“I told my parents I wouldn’t go unless I could also invite a boy from school, Harry Moore. I only invited him to piss them off. That’s the same reason I gave him my virginity.”
The Nellie Moore before me, sharing her past with complete lucidness, is not the Nellie with whom I’ve been spending my time with over the past few weeks.
“Is that also why you married him?”
She laughs. Not a crazy, childish laugh—an evil laugh laced with a bit of sarcasm. “I married him because I gave him my virginity. The pissing off my parents was just a bonus, much like the baby we had months after our shotgun wedding.”
My lips form into an O as I nod. Every bit of understanding raises fifty new questions. My curiosity level flies off the meter. I can’t ask her, and it’s killing me. If her past is connected to some sort of trigger, I don’t want to be the one to push the damn button. She needs to discover it on her own—with maybe a nudge from me.
“These are nice clothes.” I hold up the trousers and blouse, perfectly-pressed, expensive fabric hanging from wood hangers. “Where did you get them?”
“Probably one of the stores we’ve been at over the past few weeks.” Her gaze diverts to her wedding ring, like she’s admiring it for the first time.
“Do you feel guilty about Oscar?” I can’t help it. The truth is right there. I can feel it with the tips of my fingers, but I can’t quite grasp it. Her sanity. It feels like her sanity.
“What do you mean?” Just like that. She flips on me.
“Nothing. Let’s get you dressed and do your hair and makeup.”
*
That journal holdsthe answers. I need to steal it, but she still writes in it, so I can’t take it. She’ll know. More than anything, I need to meditate—try to meditate. I haven’t forgotten that I have cancer. It would suck to die before I solve this mystery, before I make peace with the part of myself that wants for the bearded man from Tybee, before I ride a real horse, or unravel the true wonder of being someone’s song.
“Wow, so much for giving me space.” I’m too exhausted to even be that exasperated with Oscar lounging on his bed, the bed that should be gone, next to the chair that should be gone. I shut the door.
He glances at his watch. “I’ve given you a solid ten hours, Ruby. You’re usually much more efficient with your time. What’s wrong?”
“Nice watch.” I continue to the kitchen.
“It’s new.” He follows me.
“It’s stolen.”
“Borrowed.”
I grab a drink of water and turn toward him. “Really? You’re going to return it?”
“Swap it. Yes.”
“Whatever.” I gulp down the whole glass of water.
“Aren’t you going to ask me whose watch it is?”
“No.” I put the empty glass down and give him the piss-off look because I’m really not interested in playing his games.
He sighs, letting his hand fall back to his side. “It’s Harold’s. I swapped it for an exact replica that has a tracking chip embedded in it.”
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“I thought you’d be proud of me. Now, I’ll know where he is at all times so we won’t get caught.”
“We? Really? Now you and Nellie are a ‘we?’”
“Alright, Ruby, tell me what’s bugging you.”
“You’re bugging me. Missing Theo is bugging me. Having cancer is bugging me. Nellie’s secret journal is bugging me. Living in this tiny flat instead of my house on the beach is bugging me. Needingmetime but not getting it is bugging me!”
“Nellie has a secret journal.”
