Page 76 of Kill For Me Kill For You
‘I told you it’s still their case. But this isn’t a domestic. Say thatwasthe perp. Why did she come back? It’s not like it’s full of her clothes or anything. There was still a lot of money in that lockbox, so it’s not a robbery. Why come back to a crime scene? What the hell was she looking for?’
41
Ruth
Closing the front door behind her, Ruth clipped down the steps of the perfect six, and stood on the path. A chicken-wire fence spread around the building. It was old and had collapsed in parts, as if a giant had sat on it. She went through the opening. The park was in front of her. To the left, a long street. To the right, the street ended not far up. There were traffic lights and more cars that way. She took a moment to admire the park.
Lush green fields, willow and elm trees, a riot of birdsong in the early winter sunshine.
The apartments and houses on this street were in various stages of decay. Old couches and mattresses lay outside some of them, and the trash bags were piled high out front of every building. Ruth ignored the houses, focused on the park. She could smell the grass from across the street. This was her first time in Hartford, and her first morning of what felt like a new life. A light wind blew her brown hair across her cheek, and she felt a chill on her shoulder. Her top was still wet with Scott’s tears.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
A text from Scott. And a missed call from him. She hadn’t felt the vibration from that call. Too occupied with admiring the view. Drinking in the outside world, with no fear for the first time in forever.
Are you ok?
She texted back.
I’m fine.
She got a quick reply.
Please get me the newspapers. Nothing local. New York Post, the Times.
With each step she felt more confident. It was a beautiful morning and life felt full of possibilities. Good ones.
At the crossing, Ruth turned right and soon found herself in a small shopping district. A lot of the stores had signs written in Spanish. There were a few restaurants – seafood, tapas and one Italian. Cell-phone stores, dry cleaners, diners, fresh-fruit stalls.
The first supermarket she saw she went inside, took a basket and filled it with breakfast pastries, some cereal, eggs, milk and coffee. There was a magazine rack in the area just before the register, and a selection of newspapers laid out beneath them. She took a copy of thePost, and theTimes. Had a quick skim through them, but found no mention of Travers. Maybe they would carry the story in a later edition, or the next day, surely. There was a long line at the registers. Always the same the day before Thanksgiving.
Today was Wednesday, the twenty-first of November. The night of the incident, as Detective Farrow called it, was September fourteenth. Over two months now since the attack. Had it really been that long?
The date of the attack no longer held such a place of fear and dread in her mind, nor in her heart.
Perhaps, with greater distance, September fourteenth might just be another day. It was over, thanks to Scott.
While she stood in line, she kept her head up, back straight, shoulders relaxed. The mere act of standing up, unafraid to meet the gaze of other shoppers, well, it was something special. The clerk at the register was a middle-aged man with graying hair. When it came to Ruth’s turn, she put her items on the counter. He smiled at her.
She smiled back, couldn’t help it.
‘It’s gonna be a beautiful day out there,’ he said.
‘You know what? It’s already a beautiful day,’ said Ruth.
She paid cash and left with her bag of groceries.
Stepping out into the late morning sun, Ruth felt like she had passed some milestone. She felt normal.
Smiling to herself, she realized the importance of that statement. Before the attack, she hadn’t known how truly lucky she’d been. All the arguments, the petty little squabbles with Scott – none of that meant anything any more. The future had been altered. Doc Mosley had said she probably wouldn’t be able to conceive again, naturally. She hadn’t explored that further. Hadn’t thought about it.
Passing a group of men on the sidewalk, she caught one of them checking her out. Yesterday that would have caused Ruth to shut down in panic. Today, she smiled back at the young man, and walked on, shopping in one hand, the other arm swinging by her side. Raising her chin to the blue sky, she took a long breath. A smile burst on her lips.
Just up ahead she saw a young woman with her son. A little boy of four or five. They were at a food stand. The woman counted out her dollars and gave them to the vendor, who wrapped a doughnut in a napkin, handed it to the kid.
Ruth knew what she wanted. There was a way to fix things. There were possibilities now. She would investigate IVF, or some other kind of treatment. Get a specialist opinion. And if none of it worked they could always adopt.
There was still a chance for a good life. And this time Ruth knew in her heart she would appreciate every damn second of it. She had been given a reprieve. Released from her prison of fear. And all thanks to the man she loved.
