Until Then Read online

  “What?” she barked.

  “Look, I know you have been pretty upset and all, so I just thought I’d do something for you. Come outside for minute?”

  “What do you want Grant? Huh? Do you just want to rub in my face that the only thing I possibly have to show for myself is my son? And now he’s gone? Well, go to hell!” She slammed the door in his face and despite his best efforts; his bloody fist went straight through the door with a shuddering explosion.

  He remembers how odd it was that she didn’t even open the door or say anything to him after his fist went flying through it. She never said a word about it, or the rose bush for that matter. Despite her ignoring it, the red flowers came bursting to life every summer and Grant had continued to prick his fingers on its large thorns ever since.

  He only intended to trim it down to a healthy posture, only expected to cut away some of the deadened leaves, but when he stepped back to look it over forty-five minutes later, it was nothing but a few sticks and a mess of red petals.

  “Why didn’t you just dig it out of the ground? Would have saved you a little trouble.” Ruby was leaning against the wrap-around porch watching her brother insanely attack the rose bush. He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice.

  “How long have you been standing there?” His brows narrowed.

  “Long enough to see you lose your mind. Something bothering you?” She let a small smirk slip through.

  “Shut up, Ruby. What do you want? I know you didn’t come over here to mind my gardening skills.”

  “Or lack thereof.” She chuckled a little.

  “Again, what do you want?”

  “Gosh, so grouchy. Don’t you think you should offer me a pop or something?” She made her way up the few stairs to the screen door and let herself into the house. Grant grunted loudly, threw the shears into what was left of the bush, and stomped up the stairs after her.

  Ruby had opened the refrigerator and was crouched down examining her choices. She settled on a pitcher of lemonade. Grant laughed just a bit at the sight of his five foot four sister reaching on her tip toes to grab a glass from the cabinet. Shoving her out of the way, he pulled one down from the shelf, filled it with ice and handed it to her.

  “See? You can be nice.” She poured a generous amount of lemonade over her ice and took a long drink.

  “What do you want, Ruby?” Grant fished the bar stool out from under the island and sat down.

  “Okay, okay!” Ruby put her hands up in mock protest. “I actually have something rather serious to talk to you about.”

  He wiped the thick ring of sweat from along his forehead and raised his eyebrows.

  She continued, “Don’t be mad okay?”

  He was instantly mad.

  “Dad left me a letter.” She put her hand up to stop him from interrupting and pulled the letter out of her purse. Carefully, she unfolded it and read it aloud to him. When she finished, she wiped a few tears from her cheeks and laid the letter on the counter in front of him, along with the photograph.

  Grant looked dumbfounded. He didn’t speak or blink, but lifted the letter an arm’s length away to read for himself.

  “What is this picture?” He held the photo up into the sunlight.

  “It’s Mom and Daddy,” Ruby said softly.

  “It can’t be; they didn’t know each other this young. They met in their twenties. They couldn’t be more than thirteen or so here.”

  “Fifteen and seventeen,” Ruby said.

  “Okay, what the hell is going on here Ruby. What is all of this? Where did you get this letter?”

  “Daddy had it delivered to the house, two days after he passed away. Haven’t you been thinking about the numbers on his chest? Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  Grant slammed his fist on the counter. “You have got to be kidding me, Ruby! You really think that’s what this is all about?”

  She held his gaze, her eyes fierce and unwavering. “Yes.”

  Grant took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face several times.

  “Yes, Grant. I think that’s exactly what this is about. Now, Daddy didn’t leave any clues to help me, but I did meet someone at his funeral that knew them both when they first moved here from New York. Marjorie and Peter Parsons. They were their very best friends, and they even knew Mom when she got pregnant with me. She told us all out their friendship and—”

  “You already talked to her about all this!” Grant threw his hands in the air and started pacing around the room.

  “Sit down!” Ruby’s voice was shrill and it made him stop in his track. He only heard his sister raise her voice a handful of times in his life. Ruby had always been quiet and timid while he had the uncontrollable and embarrassing temper to deal with.

  Grant turned to her and clenched his fists. “How am I supposed to be calm, Ruby, when you are running around, God only knows where, spreading lies about Mom and Dad?”

  “Don’t you think I have a little more respect for them than that?” she said through gritted teeth. “And don’t you think that Daddy wants us to find out? Read the letter again if that’s so hard for you to believe. And they are not lies.”

  Grant made his way around the island and poured himself a glass of lemonade, trying to get his bearings back. Ruby watched patiently as he chugged the first glass and poured another. He was clenching the glass so hard she thought it might break.

  “Okay, maybe he wanted us to go digging around a little bit, but we don’t even know this lady,” he finally said.

  “Like I said, they knew Mom and Daddy way back when, they were best friends. She came up to me at the funeral, Grant. She is the one that wanted to tell me everything. Anna and I went to see her yesterday morning.”

  “Anna knows?” Grant looked like his temper might flare.

  “Yes, and Robert. This isn’t a family secret anymore, Grant. It’s out in the open because Daddy wanted it to be, but he obviously wasn’t able to tell us himself. Now look, I didn’t come here for your permission or even your understanding. Like Daddy said, you’re too stubborn to understand why he did this.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I only came here to tell you that Mrs. Parsons gave us a name—James Schulz. He lives in New York, and he is the only person that Mom and Daddy ever mentioned to Marjorie or her husband Peter. If he’s still alive, then he might be able to help us piece together the rest of the story. It’s the only way. The only chance we have.” She folded her arms across her chest assuredly.

  “And you are what, Ruby? Going to go to New York, knock on this guy’s door and ask him about Mom and Dad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whew.” He let out a long whistle. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

  “Well maybe and maybe not, but one thing’s for certain, Grant. If I don’t try, I will never forgive myself.”

  “You realize that this James guy is probably dead already? If he was even close to Dad’s age.”

  Ruby reached for her purse and tucked the letter safely inside. “That’s just a risk I’m willing to take. Now, Grant, you can go with Anna and I if you would like. I know this is a lot to drop on you and all, but it is what it is. Our flight leaves on Friday afternoon at one o’clock from Southwest. Think about it at least, won’t you?” Her eyes softened a bit with the offer.

  Grant looked awkwardly out the front window at his demolished rose bush. “You can go if you want Ruby, but it’s only going to end in heartbreak. I don’t know about you, but I have had enough of that lately.”

  When his gaze didn’t return to hers, she walked slowly toward him and pulled him into an unreturned hug. “I hope you change your mind,” she whispered and saw herself out.

  * * * *

  Anna turned back for one last glance at her classroom. It really was charming with cutouts of her student’s favorite characters hung high upon the walls. Smiling back at her were giant images of Dr. Seuss, Clifford, Piglet and Pooh, and her personal favorite, Charlotte
. Under the cutouts at the base of the wall were cartons of scissors, glue, markers, and crayons. Twenty tiny chairs were upside down on the miniature desks and a big rug filled the middle of the room with large alphabet letters for them to lie upon. She loved her classroom. It felt like home to her. Although it was only her first year teaching, she’d spent hours and hours bringing her room’s décor up to par with the other teachers. She quickly learned how much pride her fellow colleagues embodied in the rooms. Hundreds, sometimes thousands of their own dollars were invested in creating the classrooms of the dreams. It was every teacher’s goal to create a safe haven and whether they wanted to admit it or not, be their students’ favorite. On the first day of school last August, the fresh autumn air brought in a slew of young enthusiasts ready to learn everything she put before them.

  Completely inappropriate and shamelessly admitted, she had a favorite student—Marial. Sure, that was technically against the rules, but how could she not love her to pieces? She was absent on the first day, something about divorced parents and splitting time, but the second was more than worth the wait. Bounding down the hallway, hair perfectly curled into tiny spirals with a yellow bow holding it clumsily in place, she carried a shiny apple. Against all clichés, Anna was elated. This was secretly the moment she had been waiting for.

  Her cousin, Mark had poked at her on her graduation day that she was only in it for the way teachers were portrayed in the movies.

  “You couldn’t swing it as an actress, Anna, so you decided to play a teacher in real life?” He prodded her in the side playfully, and she openly punched him square in the shoulder before smiling for the camera.

  Deny it all she wanted, that moment with adorable little Marial bounding toward her with the red apple, secured the deal. She was a teacher.

  That had been one year ago. How time flies. Sure there had been rough days. She was teaching kindergarten, after all. Like the day Matthew openly flung gum into Celia’s thick black hair. It was painful for her to do it, but she had to tap on Mrs. Flanigan’s door and ask for assistance.

  Mrs. Flanigan had a knack for creating a deep-rooted inferiority complex. Anna swore up and down every time she spoke to her that she refused to let her get to her. Yet, low and behold, she always did. She was excellent at saying things like, “Anna dear, you really must learn to rely on intuition, instead of your fancy education, like us old pros do.” Or, “I know you are trying dear, everyone knows. It isn’t as easy as they make it seem.” And Anna almost punched this fellow kindergarten teacher in the face when she said, “You really should focus on being the adult in the classroom.”

  Ruby brought it all back into perspective for her daughter last winter when she popped by for a visit.

  “Instead of noting all of the ways she makes you feel inadequate, maybe you should use her as a fine role model of the way you never intend to be. You will have the opportunity one day to be a mentor and inspire other young teachers instead of condemning them as she has done to you.”

  Her mother was so good that way, always knowing exactly what to say, always peacefully seeing the best in every situation.

  After she packed up her lesson plans, straightened the books strewn about the shelves and closed her shades, Anna turned off the overhead light for the last time and closed the door softly behind her. She had reason to believe that an adventure was about to begin. She was so proud of her mother. It must be killing her to step into the unknown. As long as Anna could remember, her mother was a planner. She taught her early on to think long term, how each decision can affect her future. She had been right, just as she was about everything. If she had never gone to UCLA, she never would have met the professor who convinced her to try teaching on for size.

  That spring day, she left the professor behind, dumbfounded. She huffed her way all the way back to her dorm room, where her on the verge lesbian roommate was drinking her afternoon cocktail.

  “What’s your problem?” Abby took a big gulp and flipped the page of her magazine.

  “Nothing you would understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Smoothing her thick blonde hair into a ponytail, Anna glared at herself in the mirror. Wasn’t she pretty enough to be an actress?

  “Just my stupid English professor, Mr. Ballwin. He pulled me aside after class and told me that I might have a real future in teaching.” Anna made little air quotes of mockery.

  “Teaching? How in the hell did that come up?” Intrigued, Abby sat up on her bed and slammed the rest of her drink.

  “We had some stupid assignment where he reversed the rolls on us and made each of us teach part of a lesson plan. He said some crap about teaching being the ultimate way to learn.”

  Abby laughed. “Genius.”

  “It’s not funny. I told you that you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Okay, okay.” Abby put her hands up in defense. “Look, I know you want to be an actress and all, but plenty of people take real life jobs to pay the bills until they get their big break. After all, why did you ever go to college if you don’t have any interest in being normal? Take me for example; I have every intention of being the next Stephen King. It’s why I moved out here. I can write and I have a serious eye for directing. Hell, I used to direct the high school plays, so I know I’ve got it in me.”

  Anna rolled her eyes. This girl clearly didn’t have a clue as to real talent. All she did all day was drink her lukewarm vodka and talk on the phone to her friends back home. The only one in the room with any real shot at a career in Hollywood was Anna.

  “Do what you want, but don’t come crying to me when you don’t have any money to support yourself and you end up stuck in some stupid waitressing job on the Boulevard ogling actresses that come in for a salad.”

  Anna started to reply, but instead leapt to her feet and left the room. What did she know? Her future was as dark as the circles under her eyes.

  * * * *

  She walked around campus for over three hours that afternoon. She sat for a bit under her favorite tree, her mind racing. Did Abby have a point? After all, she hadn’t been asked for a call back since she arrived three months ago. Her mother always told her to give it time; that she would get the call soon enough with God’s timing. But she couldn’t help but think, if only for those fleeting few hours, there was a very real chance that she may never get a call. It was eating her alive with each day passing. Maybe her professor was right. Maybe she should have a Plan B to fall back on. Everything sensible inside her that day said: “Yes, be responsible”, but every inch of her that carried the dream said: “If you have a Plan B that means you don’t believe in yourself.” So she sat there under that tree, feeling a little bit like a schizophrenic, distracting herself with passing clouds. Was attending college her Plan A all along? It was just an excuse to get to California she told her friends, but then why did she try so hard in her classes? Why did she stay late to study in the library after all of her friends had long since gone on to a frat party? Did she like college? Did she see a future that she had yet to define?

  She fell asleep and fat rain drops woke her suddenly by plopping against her cheeks. She sat straight up and pulled her jacket up over her head before running to the outdoor café. She was miserably soaked and had thick trails of mascara gliding down her face.

  “Raining, huh?”

  “What? Oh, obviously.”

  A young man sitting at a small round table under a protective umbrella smiled up at her.

  “Here.” He leaned forward and handed her an unusually small napkin.

  “Thanks,” she muttered. She crouched under his umbrella for a moment to wring her hair out and dab at her melting face.

  “Who falls asleep under a tree when there’s a seventy-five percent chance of rain?” He removed his glasses, bright, green eyes hidden underneath.

  “Why were you watching me sleep? And what, are you a meteorologist or something?”

  “Only part time. I’m Ryan.” He leaned across the tab
le and held his hand out to her, as if they were on a business meeting. No one shakes hands in college.

  “Anna.” She shook his hand limply.

  “Care to join me for a coffee? It is nice and dry under here.”

  Amazed that he was hitting on her at a time like this, she plopped down. If anything, he only reassured her that in fact, she still had what it took to turn heads.

  * * * *

  A warm cup of coffee on a rainy day turned into a few movies, drinks at the local pub, and eventually the greatest romance she never expected. He was simple, yes. Handsome, certainly. Her future husband? Husband? How could she even think about that with a future as bright as her own? She couldn’t settle down and gain marital weight when she had an Oscar to earn. But she couldn’t break up with him. She found herself missing him when he went home over summer breaks and eventually not able to sleep unless she was snuggled under his left arm. Whether or not she wanted to accept it she had completely, madly, and totally fallen in love with him. He called her his “wild mustang”, and she knew he had every intention of taming her.

  Ryan was a savior of sorts, at least to Anna’s mother. How she crooned over him when she brought him home for Thanksgiving.

  “He is so handsome, Anna! So sensible and well-dressed.”

  She spoke of him like she had picked him out of a catalog, and although it technically should have bothered Anna, she too, was smitten.

  So it shouldn’t have surprised her when he dropped to one knee and proposed moments after graduation. Ruby jumped up and down with tears in her eyes, as Anna nodded and kissed Ryan in response. He was absolutely perfect for her, always delivering her from wild dreams back to reality. For it was the very day in the rain, soaked through every layer of clothing that she had on, that she found herself listening to his sense of reasoning.