Casualties (33 page)

Casey woke to find Ruth sifting through their bags, looking for something clean to put on. She wore an olive T-shirt that was too big for her. She must have taken it out of Robbie's duffel.

“Everything's either wet or filthy,” she said.

She'd cracked the blinds, and shadows from the louvers ran across her chest like railroad tracks. Her good eye looked bruised now, too, purple with fatigue. Another bad night, but he supposed it would be a while before she had a decent one.

“So, the sun decided to show itself,” Casey said.

Ruth shrugged. “We need to do some laundry.”

“You did the right thing, you know,” he said. He did not say that he would've bet against her ever making a call like that. He did not say that he'd felt something almost like jealousy, just a flash, when he'd emerged from the bathroom and realized she'd actually gone ahead and done it.

“It's done, anyway. I can't undo it,” Ruth said. She shook a pillow out of its case and began to stuff dirty clothes in it. “She's going to have Breen, the lawyer, call me. Throw me that shirt.”

He did and then sat back and let her figure out the day. Clean their clothes, clean themselves, rest. Listing the tasks, moving around the room seemed to steady her. Then she surprised him.

“Come with me.”

“What? Where?”

“New Hampshire. Come with me.”

“New Hampshire?” She could have said Cameroon. The idea of New Hampshire was just as unexpected, just as foreign.

“You could let your arm heal properly, get some rest. You could even get a new prosthesis,” Ruth said. “Then you can go where you want to go without worrying about it.” She went back to folding clothes, but in her too-casual tone he heard how much was riding on his answer. She must be as afraid to face her family as he was to face the O'Briens.

“Thanks, Ruth, I mean it. Thanks. But I'm not sure it's a good idea.” If he decided to cut and run back to Las Vegas, it would be a lot harder to do from New Hampshire. And if he wanted to go through with seeing Emily, he didn't see how going there would make that any easier, either.

“Don't tell me now. Think about it.”

That seemed to be all that Ruth had to say for a while. She didn't argue when he ordered her eggs in the little snack bar near the campground Laundromat. She ate all of her breakfast, which Casey took as a good sign.

“Hey,” he said, finally.

Ruth looked at him. Her eyes widened slightly as though she had just noticed he was there.

“Just thought I'd see if you could still hear me,” he said. He hesitated, then plunged on. “You want to think out loud, it's okay with me.”

“That lawyer is going to call me. And I've got some phone calls I need to make and I don't want to.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“Neal, yes. Terri too. My family.”

“What's holding you back?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Will it get any easier if you wait?” He was full of wisdom when it came to someone else.

Ruth tried to smile but gave up on it. She shook her head and reached for her purse.

—

She called Neal from the Laundromat. She was half hoping the phone would go right to voice mail, but he answered on the first ring.

“Ruth?”

She closed her eyes and leaned forward, elbows on her knees for support. She wished now she could see him, hold him and just not have to say anything, but he was repeating her name again as if afraid she was going to hang up.

“I've caught you at a bad time,” she said. “You've got people there.” It was Sunday, where would he be? A meeting maybe, or golf.

“I'll be right back,” she heard him say. “Got to take this.” When he spoke again, the background voices had disappeared and so had the controlled calm she'd heard when he answered.

“Where the hell are you?”

“I'm sorry I haven't called. I don't know where to begin.”

“Who's the guy?”

“He's . . . a friend.” There was no word that would describe who Casey was to her. She couldn't understand it herself. How could she explain it to Neal?

“Are you still with him?”

“Yes, but it's okay, he's not . . . there isn't time to explain. He's not the reason I'm here.”

“Tell me the reason, then.”

“I'm sorry. That's all I can say.”

“There's a lot more you can say. I try my best to be whatever it is you need and you kick me out of your house. Then you disappear. No explanation. No phone calls. The only word I get is from a stranger who could have kidnapped you for all I know.”

His words peppered into her ear like bullets from a silencer. She'd never heard Neal sound so angry, at least not at her. Beneath that, though, Ruth heard concern and hurt. She pictured his long, lean face, the blue eyes behind the reading glasses he always forgot he had on.

“Listen to me, please,” she said. “I know you were trying to help me. And you did, so much. I realize I didn't make it easy. I'm so sorry, Neal. I shouldn't have treated you that way.”

The phone went silent. Ruth heard the Laundromat door open. When she looked up, Casey backed out with a wave of apology. Neal's voice drew her back.

“I just want you home. It's been a tough time for all of us.”

Home. Like that, she saw it, felt it, wanted it. She wanted the sand he tracked in from the beach, the cracked Chargers mug he refused to let her toss away, the copy of
People
magazine that he'd buy for her when he stopped for milk or gum on the way home. No other man had known her as well or for as long. And Neal had known Robbie. In the silence that expanded between them, Ruth understood that none of these things were strong enough to sustain her; if they had been, she would have stayed.

Ruth took a breath, and then the words spilled out of her. “I'm going to help those families who are suing RyCom.”

The silence stretched between them until Ruth wondered if he'd even heard her. “What are you talking about?” he said at last.

She imagined telling Neal to forget what she'd said. She wasn't herself. She would return to San Diego after she buried Robbie, and then they could try to figure out where they stood. That was the reasonable thing. But as more seconds ticked by, the words would not come. She didn't want to say them anymore. She didn't know what she wanted, but she knew that much. She stood up and walked away from the dryer.

“Neal, I'm going to give their lawyer some information that might help.” She needed to make everything clear to him. She needed to be clear for herself.

“What are you talking about? What information?”

Over the phone, she could hear the sound of a door opening. A man called Neal's name.

“A couple of minutes,” he said to whoever it was.

“I'd better go,” Ruth said.

“Where are you headed?”

“To New Hampshire, for now,” she said. “I'll let you know when I get there.” They could talk again. He needed time. So did she.

“Ruth, you've been through a lot. Tell me where you are. I'll get there as soon as I can. We can go to your grandmother's together.” All business now, ready to step in the way he had when Robbie died.

“You don't need to do that.” She saw Casey leaning against the fence outside the Laundromat and she lifted her hand to get his attention, but Neal's next words stopped her cold.

“You blame me, don't you?”

“What?”

“You blame me for Robbie.”

“What are you saying?” Ruth found another chair and sat down. She could handle anything but the thought that somehow Neal knew something and hadn't warned her.

“I don't know.” His voice dropped so low Ruth could barely hear him. “I keep thinking about that morning. I told you not to expect Robbie to be the same . . . I keep wondering if there's something I could have said after you left for work. Instead, we talked bullshit and I made him pancakes.”

Ruth slumped forward; the edge of the plastic seat dug into the back of her thighs. “I don't blame you,” she said. “I never blamed you.” That was the truth, even though she couldn't help imagining Neal and Robbie eating pancakes, talking, drifting into conversation that might have made Neal cancel his meetings or call her to come home or any of a million events that might have changed that day, moments missed that she would want back for the rest of her life.

“Come home, then, Ruth. Or let me come get you.”

“No,” Ruth said. She drew a breath and sat up. “I've already told one of the contractors' wives that I would help.”

“Why? You'll only bring a shit storm down on your head, and for what? The cards are stacked against those people and you know it. No one in the industry will touch you ever again.”

Ruth didn't have an answer for him that he would understand. She waited for him to speak, but she knew he was running through the consequences he'd face, just as she had not twenty-four hours before. His consulting business would take a hit. It might dry up altogether if things got nasty. Guilt by association.

“I'm too young to retire and I'm too old to start over,” he said at last.

“I understand.”

If she'd been standing in front of him at that moment, Ruth might have touched his cheek and pulled him close so he would know that she did not blame him. She'd never given Neal any reason to go to the wall for her.

“Don't do this, Ruth.” His voice sounded rigid with disbelief, warning.

She closed her eyes and imagined the feel of her palm on his cheek, a last kiss.

“Take care, Neal.”

As she ended the call, her heart tumbled in her chest like the clothes in the nearby dryers. There was a woman shoving coins in, one after the other. When had she come in? Where was Casey? Ruth caught sight of him slouched against a rail outside and relaxed a little. He waved. She lifted her hand in return. There was no turning back now. She had to call Terri. She would let her know without spelling it out that she was doing what her friend had asked. Terri could send the credit cards to New Hampshire. After that no more talking, at least until Terri was safely in another job. Ruth would be on her own.

—

From the doorway of the Laundromat, Casey couldn't tell how Ruth was faring. He shifted on his crutches and resumed pacing. Sooner or later she'd finish her calls and then he'd have to make his decision. Going back to Nevada would be easy enough. If Belva had already rented out the trailer, he'd bunk with Lenny until he got settled somewhere else. All Ruth would have to do is drop him off in Indianapolis.

Casey stopped and leaned against the hood of the Jaguar. Bits and pieces of the last twenty-four hours came back to him as he watched her stand, walk to the far wall, head bowed, hand pressing the phone to her ear. She looked the same but she was not the same. She'd taken that first step and now she could not go back. He envied her.

She was turning now, looking for him. He waved and picked up the crutches. Maybe he should go with her.

—

That night they ate dinner outside, at one of the picnic tables. The RV family had emerged. Children burst out of the vehicle and ran through the mud toward the river and back. The adults followed like newly liberated prisoners—cautious, blinking a little against the sun that had wavered all day but now lit the sky to the west. Everyone slapped at insects on their skin but no one complained.

Ruth watched the family from behind her sunglasses. She jumped when she felt a mass of fur, muscle, and bone worm its way between her thighs. The Lab had sniffed out a piece of grease-soaked bread she'd dropped and was looking for more.

“Looks like you've made a friend.” Casey chuckled. He reached for another drumstick.

Ruth tore a piece of chicken from the thigh she'd been toying with and tossed it toward the RV. She watched the dog run away and then head toward the other table, where the wife was unpacking a
cooler. Their son began to toss a softball in the air and swing a bat. Ruth couldn't take her eyes off him. She pushed the rest of her food toward Casey.

“You eat it. I'm done.”

He pushed it back.

“Two more bites.”

“I'm all right now. You don't have to nurse me anymore.”

She saw Casey glance at the boy and then back at her. He put down his drumstick and leaned across the table, crushing the empty paper bag that had carried their food. He groped for her hand.

Ruth watched the woman wet a napkin with a bottle of water and dab at her daughter's cheeks. Then she felt Robbie sitting next to her as he had once, years before, as a toddler on a sunny Saturday in a park somewhere. His curls stuck to his scalp, moist in the heat, and his eyes were aimed at the ice cream cone melting in his hands. He lifted it to his mouth. Chocolate ice cream trickled down his arms; a gap-toothed grin lit up his sticky face. Ruth heard her own laugh, watched herself pretend to sneak up on him with a wet cloth. He'd thrown his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. For once she hadn't pulled back from the mess. She hugged him and the smell of milk, chocolate, and baby skin overwhelmed her. Her eyes filled as the memory slipped away.