It All Comes Back to You

by Beth Duke

  “You don’t seriously think Chet murdered him?” My mind was racing, and I didn’t like the destination.

  “Probably not. But I’m going to call an old friend with the Birmingham PD and see if I can get a look at the case file.”

  The following Monday I was off work so I went with Rick to meet with his Birmingham police friend. Rick was in uniform, and insisted we go in his patrol car.

  I was surprised to find we were meeting in an Olive Garden instead of police headquarters. Corporal Jenkins came to our booth ten minutes late, apologizing and waving a server down for sweet tea. He was a tall man without a hair on his head, muscled like a bull. Rick introduced me.

  “Nice to meetcha,” he said, shaking my hand over the table. He offered Rick a manila envelope of typewritten paperwork, which Rick immediately buried himself in and ignored us. I made small talk with Jeff Jenkins and occasionally glanced at Rick, trying to read his expression. He only looked up once, to agree on pizza toppings, and then re-read everything from the beginning. He handed the file back and shook his head.

  “Pretty much like I told you,” Jeff said. “No one’s going to re-open this as a cold case. I talked to BPD’s crime analyst, just to be sure.”

  “Yeah. We’ll never know for sure,” Rick answered. “I’ll always wonder if he did it, though.”

  “Want to fill me in?” I asked, annoyed.

  “Oh, sorry,” Rick said. “There were no witnesses and there’s no way to know if Chet Wilson was in the area when Dr. Thompson fell down those stairs. His death was ruled accidental almost immediately. The autopsy showed a history of alcohol abuse, and there was definitely a lot of alcohol in his system when he died, officially of head trauma from the fall. The hospital seems to have been in a big hurry to close the case and keep things quiet, for obvious reasons.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “No one had any reason to suspect foul play. The investigators knew nothing about Wilson, and certainly not about his relationship with Violet.”

  “So we know nothing,” I said.

  “We know that Chet was aware Violet was being abused. We know Chet’s company worked in Birmingham a lot, including commercial electrical service. We know Chet was obsessed with Violet. And we know Tolly liked his afternoon whiskey on the rooftop, but always managed to walk down those concrete stairs without cracking his skull. But yes, we know nothing.” Rick shook his head.

  “What if we could get Superior Electric’s records from that time?” I asked.

  Jeff Jenkins spoke up. “Tried that. It seems they were destroyed in the nineties.”

  “I wonder if anyone who worked with Chet is still around,” Rick said.

  “That was a dead end, too, without the records,” Jenkins answered. “I think we have a better chance of finding the real Jack the Ripper. Sorry, y’all.”

  I smacked my hand on the table, startling the girl who approached with our pizza. “Wait a minute! I know the name of one man who worked with Chet back then. He dropped Chet off at Violet’s one day after Tolly died. His name was Jerry Lee, like Jerry Lee Lewis. Or maybe Lee was his last name. It’s all written in her fancy purple journal, the one Chet gave her.”

  “I’ll look into it and see if I can get you a full name,” Jeff smiled and reached for a slice of double pepperoni.

  A week later Rick told me Jerry Lee was eighty-three-year-old Jerry Lee Urban and he lived with his son in a dilapidated old house in Anniston. He’d spoken to the man earlier, which involved lots of yelling as he was nearly deaf.

  “The first thing I asked him,” Rick began, “was if he’d worked on the hospital’s roof years ago. The guy squirms in his nasty old recliner and lights a cigarette. I wish I’d worn my uniform, Ronni, because he would’ve spontaneously combusted. Anyway, he tells me yeah, you had to be on the roof to access the electrical back then and he remembers the job. So I stared at the guy and told him a doctor was killed on the concrete steps there and I think his old boss Chet may have known him.”

  “Oh my gosh, Rick, what did he say?”

  “He laughs, Ronni, and says yeah, he was the husband of that woman Chet nearly drove himself crazy over, I know that much. But Chet’s dead and gone. Why are you askin’ me ‘bout this? So I went on and said he must’ve been there that day. Of course, he says he wasn’t and he knows nothin’ about it. Then he starts coughing hard and tells me all he remembers is that it was a terrible accident. He keeps hacking and shaking his head. Says he’s not well and needs to rest. I knew he wasn’t going to tell me anything else, so I thanked him and left.”

  “Do you think . . .?” I started.

  Rick cut in. “Yeah, I do. At the very least he knows something. I heard him laugh himself into another coughing fit as I walked to my car.”

  thirty-six

  VIOLET

  Two weeks after he came to her house, Chet and Violet boarded an American Airlines flight to San Francisco. Genny had told her over and over about her glorious honeymoon traveling down California’s Pacific Coast Highway. Violet thought it a perfect beginning for her life with Chet, whom she’d held to caressing her body and no more. She felt like a teenager again, giddy at the thought of their first time. She literally trembled with desire every time he stood close to her. It was delicious and daring to run away with him, the most outrageous thing she’d ever done.

  Chet told Loretta he was attending a conference in San Francisco; he’d telephone when he returned.

  They looked at the city lights from the tenth floor of the Mark Hopkins Hotel, registered as Mr. and Mrs. Chester Wilkins. Close enough. Violet was paying for most of the trip, though Chet insisted on contributing. It didn’t matter to her. She saw all the brilliance of downtown San Francisco and all the stars in the heavens in Chet’s brown eyes. She took his hand and led him to the bed, where they stayed for three days.

  Violet and Chet spent the next week and a half driving a rented Mustang convertible down California’s coastline, stopping over and over to marvel at the beauty of the majestic cliffs and ocean surf. They explored Monterey and then Carmel, where they found a charming inn overlooking the Pacific. Their room had a blazing fireplace and a little balcony where they could watch the seals frolic.

  “There will never be a place more beautiful to me than this,” she told him.

  “There will never be a woman more beautiful to me than you,” he said.

  In a dimly lit Mexican restaurant in Santa Cruz, Violet returned from the ladies’ room to find Chet staring at a wallet photo of his son. He shoved it into his pocket quickly, but she’d seen the pain in his eyes. Violet felt a subtle shift inside her, the first piece of a wall pressed firmly into place.

  The night before their flight back to Alabama, she rolled over and put her arms around Chet. “Please listen to me,” she began. “Your place is with your wife and son. I’ll treasure the memories we made here for the rest of my life, Chet, but I can’t be with you knowing you belong to Loretta. Go home and do everything you can to be a good husband to her. I will be fine as long as I know your heart is still beating in this world. That is all I need.”

  He turned to face her, propping his head on one hand. “That’s a lovely and brave speech, Violet, but we both know it’s not going to happen. I love you. I have always been in love with you. And it’s not your decision to make for me.”

  “Actually, it is. I’ll have nothing to do with you if you leave your family, Chet, I swear it. The guilt is too overwhelming. It would destroy me. I saw you looking at that picture of your son. I can’t live with it. I won’t.”

  “I can still be in Eric’s life, Violet. This is ridiculous.” He shook his head and looked to the ceiling.

  “Being in his life and raising him as a full time father are two very different things, Chet. You know that better than anyone.”

  “I have waited for years to be with you. You can’t just...”

  “You waited?” Violet arched an eyebrow. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but while you were ‘waiting’ you marrie
d and had a son.”

  “Some of us didn’t have the world at our feet, Violet,” he spat. “I did what I had to do. I told you about Mr. Harris. He offered me a future, and it included his daughter. He made that clear.”

  “So what does that make you?” She glared at him.

  “What did marrying Tolly make you? Is marrying for money any different than marrying for a career? Are you going to tell me you loved him? Some worn out old man with a mansion and a country club membership?”

  “You know nothing about Tolly and me. Nothing. You don’t know what I went through, Chet. There are things I never told anyone.” Violet threw her hands up. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I know he’s gone and we have a chance to be happy together. I know you love me. I also know you want me with every cell in your body. You gonna deny that? Violet?” He traced his hand along her cheek. “You and I are meant for each other.”

  Violet shook her head and bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Chet. I thought I could. I can’t. We have to end this.”

  “Why the hell are we here, Violet?” He jumped up and began dressing. “Why the fuck did we take this trip?” He waved his hands around the room. “Look around! We’re in an elegant hotel room paid for by your late husband’s generosity. Thanks, Tolly, sure appreciate your dying so we could frolic in California for a week or two and make some memories...”

  Violet flinched and covered her ears. “Shut up! That’s the most vile, hateful thing for you to say, Chet. You know I love you. I can’t help it if I have a conscience. Obviously it’s different for you.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s different for me, Violet,” he said. “I never once stopped thinking of you. No matter what was going on in my life, you were there. You always will be. And someday you’ll realize I’d do anything for you.”

  She sobbed into her hands as she heard him gather his things and slam the door. Twenty minutes later the Mustang’s lights came on and he roared out of the parking lot.

  Violet waited by the window, listening and watching for him to return. Hour after hour she tracked headlights on the Pacific Coast Highway, expecting them to turn toward her. As the sun bathed the ocean in pink, she knew he’d left her there alone and there was no way she’d make their ten o’clock flight from San Francisco. The phone rang and she jumped to answer it.

  “This is your wake-up call, ma’am. It’s seven forty-five. The gentleman said to tell you he had to leave early and he’s arranged a rental car for you to take to the airport for a later flight. We have the keys here at the desk.”

  “Thank you.” Violet gently replaced the receiver and finished packing her things, numb and defeated.

  The young man in the hotel lobby handed her a map and the keys to a small green Ford sitting by the front door. “Just drop it off with Hertz at the airport, ma’am. It’s all paid for, and the room is, too. He left you this note.”

  Violet waited until she closed the driver’s door before opening the envelope.

  I’m sorry, Violet. I can’t spend another minute with you ripping my heart out. There’s a flight on Eastern Airlines you should be able to get on at four this afternoon. I’ll do what you asked. I’ll go back to Loretta and Eric. I’ll try to stay away from you.

  But I’ll never, ever stop loving you.

  Chet

  Violet wiped away her tears and pointed the car north. All she wanted to do was get home and try to start forgetting. She’d have hours to kill in the airport. She’d find a nice dark bar and settle in. She’d watch the Hare Krishnas and hippies from behind her sunglasses.

  She’d cry in peace.

  Violet was on her second whiskey sour when a twenty-something girl with stringy brown hair and patched bell bottom jeans asked if she could sit next to her. The bar was crowded and she couldn’t be rude, no matter how horrible she felt.

  “I’m Sunshine Rainbow,” the girl announced. She placed her backpack carefully on the floor and settled into a chair, pulling it slightly toward Violet. “You have beautiful hair.” She reached out and touched Violet’s arm, resting her hand at the wrist.

  “Thank you,” Violet said, sliding her arm away and stirring her drink. “Sunshine Rainbow is an interesting name.” She took her sunglasses off and swiped at her eyes.

  “It’s really Karen Reynolds. I’m from Iowa.” The girl stared at a waitress until she approached the table. “I’d like a Coke, please, thank you.” She nodded at the server and returned her attention to Violet. “Sunshine Rainbow is my old man’s name for me.”

  “Your old man?”

  “My, umm, boyfriend, I guess you’d call him. Is this the beginning of your journey or the end?”

  “The end.” Violet swallowed the last of her drink and wished desperately for another. “And you?”

  “This is my detour. Back to Des Moines for a couple of weeks, then I’ll be here permanently.” The waitress placed Sunshine’s Coke before her and nodded when Violet pointed to her own glass.

  “So why are you so sad?”

  “I’m not sure it’s any of your business, Sunshine, but I just broke up with my old man.”

  “Of course it’s my business. What hurts you hurts me. It hurts all of us.”

  “Uh huh. Well, that’s very nice of you, Sunshine.”

  “There is power in sharing your story. What’s your name?”

  “Violet.”

  “No, what’s your real name?”

  She laughed despite herself. “It really is Violet.”

  “That’s beautiful, man. Like the flower. You should wear some in your hair.”

  “I probably should.” Violet accepted her whiskey sour and decided Sunshine could be entertaining for a while. “How long until your flight leaves?”

  “I only have about twenty minutes. We’ll have to tell each other everything really fast. Like, I live with six people, including River, in the Haight. River’s my old man. What’s your old man’s name?”

  “Chet. He’s not mine anymore, though, remember?”

  Sunshine appeared to consider this for a minute. “He will always be yours. He is in you, Violet. Your paths may have separated for a time, but we all come together again in this life. Or the next one.” She nodded sagely. “River says we all drink from the same stream, you know? There is not one drop of water on our planet that is new.”

  “Uh huh. I guess that’s true.”

  “This sadness will transform you. All sadness does. It will help you understand yourself. Let it guide you.”

  “I sure will.” Violet signaled the waitress for her check, draining every ounce of whiskey as she did. She’d escape to another bar nearby. There must be one.

  “Violet, are you going home? Is there someone waiting for you? Children?”

  “Yes, I’m going home, and no, only me.”

  “Then why are you going home? You should explore and learn. You could probably go anywhere. Where would you really like to go?”

  It took about three seconds before she heard herself say, “Ireland. I’ve always wanted to travel there.”

  Sunshine grinned. “Cool. That’s the airplane you should get on. Right now. Your path is calling you.”

  Violet reached her hand to shake Sunshine’s. “It’s been fun talking with you. Thank you. I have to run now.”

  “I should get to my gate, too. I am richer because I met you today, Violet. Peace.” Violet stood and watched as the girl hurried away, then sat back down and ordered another drink. Twenty minutes later she found a pay phone and called Beatrice to tell her she’d be later than expected tonight.

  Violet hugged Beatrice and thanked her for watching the house. She sent her home with a bonus and sat down to make some rules for herself. Number One: she wouldn’t answer her phone. If Beatrice was there, she told people Violet was busy and took messages. Violet called her parents back immediately, but every-one else was ignored, including Chet.

  Two weeks
later she flew from Atlanta to Dublin, driving all over Ireland in a tiny rental car and listening to music in pubs. She danced and laughed and flirted with charming men. She made friends in hotels and country bed and breakfasts. She learned not to care if people stared at a woman traveling alone. She was truly free for the first time in her life, and came home restored and determined to enjoy it.

  Beatrice house-sat for her and told her the same gentleman had telephoned several times, but he wouldn’t leave a name. Violet wasn’t surprised when her phone rang late that night. Chet spoke as though he was hiding under a blanket, and she supposed he probably was. “Where have you been? Are you all right?”

  “I’m better than ever, Chet. Don’t call again.” She hung up the phone and smiled, knowing she’d be fine.

  She heard about him from time to time; he’d send an occasional Christmas or birthday card. Violet never went anywhere without looking for him. Once or twice she spotted a truck like his driving away from her house.

  Being without him never grew easier, but Violet had the satisfaction of knowing Chet had rebuilt his marriage and was reasonably happy with Loretta.

  Chet mailed Violet a photo of Eric when he graduated high school. She cried that night, clutching a picture of a boy who looked so like the man she loved, grateful he’d grown up with his father by his side. The note accompanying it said:

  I’m very proud of him. He’s a bright kid and has worked hard.

  The gold tassel means he’s in the top ten percent of his class. Glad Vietnam is over and we don’t have to worry about that. He’s going to learn the business beside me and take over someday.

  I never stop thinking about you.

  Love,

  Chet

  The next year her mother, now an elderly widow, called to ask if Violet knew Chet was in the hospital. He’d suffered a major heart attack. Violet rushed to his side without thinking. She was greeted by a sobbing Loretta and Eric, white as a snowdrift and staring out the window. Eric moved to place a protective arm around his mother. Violet noticed he’d grown several inches taller than his dad.