by Beth Duke
Violet followed her, charmed by the baby grinning over Katie’s shoulder. They settled on a couch as Sam went in search of Mel, leaving them to “girl talk.”
“So,” Katie began, “Sam seems pretty crazy about you.” Melvin stared at Violet with huge blue eyes.
“Maybe until today. We had a little spat, and I think he’s mad at me,” Violet answered. She smoothed her skirt and smiled at Melvin, who responded with giggly spit bubbles. “He’s adorable,” she told Katie. “Sometimes I want a baby of my own so bad.”
“I’ll let you spend some time with my little monsters. That’ll cure you.” Katie glanced out the window. “For instance, my older child is trying to dismantle Sam’s car.” She handed the baby to Violet and ran to the screen door, screaming. “Samuel Patrick Sobel! Stop that right now!” The boy rose and held up the tire valve cover he’d removed, grinning ear to ear. “Put it back!” Katie yelled. She settled back on the couch and ran her fingers through long red hair. “They’re a mess,” she told Violet.
Violet hesitated a second, then blurted, “Patrick isn’t a Jewish name, is it?”
Katie laughed. “Not in the least. My maiden name is O’Connor. I converted to marry Mel.” She nodded at Violet’s gaping mouth. “I was raised Southern Baptist in Atlanta. My parents have never met their grandchildren—you’d think I married Duke Ellington. Mel’s folks are even worse. They’d be happier if he’d run off with Gypsy Rose Lee.”
Melvin began to squirm in Violet’s arms and reached for his mother as the men entered the room. Violet forgot Southern lady protocol and jumped up to greet Mel, who shook her hand heartily. He was a tall, handsome man with dark brown eyes and hair; Violet thought he resembled a very young Clark Gable. Mel looked about twenty years old.
“Welcome, Violet,” he said. “We’re happy to meet you.”
Katie chimed in, “Don’t let him fool you, Violet. He’s thirty-three, but keeps a portrait in his office to do his aging like Dorian Gray. I married an older man.”
“That painting depicts an ancestor of mine, Judah P. Benjamin. He was the first lawyer in the family, and my mother presented me with the portrait when I passed the bar. He holds no magic, I assure you. I’m just naturally young and good-looking.”
“Judah P. Benjamin, Secretary of State for the Confederacy?” Violet asked.
“Ah, so you’re a history buff,” Mel answered.
“No, I hate history. That’s the only thing I remember from Miss Forrestal’s class,” she said.
“Well, old Judah was some sort of great uncle or cousin on Mother’s side. If the Jews had saints, he’d have been one in my childhood household. These days he gazes upon my desk with disapproval.”
“Stop it, Mel,” Katie ordered. “Violet, I need to feed the baby. Why don’t you come back to our bedroom with me? Excuse us, gentlemen.” She stood and flipped Melvin onto her shoulder.
Katie and Mel’s bedroom was a riot of pink and green. It featured what Violet guessed had to have been Katie’s childhood bed—an elaborate white four poster with canopy. Katie settled the baby at her breast and announced, “Yes, it’s not the best thing for his masculinity...but I make him sleep here.”
“What was that remark about his ancestor gazing on his desk with disapproval?” Violet asked.
Katie sighed. “Mel’s lost a lot of clients since he married a shiksa.” She saw Violet’s blank look and added, “Non-Jewish girl.” Violet nodded, patting the fluffy pink chenille bedspread. “Have you met Sam’s parents?” she continued.
“No,” Violet said, “I’ve never even seen them up close.”
Katie switched the baby to the other side, biting her lower lip. “Look, Violet...it’s probably not my place...but you should know they chose Deborah to marry Sam years ago. The families are very close. Sam and Deborah grew up together.”
“So did Sam and I,” Violet answered, indignant.
“Not in temple, you didn’t.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. You and Sam seem very happy together.”
“We are.” Melvin blinked at Violet and grinned little milk bubbles before Katie lifted him to burp.
“Well then,” Katie said, “You’ve seen living proof today that biscuits and bagels can mix well. I wish y’all the best.”
Sam waited until they were nearly to the Alabama state line to say, “I’m sorry about the Rollerdrome. I shouldn’t have been showing off.” He reached for Violet’s hand and kissed her palm. “Forgive me?”
“Of course,” she replied. “I love you, Mr. Davidson. Your cousin and his wife are very nice. Katie and I had an interesting talk.”
“Did she tell you Jewish men are the best lovers?” Sam’s smile glowed in the dashboard light.
“That’s what she told me. I said I’d need proof.”
Sam drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Soon after our graduation, my parents are going to New York. Maybe you’d like to come over?”
“Maybe I would.”
On graduation day, she and Sam had held hands and watched Johnny roll across the auditorium stage in a wheelchair to accept his diploma. Violet’s friends cheered loudly when her name was called. She looked into the audience and waved brightly, spotting Johnny and his parents in the back of the room. He wheeled himself out without a glance.
Mr. and Mrs. Davidson were standing with Violet’s family in front of the school. Violet was thrilled to see Sam’s mother pat Alice Glenn on the arm and share a laugh over something as she and Sam approached.
“Mother, Dad, this is Violet,” Sam announced.
“At long last we meet you,” Esther Davidson said, extending her plump hand to Violet’s. “Such a pretty girl.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Davidson.”
Philip Davidson shook her hand and said, “Sam talks about you all the time.”
Violet beamed at Sam, who cleared his throat and said, “We have to get to the party at Ralph’s. We’ll see y’all later.” They were ushered off in a round of congratulatory hugs.
Sam’s parents were leaving on an unseasonably cool Alabama May morning.
“We’re staying at the Waldorf,” his mother said. “Mrs. Turley will be here to clean Monday, so you’ll have to come straight home after work to give her a ride home. There will be no parties, and no guests in this house. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother.” Sam watched his father struggle to drag suitcases out the front door. “Let me help, Dad.” When they were loading the car, he asked the question he’d been pondering for days. “Why are you taking Mom along on a New York buying trip?”
“Oh, well, you see, Sam...” Philip Davidson began what seemed a practiced speech. “She’s coming along to visit some friends of ours. You remember the Greenbergs. She and Eve are planning to shop while I’m in meetings. Dave and I are going to talk a little business, too.” He smiled broadly at his son and clasped his shoulder. “It will be good for your mother to be away for a few days, Sam. She worries so about you.”
“There’s no need for her to worry,” Sam answered. “I’m happy, healthy, and recently graduated twenty-ninth in my class of thirty-eight. What mother wouldn’t be proud?”
Philip laughed and hugged his son. “You’re a blessing, Sam. Not so much to your teachers, but you’re a blessing.” He looked toward the front door and yelled for his wife, who emerged swathed in fur—a compact Yiddish teddy bear smearing red lipstick on her son’s cheek—and they were gone.
Eight hours later Sam led Violet into his bedroom—decorated, she pointed out with a giggle, in Early Sports Team. She sat on the bed, an awkward smile frozen on her face. He offered her a glass of wine and put a record on the phonograph. Violet recognized “There, I’ve Said It Again” by Vaughan Monroe.
Sam sat next to her and stroked her hair. “I do, you know,” he whispered into her ear. “I love you to the end. Forever. I want to marry you, Violet.” He turned her face to his and kissed her, soft as rose petals. Violet closed her eyes and listened t
o the music as he undressed her and eased her back onto the pillows. When she opened them Sam was straddling her body, fully clothed. He stared at her in the soft light.
“You are the most beautiful woman in the world, Vi. And I am the luckiest guy. Everybody loves you, but you’re mine.” He started a line of kisses between her breasts and down to her belly button. Violet grabbed his hair, confused. Sam laughed gently. “Close your eyes, Violet. Relax.”
She felt his tongue licking her and gasped. Sam pinned her hands down, twining his fingers in hers and holding tight. The entire world was Sam’s mouth, urging her toward a place she’d never imagined existed. Violet’s hips began to move. She arched her back and screamed, breaking her hands free and clutching Sam’s ears. She lay very still for a minute, then opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her.
“I...”
“Shh,” he told her. Sam threw his clothes across the room and lowered his body to hers. He was inside her in one smooth motion and started moving slowly. “Look at me,” he demanded. “I want to watch your face.”
She locked her eyes on his and wrapped her legs around his waist. And Violet understood, for the very first time, what the fuss was all about.
Violet woke up in late July feeling nauseated. She didn’t blame the previous night’s spaghetti because she’d suspected she might be pregnant for a month or so. She patted her belly, happy to know she and Sam would be starting their family right away. She imagined his smile when she told him her news. Poor Sam had been locked in his father’s store for days doing inventory, and she knew he’d been focused on this day to get him through. Now she had a wonderful surprise to add to their adventure.
They were meeting at the train station tonight at seven o’clock to elope. It wouldn’t be the big wedding she’d dreamed about, but she didn’t care. Sam had assured her it was best, and a more romantic beginning for them. She hid her packed suitcase in the closet and went to greet her mother for the last time as a single woman.
“Pancakes, honey?” Alice asked.
“No thanks, Mom. I’m not very hungry.”
Alice regarded her daughter with a long gaze, eyebrows arched in question. “You’re not sick, are you? Let me feel your temperature.” She pressed a velvety hand to Violet’s forehead, then patted her cheek with a smile. “Come help me strip the beds before Corinna gets here. Then we can get ready to cook lunch.”
Violet stifled a sigh and trudged after her mother, vowing silently to keep her life with Sam more interesting than housework and meal preparation.
That evening Katie Ruth smuggled luggage out as Violet distracted her parents, kissing them goodnight as she left for a fictional pajama party. Violet smiled at her best friend’s tears when they arrived at the station.
“I can’t believe you and Sam are getting married, Vi. I wish I could be with y’all.”
“I do too,” Violet answered. “You know you’d be my maid of honor. We’ll get together as soon as we’re back from New Orleans.” She pecked Katie Ruth’s cheek and wiped a pink lipstick smudge and a tear track with her thumb. “Don’t cry, silly. This is the happiest day of my life. I’ll bring you a fabulous souvenir.”
Katie Ruth brightened and started the car as Violet exited to get her bags from the trunk. “I love anything with pecans or diamonds,” she yelled. Violet laughed and closed the car door, rapping a quick goodbye with her knuckles on the windshield.
eleven
RONNI
My mother’s face loomed over me, her index finger doing that bumblebee-tickle thing parents try when nothing else amuses their toddler. I must have been around two years old, because we were living in a beaten Oldsmobile she’d told me was magical. How many people’s homes can take them directly to a Happy Meal?
I blinked away the memory and returned to charting meds. It had been over a week since I’d quietly asked Rick to take me home from the lakehouse. He walked me to my apartment at two o’clock in the morning, and we stood in the awkward silence of strangers sharing a horrible secret. He bent to kiss me. I turned my face and mumbled something about both of us needing sleep, hurrying to unlock my door. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since.
I knew two things: I missed him desperately, and he was done with the junkie whore’s daughter. I was Relationship Poison, the Girl Best Left Alone, Most Likely to Be Avoided, Miss Greet with Congeniality Only and Run Fast. We were ahead of my usual three week schedule, but the rest was a familiar story. I’d known from the minute he’d starting paying attention to me in the bank’s parking lot he would stop soon.
Kait interrupted my thoughts by throwing a cracker at my face. “Some people are crack addicts and some are cracker addicts. I think you have a serious saltine and Goldfish problem, Ronni.” She began reading ingredients on the side of the box, shaking her head. “You are what you eat, and you’re mostly salt.”
“And preservatives. They’re important, too. Look around you.” I handed her a memo about flu season and hand washing, because corporate thought we nurses needed constant reminders we were germ-infested Trojan horses. Prophylactic hand sanitation was logical. I pointed at the Activities Schedule. “Gird yourself. This afternoon is Pat’s Pets.”
“Oh, goodie,” Kait replied. “I hope she brings the ferret today. It’s always fun to hear Mrs. Andrews scream for someone to kill the rat.”
Leola Hartness—tall and elegant, with carefully coiffed white hair and perfect makeup—approached the nurse’s station wearing a vibrant orange floral sweater and striped mint green pajama pants. “Excuse me,” she smiled graciously, “where am I?”
“You’re in Fairfield Springs,” I told her.
“Oh.” She considered that for a second. “How long have I been here?”
“Two years.”
“Oh, dear,” she answered. “Where is my room?”
I nodded at 185, with her name printed on a large placard next to the number. “It’s right there, number 185.”
“Thank you, honey.” She walked gracefully to the doorway and waved, disappearing inside. One minute later, she walked out and asked, “Excuse me—where am I?”
“Fairfield Springs, Mrs. Hartness.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Two years. Why don’t you rest for a little while? Lunch will be coming up soon. Maybe you’d like to put on your tan slacks.”
She patted her hair. “Yes, I will. Thank you.”
She would return soon in a heartbreaking loop of inquiry about her location. There were no visitors for Mrs. Hartness, and I tried to spend time each day helping her reminisce. She’d been a corporate secretary and mother of two sons, both of whom had died years ago.
Kait and I pushed the med cart out and fired up the tablet computer to begin our way down the hall to dispense. We’d check blood sugar levels, heart rates, pulses, bedsores, bruises, temperatures, and many other things along the way, plus field requests for additional pain medication. I knew before reaching Mrs. Henderson’s room that her sugar would be sky high—and that she’d ask me to fetch her three candy bars to scarf down before we gave her insulin. My pocket held a crossword puzzle, which I’d produce in Miss Shelton’s room and ask for her help. Miss Shelton was an English teacher whose vocabulary rivaled Merriam-Webster’s, but her vision was almost gone. I carried a photo of an Irish landscape for Mr. Neely, plus a rhinestone collar for Mrs. Meyers’ stuffed cat. She cradled and petted “Fluffy” all day long.
Audrey Marie Haynes Ledbetter—who no longer required pruning—was wheeling herself toward us. “You two need to hurry up,” she declared. “You’re running late, and I can feel my blood pressure rising.”
“You can feel it?” Kait responded.
“Yes I can, smart girl,” Mrs. Ledbetter snarled. “While you dawdle in the hall, I’m getting closer and closer to a stroke. I’m going to wait right here for my pills. My room smells like a latrine in the middle of an old cow pasture surrounded by dead fish...”
“We get the idea, Mrs. Led
better,” I interrupted.
“...thanks to Helen,” she finished.
Kait scrunched her nose. “Is Baylee on today?” she asked me.
I nodded.
“I’ll page her to clean Helen up.”
She pressed a button on the wall as we both said silent thanks for our advanced nursing degrees.
“Someone will be in your room to help Helen in a minute, Mrs. Ledbetter,” Kait said. “Let me get your medication for you.” She pulled up the chart and rifled through the cart’s drawers, then handed over a paper cup of water and six pills. “And by the way,” she added as Audrey handed back her crumpled cup, “you look very nice today.”
Mrs. Ledbetter glared at her and rolled off toward the activity room.
“Why did you do that?” I asked. “You know politeness and kindness are two of her biggest pet peeves.”
“I’m hoping she’ll put me in her will,” Kait answered, grinning.
My heart skidded to a stop. Kait couldn’t possibly know about my inheritance from Violet. I’d been very careful. “Good luck with that,” I said nonchalantly. “Audrey is more likely to leave it all to The Society for Advancement of Cruelty to Nurses.”
“Yeah...speaking of that,” Kait giggled, “I was thinking maybe we could dress up Audrey’s room while she’s sleeping. Put some polished wood slats all around the bed, bring in candles and big floral arrangements...we could play some hymns real softly in the background...”
“You are pure evil,” I laughed. “Oooh—we could put satin all around her on the bed...”
I hadn’t noticed Donna coming toward us, frowning with more ferocity than usual. “Shouldn’t y’all be done with meds? You’re at least ten minutes behind.” She locked her gaze on Kait. “You finish alone. Ronni and I need to discuss some things in my office.” She spun on her chunky Payless heel and headed off without another word.
Donna closed the door behind me more forcefully than necessary. I cringed and waited for her latest heart-seeking missile.
