Ruby's Slippers (19 page)

I swallow hard and look at each of my friends. Love and trust fills their eyes, warms my heart. “With all of you,” I place my shaky hand between us all, “I can.”

Leo is the first to cover mine. Our gazes meet and meld with purpose.

Sophia places a hand on top of our joined ones. “
E pluribus utrum
.”

Tim lays his hand on our stack of hands. “I believe you mean
unum
, my dear.” He smiles tenderly. “A perfect sentiment though. ‘Out of many—’”

“Take your picture and move along,” a guard says behind us.

We turn as one.

The guard wears a beige shirt and slacks, with a fancy insignia embroidered on the pocket. “Go ahead. Folks are always stopping, taking pictures. You can’t see the house from here, but it’s still impressive, isn’t it?”

I glance back at the gate, look at the drive that winds along a manicured lawn. It disappears over a hill.

“We’re here to see Mr. Meyers,” Leo says.

The guard, who appears to put too much sugar in his coffee each day, lifts his eyebrows toward a receding hairline. “Really?” He reaches for a clip chart and flips pages back and forth then back again. “I don’t see anyone on the list for today.”

“The list?” I ask.

“Those approved for a visit.”

Sophia takes a tiny step forward. “You just call up to the house and tell Mr. Meyers his daughter is here to see him.”

He scratches his head. “Don’t think he has a daughter.”

“Much as you know!” Sophia snorts.

I give a slight shake of my head to warn her not to say too much. I don’t want to draw attention to myself.

“Go on,” Tim says. “You call him.”

The guard hesitates then returns to the brick guard house. A minute later, he leans out of the doorway, phone in hand, “What’d you say your name is?”

“It doesn’t matter. Really.”

“Dottie,” Sophia says.

Shaking my head, blinking away the stinging tears that threaten, I add, “Dorothy.”

The guard repeats my name into the phone. A second later, the wide gate moves, sliding along a track.

“We can go in?” Tim asks.

“Just step up to the speaker there.”

Together we move toward a little black box perched on a metal stand. Our shoes crunch gravel. We all stare at the speaker as if my father might pop out of the top.

Sophia gives me a soft push. “Go on. Speak to him.”

Leo gives me a nod of encouragement.

“We’re right here with you,” Tim says.

“Hello?”

“You have to push the button,” the guard prompts from his seat inside the little brick house. He reaches for a Styrofoam coffee cup.

I reach forward and press a round button. “Hello?”

A crackling noise emits from the box and I yank my hand back as if it’s scalded. “Dorothy Meyers?” A deep male voice comes forth. “Is that you?”

“Uh, yes.” I glance at my friends. “Are you … ?” Do I say “my father” or use his name? Momma never had rules for something like this.

“Is your sister there too?”

“Abby?” I glance behind me as if she might have suddenly appeared. “No.” Leo presses the button for me. “No. She’s not here.”

“Bring her with you. Friday. Ten o’clock.”

“Friday?”

“Friday!”

“But … we’re here. Now. And …” I turn away from the speaker box. “Friday is two days away. Time is running out.”

A crackling sound tells me that’s the end of the conversation.

Sophia moves in close to me and puts an arm around my shoulder.

“Who does he think he is?” Leo kicks the pole and the speaker box wobbles.

“Hey,” the guard shouts in a warning tone.

“He can’t get away with this.” Leo glares at the driveway leading over the hill toward my father’s mansion. Without explanation, he begins to stalk up the drive.

Tim takes a step in the direction Leo went.

“Hey!” the guard hollers. “You can’t go up there! Hey!” He starts running after Leo, but turns and comes back. “You have to get on the other side of the gate,” he says to the rest of our party.

A minute later the heavy gate slides closed, locking us out. Sophia and Tim stand on either side of me, while the guard takes off running after Leo.

“What a terrible man!” Tim says. “Why, I never knew
Duncan to behave like this. He didn’t even invite you inside.”

A fresh breeze stirs the compressed air in my lungs. I breathe slowly and deeply. My legs won’t take me any further, and I sit on the top stone step.

“I’m sorry.” Sophia sits beside me. “Maybe we gave him a terrible surprise.”

“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t make excuses for him. I’ve made excuses my whole life. I imagined reasons he never came home. That he was too poor to buy a ticket. Or sick. Or even dead. I imagined he’d bumped his head and forgot about us. But the simple truth is that he didn’t want us. I should have left well enough alone.”

Tim shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Dottie, my dear. I’m so sorry for bringing you here.”

“It’s not your fault.” I sniff back my regrets. At least now I know. “It’s okay.” But it may never be okay. I may never get over this pain that feels like a gigantic fist squeezing my heart.

“Come on,” Sophia tugs on my arm.

“We have to wait for Leo to come back.”

It’s then that the reality of what has happened, my absolute worst nightmare, sinks deep into my soul: My father doesn’t want me. He doesn’t care about me. Maybe he only came to the facility to see Abby. Maybe he only cares about her.

Leo paces like a tethered dog in front of the Jeep. He tried to get my father to come to the door, but under the threat of being arrested, he finally backed down and walked back to the gate.

“What are you so angry about?” Sophia asks her son while hanging onto my arm, keeping me close to make sure I’m all right.

He points toward the rise hiding the luxurious home he described to us. “He treated Dottie like she didn’t matter. Like she was nothing!”

His words echo the pain inside me. But as I’ve always done, I tuck those feelings away in the dark, stuffy cellar of my soul.

“Yes.” Sophia’s tone is as soothing as chicken noodle soup, “but we all know better than that, don’t we?”

“But—”

She raises a finger to interrupt his tirade. “Don’t project your own injuries onto her.” She gives Leo one of those looks that carry years of understanding between mother and son. “If you’re angry at having no father, I can understand that. But don’t make this situation worse than it is.”

His face contorts until I expect steam to spew out of his ears. Then he whirls around and jumps into the driver’s seat. He has the engine running before we can all pile inside.

No one says anything for a long time as we drive aimlessly around Seattle. The afternoon burns away the clouds and the sun shines bright, sparkling along the surface of Puget Sound like crystal shards scattered along the top. Store fronts are a blur as I stare out the window. Leo drives in a jerky, angry fashion. I simply hold onto Otto, rub a hand along his back in an effort to soothe and comfort myself. But there is no comfort for this kind of ache.

“You okay?” Leo glances at me for a moment then back at the traffic, which seems to have suddenly become tight-packed along the roadway. His hands clench around the steering wheel like he’s strangling it.

“Of course she’s not okay.” Sophia pats me on the shoulder from the backseat. “She just met her father who was less than ideal. But she’s going to be fine. We’ll see to that.”

“He has good qualities.” Tim’s voice is as gentle as the water appears out in the bay. “Or he used to. Maybe we caught him on a bad day, my dear.”

“Maybe he’s hurt that you haven’t wanted to see him before now,” Sophia suggests.

I spent most of my life imagining reasons why he didn’t come home. I’m not about to start imagining reasons to empathize with him. A fragile piece of myself breaks apart inside,
and a jagged piece comes hurtling out of me. “And how does he think
I
feel?”

Leo jerks the wheel to the right, pulling into a restaurant parking lot. “I’m hungry.”

“I guess we could all use some food,” Sophia agrees, waiting patiently for me to get out of the car. I help her step down, holding her hand, feeling her weight against me. Then she readjusts her clothing, making sure everything is evenly distributed. “Better?”

I nod.

Inside the restaurant, which houses old canoes from ancient civilizations, we’re told it will be just a few minutes before they can seat us, so I excuse myself from the group and walk outside. I check on Otto, who is curled up in the front seat, his chin on his paws. The windows are rolled down partially to give him fresh air. The temperature seems to have dropped several degrees as the sun has begun its descent.

The anger I’m feeling is dark, almost sinister. Jealousy rolls through me in waves. My father doesn’t want me. He wants Abby. He loves Abby, not me. Never me.

His stipulation for meeting face-to-face feels like a fresh slap of rejection. The same rejection I felt after he left, when I understood he wasn’t coming back, when I realized we weren’t like other families.

I remember him holding Abby in her little pink blanket, cuddling her, cooing over her. Tiny glimpses, snapshots of memory, are dim and fuzzy but bring my emotions into sharp clarity. Abby was the pretty one. The baby of the family. Cute and clean. Burbling and smiling. I was plain. Fussy even. Crying out when I banged my head or fell and scraped my hands. Pitching fits when I didn’t get what I wanted.

Of course, I was only four years old. But the contrast has never left me.

Our brief exchange today smarts like a red wasp sting, throbbing and pulsing. Maybe I should just leave now. I could sell the ruby slippers and save the farm. Or I could keep the ruby slippers for myself. They are the only thing I have left of Momma and Granny. Abby can have our father, his estate, his money, his love, all of which seems worthless to me. I’ll keep the memories of Momma. Her love, the memory of it, will have to be enough.

“Thanks, God,” I whisper. “Not exactly what I was hoping for here.”

Immediately I regret my words. Is it fair to blame God for someone else’s actions? Doesn’t he give us choices?

I return to the restaurant, weaving through mostly empty tables as it’s earlier than the dinner hour, even for retired folks. Leo, Sophia, and Tim cease their talking as I approach. They watch me anxiously.

“How’re you doing?” Leo asks.

I smile that he’s saved me the seat beside him. “I’m okay. I’ve made a decision.”

“You have?” Sophia asks. “What is it?”

“San Francisco is a nice place to settle.” Tim pats the table, splaying his arthritic hands. “I’d like to have some family close by. You and I could—”

“Santa Barbara.” Sophia’s wide, luminous eyes glint with pleasure. “Now that would be a great place for you to—”

“Go where you want,” Leo overrides them both. “Life’s too short to be stuck in one place.”

I laugh, feeling free of the emotions that seem to have mired me for so long. These people care about me.
Me!
“Thank you, all.”

“For what?” Leo hands me a rolled napkin, heavy with silverware.

“For helping me. For caring about me.” My throat clogs with emotions I didn’t expect. “In a strange way, I think I’ve found a home with all of you. It’s not a consolation prize. It’s real and … I know that doesn’t make much sense.”

“Sure it does.” Tim rubs the tips of his fingers along the veins in the wooden table. “Home isn’t necessarily a place.”

I touch my uncle’s hand, then put my other arm along the back of Leo’s chair, not quite daring to touch him. I meet Sophia’s smile. “You’ve all helped me so much. Now,” uncomfortable revealing so many emotions, I fumble with my napkin, uncurling it and laying it across my lap, “what I need to do is find my sister.” I give my napkin one final, determined twist before releasing it and reaching for my glass of water. I take a sip, lick my lips of the cool water, then meet my friends’ gazes. “She’s on tour here in the Northwest. I’m going to take her to see our father, and we’ll have a little family reunion. Then I’ll decide what to do with Ruby’s slippers.”

* * *

WE DISCOVER ABBY’S troupe arrives in Seattle today. It’s too late to find her tonight, so we settle into another hotel that allows dogs. I leave Sophia alone in the room while I take Otto for a walk. The wind picks up and is chilly, more like an early fall bite than late summer. Clouds have congregated overhead, blocking out the stars. Fog rolls inland.

I pull on my leather jacket and watch Otto wandering from tires to trees, fire hydrants to light poles, searching for the perfect spot to lift his leg.

“Want company?”

My insides twitch, unnerved that I didn’t hear Leo
approach. Maybe I was too focused on the cold, my numb fingers, Otto taking forever to do his business. My little protector didn’t utter so much as a growl. He’s too busy sniffing and mapping out who’s been there before him. Leo’s eyes are warm, his smile disarming.

“Uh, sure.” The fog alters my voice and seems to close in around us like a wispy curtain.

We both watch Otto, as that seems easier than staring at each other with nothing to say. One of Otto’s red bows hangs loosely from his ear. I suspect he’s been scratching at it.

Leo crosses his arms over his chest. Did he come out here just to stand? To guard me in case Chesterfield or my sister shows up?

“Did you see anyone following us?” I ask.

“No. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

“You still have the shoes?”

There’s a flicker of understanding in Leo’s eyes. He knows I don’t completely trust him. “They’re safe.”

Silence settles between us, swelling and feeling more awkward by the second.

“Did you want something?” I ask.

“No.”

More silence beats between us. I look skyward, but there’s nothing to hold my attention, no first star to wish upon and get me out of this situation. I can’t see the ocean or cars on the nearby street. The parking lot is dark and gray. The few security lights form hazy golden circles on the damp pavement, giving the place an otherworldly appearance.

“Hurry up, Otto. He’s never in a hurry,” I explain, wishing I had something witty to say. Abby would know what to say to a man, how to talk to him, questions to ask, how to act. How to flirt. It shocks me to realize I want to flirt with Leo.

I’ve always had male friends, Craig and Ben, other teachers and farmers, but I didn’t flirt with them. Leo is different.

“You cold?” he asks.

I glance down at my arms crossed over my chest, my hands chafing the sleeves of my jacket, which is a nervous jitter more than an attempt to keep warm. “Not really.”

He fingers the fringe that hangs from the underside of my sleeve. “You doing okay?”

“Fine. Tired.” I remember Sophia chastising him for transporting his emotions to my situation. Maybe he wants to discuss his overreaction to my father’s snub. We both grew up without a father. We have more in common than I imagined. “What about you?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“But you weren’t today.”

He jams his hands in his front jean pockets. “I tend to be overprotective. I didn’t like the way your father was treating you.”

Does that mean he sees me as weak? As someone who needs protection? Or—

“Sometimes,” he says, “I don’t think before I react. It’s gotten me in trouble a few times.”

“I can imagine.”

“I got suspended in high school for punching out some guy.”

Six months ago I wouldn’t have smiled at that admission, but all that has happened to me seems to have mellowed my teacher’s reactions. “What did he do?”

“Don’t remember.”

“I see. And do you remember why you kissed your teacher in school?” The question pops out of my mouth before I can contain it.

He smiles this time, a sly smile that makes something inside me flip over. “Yeah. You want to know about that, do you?”

“No, I just—”

“She wanted me to kiss her. She was young. Cute. It was her first year of teaching. It was my last year in high school.” He shrugs. “I was eighteen. But don’t worry. She didn’t corrupt me.” He steps closer, standing directly in front of me. He runs a finger along the ridge of my shoulder, tugging on my jacket’s fringe. “What did you have in mind?”

His disarming grin sends a jolt straight through me. Instinctively I want to flee. But another part of me, the awakened part, wants me to stay right where I am, which flusters me more than his suggestive comment.

“I’m not a new teacher. I’m definitely not young. And I’m not interested in—”

“Be careful.” He tilts his head, studying me. He leans close and whispers, “God’s watching. You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you?”

“You’re awfully cocky.”

“Yeah. I’m that. Do I scare you?”

“No.” But I am afraid. Not of him. Of me. Of my feelings, my reactions to him.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

I swallow hard. “We’re too much alike, you and me.”

“You don’t seem the cocky sort.” Another smile tugs at the corner of his generous mouth.

“You stepped off the merry-go-round of life for a while.” The words flow out of my mouth and at the same moment could be aimed right at me.

“I did.”

“But would you do it again?”

“I hope not. I learned a lot and hopefully part of what I learned was how to structure my life so I don’t have to take a time-out. What about you?”

“I’ve lived my life watching the merry-go-round go around and around without me. Just watching.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you jumped on?”

I hesitate, not knowing what he wants, how to answer.

“You could put those fancy red shoes on and we could go dancing.” A twinkle in his eye makes me wonder if he’s joking. Or is he … flirting?

“I’m not the dancing type.”

“Never know till you try.”

I swallow my reservations. “Will that merry-go-round pass me by?”

“Time doesn’t stand still. Didn’t you say you learned that time is a gift?”

Rattled by his nearness, his words, I stare at the ground, searching my heart. The toe of his boot looks damp, the tan leather dark at the edges. I’m aware of his wide shoulders, of his breath stirring my hair, of my heart pounding.

“Have you ever been in love, Dottie?”

“Yes. No.” I swallow hard, surprising myself, my thoughts drifting back to Craig. “I’m not sure. It didn’t work out.”

“You don’t believe in love, do you?”

“Sure I do. I just … I’m not sure it ever works out.”

“Maybe the kind of love you’ve experienced. But have you ever known an unselfish love?” His words bring pinpricks of tears to my eyes. I look away. He touches my chin, lifts it until my gaze meets his. “You’re not too old to fall in love. To try again.” He grabs my hand when I start to pull away. “I know you think you are. You like to pretend you’re as old as Tim and my mom, but you’re not. Heck, even they flirt
with each other. You act like you don’t need anyone, but we all need somebody.”

“Did you learn that living in a cabin?”

“Yeah, I did.” His hand cups my face, his thumb caressing my jaw, sending tingling sensations rippling throughout my body. “You have a lot of life left to live.”

“So do you,” I challenge him.

His eyes smolder with emotions I recognize. He pulls his hand away as if he was tempted but is now able to resist. “I’m damaged goods, Dottie. Not good for anyone. Just like your father.”

I don’t believe him. It’s not a rational thought but gut instinct. Or a prompting of some kind. “I thought you believed in unconditional love.”