I finally manage to loosen my grip so I can turn Ruth back into her apartment, strategically stepping in front of the door as I do so she won’t see the messy words scrawled out. I know I can’t hide them from her forever, but I don’t want her getting distracted if I can help it. I want her out of this place as fast as possible.
Luckily, since she’s moving anyway, her place is prepacked. So while she gets Birdie together, I start grabbing the boxes marked as containing essentials, carrying them down and shoving each one in the bed of my pickup. I’m on my fourth trip when she meets me at the threshold, the weak smile on her lips vanishing when her eyes zero in on the chipped surface of her door. Any colorshe’d managed to reclaim drains from her cheeks as she pulls Birdie tighter to her chest.
“Keep moving, sweetheart.” Instead of grabbing another box, I take the diaper bag off her shoulder, leading Ruth and her daughter down to her SUV. I stay right beside them as she buckles Birdie in and gets behind the wheel. Once her engine is started, I point to where my truck is still idling. “Go pull in front of me. I’ll go lock up and then I’ll follow you to my house.”
Ruth nods as she hands over her apartment keys, lips pressed into a flat line as she closes her door and buckles up. I point at the door. “Lock it.”
She does as I say, the safety measure clicking into place. I watch as she backs out, following behind while she gets herself positioned in front of my truck. Once she’s in place, I quickly race up the steps one final time to secure her apartment. Pausing in the hall, I snap a few pictures of the door and the writing, then head down to my truck.
After closing the tailgate, I get behind the wheel and dial Ruth’s number. We’re staying on the phone this whole drive, just to be safe.
She answers, and I tell her it’s time to go, angling my truck behind her SUV as she pulls out of the lot. It’s not until we’ve pulled out onto the road that I remember what happened the first time I came here. The guy in the expensive car who was staring at her building like he wanted to burn it down.
I can’t help but think there’s a chance he’s connected to this, but it’s yet another conversation that will have to wait.
Ruth is quiet as we drive, but I can hear Birdie in the background, babbling at the top of her lungs. It eases a little of the tension building in my shoulders. Calms a little of the agitation crawling over my skin.
When we finally pull into my driveway, I punch the opener, motioning for Ruth to go in. I’ve got a big garage with plenty ofspace for her little crossover. Plus, I’ll feel better knowing it’s impossible for anyone to see she’s here.
At one point that wouldn’t have been a concern. Uninvited visitors were unheard of here. Until Matt showed up and gave me yet another thing to fucking worry about.
And I’m going to worry about it. Especially when I don’t know what the fuck is really going on.
Once my truck is parked and the engine is off, I climb out, closing the door as I go. Ruth is still strangely silent as I help her get Birdie out of her seat and into the house. She pauses for just a second when her eyes land on the highchair I ordered.
There will be plenty of time to explain all my recent orders—and for me to ask the questions I have—but right now I just want to get her settled somewhere she will feel safe.
“The guest room is up here.” I carry Birdie’s diaper bag up the stairs, passing my room and the hall bath before leading Ruth into one of the spare bedrooms on the second floor. It’s almost as big as mine, and the bathroom is just as nice, so there should be plenty of space for both of them in here. Which is good, since it’s the only bedroom besides mine that’s furnished. The rest are big open spaces I vacuum once every few months, but other than that, get no activity.
"Oh." Ruth steps into the room, her eyes roaming over the king-size bed and small attached seating area. "This is beautiful." She sounds shocked.
I get it. It doesn't offend me. I know I'm not exactly the kind of guy most people would expect to have a well-decorated house.
Unless they know my mother.
"Don't be too impressed. I didn't have anything to do with this room." I set the diaper bag on the surface of the refinished chest of drawers my mother found in some antique store. "My mom is the one who handled this room."
It wasn’t suspicious at the time—or maybe I was simply oblivious—but when she wanted to furnish one of my bedrooms just in case family ever wanted to stay, I didn't think anything of it. Neither did Titus, which makes me feel a little better about my own lack of awareness as far as my mother’s new obsession with fixing all of us up is concerned.
Thank goodness she started with my oldest brother. It's given me time to head her off. Make her think her job here has already been done.
Ruth lowers Birdie to the floor, pinching her lower lip between her teeth as she studies the drapes and small sofa. "I'm not sure it's a good idea for us to stay here." She shakes her head. "This isn't really a kid friendly sort of room. Everything is so expensive and nice."
"Everything is kid friendly in this house." I don't want her to think I’m the kind of person who would get his panties in a twist over a few handprints or broken items. "Nothing in here is irreplaceable, so don't worry about it." I shrug. "If something gets broken, it gets broken."
I know the opinion I have on that is a luxury. Not everyone can feel this way about their home and belongings. I'm lucky to be in a position where I can afford to replace anything Birdie might destroy.
But even if I wasn't, I would never be pissed at a kid for being a kid. Shit happens. Life is short. Childhood ends in the blink of an eye.
Sometimes long before you're ready.
10
Ruth
Ishouldn’t be here. For one, it’s way too nice of a house for me to be able to so much as take my eyes off my daughter. But also, I shouldn’t be relying on Tucker Bradshaw to fix yet another problem for me. I just didn’t know who else to call.
Because there is no one else.
