The Notorious R(uth) B(arakat) G(rimaldi)

Chapter 11: A Walk to Remember

They walked off into the quiet suburban neighborhood, with Ruthie giving a wave up to her fathers' window as they passed it. A curtain twitched, showing that her wave had been seen.

"They're really okay with you just wandering off into the night with someone they've met exactly twice?" Elliott asked, keeping his voice down in acknowledgment of the late hour. Even so, Ruthie could hear the disbelief.

"You're so funny," Ruthie answered, her laugh soft and, to Elliott's ears, so pretty in the night. "This is Warren. They know where you live. They know your grandparents' names and phone number and address, and, now that I think of it, they could probably find out anything else they wanted to know about them in about two minutes. They know all of your grandparents' friends, they know where they shop, where they go to church--if you did anything to me, if I told them anything they didn't like, you'd be arrested in nothing flat, and your grandparents would become personae non gratae overnight, gay guys or no."

"And you knew the plural of 'persona non grata' without even hesitating, color me impressed," Elliott teased. "And chuffed," he added with a grin.

"Please, my dads are attorneys, I could Latin you and your classical English education under the table any day," Ruthie declared.

This time Elliott actually threw his head back to laugh, though he still kept the volume down. He looked at Ruthie. "I'm finding it harder and harder to hide how delighted I am with you, RBG," he told her.

"Then stop trying so hard," she suggested, leaning in as she did so.

He just looked at her.

"You know, you lot are so lucky here in California," he said, resolutely changing the subject. He gestured around them. "In England, we'd already be bundled up in jumpers and such, but look at us here, wandering about in shorts and sandals in the middle of the night."

Ruthie just nodded.

"Oh, look, we're passing the Pretty Lot," Ruthie said suddenly, pointing and stopping.

"The what?" Elliott asked. "It sounded like you said 'the Pretty Lot'?"

Ruthie nodded. "Maybe you can't tell in the dark, but see the flowers? I planted those, though 'planted' is kind of a grandiose word for what we did.

"Yeah, see, this lot's been empty since the Torrance's house burned down a long time ago, and the kids used to call it 'the Ugly Lot' because it was always just full of weeds. And that made me sad, and I told my dads that it wasn't fair, that it wasn't the lot's fault, that it couldn't do anything to make itself pretty, you know?" She turned to look at Elliott, and he could still hear a little of the indignation her voice must have held when she was a little girl and talking to her fathers.

"So I was sad, and my Dad, not my Pop, he likes gardening, and one winter, when this lot was looking particularly bedraggled and tearful--"

"Tearful?"

"Yes, and shut up, it was. So, me and my Dad looked through a catalog and ordered a fuckton of wildflower seeds and--"

"A fuckton?"

"Yes, and will you stop interrupting?" She took a deep breath. "So we ordered a fuckton of wildflower seeds, and came and sprinkled them all over the lot, after we pulled as many weeds as we could? And a bunch of neighborhood kids saw us and came and helped and stuff? So most of them took, and sprouted, and we've kind of maintained it every year, although, again, 'maintained' is kind of a grandiose word, you know? We pull weeds and order new seeds and stuff, anyone who wants to does the same thing."

She knelt down, pulling Elliott with her. "You can see much better in the daytime, and it's really late in the year, but there are still some flowers left, because, like you said, it's California, and it's so warm, and we're so lucky. See, those are bachelor's buttons, in white and pink, not just purple, which is the most common color, and can you smell that sweet smell?" At Elliott's nod, she continued, "That's sweet alyssum, which will grow just about anywhere around here. And see these?" She gestured at some tall blossoms that were bending and weaving in the gentle breeze. "These are my absolute favorites. They're called cosmos, and they really will grow anywhere. They come in white, pink, lavender, and magenta, and if they're forced to bud early, then the blossoms are tiny, like these, see, down here? Aren't they beautiful? There are even some with tubular petals, called seashell cosmos." She rose. "I mean, I love roses and tulips and those flowers, too, like orchids and all that? But I'd love to get a huge bunch of these guys, like just an armload. You should see this lot when these guys first bloom in the spring, El, they're taller than me, and this place is covered with them!"