxing hobbies. Really. Figuring out what blooms when, where to place each plant.”
Finally, Ruby looked at her. “I swear to God,” she said, “my mother even killed cactus. Like they don’t need water or anything, right? They grow in sand, in nothing. They don’t need any attention at all, and she still managed to kill them.” Ruby stared out the window again. Olivia saw her breathe air onto it and draw something quick before it disappeared.
“It sounds like you miss her,” Olivia said, even though she couldn’t imagine missing that woman.
“Ha!” Ruby said. “Like I would go grocery shopping with her, and do you know what she bought? Everything frozen. Fish sticks and chicken nuggets and this really bad pizza that is so bad that once when I was really stoned, I actually microwaved part of the box and ate it, and I didn’t even know because it tasted just like the crappy pizza. That’s the truth. And you know what she said when I told her? I’m like, ‘Mom, I just ate a box that tasted practically better than that shit pizza you buy,’ and she goes, ‘Ruby, I smell pot. I know what pot smells like, and don’t try to lie to me.’ And I’m like, ‘Mom, this is about the junk you put into my system that you call food, okay?’” She looked at Olivia, all serious concern. “I mean, would you ever feed a kid of yours a cardboard box?”
Olivia shook her head. She thought, I would feed your baby organic baby food, the kind that costs way too much money. I would puree vegetables from the farmer’s market. I would bake my own bread. I would do whatever you want.
Ruby sighed. “A good mother bakes apples in the autumn and things like peach pie in the summer. Families need stuff like that. They say that my father was famous for his whole-wheat pizza. He used to make it from scratch. Knead it and everything.”
“You should see my family,” Olivia told her. “My mother used to weigh our food. Six ounces of chicken. Ten green beans. I was the only kid who used to visit my friends and ask for a glass of milk, because she used to give us half skim and half dry milk. She read somewhere that dairy was bad for you.”
Ruby brightened. “Really? That’s crazy.”
“My sister,” Olivia continued, “is a workout addict. Her entire wardrobe is Lycra. She’s thirty-four years old and she’s already had liposuction and a lip job. You know, collagen.”
“Like a movie star,” Ruby said, impressed.