Losing Ruby

Copyright © 2020 Kelsa Dixon

All rights reserved

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[Brody]

I stood in the driveway, staring up at a house that once brought me comfort. Promise. A house that held a future my parents would have been proud of. Years of nothing but time; of birthdays and holidays; that deft tango between those no-you-gets-to-talk-to-you-like-that, but I'll-tear-your-ego-to-shreds-myself relationships with each of my siblings. Time with a family I'd adored, but I no longer felt I belonged to.

As I traced the roof line to the window of my old room, I thought of the legacy I should've followed. It was burrowed into the walls of this home just as it'd been bred in my bones. A legacy that Luca had stepped into when I hadn't.

A wind high above rustled the leaves of the oak trees that dotted the yard. It guided my gaze upward, the warm breeze settling around me. For an August night, the air held little humidity. Stars consumed the sky and I wondered how people could look at them and find hope in such a vast, empty expanse. Ruby had once loved them. She'd told me how ethereal they seemed; how endless fate and hopes and dreams could be when you relished the mightiness of its void. I wished she were here to explain it all to me again, because the sparkle she'd once given them dulled in the years since she'd been gone.

Somewhere in the passing clouds Ruby's face morphed into Chloe's. I wondered if Ruby had ever told Chloe about the stars—would she believe in their wondrous fate?

I couldn't believe she would. The ache in my chest that was so often reserved for Ruby intensified each day as I watched Chloe silently stand at the threshold to the kitchen. As if alone, she'd study the room, her gaze sliding from one corner to another, watching the movements I'd imagine were once our parents.

Or in the moments I'd watch from down the hall as she slipped into our parents room. Her touch roved gingerly over the dresser, over our mother's jewelry, dipped into different trays of rings and bracelets. She'd pick up a piece, her fingertips drifting delicately over the setting before she'd pull it close to her chest. Her back would expand with a deep breath, then she'd put it back. Exactly as she'd found it.

But not once had I seen a single tear. Not since the night that Luca held her together as I watched idly by with no idea how to help her hold on while she learned to let go.

The only thing that played on a loop in my mind was how I'd barely spoken to my family. How I was to be what they needed—to figure out what it was they needed. How I was now assuming temporary custody of a sister I wasn't sure would appreciate the gesture.

Surely—even with the years she'd spent building the bridge in our relationship with her calls and her texts and her blatant attempts to include me in family affairs—she would've been better off with Luca or Noah. More open—more herself. Maybe she could have found more comfort in everything that happened, knowing they were still her constant.

But when a set of deputies accompanying a woman with a badge and a clipboard began threatening custody of Chloe—how minor's in Chloe's position would be taken to a foster home overnight before placement could be made—Luca's voice began to rise and threats traced the tip of his tongue, I quickly agreed she'd stay with me until permanent plans could be made. The will was to be read this week, it was only temporary, I assured the CPS agent before she looked too closely at the dark drawings curled over my arms and thought to look deeper into my past. With a disapproving scowl she agreed to confirm my relationship and handed over a stack of documents that took me the better part of an hour to fill out.

It had been a band aid to a bullet wound, because I could guess I would've been the last choice if it'd been left up to our parents. I couldn't be the only one with the same thought, which brought to question—what would happen to Chloe?

The porch light came on and it flooded the drive with a warm glow. I was tempted to step out of the spotlight and back into the shadows. It's where I belonged—something Luca never failed to remind me of. In the dim background of a family I'd walked away from.

Noah appeared, doused in that same spotlight. One he generally seemed to thrive in. The center of attention, he was always quick with a joke at the most inappropriate times.

It was after two in the morning before we made it out of the hospital, but Noah wasn't waiting for us here as I'd expected. I knew he wouldn't show at the hospital because that would've involved too much emotional commitment. In fact, the booze and the perfume he reeked of when he did stumble in the front door at first light suggested he was oblivious of the events at all. But he'd been aware; Luca had called over and over. Chloe had resorted to texting. There was never a response, and he refrained from excusing his absence on the bed of lies of incompetence. Not once did he suggest he missed the calls or hadn't read the texts; listened to the voicemails.

He'd simply ignored them. And he made no effort to defend himself at the onslaught of crude accusations Luca slung at him the next morning. In fact, he appeared unbothered at all by the revelations of the night before as well as at the slew of choice words Luca had for him.

It wasn't until Chloe was frozen behind them that the casual words meant to tear into the other stopped. Instantly, Luca turned on her, questioning and prying about her feelings; how she was doing; how she slept. At that Noah cut in, effectively cutting Luca off. Luca and I watched as they shared a look—an understanding it'd seemed—and when he asked how she was, she'd lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders and simply said she was fine. I watched as she slipped into a shiny suit of armor Noah must've given her to conceal the feelings she refused to release; tucked away in a shimmering, reflective display of confidence.

She was giving us what we wanted to see, because not even I could imagine the ability to swallow that kind of sorrow. Time didn't heal wounds like this overnight. In fact, I was still waiting for it to heal the last round of affliction.

Maybe it never would. Maybe the people that tell you time heals everything...lie. That they don't—or they can't—comprehend that immeasurable hole that somehow only continually drains. Because there is no way that those people have had to let time pass so slowly that it seems to be standing still.

I pulled the cigarette I let burn between my fingers to my lips. Inhaling, the smoke burned deep in my lungs. "You headed out?" I said to Noah as he approached. It seemed early, but there was no other reason for him to be out here.

"You're kidding. Chloe would have my head on a platter for dinner if I left before we all sat around that fucked up table pretending any of this was normal." He took the cigarette from my hand. The burning red embers drew my attention to the side of his face, it seemed pale in the glow of our house. I knew he could feel me staring when he asked, "You good?"

I dropped my gaze and scuffed my heel against the drive. "I said my goodbyes years ago." Not formally, but figuratively. It wasn't my place to mourn for something I'd pushed away.

He gave me a wary look.

The scrutiny felt like pressure bearing down on me. "I've made my peace with it." It was a lie as weak and lame as Chloe's, but edged with convincing depth. A ploy I'd perfected over the years. Deceptive assurance.

Noah held the cigarette out to me. He didn't release it, waiting until I met his eye. "Have you?"

I bought time with a deep inhale, allowing the smoke time to settle in my chest. "How are you?" Redirection—another skill I'd mastered. Noah was aware of the tactic, it was a talent we shared.

"I've made peace with it." His words fell flat.

When I said nothing, his narrowed gaze slanted toward me. I nodded in understanding. We weren't going to really talk about it. Not my feelings, nor his. Not my relationship with our parents, not his.

Dropping the cigarette to the concrete, I stubbed it out with the toe of my worn boot and shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my faded black jeans. Discreetly, I stole another glance at Noah and studied what I could see—I knew enough to know it was only ever what he allowed us to see. So I took stock of the physical accounts. He was easily two inches taller than me, with his chin lifted, his jaw set with defiance, he appeared above his normal six and a half foot frame. His leaner build normally carefree seemed strained under the recent events; the thin muscles pulled taut down his arms. Where there was normally a sly grin, a mischievous glint in his green eyes, there was a dull and lifeless gaze staring stoically back at the house. His rigid, eerily composed stature mirrored Chloe's; he was grasping at the cocky confidence he normally exuded with ease.

I was tempted to throw my arm around him, pull him into a tight embrace, but I couldn't find the courage.

I liked people to think I was tough; nearly every inch of skin was coated in black ink, I kept my broad shoulders wide. Maybe I wasn't so different from them—a suit of armor to mask the truth. But where I thought Noah and Chloe and Luca hid an unrelenting strength beneath the facades, I harbored a cowardliness I couldn't bear to confront. Confronting it would mean I'd have to face what I was truly running from.

Suddenly, Noah was moving as the door began to open. Chloe stood, framed in the glowing light from inside.

"C!" he called out. The sound was buoyant and it made me think my mind had made up the illusion of a more distraught brother.

He bound up the stairs two at a time into Chloe's arms. Swinging her around, her blonde hair rippled down her back. As he set her back down he draped an arm across her shoulders. It was all a distraction—a mind game. Because you'd have to be disillusioned to lose sight of the cracks forming in the strong foundation we were attempting to be.

"Dinner's ready, B," she said as Noah guided her back into the house. There was a gentle smile that didn't curve at the corners, although I'd bet she'd meant it to. The long look on her face told me she didn't believe Noah's act of deceit either. Instead, it reflected a form of compassion. I took a better look before she disappeared, and I'd be a poor judge if I didn't admit it was aimed at me.

A sense of failure washed over me. The empathy should've been reversed.

Quietly, I trudged behind them through the foyer and down the hall. Pausing in the doorway, I watched as Noah and Chloe took the seats around Luca at the table. No one dared to sit in the chairs that belonged to mom and dad.

Chloe scooped from one of the many casseroles we received daily. From neighbors, and close friends. They came by the dozens from the college and the wives of my father's colleagues. The gesture was nice, but the same goes for casseroles, as it does for those people who tell you that time does the healing. The food was sent out of respect, but no one who has ever lost someone could begin to eat the amount of food we shoved to the back of our freezer daily. It was a wonder we could even stomach the thought of food. The only reason we ate was to be sure Chloe ate.

"B." Chloe looked up, finding me across the room. She tapped her nails against the seat next to her and gave me a smile that, yet again, didn't quite reach her eyes.

I pulled my hands from my pockets, crossed the room and before I could sit, Noah was juggling a basket of bread into my hands as he took two pieces off the top. Maybe it was just Luca and I bearing the meals for Chloe's benefit. It seemed Noah had no problem keeping it down as I watched him shovel the baked pasta into his mouth as though he hadn't eaten in days.

"What were you doing outside?" Chloe asked. She twirled a pasta noodle across her plate.

I placed the basket onto the table among the disarray of mismatched cookware. "I was just calling the shop." It was what I had initially stepped outside to do. Over an hour ago. I just hadn't found my way back inside.

"Must be time to get back to that life you moved onto, huh?" Luca's clipped tone was full of spite.

I met his icy glare from across the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Noah peer over at me from under his lashes. The atmosphere around the table dropped a few degrees, and the silence was pierced only by the clinking and scraping of forks across plates of food that, for the most part, went untouched.

I refrained from saying anything. I'd thought that by not engaging would've kept him from doing the same, but apparently he didn't need me involved to set himself off.

He took another jab. "Really, what are you still doing here, Brody?" I should've seen it coming. We hadn't exchanged more than a few words the seemingly short, yet excruciatingly long three days it'd been.

This time there was a fire alight in the blue hue glowering back at me. This was what he wanted. Words that turned to physical blows—if I still knew him as I once had. We were cut from the same cloth. He needed the physical pain for the emotional release as much as I did, we just found that relief in different ways. Mine came from the sharp, stabbing pain of a repetitive needle; his came from the hard, fast hits he took on the field. I could remember how those felt—the brutal sting of a right hook, the knock-out blow of an upper cut—from a time when all I craved was the release; I wasn't picky back then. And I'd watched enough of his games to know that every time he got hit, took a tackle, was driven into the ground, he came back stronger. Some would even say gleefully.

I returned the heated look. "You act like I didn't care about mom and dad."

"Did you?" He sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his brawny chest. He scoffed, "No, of course you didn't. You didn't give a shit about them, about this family at all. You've made that crystal fucking clear."

"Luca. Enough." Chloe dropped her fork and it clattered against the porcelain rim of her plate. But he didn't flinch, he didn't so much as acknowledge her the way he refused to drop his piercing stare.

I pulled in a deep breath and grit my teeth. "Of course, I care."

Noah sat up straighter as I followed his line of vision to my fists clenched on the table. I released them instantly.

Of course, I fucking cared about this family. I cared too damn much, that's why I'd left. It was why I couldn't watch every day as everyone's heart broke all over again when Ruby didn't come down for breakfast in the mornings. Or when everyone would stare blankly at her empty seat each night. When, each month, her anniversary came and went and no one could so much as utter her name. The day I graduated high school I got the hell out of this house, and away from a family whose forgiveness I didn't deserve. From a family I had destroyed.

Luca suddenly looked indifferent. "Well, you've done a hell of a job proving otherwise."

I sighed and pain scorched the back of my eyelids as I tried to contain the anguish building with each jab. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about." He thought he did; he honestly believed I could've cared less and I didn't blame him. I'd made a point of making it seem that way. Abruptly, I stood and the legs of my chair across the dark oak floors of our kitchen were like a game starting buzzer for Luca and he jumped to his feet, too.

I noticed the momentary sparkle of glee in his light blue eyes. And then Noah caught my attention as he dropped his head forward, pushing himself up. As if he'd actually intervene if our feud finally turned to a brawl.

"You don't want to start something you can't finish," I warned Luca. Although, I wasn't so sure he wouldn't finish it, especially when I wasn't hitting back.

"Brody, don't." Chloe jerked on my hand, and it disrupted the tension building around the table. Her posture was stiff, her shoulders rigid.

I ground down on my jaw and clicked away the emotions stifling the oxygen in my lungs. The look in her eyes hadn't sedated the fire in Luca, it's what happened every time I was around. He would be more than happy to punch out our resentment, and I wasn't going to give it to him.

I cupped the back of Chloe's head and distractedly kissed the top of her head. "I love you," I muttered. Because I'd never said it enough before. You would've thought I'd have learned that the first time we lost someone we couldn't bring back.

I turned on my heel. Passing the table, I put a hand to Noah's shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. I pretended to ignore the subtle recoil I felt under my touch. I didn't let it weigh on me the way I had the first time it'd happened, because I'd also watched it happen under anyone's unwarranted, innocent display of sentiment.

As I crossed the threshold, Luca only drove the knife deeper, paralyzing me. "Turning your back and walking away...." He clicked his tongue. "It is what you do best."

Noah's hand hit the table. "Jesus, Luca."

If the water pooling in Chloe's eyes moments ago was any indication, Luca's accusation that fueled our feud was sure to put Chloe over the edge. But I trusted Noah would handle that. He somehow knew exactly how to pull her out of her own head. He knew because he'd been here. And I envied him. I envied Luca and our sister; I envied what I no longer had. Because as much as I hated to hear it, Luca was right. I walked away, and as much as I wanted to blame the accident for how ostracized I was from my family now, I could only blame myself. I alienated myself; I chose this.

So, now, I had to lay down in the bed I'd made, and figure out how to get settled.

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• losing ruby •

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