I fix my gaze on Dad and Lebanon speaking across the street. After the dust settled, after we gave our statements to the police and detectives, Dad pulled me aside and told me what Ms. Sara confessed in the hospital, about Lebanon. He said he didn’t want any more secrets between us. I told him what Holden told me. This exchange of truth and tragedy, of hurt and heartbreak, connected us in a way I never believed possible. So now, watching across the street, Lebanon’s stance, the slumped posture of his frame, I know the story Dad told a man who once was as close to him as a brother.
Ruby’s head presses against the window of the detective’s car. The police quickly took control of the scene after they came through the door of Ms. Naomi’s home. Their guns raised first, we all heard them shout orders and we obeyed, but with the distinct fear all of us have when it comes to police, that no matter the level of compliance, we might still have our caramel-colored bodies riddled with bullets nonetheless. They rushed Ruby out of the house and into the back seat of a dusty brown sedan and there she’s remained for the better part of an hour. I just need to say a few words. I just need a little more time with her.
Just a few minutes.
One of the detectives, a stocky bull of a man with a pear-shaped nose and pink skin, stands next to the brown sedan with my friend in the back seat. Asking him to speak to Ruby, he briefly sizes me up, silently making his judgments about my merits and intent. He goes into the car, behind the driver’s seat and rolls down her window. I grab her hand. It’s so cold.
“I want you to know, Momma forgave me, even though I killed her,” Ruby whispers.
I’m still having a hard time processing this information. I’m not mad at her for what she did to Dad. I can understand how easy, how gratifying it’d feel to take some kind of power back, to wrestle it from those who’d stolen it from you. It’s not right to feel this way, but feelings aren’t a matter of right or wrong, they’re a matter of acknowledgement or denial.
There’s no right way to respond to her confession. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“And say what, Layla, I killed my mom while trying to kill my dad? What could you have done?”
“Whatever I had to do, Rue.”
“And that’s why I didn’t tell you. You’d have done something you can’t take back, like me. I couldn’t let you sacrifice yourself. You can’t be that hero for me, Layla. You gotta live with that. Like I gotta live with this.” She raises her handcuffed wrists.
There’s an acceptance in Ruby’s voice. One that’s chilling. Who she is and who I am are wrapped up in two identities: survivor and protector.
Ruby endured a mom bound to a man she swore to love; a community and church willing to look the other way; she had to endure me, a friend, so caught up in my own battles to be right that I lost sight of the promise I made to her in a church basement, to protect her.
Ruby was lost in all of it. So lost, the only way she saw out was to kill Lebanon.
The only true words I can think of leave my lips, “Your mom loved you.”
“She did her best. It wasn’t always good enough, but I loved her so much. I can’t believe she’s gone, because of me.”
“But it was a mistake. Like you said, she forgave you,” I reply.
“There’s no making this right, Layla. No amount of praying or church. No perfect sermon.” She squeezes my hand harder. I don’t pull away. “I told them...about what happened in Chicago, to Mom. I suppose a happy ending isn’t for me. There wasn’t for her.”
“You’re not your mom. You’re not Lebanon either. Life doesn’t give us our happy endings. We take them and sometimes we take too much, but I gotta believe there’s more for us.”
Ruby marks the veracity of my statement and looks at me with those pretty green eyes. “Momma told me to save myself before she died.”
“So do that,” I answer.
Her eyes take in the whole of the car’s worn, musty interior. “How?”
“I don’t know, Rue. But you’re taking responsibility for what happened and that has to count for something.”
Holding on to Ruby’s hand even tighter. “There has to be some kind of justice.”
“There is, and that justice is happening now, and that’s why I have to go. Maybe you’re right. Maybe Mom was right, too. Maybe the only way to save myself was to tell them about what really happened so what isn’t said doesn’t have power over me anymore, over any of us.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” My heart rattles around my rib cage and my heartbeat almost drowns out Ruby’s next words to me.
“Just don’t forget me, okay.”
The pear-shaped-nose detective comes around the car and looks down at my bent frame. “Miss, we’re taking her. You need to wrap this up. Now.”
I need more time. Just a few more minutes, seconds with my friend. These people have made their judgments about her after a mere hour, but they don’t know who she is, why she is. I barely know Ruby in the way I thought I knew her, but there’s a history between us and our fathers, and it’s led us here, with me crouching next to a brown car with my friend in the back seat.
“I won’t forget you because I’ll be with you every damn step of the way. I promise.”
The detective gets behind the driver’s side again and starts the engine. The window squeaks as it rolls back up, and I hold on to Rue’s hand for as long as I can before we must let go of one another. The brown car whisks Ruby away from me and I stand in front of Ms. Naomi’s house. Most of the gawking neighbors retreat into their homes. Lebanon’s car ambles in the opposite direction to the highway and back to Chicago. I don’t cry.
My dad and I head back inside for a last look and to lock up. In this moment of quiet, I almost collapse when I recognize Ms. Naomi, my grandma and another girl in a photo. Ms. Naomi was one of the Three Women in my dream. Alice took some time. It came to me standing on this porch looking at her daughter through the glass of the detective’s sedan. I didn’t recognize the smile. I didn’t take in her youth. The picture next to Ruby’s bed in her room, that was Alice as she always should have been, but never became in this life. A protector. I still can’t identify the third woman. She was beautiful with light skin and bright eyes, almost gold. I’ve never seen eyes like that. Maybe she was an angel.
The Three Women: Naomi, Alice, and The Woman with the Gold Eyes. My cheerleaders from the Other Side. When I needed their guidance the most, they pointed me to Ruby. They showed me the way.
My thoughts and hope and regret all come together inside me. The only certainty is that I will keep my promise to my friend. Turning around I ask Dad, “How long before we can get to the police station?”
“About ten minutes or so,” he answers.
“Let’s go.”