Chapter 12 - The Ring in the Drawer
August became kinder after learning he was dying.
That was how Ruth knew something was wrong.
Not dramatically kinder.
He had always possessed kindness.
He simply hid it beneath efficiency and silence.
Now he lingered.
He joined breakfast even when he wasn't hungry.
He drove Poppy to treatment.
He sat with Daniel during therapy waiting rooms, pretending to read.
He asked Ruth questions about childhood.
Favorite songs.
Foods.
Places she wanted to visit.
"What is this?" she asked one evening.
"What?"
"You're interviewing me."
"I like knowing things."
"You've known me six months and suddenly need to know where I'd live if money didn't matter?"
"Where?"
She narrowed her eyes.
"Answering a question with a question is suspicious."
August smiled.
"Where?"
Ruth sighed.
"Somewhere near water."
"Ocean?"
"Maybe."
"Cold or warm?"
"Warm."
"House?"
"Small."
"How small?"
"August."
He laughed.
Later that week, he purchased a small coastal property in North Carolina through a trust.
He didn't tell her.
He also revised his will.
Walter sat across from him.
"This is not planning. It's surrender."
August signed.
"No."
"You have not told her."
"I will."
"When?"
August looked toward the garden where Ruth and Poppy were planting tomatoes.
"Soon."
"You don't have the luxury of that word."
August's face tightened.
Walter softened.
"I watched you lose ten years to grief."
"I know."
"Don't steal Ruth's remaining time with you because you cannot bear seeing her hurt."
August looked down.
"She has had enough pain."
"That is not your decision."
August said nothing.
That evening, Poppy entered his study without knocking.
She had earned that privilege.
She saw the ring.
Small velvet box.
Open.
Diamond.
Not enormous.
August had learned enough about Ruth to know enormous would annoy her.
Poppy gasped.
"You're marrying Mommy."
August closed the box.
"I haven't asked."
"Why?"
"Because I'm thinking."
"Adults think too much."
"Possibly."
Poppy climbed onto the chair.
"Do you love her?"
"Yes."
"Does she love you?"
"I think so."
"Then that's easy."
August looked at her.
Nothing was easy.
Poppy picked up the blue wooden horse.
"Daniel says you saved him."
August's throat tightened.
"I tried."
"You did."
"He lost ten years."
"But he got you back."
Children again.
Reducing tragedy to its most important truth.
Poppy tilted her head.
"Are you sick?"
August froze.
"Why?"
"You throw up."
He had thought no one heard.
"Sometimes medicine does that."
"What medicine?"
He didn't answer.
Poppy's expression became worried.
"Do you have cancer?"
August felt the world stop.
"Why would you ask that?"
"Mrs. Alvarez had cancer."
August looked at the little girl whose own body had betrayed her before she understood the word illness.
He could not lie.
"Yes."
Poppy's eyes filled.
"Are you dying?"
August looked toward the door.
Then back.
"Eventually everyone does."
"That's not an answer."
He almost smiled.
She was Ruth's daughter.
"Doctors think I may not have a lot of time."
Poppy began crying silently.
August moved beside her.
"I'm sorry."
"Mommy knows?"
"No."
Poppy stared at him.
"That's bad."
"I know."
"You have to tell her."
"I know."
"When?"
"Soon."
She shook her head.
"Mommy hates soon."
August laughed through tears.
Then Poppy wrapped her arms around him.
He closed his eyes.
Six years old.
Tiny.
Sick herself.
And somehow comforting him.
"I won't tell," she whispered.
August held her tighter.
"But you have to."
"I will."
He didn't.
Three days later, Ruth found blood in the sink.
August had coughed into a towel and hidden it badly.
She stared at the red stain.
Then at him.
"What is this?"
August knew the moment had arrived.
Instead, he said the worst possible thing.
"Nothing."
Ruth's face changed.
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm handling it."
"Handling what?"
Silence.
Ruth walked toward him.
"August."
He looked at her.
And suddenly he could not do it.
Could not watch hope leave her face.
Could not watch another person learn they were going to lose someone.
"I had complications from the fire."
She studied him.
Something inside her knew.
But love sometimes chooses denial when truth is too sharp.
That night, August placed the ring back inside the drawer.
He would wait until he felt stronger.
He would tell her tomorrow.
Tomorrow became three days.
Three became eight.
And on the ninth morning, August collapsed on the dining room floor while Poppy was telling him a joke.
Ruth screamed his name.
The ring box rolled from his coat pocket.
It stopped beside her knee.
And when the paramedics lifted August onto the stretcher, Ruth opened the box.
Inside was a folded note.
May you like
Two words.
ASK HER.
