Ruby Unscripted (15 page)

And then we had our food, but it wasn't burgers. It was Chinese takeout, but dream-fashion, we're eating with our chopsticks without any trouble at all. And the truck is warm, someone turned on soft music, the night is upon us, and we're driving, going somewhere, anywhere, but going there together. Carson and I are safely tucked between our parents, Mac is a future coming to us, and everything is good and peaceful.

I hate those dreams.

Now it's like my body is afraid of sleep, despite the fact that my mind keeps telling it everything's fine. My body doesn't believe my mind, and so I toss and turn.

Finally I get up and turn on my desk light, then pick up Aunt Betty's gift and hop back beneath the covers. A journal for my thoughts. So why not this one? And so I write.

Maybe it's from all the movies we watched tonight and all the film stuff lately, but I can picture these ideas as scenes in a movie. Maybe it's from Kaden reminding me of that screenwriting workshop. What was it he said that I didn't want to hear? Truth. That sometimes we should stick with something and let it find us.

I write, “Guy sitting on bed with laptop. Night.”

The possibilities from there are endless.

Maybe I'll turn it into a horror with something smashing through the window.

Or a romance where he's writing the story of a lost love. Oh, that's sort of like
Moulin Rouge
. It could be a comedy. Hmm, I can't think of anything funny tonight. A bucket of water falls on his head. No, that's about as funny as a sad dream.

A suspense film could have a stranger pop on with an IM threatening the guy's secret love. How does the stranger know he's in love with her?

Or the phone could ring—it's a woman, crying out for help.

I snuggle down in my covers and release a long, open-mouthed yawn. And as the ideas come one after another, I write and think and travel toward sleep with the images surrounding me.

chapter fourteen

“We're here to pick you up, but we want milkshakes!” Mac says as he races into the Underground with Carson following.

“It's only three o'clock. I'm not off for another half hour.”

Carson smiles one of his happier smiles. He must have enjoyed the Giants today. “That's why we came for milkshakes. And so I could see Aunt Jenna,” he says just as I hear a cry of excitement from the kitchen.

Aunt Jenna races toward Carson and envelops my brother in a big hug.

I make chocolate milkshakes, and Aunt Jenna tells me to have one with them. It's a slow time, so she visits for a while, then leaves us to drink our milkshakes and let Mac tell jokes.

“There were these three fifth graders in an airplane . . .”

Sometimes it's easy not to actually listen to Mac, since he talks continuously.

“Do you get it?”

We're silent a moment, and then Carson laughs, which makes me laugh, which always happens when Carson laughs. It makes me happy to see him happy, though I don't know why this is.

“You get it?” Mac keeps saying.

This is how it would be. This would be normal if Carson still lived with us.

But I'm trying not to let
what if
and
if only
and
would be
take over what
is
. This is something Natasha said to me earlier today. I told her that my brother was visiting and that I wished he wouldn't go back.

She nodded, and I could tell she had something to say, so I asked her. With a divorce and a second husband's death behind her, she said that she can't live in what might have been or what would be.

“I missed a lot of years wishing my life were something else. Now I try to take the gift of today and as many tomorrows as are given to me and do all I can in that time.”

If I were to write what I've been given today, chocolate milkshakes with my brothers would be the first thing I'd put down.

In the evening we work on the house, unpacking and cleaning. Carson works on his apartment, for when he comes down to visit or when other company comes. He talks about bringing some of his friends to go deep-sea fishing or sailing with a friend of Austin's.

Then we go out for late-night Chinese, and I think of my dream from last night.

“You didn't really tell me what's going on with Dad,” I say to Carson, realizing that I haven't talked to my father in over a week.

“Later,” he says, glancing at Mom.

A feeling of longing comes over me, and then I try instead to enjoy this right now. A time with Mom, Austin, Mac, Carson, and me—it's rare. And who knows, a few years from now, I might dream about this and miss it terribly.

But I will call my dad tonight too.

“I don't want to get up,” I tell Mac when he announces that breakfast is ready. The day awakens with a dread like the fog lingering around the house.

“Mom is cooking bacon, eggs, hash browns, and French toast with coconut syrup.” He licks his lips. “It's our last breakfast with Carson for a long, long time.”

A shadow of sadness washes over Mac's young face. His hair is messy, and he's in pajamas that only little kids should wear—Carson will no doubt tease that Mac is too old for the tight blue-with-yellow-moons top and bottoms. I forget how skinny Mac's legs are, little-kid skinny, and it makes him look like a cute big-headed grasshopper.

“So come down, 'kay?”

“'Kay,” I say, but I pull the covers over my head.

At breakfast Austin announces, holding a bite of French toast midair on his fork, “Let's go to the beach.”

“But Carson has to leave soon,” Mom says.

“No, I can stay longer. It's no big deal.”

This brightens everyone up.

An hour later we're at the beach instead of church. I must admit, I was actually looking forward to church, to “trying out” the one Kaden attends. But Carson says he won't be back for a month, so this is better. Mom packs a ton of food, and after breakfast and Chinese, I wonder if I'll fit into those new clothes of mine tomorrow.

Above the silver waters the fog lingers, but it's not too cold, and the sky is slowly fading from gray into patches of blue. The waves come in a steady rhythm to roll and fold, then stretch themselves across the sand. Mac and Carson play catch with a Nerf football. Austin tries to fly a kite but finally gives up. Mom gets up from the sand castle she was making and brushes the sand off her jeans. They walk hand in hand down the beach toward some craggy rocks.

After all the food I've been eating, I should play football or go for a run or something, but this heaviness keeps me resting on the blanket. Running my fingers through the sand, I sift through the cool top layer to the cold underneath, making parallel lines like a Japanese garden.

Usually I'd draw pictures in the sand or wishes or the name of my current crush.
Ruby loves . . .

I think of Nick. But I don't love Nick. I don't even really like him. I haven't thought of him, wondered about him, or talked to him in days.

When I was thirteen, I thought I loved a guy who worked at my dad's hardware store. And there have been some strong emotions for Chad Michael Murray and Orlando Bloom, as well as real-life crushes on a few guys at school, which were usually reciprocated. Those ended for various reasons.

But right now I wouldn't write
Ruby loves
or even
Ruby likes
about anyone.

Dad wasn't home when I called the night before. The answering machine said, “You've reached the home of Steve and Tiffany Madden,” which conjured a strange anger. There was no mention of “Carson, Ruby, or Mac.” Though it isn't my home. But it is my dad's.

And Carson lives there. Carson and my dad.

And me, Mac, and Mom live together with Austin. I should be thankful for this, for today. But somehow I can't be.

A sadness prevails like the fog prevailing over the sunny day, even if the sky promises to turn blue once again. Not long ago I was at this same ocean with Frankie, and the world stretched before me all hopeful and wonderful-like.

The waves roll and stretch, roll and stretch, as they do with faithful eternal consistency.

All I feel now is a great sense of looming unrest. What will become of us all?

ME:
We need to talk soon, but I can't right now. Carson is about to leave.

KATE:
It's like we're becoming strangers, and we always promised to be BFF.

ME:
I know. So let's talk tonight.

KATE:
K. L8r G8r

Carson and I carry his bag and a few boxes out to his truck and then stand outside in the falling darkness. He was supposed to leave in the morning, but he keeps delaying.

“I can't believe we won't ever live together anymore,” I say, no longer caring if that hurts his feelings.

“Yeah.”

“I'm not trying to make you feel bad.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How often will you come down?”

“I don't know.”

We hear Mac's voice inside the house. “I'll give him my room.” Mom's voice is muffled, so we can't hear what she says—only Mac then responds, “So I'm not even going to see him anymore! When I see Dad, Carson'll probably be here seeing you. I hate this!”

“It's the meltdown,” I say, though Mac has appropriately expressed my pent-up emotions.

“Poor guy. I need to do more with him when we're together.” Carson opens the tailgate of his truck with a creak. “But I don't belong here. I mean, my truck uses more gas in a week than some of these cars use in a month.”

“You could get a hybrid.” I'm only half joking.

“There aren't many electrical plugs in the Trinity Alps. Though the new ethanol trucks might be an option.” He sits on the tailgate. In the back of his truck are some boxes, his sleeping bag, a fishing pole, tackle box, and a container full of camping supplies.

He doesn't really fit down here, it's true. And yet . . .

“There are tons of things for you to do,” I say. “People in Marin are really into the outdoors. They cycle everywhere, hike Mount Tamalpais, sea kayak, go on ecotours.”

“It's yuppie adventures. I like going where I don't see a soul for a whole day. Where there are thousands of acres separating me from civilization. Sometimes I can't think with people pressing in.”

This is a lot for Carson to verbalize. He's been thinking this over, I can tell.

“And besides,” he says, “Dad needs me.”

“Why does Dad need you?” This worries me. Dad
needing
Carson—is something wrong with him? Does he need me too?

“I can't really explain it.”

“What about Mom?”

“She misses me, and I miss her. I miss her more than I ever expected. But Dad—it's just different. Like he's unhappy without us. It's tiring in a way. You know, Dad got remarried fast for a reason.”

“What do you mean?”

I'm not getting this at all. It's true Dad married only months after the divorce. We hated it, hated him sometimes, and hated them both for all the changes. And then Mom started telling us about Austin, and one night Carson and I planned to run away with Mac. Carson wanted to go to Alaska, and I wanted to go to New York or Paris. We got in a fight and went to our rooms instead.

“Men have a hard time being alone.”

“That's what Mom said when Dad got married.”

“I guess for a lot of men, it's true. Not me. I love being alone sometimes. But Tiffany works those twelve-hour shifts at the hospital, so I usually do something with him those nights. He's pretty lonely when she's working, and he's not the same without his kids. It's not really fair for Mom to get all of us.”

“It's not really fair that they got a divorce.” I sit on the tailgate, and my feet dangle off the edge.

Carson shouldn't have such responsibility, and yet the idea of Dad sitting at his house alone is pretty disturbing. I think about Dad's friends and family up there. Why doesn't he do things with them? Before I ask, we hear Mac crying from inside the house.