"I'll cut practice. The coach will understand, I'll come by about three o'clock," he said.
"Daphne won't let me go. I'm sure. I'll just meet you outside the gate. I hate doing sneaky things, but she makes me."
"It's all right," Beau said, slipping his arm around my shoulders. It felt so good to be in his arms. "It's all right to do something sneaky if it's going to result in something good."
"Oh Beau, I'm all alone now. I really am," I cried with a little more desperation than I had intended.
His eyes filled with sadness. "No you're not. You have me, Ruby. You'll always have me," he swore.
"Don't make promises, Beau," I said, putting my forefinger on his lips. "It's better not to make a promise than to make one you can't keep."
"I can keep this one, Ruby," he pledged. "And I’ll seal it with a kiss."
He brought his lips to mine. They felt so good, but I felt guilty for enjoying his kiss while Daddy lay dead in the parlor. My mind and heart should be directed only to him, I thought and pulled back.
"We'd better return before we're missed, Beau."
"Okay. Tomorrow, at three," he repeated.
Although the mourners left relatively early, it seemed very late to me. I hadn't realized how tiring emotional sadness could be. Beau and his parents were some of the last people to leave. He winked conspiratorially at me and continued to act formal and proper as we said our goodbyes.
After everyone had gone, Bruce Bristow and Daphne went into Daddy's office to discuss some necessary business affairs, and Gisselle and I went up to our rooms. I could hear her talking to her old friends on the telephone late into the evening. In fact, the drone of her voice and silly laughter sent me into a welcomed sleep.
Daphne didn't come down to breakfast, but the priest arrived at lunch to discuss the final arrangements for the funeral. Some of Gisselle's friends came to visit her, more out of curiosity than loyalty, I thought. I let them go off on their own and retreated to what had been my art studio. I recalled how happy and excited Daddy was when he had first brought me to see it. And then my heart fluttered with the tingle of excitement that warmed my breasts when I thought about the day I began painting Beau in the nude. One thing led to another so quickly and so intently that even now I could experience the deliciously ecstatic descent I had taken into the depths of my own sexuality when I embraced him and kissed him and surrendered to his own driving desires. I was so lost in these memories, I almost missed our rendezvous in front of the house.
I hurried out the side entrance and down the drive to the sidewalk to wait for him at three. He was right on time. I got into his car quickly and in moments we were speeding off to the institution in which my father's poor younger brother languished in a world of confusion and mental anguish. I couldn't help but be nervous and afraid. Beau knew that Daphne had once tried to have me confined in the same place as a way of getting me out of her life.
"I know how frightening that place must be to you. You sure you can do this?" he asked.
"No," I said. "But I feel I have to for Daddy. It's something he would want me to do."
A little more than half an hour later, we pulled up to the four-story, gray stucco structure with bars on its windows. I got out of the car slowly and with Beau at my side entered the institution. The nurse behind the glass enclosure directly before us didn't look up until we were practically at her desk.
"I'm Ruby Dumas," I said. "I want to see my uncle Jean."
"Jean Dumas?" she said. "Oh yes. We just moved him to his new facilities this morning."
"New facilities? He's still here, isn't he?"
"He's here, but he is no longer housed in a private room. He's in a ward now."
"But . . . why?" I asked.
She smirked. "Because whoever is paying for him has stopped paying the extra stipend, and he is covered only by basic insurance.” she replied.
I looked at Beau. "She didn't waste a minute, did she?" I said. "Can we see my uncle, please?" I asked the nurse.
"Yes. Just a moment." She pushed a button, and a few moments later a male attendant appeared. "Take these people to Ward C to visit Jean Dumas."
"Lord Dumas," he said, smiling. "Sure. Right this way," he said, and we followed him through a door and down a corridor.
"Why do you call him Lord Dumas?" Beau asked.
"Oh, it's just a little joke among the staff. Despite his problems, Jean loves his clothes and looks after his appearance. At least he used to."
"What do you mean, 'used to'?" I asked.
"Since he's been moved and even a little before, he stopped caring. The doctors are concerned. Usually we take him to the game room after lunch, but he's been a bit more depressed lately, so he goes back to the ward."
I glanced at Beau. "What is this ward like?" I wondered aloud.
The attendant paused. "It ain't the Ritz," he said.
That was an understatement. The men's ward simply consisted of a dozen beds in a row, each with its own metal locker. There were three windows spaced out on one side and two on the other, all the windows lined with bars. The floor was cement and the walls were a dull brown color. The lighting was dull, but we could see Uncle Jean at the far end, sitting at the edge of his bed. A nurse had just given him something and was coming toward us.
"I have a couple of visitors for Jean," the attendant told her.
"He's a bit more down today. He wouldn't even eat much lunch. I had to give him some medicine. Are you relatives?" she asked us.
"I am his niece, Ruby."
"Oh," she said, smiling. "The Ruby who sends him letters from time to time?"
"Yes," I replied, happy he was getting them.
"He cherishes those letters, although I sometimes wonder if he actually reads the words. Sometimes he sits with one for hours and hours, just staring at it. When he was in his own room, I would read him one occasionally. They've been very nice letters."
"Thank you. Is he getting worse?"
"I'm afraid so. The move and all hasn't helped, either. He used to be so proud of the way he kept his room."
"I know," I said. "I remember."
"Oh, you've seen him there?"
"Not exactly," I said. This nurse hadn't been working here when I had been forced to stay, so she didn't remember me. But I saw no point in bringing all that back.
With Beau still right beside me, I walked down to Uncle Jean, who sat staring at his hands. His golden hair was disheveled, and he wore a pair of creased pants and a creased white shirt with some food stains on the front of it.
"Hello, Uncle Jean," I said, sitting down beside him. I took his hands into mine and he turned, first to look up at Beau and then to look at me. I saw a note of recognition in his blue-green eyes and a small smile start at the corners of his mouth.
"Do you remember me? . . . Ruby? I'm Pierre's other daughter. I'm the one who's been sending you all the letters." His smile widened. "I've come home from school because . . . because there's been a tragedy, Uncle Jean, and now I've come to tell you because I think you have a right to know. I think you should know." I looked up at Beau, to see if he thought I should continue or not. He nodded. Uncle Jean was still gazing at me, his eyes moving slightly from side to side as he studied my face.
"It's Daddy, Uncle Jean . . . he's . . . his heart gave out on him and he's . . . he's dead," I said. "That's why he hasn't been here to see you; that's why you've been moved to this ward. But I'm going to complain about it to Daphne and I'm going to see to it that they get you back in your room. At least I'll try," I said.
Gradually, the small smile that had been on his lips wilted, and his lips began ever so slightly to tremble. I put my hand on his shoulder and rubbed it gently.
"Daddy would have wanted me to come here, Uncle Jean. I'm sure. He was very unhappy about what had happened between the two of you and he was very sad about your sickness. He wanted so much to see you get better. He loved you very much. He really did," I said.