The Jodi Picoult Collection #2 Read online

  “How would you do it?” she had asked, with a morbid curiosity that, now, she could not believe they’d ever discussed. She also could not remember, although she’d tried so hard her head throbbed, how Ross had answered. Would he use pills, or a gun, or a knife? Would he lock himself in an anonymous motel room, jump from a train bridge, do it in his car?

  When Ross had been in the hospital after the last suicide attempt, she had gone to visit him. Since he was doped up on medication, Shelby was certain he did not remember their conversation. “Try living on dry land,” Ross had said, “when you are a fish.”

  The phone rang, and Shelby flew from Ross’s bedroom down the hall to her own. “Shelby?”

  “Eli?” Her heart sank.

  “Has he called you yet?”

  “No.”

  “All right, well . . . leave the line free for when Ross calls.”

  She loved him, because he’d said when Ross calls, not if. “Okay,” she promised, and she hung up to find Ethan standing in the doorway of her bedroom, looking miserable.

  “I think it’s my fault,” he confessed.

  Shelby patted the bed so that he’d sit beside her. “It’s not, Ethan, believe me. I used to think that I was the one to blame, too, because I wasn’t doing something Ross needed me to do.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.” His face twisted. “We were talking about it the other night—dying.”

  Shelby turned slowly. “What did he say to you?”

  “That he was a coward.” Ethan worried the seam of the quilt. “I asked him about his scars. Once I made him remember, maybe he couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

  She felt her shoulders relax. “Ethan, you didn’t give Uncle Ross any ideas. They were in his head long before he got here.”

  “Why would he do it?” Ethan exploded. “Why would he even want to die?”

  Shelby thought for a minute. “I don’t think he wants to die. I think it’s that he doesn’t want to live.”

  They sat in silence for a few seconds. “He also said he would bring me a girl.”

  “He what?”

  Ethan blushed. “To kiss. So, you know, I could see what it was like.”

  “Ah. And where was your uncle planning on finding this girl?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t there someplace you can pay them to do that stuff?” He shrugged. “I guess there’s a chance that he’s off doing that, instead.”

  Shelby thought of Ross walking the theater district in New York City, soliciting whores in heels and snakeskin skirts to come and kiss a nine-year-old boy. It was a frightening image, but not nearly as terrifying as the mental picture of Ross dying alone. “Let’s hope,” she said.

  For two nights, Ross slept in the backseat of his car, parked in the Wal-Mart lot behind the pools and barbecues. During the days, he haunted the hospital, slipping in to see Ruby whenever her granddaughter—he’d learned that her name was Meredith—was not there. Ross did not press Ruby for information about the Pikes, and Ruby did not volunteer it; in fact, their conversations tiptoed around this by filling in instead all the details they did not yet know: where they lived, what they did, how they’d come to be at this point. Ross discovered that he liked Ruby—she was sharp and outspoken and had memorized the batting average of every player on the Orioles. He knew that they were both getting something out of these daily visits—Ruby was deciding whether or not to trust him with the history she carried like a stone beneath her breastbone, and Ross was meeting the woman who had raised Lia’s baby.

  She would not talk about Lia, or that baby, but she told him about Meredith, a single mother who worked too hard. About Lucy, scared of her own shadow. She laughed when Ross imitated the cardiologist who walked like he had a full diaper. And whenever Ross arrived, Ruby’s face lit up.

  Not unlike Lia’s.

  Meredith left the hospital at three to pick Lucy up at summer camp, and returned at around four-thirty, so Ross timed his visits accordingly. Today, he pushed through the swinging door to find Ruby sitting in a chair by the window.

  “Well, look at you,” Ross said.

  “I was hoping to run a marathon today, but the nurse suggested this instead.”

  “It suits you.” He dropped a small wrapped gift into her lap. “Open it.”

  “You didn’t have to bring me anything,” Ruby demurred. But Ross had brought her a present the last two times he’d seen her—a collection of wild purple loosestrife he’d picked from the side of the highway, a stack of magazines he’d found in someone’s recycling bin. Gifts that she could enjoy . . . but tell Meredith had come from a friendly candy striper.

  Her hands worked the ribbon on the package until she pulled free a deck of cards. “I used to be quite the poker champion in my day,” Ruby said. “I played it with the other girls who worked at the mill, on our cigarette breaks.”

  “I only just learned. My nephew taught me.”

  She began to shuffle, her knotted hands more nimble than he would have thought. “I’ll be gentle, then. What about the pot?”

  “I didn’t realize you indulged,” Ross joked. “Maybe I can find some for next time.”

  “Spoken like a man who’s afraid to put his money where his mouth is.”

  “The truth is, Ruby,” he admitted, “I have about forty dollars to my name.”

  Ruby didn’t react to this; she just kept ruffling the cards and frowning. “It isn’t five-card stud without a prize. I suppose we could play strip poker, but something tells me I’d have the better end of the deal there.”

  “There’s something else we could play for. Something free.”

  “If you’re thinking of sexual favors, I ought to tell you I’m not that kind of woman.”

  Ross caught her eye. “How about the truth?”

  The air stilled around them. Ruby tapped the deck around and around in a square, aligning the edges. “But then nobody wins,” she replied.

  “Ruby,” he said. “Please.”

  She looked at him for a long time. Then she shuffled the cards. “Ante up.”

  “I’ll give you the answer to one question,” Ross began.

  Ruby nodded in agreement, and dealt them each two cards, one facedown. Ross had a ten of jacks, Ruby a queen of hearts. She raised a brow, waiting for him to make an opening bet. “Two answers,” Ross said.

  “I’ll call.” She dealt two more cards faceup. Ross got a two of clubs, Ruby the queen of diamonds.

  “You’re winning,” Ross said.

  “I told you so.”

  He looked at his hand. “Three questions of your choice.”

  Ruby matched again, and continued to deal, until they each had two more cards—Ross a six and ace of clubs, Ruby a pair of kings.

  With the best hand showing, Ruby made the final bet. “I’ll tell you everything,” she said soberly, and Ross nodded. They flipped over the cards they’d had in the hole. Ross looked at her three of hearts. “Does that beat a two of clubs?”

  “Not by itself,” Ruby said. “But your flush beats my two pair.”

  “Even though you have people with crowns? And mine don’t even go in order?”

  “Even though. Beginner’s luck, I guess.” She reached for his cards, and Ross noticed that her hand was shaking. “So,” she said, looking up at him.

  “So,” he answered softly.

  One of the pumps on her IV began to beep, the Ringer’s solution having run low. A nurse would come in to fix it. And by the time she was finished, Meredith and Lucy would have returned. “I’m being discharged tomorrow morning,” Ruby said.

  “Then I’ll just have to come to your house to collect.”

  “I’ll be expecting you.” He stood up and started for the door as the nurse entered the room. “Ross,” Ruby called. “Thank you for the cards.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Ross!” He turned, his hand on the panel of the door. “I threw that game,” Ruby said.

  Ross smiled. “I know.”

&nbs