by Beth Duke
“Yes, she told me about that,” I said. “I understand.”
“Violet selected charities to benefit in the event the book isn’t submitted for publication.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She left most of the remainder of her estate to Fairfield Springs. Her bequest is earmarked for a new entertainment room for the residents. It should be quite a nice one.”
“She mentioned that idea to me,” I answered. “Does Fairfield Springs know about this yet?”
“No, I wanted to talk with you first. Do you plan to continue working there?”
“I’d thought so, at least for a while.”
“There’s no need for you to stop. The money Violet left you is completely confidential. No one there need know.”
“What about Herb?” I asked.
He drummed his fingers. “Yes, Herb. Violet provided for him. I spoke with him yesterday.” Mr. Sobel cleared his throat. “He is disappointed in the amount she left him, but can’t contest the will. He does not know about her provisions for you, Ronni, and there’s no reason for him to find out. He’s under the impression the nursing home is receiving what he considers ‘his’ money. Again, the will cannot be contested.”
“You know he’s filed suit against Fairfield for negligence?” I met his eyes.
“Yes, I’m aware of that. I can’t see how he has much of a case, but that’s between Herb and his attorney.”
“There’s something else, Mr. Sobel.”
“Yes?”
“Are you aware Violet had a daughter when she was a teenager?”
Shock skittered across his features, but he recovered quickly. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, she told me all about it. She gave the baby up for adoption and believed her to be living in Florida. Violet said the records are sealed. She was never able to locate her daughter, and her daughter didn’t try to find Violet.”
“I see. Well, the daughter and her family would have no claim.”
“I feel awful knowing there’s a daughter out there, probably grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and I’m supposed to inherit all this money.” I studied the woven carpet and waited for him to reply.
“Ronni, there’s no need for you to feel guilty. Obviously you meant a very great deal to Violet. She considered you like a granddaughter. She loved you.”
“I know. I loved her, too.” I was horrified to find myself bawling in the plush office. Mr. Sobel stood and handed me a tissue. “It’s just...”
“Again, Ronni, these were her wishes. Violet knew she had a daughter out there. She chose to help you in the best way she could.” He offered me a smile designed to calm and reassure. I offered him one designed to convey sanity.
“Here is a check, Ronni,” he stood and reached across the desk again. “Take it to your bank. I’d advise you to tell as few people as possible about your sudden good fortune.”
“That won’t be a problem.” I stared at the piece of paper with all its zeroes. It was issued in the name of Mr. Sobel’s practice. “What will they think at my bank? I usually deposit one hundred dollars in a panic when I’m down to twenty.”
“You don’t have to explain anything, Ronni. Let them think you won a lawsuit. Let them think whatever they want. Do you have a financial adviser?”
For my previous net worth of two hundred and three dollars? “No, I don’t. I guess I should talk to someone about investing this.”
“That’s a good idea.” He rose to shake my hand and placed a business card in its palm. “Please verify your address and phone number with Laura on the way out, and update us with any changes.”
“Yes, I will. Thank you, Mr. Sobel.”
“Call me Mel. I look forward to sending your manuscript to Jennifer. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll take it from there.”
I gathered my purse and glass, wiping Mr. Sobel’s nice table with the napkin.
“Ronni? Ronni, Laura will get that.”
“Sorry, force of habit. Thank you, again, Mr...Mel.”
Laura smiled sweetly and wished me a nice evening on my way out. I made it all the way to Ruby before bursting into tears all over again. I looked at the Birmingham summer sky, golden rays framing bunches of deep purple clouds. “Thank you, Violet. I love you.” My strappy black sandal’s heel caught on the worn floor mat as I started the car, and I had to smile.
On our third Saturday adventure, Violet had insisted we go to Dillard’s at the mall in Anniston and get my make-up done. “Honey, you’re a Southern woman. We don’t go to the mailbox without our face and hair fixed up. And while you’re beautiful just as you are, it wouldn’t hurt to try a little enhancement.”
“I’m no good with that stuff, Violet. I never have been.”
“And that’s why we’re getting you some help. I know the girl at the Clinique counter and she will bring out your lovely blue eyes. Then we have an appointment with my stylist Summer. She’s going to shape your hair a tiny bit.”
I was shaking my head no. “I appreciate it, but I love my hair as it is.”
“And you should. A few layers will make it thicker and fuller. Summer is a hair genius, Ronni. She’s not going to change it, just enhance it.”
“So today is Enhance Ronni Day? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to watch you bloom, honey. And pay for everything, of course.” She glanced at my Nike-clad foot on the accelerator. “Maybe we’ll look at some shoes, too.”
“I’m a nurse. I wear comfortable shoes.”
“Only while you’re nursing, Ronni. The rest of the time your shoes should make a feminine statement.” She extended a leg to show off her kitten-heeled pink pumps on the floorboard. “Oooh, and a pedicure would be fun, too. We’ll do that together this afternoon. I know a great place. The chairs even massage you.” She smiled brightly.
“I hate massages. I hate people touching my feet.”
“Then, for today only, pretend you like it. For my sake. If you want to scrub your mascara away later and rip the polish off your toes and put your hair back into that ponytail, you can. Let me do this for you.”
Of course I gave in. I couldn’t say no to her. The make-up lady was kind and had a light touch, though she managed to sell Violet over a hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of concoctions to “enhance” me. She wrote detailed instructions for me to take home. We crammed my feet into strappy black heels Violet insisted I’d need for a new dress we’d find (we didn’t, but I’d worn them to Mr. Sobel’s). Summer touched up Violet’s lavender hair and transformed mine into a style that framed my face and showed off my suddenly-huge, sparkling eyes. We laughed all day, especially as we tried to decode the Vietnamese chatter during our pedicures. Violet translated much of it in a running commentary that included, “The blonde one never shave her legs” and “Woman with purple hair is a goddess.”
And she was. I got into the habit of wearing make-up and carefully styling my hair every day for that goddess, and she beamed blessings and approval at me.
I missed her so much.
four
VIOLET
Alice Glenn sat across from Johnny’s hospital room door, watching her daughter run down the corridor to greet Sam Davidson. He folded Violet into a hug and allowed her to sob into his plaid shirt, patting her back gently. Alice caught his eyes and tried to look reassuring for the two young people, clasping the purse in her lap to quell the shaking in her hands. She didn’t believe Johnny would live, and tried to imagine how she’d get Violet through the nightmare to come. There were more months of classes ahead and she was a practical woman who considered her daughter’s finishing senior year at Anniston High School first and foremost. It was good that Violet had the support of friends—she’d encourage them to help one another through this cruel passage. She gave her daughter another minute, then went to say hello to Sam.
“Mama, you know Red,” Violet palmed tears from her face.
“I got here as soon as I could, Mrs. Glenn,” he said. “Violet told m
e Johnny’s not awake yet.” The boy looked like he’d walked the sixty miles to the hospital.
Alice patted the wood bench for Red to sit, placing herself between the young man and her daughter. “Are you hungry or thirsty? I could get you something.”
“No, ma’am,” Red replied. “Thank you, though.”
Violet began the litany she’d been repeating to her mother for Red. “I can’t believe this happened. Johnny’s a careful driver. He wouldn’t have been speeding or anything. Something must have jumped in front of the car. It doesn’t make sense.” She shook her head and bit a fingernail. “Red, his heart is going to shatter when he finds out about Kimmie. How am I going to tell him?”
“You’re not going to tell him, Violet,” her mother interjected. “His father is the one to do that. It’s not your place.”
Violet stiffened and slapped hands to her knees, looking to the ceiling for patience. “I don’t think you realize what my relationship with Johnny is like, Mama.”
Alice Glenn’s heart slammed into an iceberg and began its descent. She turned to look Violet straight on. “I don’t think you realize you’re seventeen years old.”
Violet smoothed her skirt. “Red and I are going to walk around for a while, Mama. We won’t be long.” Red looked as though he’d been collared and leashed, regarding Mrs. Glenn with an embarrassed glance as he stood.
The nurses at the station desk watched Violet and Red pass without offering a word. They looked down quickly and busied themselves with paperwork. There was nothing to say to these kids.
Violet sniffed. “Red, he’s going to be fine. Johnny’s in great shape. You’ve seen him play. He can beat this as well as he beats every team that comes to our gym. It might take him some time, but he’ll be playing again before you know it.”
Red searched for a light remark, a joke to untie the knot gripping his stomach. He found nothing and chose to say, “I know he will, Violet. Have you seen him yet?”
“Dr. Perkins didn’t want us in his room, so we’ve been sitting on that bench outside the door for an hour and a half. Mrs. Perkins is on a different floor. We’re waiting for my daddy and Dr. Perkins to get back from seeing about her.”
“Have you talked to Johnny’s doctor?”
“No, we haven’t met him. The nurses go in and out of the room without telling us anything, other than he’s asleep.” She spotted an exit and said, “Let’s sit outside for a few minutes.”
They settled under a mimosa tree laden with fluffy pink blossoms. Violet said, “I hate her sometimes, Red. She thinks I’m a stupid little girl and she doesn’t understand what it’s like with Johnny and me. We’re going to get married.”
“You don’t hate her, Violet. Don’t say that.” Red plucked pink mimosa fuzz from Violet’s hair. “So you and Johnny are getting married, huh? When did this happen?” Another question danced in his eyes, and Violet wondered if Johnny had told Red about Friday night. Surely he wouldn’t. She blushed and turned away.
“It’s not official yet, but we talked about it. I love him and he loves me.”
“We’ll get Johnny through this,” he said, looking up into the tree. “Deborah wanted to come with me,” he added casually, “but I told her it would be best to wait until later in the week to visit him.”
Violet recalled a dark-haired girl from nearby Oxford. Nice clothes, and a handbag she’d envied. “Did y’all go to church together this morning?”
Red chuckled. “I believe we’ve discussed this, Violet. My mother brings fresh flowers in Friday afternoons and spends hours decorating every room in the house, including mine. She lights candles Friday evening and we have a special meal. We go to temple Friday night or Saturday morning. Then my dad hides from my mother on the golf course or in his darkroom, and she uses the time to interrogate me about my week.”
“Your mother does talk a lot.”
Red laughed. “I’ll tell you a joke my dad told me. A boy comes home excited about getting a role in the school play. His father asks what role he’s assigned, and the kid says he’s portraying a Jewish husband. The father pats his shoulder and says I’m sorry, son. I was hoping you’d get a speaking part.”
Violet giggled at Red, her eyes lit with mischief. She loved his sense of humor, and was glad he’d come to lighten the day.
Red hailed a group of prim old ladies walking by. “Shalom, y’all!”
They exchanged puzzled looks and walked a bit faster, rushing into the hospital.
“Guess they’re in a hurry,” he grinned.
“Guess they think you’re crazy. It’s too hot out here,” Violet announced. “I’m melting. Let’s go back in.”
A tall man in a suit stood talking with Dr. Perkins and her parents. Violet heard her mother say, “Well, we should take her home, then.”
“I’m not going home yet, Mama,” Violet dismissed the idea with a wave. “I have to be here when he wakes up.”
The tall man extended his hand. “You must be Violet. I’m Dr. Deason. I’ll be taking care of Johnny.” He ignored Red.
“How soon is he going to wake up?” Violet asked. The man didn’t look old enough to be a doctor. Doctors were supposed to have gray hair and wrinkles like Dr. Perkins, who tended to every man, woman and child she knew.
“I believe he’ll be conscious soon, Violet. There’s no harm in talking to him, and it might help. Would you like to go in and keep him company?”
Dr. Perkins sighed and sank onto the bench in defeat. “Violet, I won’t stop you...but not a word to my son about Kimmie or his mother. Mrs. Perkins’ health is fragile right now, too.”
“I understand, Dr. Perkins,” she responded. She followed Dr. Deason into Johnny’s room and stifled a scream. Every part of him that wasn’t bandaged was the color of eggplant. A tube snaked from the narrow white bed to a bag filled with urine. Violet felt her stomach lurch.
Dr. Deason listened to Johnny’s heart and smiled at Violet. He wound his stethoscope around his neck as he told her, “You can hold his hand. Talk to him about things you’ve done together.”
Violet searched for an appropriate memory to recite in front of Dr. Deason. She settled on a night they’d gone for ice cream after a basketball victory, then segued into Johnny’s love of the game and how strong he’d always been. She told him, “You have to wake up. We all need you, Johnny.”
Dr. Deason nodded approvingly. “I’ll be in the hospital for a few more hours today. Have one of the nurses find me when he opens his eyes.” Violet liked that he didn’t say “if.” She gave him her brightest smile, determined to be cheerful for Johnny and the rest of the world.
Violet waited for three hours while Johnny never twitched a finger. Nurses came and went without saying much. They offered her encouraging smiles and drinks of water. Her mother wandered in and out of the room, her lips pursed into a thin line. Red stared from the bench when the door opened, but did not join her. Violet knew her parents wouldn’t wait much longer to go home. She stood and whispered into his bandaged ear, “I’ll be back soon, and you’ll be feeling much better. I love you, Johnny Perkins.” She found a patch of exposed forehead to kiss.
Mr. and Mrs. Glenn exchanged weary glances when their daughter emerged from Johnny’s room. “We’ll try to get back here soon, honey,” her daddy said.
“Not soon, Daddy,” Violet insisted. “Tomorrow.”
Alice shot her husband a look that combined ‘I told you so’ with ‘keep your mouth shut.’ “No, Violet, we live far from the hospital. You have school to attend and responsibilities at home. We’ll bring you back later this week.”
Violet noticed Red was gone, and decided to shift the conversation. “When did he leave?”
“About an hour ago,” her father said. “Come on, honey, we all need to eat and rest. Dr. Perkins has promised to telephone us if there’s any change.”
Violet laid down in the back seat of Daddy’s Chevrolet and fell asleep immediately. Her mother shook her shoulder gently and said, �
�Violet, we’re home. Come help me with supper.”
“Mama, I feel really sick. I’m going to my room. You can manage without me, can’t you?”
“All right, honey. I’ll check on you in a while.”
Violet closed her bedroom door and ran her hand through Blondie’s fur. The dog rolled onto her back for a belly rub, paws to heaven. She drew her diary from its secret place and began to write about the horrors of the day. She finished with, “God, please help him.” Her biology book sat waiting for her homework assignment. She ignored it, preferring to brainstorm a way to get to the hospital tomorrow. Her mother could be handled; Violet had years of experience in getting her way. She thought long and hard, glancing at the biology book. An idea began to form in a dark corner of her mind.
When Alice knocked an hour later, Violet told her she was still nauseated. Her mother opened the door. “Do you need castor oil?” she asked.
Violet cringed. “No, Mama, I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning. I’m going to sleep.”
“Did you do your biology homework?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she lied.
“All right, then. I’ll see you in the morning.” Mama looked exhausted. Violet heard her murmuring to Daddy, something about gray hair.
Samuel “Red” Davidson had driven home in his ‘38 Plymouth Coupe, partially a gift from his parents and the rest paid for with years of toil in his father’s department stores. He thought about Johnny and wiped a few tears, then pounded the steering wheel. His best friend in the world might not live, or might not walk again. Red tried to decide which would be worse.
When he walked into the parlor his parents were reading, though his mother asked fifteen questions before he could escape to his bedroom. He opened a dresser drawer and removed an envelope. The best part of being yearbook photographer was keeping certain pictures for his own. He looked at Violet, beaming at a school dance. She’d worn white satin and pearls, every inch the princess. Johnny was in the background, laughing and waving at Red’s camera. He replaced the envelope and collapsed onto his bed.
