Ruth grins at me. “Can you afford a Ferrari?”
“If we sell the house.” We both chuckle. I watch her as she takes a sip of wine. “And you? What’s up?” She doesn’t respond. “You said it yourself—we’re sisters. Sisters can tell.”
She lowers the wine into her lap and thinks for a long moment, then looks into her glass, as if the answer is there. “My neighbor.”
“Your neighbor.” I have no idea where this is leading. “Your neighbor, what?”
“He asked me out.” She shakes her head. “No, he asked me in. He has a wonderful bottle of wine he wants to share with me. He’s a very nice man. Widower.”
Whoever he is, she likes him—that’s clear. I try to wrap my mind around the situation, but I admit, I’m completely blown away. Ruth’s never mentioned a neighbor to me before. Never mentioned any man other than Charlie. I have the urge to spring off the couch and jump up and down with glee. But I can tell by her expression that Ruth is conflicted. I keep my voice even.
“That’s great, Ruth. When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“And? What did you say?”
Her voice is quiet. “I said yes.”
I tamp down my excitement. “Wonderful.”
“I’m going to cancel.”
“Why?”
“Sunday is Easter. I have to make the pie.”
I tsk. “Oh, please, Ruth. You can make banana cream pie in your sleep. Make it early. Don’t make it at all. I’ll buy one at the market.” She looks at the floor. “What? What is it?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready.”
I gape at her. “Ruth, it’s been eighteen months. How much longer do think you’ll need to be ready? I’m sorry, but you’re not getting any younger. None of us are.” She winces, and I soften my tone. “You’re a beautiful woman who deserves a little happiness. Or a lot of happiness. But you have to stop closing yourself off from it.”
“I don’t want to get hurt again.” The confession costs her. Her eyes start to well up.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “It’s just a bottle of wine, sis. It’s not a marriage proposal. Have a little fun. Drink some wine. Talk. Get naked.”
Her eyes go wide even as she starts to laugh. “Rachel!”
I shrug, glad to hear her laugh. “Okay, don’t get naked. But it might be nice for you to get laid sometime before you die.”
“You’re terrible.”
“Yes, but I’m also right.” I pull my hand away and pick up my wineglass, take a sip. “Not all men are liars and cheaters, Ruth. Seriously. I mean, look at Sam.”
She cocks her head to the side as if she still doubts Sam’s innocence. I let it slide.
“Keep the date?”
After a slight hesitation, she nods. “Okay. I will. On one condition. I need you to dye my hair.”
I grin at her and nod. Just like when we were kids, only back then, we dyed our hair only to try crazy colors, not to hide the gray. “Tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll pick up the color at Target. I have to get the ingredients for the pie anyway. Then I’ll swing by?”
“Perfect. Now, tell me all about him. Your neighbor.”
“I don’t know that much,” she says.
“Then tell me what you know.”
I sit back and listen to her describe her neighbor, feeling a little giddy on her behalf. My sister has a date. I know I shouldn’t get too excited, but I can’t help it. Plus, it gives me something to focus on other than the fact that my cell phone has remained maddeningly silent. Sam hasn’t returned my call.
FORTY-EIGHT
RUTH
When Rachel goes upstairs to tuck the kids into bed, I slip into the kitchen and finish doing the dishes. I know I will pay for my kindness with a thousand daggers of pain tomorrow morning, but I’m feeling a little tipsy. Not from the wine, but from the conversation about Judd. Talking with Rachel about my neighbor has elevated my spirits to heights they haven’t reached in a long time. Too long. And I hardly know the man! But when she and I were on the couch, and I was telling her about Judd’s salt-and-pepper hair and his lean physique and the way his eyes sparkle when he talks to me . . . well, I felt like I was sixteen again.
Which I am not.
As I dry the last of the plates, a cloud skirts across my mind. I didn’t tell Rachel about my weekly pilgrimage to the park to spy on my ex-husband’s wife and children. I decided earlier not to share that information with her just yet, but I feel guilty about keeping it from her. At one point, when she asked me what was wrong, I almost spilled the whole thing, but then we got to talking about Judd—I feel my cheeks grow hot at the mere thought of him. There was no organic way to introduce the subject of the park after that. And it was so enjoyable to just be sisters, sitting, talking about a boy. I didn’t want to spoil it.
“Oh, Ruth. You shouldn’t have. Your hands.” Rachel crosses to me and takes the dish from me, the last dish, as though this final one will be the straw that broke the camel’s back, or the plate that broke her sister’s hands.
“It’s okay, Rach. I took Advil earlier.”
“But they’ll be sore tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll take more.”
“Thank you. That was really nice.” Since I told her about Judd, she’s been wearing a perpetual grin. Rachel is excited for me. Probably more so than is warranted. I am excited, too, but seeing that grin on her face makes me nervous.
I dry my hands on the dish towel and glance at my watch. “I should get going. It’s getting late.”
“The kids want you to say good night before you leave,” she says. “Do you mind?”
My heart swells. “I’d be delighted.”
I walk to the stairs and place my hand on the rail, then hoist myself up the first rise, my knees protesting. It gets easier with each step, or I tell myself that. Once at the top, I head down the hall to Eden’s room and knock softly on the open door.
“Hi, Aunt Ruth.”
I enter and walk over to the bed, then sit down upon it. My niece, who during the day is so full of bluster and bravado, looks very small and very young lying beneath her pink floral comforter. The soft amber glow of the night-light illuminates her face. I can’t help but see the beauty she will someday become. She looks so much like my sister, but her features are sharper, likely thanks to Sam, and those will render her even more striking than my sister.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Um . . .” She scrunches her nose up. “Well, Mom said she’d send you up so we could say good night and thanks for the lasagna.”
I deflate. So this wasn’t the kids’ idea, but Rachel’s. Poor lonely Ruth. Let’s make her feel important and needed. I wish I could bring myself to resent my sister’s puppeteering, but I don’t have the energy.
“It was really good,” Eden says. “The lasagna. It’s always really good, Aunt Ruth. So, thanks.”
“You are very welcome,” I say, lifted a little by her praise. “My mom, your grandma, taught me to make it. Maybe someday, I can teach you.”
“That would be totally beast,” she says.
I make a show of narrowing my eyes at her. “Beast? Is that a good thing?”
She smiles and nods. “Totally.”