by Beth Duke
The following morning Violet waited until she heard her father’s car exit the driveway. She straightened her clothes, applied lipstick carefully, and went downstairs. Her mother sipped coffee at the kitchen table. Violet sat opposite her and began, “Mama, there’s something you should know. Johnny is more than my boyfriend. He’s the father of my baby.”
Alice set her cup down carefully. “What are you talking about?”
“The reason I have to be by his side right now. Johnny and I have been...acting like husband and wife for months now. I’m pregnant.”
“What in the world?” her mother dropped her forehead into her hands. “I can’t talk to you about this right now. Go to school and we’ll discuss it this afternoon.”
“I’ll be going to the hospital after school.”
“Exactly how are you planning to get there, Violet?” Alice spoke to the table.
“I have friends at school with cars, Mama. One of them will give me a ride.”
five
RONNI
My throat was scratchy Friday night, so I spent the evening looking over my Violet notes and occasionally taking Mr. Sobel’s check out to examine. It didn’t look any more real than Monopoly money, and made me nervous. I moved it to three different “safe places” before settling on my underwear drawer. Victoria’s Secret, overused Spanx, granny panties, unmatched socks, faded bras and my future mingled.
Work was boring and uneventful Saturday and Sunday. Kait asked me three times where my head was, as I drifted off in thought and presented looks slightly blanker than our patients’. I told her I wasn’t feeling well, and it was entirely true. By the time I got home Sunday night, my throat was inflamed and the lymph nodes in my neck felt like ripe cherries.
You don’t go to work in a nursing home with a cough, sore throat and temperature of 101.9 degrees. Half the population can be decimated in your wake. I called Donna Monday morning, still Nyquilly, and squawked, “I can’t come in today.”
“You sound awful,” she said. “I’ll arrange coverage for your shifts until you’re better. Don’t come anywhere near this place, Ronni. Do you have chicken soup?”
“I’ll pick some up.”
“Let us know if you need anything. I have to run. Mrs. Ledbetter is screaming, and Darlene is ignoring her.”
Better Darlene than me. I was in no mood for Audrey Marie’s antics today. I fed Halle and located my keys. The drugstore offered soup, frozen pizzas, ice cream and more Nyquil. I’m a firm believer in feeding a cold.
I began typing ideas on my old laptop between naps—okay, food comas—and realized I could afford new writing equipment. This led to an hour of research on the latest technology, followed by an agonizing online book-formatting guideline quest. Information overload and confusion made me close the computer and eat as much pizza as my throat allowed. I closed my eyes and hoped to wake in a few hours with fresh ways to transform the legal pad scribbles into something people might want to read.
Halle licked my face awake and abandoned me when I coughed into her ear. I grabbed the laptop, deciding to begin with Violet at seventeen, the year when her life “truly became interesting.” I lost myself in her story, crying over Johnny the way she had when she remembered his accident and the months that followed. By midnight I’d typed thirty pages of Everybody Loved Her or whatever the title would be; I went over them and made a million corrections. It was good, I thought. I’d buy and read it.
Halle and I watched sitcom reruns and MTV until two a.m., when I drugged myself back to sleep with soup, vanilla ice cream and everything I could locate in the medicine cabinet.
Tuesday morning I felt like a cement truck had emptied into my sinuses. Still, I dressed and went to the bank. I parked my old Honda out of the staff’s sight, straightened my skirt and walked into their cool lobby trying to project confidence and wealth instead of phlegm. Was it too much to hope for tellers who didn’t handle my tiny transactions every week? I glanced toward the glass-fronted offices where officers usually ignored my beelines to the counter.
A pretty woman with sleek black hair and ocean-blue eyes rose to greet me. “Hello, I’m Kristin. Welcome to First National.” She took my hand and shook it. I hoped I hadn’t transmitted my germs to her. “How may we help you today?”
“I want to open an account. Well, I have a checking account with y’all but I want to put most of this in a different one.” I extracted the check from my purse and handed it to her, wondering if she’d raise an eyebrow. Maybe she’d call the police. What was someone like me doing with that much money?
Kristin waved me to a chair at her desk without any indication of shock. “You’re Veronica Johnson?” she asked. She was already pulling up my information on her computer.
“Yes. Please call me Ronni.”
“All right, Ronni.” She smiled and produced a sheath of papers. “Do you need to access the funds in this account?”
I offered one of my blanker recent looks.
“Do you need to write checks on the new account?”
“Oh, no. I want to deposit ten thousand in my checking account, and put the rest in a secure place where I can’t spend it. I mean, I don’t want to be able to access it for about a year. I read online about CDs?”
She smiled and nodded. “We can upgrade you to an interest-bearing checking account and the put rest in a certificate of deposit for a year. The interest rate is only about one percent right now, but your money will be safely invested and you can’t withdraw it without a penalty. Give me a few minutes and we’ll have you all set. I’ll need your driver’s license.”
I handed it over, stifling a cough. “Um, Kristin? I know it sounds stupid, but would you make a copy of the check for me?”
Kristin smiled. “Not stupid at all. I’ll be right back.” She wandered off to the copy machine and I looked at the photos on her desk. A great-looking guy held a huge fish, grinning ear to ear on a weathered dock—a big golden dog eyed the fish. A formal portrait of a handsome businessman, the husband, no doubt. My favorite was a close-up of an orchid silhouetted against a brilliant sunset. She saw me staring as she sat down.
“Your family?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s my son Chase, our dog Riley, and my husband, Bob. The orchid is one I took a few weeks ago. Plants are a hobby, but I really love photography.”
“You’re very good,” I told her. “Maybe you should go pro.”
“I just might someday. It’s a dream of mine.”
“My dream is to publish a book. I’m working on one.”
“What’s it about?” Kristin leaned back in her chair and touched the pearls at her neck.
“The life of a lady I knew. She was wonderful and amazing.” I looked at my cheap sandals and added silently: my guardian angel, and the reason I’m not digging for quarters to go to the grocery store.
“Well, I’m sure your book will be, too. Let me know when it comes out, and I’ll be one of your first customers. I’m always looking for a good read.”
We signed enough papers to charter a small country. “Thanks for everything,” I told her and caught an image from the corner of my eye. Oh lord—Donna was strolling up to a teller window. I slid down in the wingback chair and asked Kristin, “Where did you get that dress? It’s really pretty.”
She glanced at her navy linen sheath. “A boutique in Birmingham.” I knew she was wondering why her newest customer appeared intent on hanging around all afternoon. “Your skirt is lovely.”
My size twelve floral skirt from TJ Maxx, designed to make me feel summery, but more accurately rendering me a life-sized replica of someone’s grandmother’s sofa from the waist down. I really needed to start working out. Maybe when the cold was gone. “Thank you. I’d prefer it were three sizes smaller. You’re one of those naturally thin people, aren’t you?” Donna was talking to the teller. I needed three more minutes of chit chat before I could get up.
Kristin regarded me with a tight smile. “I have to exercise, just l
ike everyone else. Particularly if I want to keep these on my desk all day.” She handed me a crystal bowl of M&Ms. I scooped up ten or so, hoping the hand sanitizer had worked. Finish up and leave, dammit, Donna.
Kristin couldn’t miss my fifth sneaky glance at the teller window. “Friend of yours?”
“My boss. I called in sick. I have a cold, and can’t spread it around Fairfield Springs.”
“Oh.” Kristin nodded in Donna’s direction. “I’m sure she’d understand. My great-aunt is at Fairfield. Her name’s Audrey Ledbetter.”
“Audrey? She’s, um, something else. A nice lady.” I hoped I sounded sincere. “It’s not so much that I’m sick and running around when I should be home. I don’t want her to know I’m a customer here.” The thought of Donna discovering my Violet money made my stomach clench.
If that puzzled Kristin, she didn’t show it. “Aunt Audrey is a pill,” she said. “All of us would visit more often if she’d stop complaining as soon as we arrive.” She looked Donna’s way, and we both realized she was about to pass us on her way out, fifteen feet across the lobby. I pretended to drop something and ducked to the floor, wondering if Kristin had heard about Audrey’s vines.
“You can sit up now. She’s gone. And don’t worry—you have banker/client confidentiality. I promise to be discreet if you promise me chicken soup if I get your cold.” She grinned and opened her desk drawer, pulling out a package of B-12 supplements with echinacea. “Here, take two of these. I swear by them. Haven’t been sick in three years.”
“Wow, thanks. I’ll be going now.” I stood and knocked her crystal bowl to the floor, scattering M&Ms for miles. Every head in the place turned to gape. Kristin jumped up, her hand a stop sign.
“No, I’ll get them! Have a great day, Ronni. This is for you, with our thanks.” She held out a green tote bag filled with First National souvenirs; a purse mirror, several pens, a travel mug and the pile of paperwork.
I stepped into the sunshine and rounded the corner to find a man standing next to Ruby, shaking his head.
He was gorgeous—liquid chocolate eyes, thick brown hair and a good six inches taller than me. Looked like he spent lots of time in the sun; the tan was nice. I guessed he was somewhere between thirty-five and forty, a good bit older than anyone I’d dated. Mystery Man smiled, revealing perfect teeth and, I supposed, a personal trail of broken hearts.
“Is this your car?” he asked. “Somebody hit you and drove off. I got a partial plate.”
Ruby was injured? I came up beside him. There was a massive scrape of yellow paint down her fender.
“Oh, great,” I sighed. “I really didn’t need this today.”
“Aww, it could be worse.” I pegged his drawl to the more rural portions of the state. “Don’t you worry. There’s a crappy little Toyota with a glass pack fixin’ to be pulled by a sheriff’s deputy a mile or two from here.”
“You’re a cop?”
“Yep, name’s Rick O’Shea.” He shook my germy hand.
“Ricochet? That’s...”
“Don’t even start,” he said. “My parents have a wicked sense of humor, and believe me, I’ve heard every possible joke. You can imagine what shooting practice was like at the academy.” Rick raised his eyebrows. “Hey, Ricochet...see if you can hit three with one shot!” He deepened his voice and intoned sternly, “A Ricochet is deadly on the firing range,” then shook his head. “Yeah, such wit in my class.”
I sneezed three times and wished for a tissue. I couldn’t possibly swipe my nose on my shirt in front of him. Fortunately, his cell phone started playing the “Cops” theme...bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do. I laughed and he grinned, turning away. Finally, a chance to temporarily stop my nasal river.
“O’Shea.” He listened for a full minute. “Good,” he said. “Thanks, Craig. Bring him back here.” He shoved his phone into a jean pocket. “Your culprit is a very frightened sixteen year old. You’re lucky, though—daddy bought him insurance.” Rick leaned against my sad little car, crossing his arms. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“I’m Ronni Johnson. Thank you for helping me.”
“Oh, I have a weakness for damsels in distress. Speed Racer took off as you exited the bank, so I tried to get a good look at his car. The kid was driving like he’d just robbed the place, but his maroon-accented bumper led me to examine your Honda.” He paused and glanced at his watch. “I have to get into the bank to work, but Deputy Simmons will be here with a teenager in serious need of an underwear change shortly. Nice meeting you, Ronni.” He didn’t move, though. His eyes were locked on mine and I’m sure he was enjoying melting me with them.
“You work here?” I blurted.
“Security. Helps pay for my vices.”
I wondered what those were. “You’re not in a uniform. Do you change inside?”
“They like me plainclothes and undercover. I mostly sit around and steal candy from the desks,” he replied.
“Thank you again, Rick. I’m very grateful.” I was getting tired of holding my stomach in. He was in great shape, and I kind of hated him for it. Did everyone but me work out constantly?
He saluted and gave me the smile he must reserve for accident victims with severe snot problems. It was beautiful and my heart thudded. I have never known how to flirt—it’s not in my repertoire—but I heard myself say, “If I can thank you properly by buying you and Mrs. O’Shea dinner, I’d like to.”
“There’s no Mrs. O’Shea. Just me and Kitty O’Shea.”
“Kitty?”
“Kitty’s my bulldog. I have my parents’ sense of humor. You like ribs?”
I despise them. “Yes, love ‘em.”
He offered me a business card. “Call me, Veronica Jean Johnson. Pretty ladies don’t usually offer to take me out. I’d like that very much.” That smile again. I leaned against Ruby and tried to smooth my hair. It was two days overdue for shampoo.
“Wait a minute. How do you know my full name?”
“Darlin’, I’m a state trooper. I know more about you than you’d imagine.” He nodded at my license plate. “Talk to you soon.”
I waited until he’d gone into the bank to look at his card. Lt. Richard O’Shea, Alabama Highway Patrol. His cell number was written neatly on the back, like he’d planned to give it to me all along.
I swallowed the B-12 with a warm swig of Dr. Pepper from my car as the sheriff’s cruiser arrived. The back seat held a small, scruffy boy who looked about thirteen. His hair was cropped close and bleached to near-white; his eyes were pale gray surrounded by red roadmaps. They were accented by painful-looking acne. I felt sorry for him despite myself.
Deputy Simmons stepped out, clearly a man who relished his job. His uniform was freshly starched and I thought he was smiling more than the occasion warranted. “Hello,” he greeted me, then opened the back door and released his passenger. “Jeffrey, this is Miz Johnson. I believe you have something to say to her.”
He willed himself to look at me. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Me too, Jeffrey. I wish I were meeting you under better circumstances.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned to Deputy Simmons. “Can we go now?”
“In a minute, Jeffrey.” He opened the back door and reinserted the kid, clamping his head in a huge paw. After slamming the door for effect, he told me, “He has no priors. We’re on the way to the office to meet his father.” He made a few notes on an accident report, then handed it to me to sign along with a piece of paper bearing Jeffrey’s insurance information. “Give them a call and report this as soon as possible. They’ll get you fixed right up.” He regarded my car’s fender. “Doesn’t look too awful. You have a nice day now.”
“Thank you, officer.” I started Ruby up and headed home for fresh Nyquil and a nap.
six
VIOLET
Violet sat on a concrete bench waiting for her friends to arrive at school. Katie Ruth came first, wrapping her in a hug and then holding Violet at a distance
to search her tired face.
Katie Ruth said, “He’s going to be fine. We all just know it.”
Violet nodded, choking back tears. “Thank you, Katie Ruth. I hope you’re right.”
Johnette, Mary Nell, Patsy, Evie Lou and Frances joined them; they cried delicately and pried every detail they could about Johnny’s condition. Violet responded to their questions in a polite whisper, searching the crowd of students over their shoulders for Red. When she spotted him she excused herself quietly, leaving her court to update classmates about the queen and her injured king.
“Hi, Vi.” He looked exhausted. Violet experienced a brief glimmer of guilt for what she was about to ask.
“Red, I was wondering if you could take me to the hospital after school.”
He blinked at her. “Violet, I wish I could, but I have to put in an hour in the stockroom for my dad...”
She jumped in, “...and I’ll come help you. We can finish in half the time. Please, Red?” Violet turned her wide-eyed gaze on him, knowing it never failed to affect Sam Davidson.
“I guess I...”
“Great! I’ll meet you right here. Thank you, Red.” She pecked his cheek. “You’re a sweetheart.”
Violet hurried to catch her friends before the first bell rang. They escorted her into the school’s entrance, shielding her from curious looks and murmurs. Her homeroom teacher, Mr. Boshell, led the class in a prayer for Johnny and his family after the Pledge of Allegiance. She was consoled, pitied and comforted everywhere she went; several people offered cards to deliver to the hospital. Miss Gerrity allowed her an extra day to turn in her biology homework. Violet smiled and assured everyone Johnny would be back soon. Anything else was unthinkable.
Red was waiting for her after school, arms crossed and impatient. “We really need to get going, Violet. I’m probably going to be in big trouble for driving to Birmingham, and if Dad finds out I let you in the stockroom, I’ll be killed.”
