“Thank you,” Ruby said fervently. “Seriously, Safta. Thank you so much for all of this.”
“Of course.” Ronnie said goodbye, put her phone back in her pocket, and picked up her laundry basket again. She hadn’t wanted to ask Ruby if her biological mother, Annette, was planning on coming to the wedding. She still couldn’t understand a mother leaving her child. She tried not to judge. Maybe Annette had suffered from postpartum depression, or she’d had some kind of mental health problems. Maybe Annette had just known that she was poorly equipped to be a parent. Better, if that was the case, to leave the job to someone who could do it, someone who genuinely wanted to be a mom, Ronnie thought. And things seemed to have worked out well for Ruby. Her father doted on her. Sarah loved her and had been happy to step into the role of stepmother. Being raised by a single father for so many years, with a mother out of the picture, hadn’t seemed to affect Ruby as dramatically as it could have. Perhaps it was even at the root of her drive. Ruby had always done well in school; she’d had plenty of friends; she’d chosen her career and worked toward it with unwavering focus and unrelenting determination. And now Ruby would be a wife. Ronnie shook her head in wonder, hardly able to imagine the girl she’d met as an eight-year-old becoming someone’s wife. She set fresh linens on the guest-room bed and sat down on the bench at its foot to catch her breath and call her daughter.
“Annette? I know that Ruby invited her,” Sarah said. Sarah sounded distracted. But that was probably to be expected, with the wedding so soon, and with managing the boys’ complicated schedule. “She told Eli that she’s going to try to make it.”
“She’s going to try to attend her only child’s wedding?”
Sarah sighed. “I know, Mom. I don’t understand it, either.”
“I’m asking because I need to know if I should save her a bed.”
“Annette can take care of herself.” Ronnie could picture her daughter, walking at her typically brisk pace, shoulder-length hair swinging. “She’ll probably pop a tent in the backyard.”
“Well, that would work for me. I’ve got a nice one in the garage. Are you still planning to come up on Wednesday?”
“Thursday, I think. We’ll leave first thing in the morning, probably get to you by midafternoon.”
“That’s great. Do you know how long you’ll be staying?” Ronnie kept her tone perfectly neutral, without even the hint of an accusation, but, still, Sarah managed to hear one.
“Just until Sunday. I’m sorry, and I wish it could be longer, but Miles has soccer and Dexter’s got nature camp and they both start first thing Monday.”
Nature camp in New York City, Ronnie thought, instead of letting your kid experience actual nature on Cape Cod. Oh, she’d never understand Sarah, not as long as she lived.
“I understand. Tell the boys I can’t wait to see them.” She waited to see if Sarah wanted to keep talking. Some afternoons, the conversation would range from Dexter’s obsession with turtles to Miles’s scathing book reports （“In my opinion, this book is bad and boring and I do not know why it’s for sale,” was how his assessment of his last book had begun）， or the most recent show that Ruby had stage-managed, or the postponed trip that Sarah and Eli were planning on taking, when the world allowed for travel again. If Ronnie caught her at the right moment and gave her time, Sarah would start with the family news and work her way to whatever was bothering her. But ever since their talk about the studio she’d rented, Sarah hadn’t been chatty, and that morning was no exception.
“Love you, Mom, but I’ve got a million things to take care of. We’ll see you soon.” Sarah hung up the phone, leaving Ronnie to wonder. Sarah had not been herself lately, Ronnie thought as she made her way across the deck to the guesthouse. Ronnie had been on the brink of asking Sarah, a dozen times, What is going on? She’d been ready with advice on the necessity of working at a marriage, the importance of putting your head down to get through the hard times and not throwing love away. She’d even considered calling Eli herself, asking him the same questions. In every instance, she’d managed to keep her mouth shut. Every marriage is a mystery, as her own mother would say. If Sarah needed her help, she would ask for it. Trying to pull Sarah close to her would only send her further away.
Ronnie settled her basket in her arms and got back to work. Halfway to the guesthouse, she had to pause, because she’d developed a painful stitch in her side. It was disheartening. Ronnie could still remember when she could trot up and down the six flights of beach stairs with a baby on each arm. Oh, well, she thought, setting down her basket, raising her arms over her head and bending from side to side. She could see her reflection in the guesthouse window—wide-legged cropped cotton pants, one of Lee’s old undershirts, bare feet. Wisps of hair had escaped from her bun, and without underwire and shapewear her middle looked thick, without a noticeable waist or bustline. You’re lovely, Lee used to tell her. Right up until the end, even on the days when all she saw were ruin and sag. You’re lovely, he would say; still my beautiful bride, and his conviction made it true.