Ruby stares out the car’s window. “Is this it?” She sounds suspicious.
I nod. “Must be.”
I park behind the realtor, Susan, a pleasant-looking woman in her midfifties. Behind me, in her newly purchased booster seat, Ruby unbuckles her seat belt. Her hair’s freshly bobbed. I’ve had mine done too, cropped into a cute pixie cut. It feels light and modern.
Like Ruby, I peer out at the house, an unremarkable two-story, neatly painted in neutral colors. There’s a box elder in the front yard that would be perfect for a tire swing. Nearby stands a For Sale sign. “Let’s go look,” I tell Ruby.
The realtor waits on the curb, smiling politely. Despite the heat, she’s wearing a green blazer.
We walk up the path together. Ruby’s hand feels hot in mine.
Boulder’s sweltering, in the mideighties. The sky’s high and blue. I spent a week here one winter years ago with Trevor. I loved those dazzling snowy days. Many people prefer the sea. I like the mountains.
A breeze lifts Ruby’s new sundress. We bought it yesterday, along with new school clothes.
The realtor pulls a key from her handbag. In her smart sandals, her toes are glossy red. This reminds me of Dana, who favored that color. I can’t think of her without thinking of Chad.
Through former colleagues at Stanton House, I hear he’s home from the hospital and doing physical therapy. Dana has reverted to alpha-mom mode, tackling Chad’s paraplegia with the same energy she once devoted to Owen’s behavioral issues.
Chad. My chest locks. It still hurts to think of him, star quarterback, Dana’s golden boy, confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. And Owen: how wrong we were, blaming the troubled son, the one with all the labels. I was his teacher. She’s his mom. We should have known better.
I squeeze Ruby’s hand. I try not to think about the McFarlanes, especially not Stan.
Susan unlocks the front door. “It’s empty,” she says. “The owner moved out a few weeks back and went into assisted living. She kept the place immaculate.” She holds the door for me and Ruby. “Take your time,” she tells me.
Ruby and I walk through the echoing rooms. The house feels bright and airy.
I’ve always loved empty houses. I enjoy their stillness, their blankness. In a way they feel sad, full of what once was. But there’s room for what could be.
I turn to Ruby. “Do you like it?”
She looks serious, tongue flicking through the hole left by a missing tooth. “Which one would be my room?”
“Let’s go upstairs.”
The house has three bedrooms. There’s a big back deck and a big-enough yard. Ruby’s new school is a short walk away. My new school, where I’ll start next month, is a ten-minute drive.
Excitement thrums through me. The decor’s old-fashioned. Fussy wallpaper in the bedrooms. In the kitchen, someone went wild with a stencil. Yet overall, there’s a good feeling. As they say, it’s got good bones.
The bedroom at the back has a small balcony overlooking the square yard. “What about this room?” I ask Ruby.
Her face lights up. She was sad to leave Glebes Bay. She misses her school friends. But this. She spins around. This makes up for a lot. “It’s so big,” she exclaims, grinning.
I nod. It’s at least double the size of her old room in the basement.
She runs to the window. I follow and gaze out at the back garden.
When I told Principal Bill I was leaving Stanton House, he seemed genuinely dismayed. I guess he changed his mind about me. I ran a tight ship. My classes listened. On the whole, my students scored highly.
Maybe I misjudged Bill. Maybe he never disliked me. He gave me a glowing referral. I can finally stop worrying about being fired in Chicago.
I stare out the window. My thoughts circle back there.
The principal was a woman. Black. Early fifties. Hyperefficient. Not the sort of person you’d want to fuck with.
“Jo?” She peered at me over her purple glasses.
“You wanted to see me?” I said. I followed her into her office.
She didn’t ask me to sit and didn’t sit either. Just swiped a paper off her desk and shoved it at me. She looked like she’d happily smack me. “How long have you been doing it?”
My stomach dropped out. I looked at the old exam, tried to bluff. “What is that?”
She snorted. “Don’t bother.”
That’s when I saw the cops at the door. They didn’t cuff me but escorted me from the building in front of everyone. Staff. Students. All gawking.
It was just an exam scam! Could they actually charge me? I’d let it be known that extra help was available, then blackmailed those students who took me up on the offer. I only targeted entitled assholes, the ones too lazy to study. They deserved it.
The cops led me to a police car. One opened the back door. “Mind your head, ma’am.”
I balked. “Am I being arrested?” I said. “On what charge?”
“Get in.” His voice was iron. “Academic fraud.”
Ruby’s voice breaks through. “Mommy? Mommy?”
I shake myself back to the here and now. Ruby’s staring up at me, jigging in place. “Um, yes, hon?” I say.
“Can I use the bathroom?” asks Ruby.
“Oh. Sure thing.” I lead her in.
After checking the other bedrooms, I follow Ruby back downstairs. I’m still feeling wobbly. That memory shook me up. I reach for Ruby’s hand. It’s time to stop beating myself up, to look forward instead of back. I’m able to do good things now, like paying the school fees for Alma Reyes’s three children in Manila.
Susan’s waiting on the deck, gazing out at the garden. The backyard’s neat but plain, just grass and a few trees. I could add a playhouse. Plant vegetables in the far corner. We could adopt a dog from a local shelter.
Susan smiles when I join her. “What do you think?” she asks.
I smile back. “I like it. How much are they asking?”
Her answer makes me smile harder.
The next morning, after having the house inspected, I make an offer. That afternoon, it’s accepted. My whole life, I’ve longed for a house of my own. Someplace safe. Now I have it.
“You’re going to love it here,” says Susan when I’m back in her office, filling in more paperwork. “There’s so much for kids in that neighborhood. Boulder’s ideal for young families.” She pauses, as if the word family might be fraught since it’s just me and Ruby. Or maybe it’s young that tripped her.
I smile back. I’m not that old. And families come in all shapes and sizes.
“For the down payment,” says Susan, all back to business, “twenty percent is standard. Do you need a referral to a good mortgage lender?”
I hesitate. It’s tempting to say no. I could buy the place outright. But that’s unwise. Who pays for a house in cash? Certainly not a teacher. That’s how people get caught. It’s never smart to stand out.
I’ve been frugal, partly to avoid suspicion but mostly since that’s my nature. By some estimates, a staggering 70 percent of lottery winners end up broke, stupidly wasting their windfall. There’s no way I’ll do that.
“I can pay thirty percent up front,” I say, hesitantly. “And yes, please recommend a good lender.”
Susan’s smile widens, a hint of relief in her eyes. Perhaps she’d feared that amassing that 20 percent down payment would be difficult for a single mother. I smile. If she only knew! Money’s no problem.
Susan hands me the banker’s card. “I can call her, if you like, and make you an appointment.”
“Please do,” I tell her.
As she calls, I turn my attention to Ruby. She’s seated beside me, coloring in an image from The Little Mermaid. Ariel’s hair is hot pink, her tail orange. I’m glad she chose her own colors instead of copying the ones from the movie.
We’ve been in Boulder for a week, looking at houses and doing touristy things, getting to know our new city. Beneath her yellow sundress, Ruby’s tanned.
After this, because she’s been patient, I promised her ice cream.
Susan puts her hand over the phone. “Does tomorrow morning at nine suit you?”
I nod. “Yes. Thanks.”
She goes back to her conversation. My thoughts wander.
A 30 percent down payment adds up to $190,000. My hands are sweaty. Despite the AC, this room’s warm. I’m excited, nervous about buying my first home.
I think of my mother, how it’s something she never managed. Could she have imagined me now, buying a three-bedroom home in a respectable, middle-class neighborhood? I’m a teacher, not exactly a top job, but it sure beats being a cleaning lady.
I rub my hands on my shorts. I wish my mom had lived to see this. There’s an extra bedroom in the new house. I wish she could live there. Sit on the back deck. Putter in the garden. She worked so hard for so little. She rarely complained. I never appreciated her efforts. Kids don’t, I guess, until they have their own children.
Tears press behind my eyes. My throat has tightened. Listening to Susan’s cheery small talk and the swish of my daughter’s crayon, I feel awash with bittersweet emotions.
I stretch out my legs. For the first time in a long time, I feel safe. A safety my single mom never knew. She was forever in danger of being fired. In danger of being evicted. In danger of unforeseen medical bills. We were always hanging by a thread that any minor setback could sever. How precarious our life was!
My mom thought a life of drudgery was a woman’s lot. Unlike her, I expected better, thanks to teenage Dana. She taught me to set my sights higher.
After Trev fucked me over, I had no choice. I wouldn’t let Ruby have a childhood like mine. I couldn’t. She deserved better.
Again, I think of the exam scam. It kept me afloat until I got busted.
Small-time hustles are stressful. I regretted that one. Now I know: nothing’s wasted. The experience helped prepare me for the big time. It was my apprenticeship for blackmailing Dana.
Susan hangs up. “Okay. The loan officer, Lisa, expects you at nine.” She straightens papers on her desk. “She’s great. You’ll love her.”
“Thank you,” I say, and stand up. We shake hands. I help Ruby collect her crayons.
Leaving Susan’s office, I feel buoyant. New house. New job. New town. Glebes Bay was full of sad, guilty memories. I do have a conscience, but doing the right thing is a luxury we can’t all afford.
I lead Ruby toward our car. The breeze blows hot off the sidewalk. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, surprised. What timing! It’s Dana.
Phone in hand, I stop walking. I could answer and hear her news. And her excuses . . .
For a second, I’m tempted. We have so much shared history. I know her better than I know anyone. And she knows me. Has she figured it out? My belly lurches. But no. Facing my betrayal would force Dana to examine herself. She’d have to question how she drove me to it. She’s too conceited to admit she was a bad friend.
I didn’t set out to screw her over. The idea never crossed my mind on the night we dumped Stan. I helped out of love and duty because I thought we were friends. Then I learned that Angie knew about Dana’s affair with Ryan Reeve and I didn’t. Something snapped. Did she see Angie as her social equal while I was—what?—there to clean up her shit?
I hit decline and return my phone to my pocket. I pry it out again and block Dana’s number. This feels revolutionary. I’m finally free of her! Free of the past. I don’t miss Dana and I don’t miss my lying father or Trevor. Something’s shifted in me. That aching void’s gone.
I can’t stop smiling as I pocket my phone.
Ruby climbs into the back seat. “What will it be?” I ask her. “Regular ice cream or soft serve?”
Her mouth purses. “Can we go back to the same place as yesterday?”
I hesitate. It was one of those trendy artisanal places where ice cream costs seven bucks a scoop. Yet Ruby’s been so patient. “Sure,” I say. It was delicious.
She smiles slyly. “Can I get two scoops?”
I laugh. “We’ll see.” Why not? We’re on vacation. And today’s special.
“Chocolate chip mint and strawberry,” says Ruby, clearly sensing my weakness.
I hop into the driver’s seat. This car’s a rental. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go and buy one. My smile widens. “Just for today. Two scoops. To celebrate our new house.”
“Yay!” cries Ruby.
As I drive, I’m smiling. Life is so much easier with a $3 million safety net. I do the math in my head. $2,810,000 after my home deposit.
The ice cream shop’s on a busy street. Yet there’s a parking spot right out front. I zip into it, feeling lucky. Some days, the universe sweeps you in your chosen direction. I park and start whistling.
I shouldn’t get cocky. Luck can turn in an instant. Just ask Dana.
Do I feel guilty? I grab my purse off the passenger seat. Sometimes, but not really. Not about the money.
God knows I earned it.
* * *
Ice creams in hand, we go back outside and sit at a round sidewalk table. I pull Ruby’s coloring book and crayons from my bag and lay them before her on the terrazzo. She doesn’t notice. She’s too busy licking her overpriced ice cream.
She’s finished the strawberry when she spies her coloring book. “Can I get a Little Mermaid blanket for my new room?” she asks. “One like Zoe’s. Remember? I used it the night her daddy died.”
I stop licking.
“When you and Auntie Dana went out in the boat,” says my daughter. “In the dark!” Her tone suggests we were naughty and silly.
There’s a man by himself at the next table. He must see my face for his eyebrow arches. I freeze. There’s no good way to respond. Do I try to explain? Do I tell Ruby she’s mistaken?
The man bends back to his phone, smiling. Perhaps he didn’t notice me at all, his eyebrow lifting at some text. My stomach has shrunk. All the ice cream I just swallowed is threatening to reappear.
Beneath her bangs, Ruby’s frowning. “Mom!” Her eyes are bright with alarm. “Your ice cream’s dripping!”
“Oh,” I say, rousing myself. I grab a tissue and dab at the drips. “I’m, ah, I’m going to toss it.” On shaky legs, I stagger to the nearest trash can. I feel like crying.
Small kids’ memories are soft like their skulls. Easily squashed and fragmented. While Ruby’s memories of that night might get warped and buried, they’ll stay in there—like a splinter. Splinters fester.
I shut my eyes. A fresh start. That’s all I wanted.
“Mommy?” Ruby sounds distraught.
I spin. She looks pale. “Mommy, I don’t feel well!”
Just as I reach her, she vomits pink and green splatters all over me and herself. All over the sidewalk.
Kneeling in front of her, covered in vomit, I’m reminded of Stan’s ugly abstracts.
Ruby starts to cry. I pull her head to my chest. “It’s okay, baby,” I say. “Get it all out.” If only she could. She spits some more into a napkin.
When she’s recovered enough, I pull her to her feet and guide her back to the restroom. I wash her face and help her blow her nose. I pull off her sundress and toss it in the sink, then do the same with my T-shirt.
She peers up at me, dressed in nothing but panties and sandals. “Mommy?” Her eyes are red. “Are you mad at me? For what I said about Zoe’s daddy?”
“No!” I say, stricken and scared. “I’m not mad at you, honey!”
Her frown deepens. “Then who are you mad at?”
“Myself,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t answer. How could she? She’s six years old.
I squirt hand soap into the basin and start to scour her dress. Strings of greasy vomit float to the water’s surface. Tears press against my eyes. I bow my head and scrub harder.
Tonight, when Ruby’s asleep, the dam will burst. I can already feel the pressure building.
I think of Angie in jail. No parole for fifteen years. Walt divorced her and moved the kids to Texas, where he’s from, to escape all the gossip. It was the talk of Glebes Bay. Still is, I bet.
Despite all the proof I planted, I was worried until Angie pled guilty.
I got the cigarette butts from her car’s ashtray. It’s lucky she never kicked that filthy habit. While I was at it, I scraped blood off the murder knife onto her driver’s seat. DNA testing has come so far. They can detect even minute traces.
Getting into her house was harder but doable, thanks to Gemma. I lifted her house key from her schoolbag and got it copied. After that, it was just a matter of finding the right time to plant the knife and the bedsheets. I worked fast: five days from start to finish.
I knead Ruby’s sundress. The fabric’s slimy.
The only way Angie could have saved herself was by proving she wasn’t there that night with Stan, which would have led the cops straight to Gemma. Angie must have read Gemma’s texts to Stan and realized what they’d been up to. At that point, I bet she wished she had killed him, that scumbag—taking advantage of her teenage daughter.
What I’ll never know is whether Angie believed that Gemma killed Stan or just feared that she’d be blamed. The cops did threaten to charge Gemma as an accomplice after the fact. Without witnesses or a confession, I seriously doubt they could have made that stick, but how was Angie to know? She couldn’t take any chances.
The new girl at school, Ming, attempted suicide last December. She got pulled out of school. I heard the family moved back to Guangzhou. Maybe I should have framed Gemma for Stan’s killing instead of her mom. Despite her youth, that might have been fairer. Gemma gets off on hurting people. I bet she’s bullying new kids in Texas.
I add more water to the sink. A sob takes me by surprise. Fuck. I hate feeling guilty.
Angie sacrificed herself for her kid in the same way Dana tried to. As I’d give my life for Ruby. Angie is a silly cow, but I respect her for protecting her daughter, even if Gemma doesn’t deserve it.
The smell of vomit is making me sick. Or maybe it’s me. I’m making myself sick. I spit in the toilet. Fifteen years. My gut heaves. I can justify things all I want, but Angie didn’t deserve that.
I unplug the sink and let the tap run.
When the water runs clear, I extract Ruby’s dress. As I wring it out, I study us both in the mirror.
I’m in shorts and a bra. Ruby’s in aqua Frozen panties. She’s less green than before but still pale. In the fluorescent light, I look jaundiced.
My eyes flick back and forth. Same dark hair. Same strong nose and high forehead. Same big, anxious eyes. Wringing Ruby’s wet dress, I think of all the traits that pass down through generations. All things good and bad.
What have I passed on to my daughter?