by Beth Duke
Chet was hooked up to a bunch of machines, all beeping and flashing steadily. She introduced herself as an old friend of Chet’s family.
“I know who you are,” Loretta replied, swiping tears from her face. She said it without a trace of venom. Violet wondered what, exactly, Chet’s wife did know. “You used to babysit him.”
“Yes,” Violet smiled. “I did. How is he?”
“His doctor told us his chances of recovering are not good. His heart was badly damaged.” Loretta started crying again, and Eric tightened his grip.
“Hello, Mrs. Thompson,” he said. “I’m Chet’s son Eric. I’ll take Mom to get a cup of coffee and give you a few minutes with Dad. He’s asleep, but they think he can hear us.” He smiled Chet’s own smile at Violet and she nodded gratefully.
As soon as the door closed, she grasped Chet’s hand and bent her mouth to his ear. “Chet, it’s Violet. You have to get better. You have to be strong for Eric and Loretta and for me. I can’t bear to be in this world without you. Remember what I said? If your heart stops, mine does, too.” She tried to brush her tears off the pillow. The monitor beeped steadily, but Chet didn’t move. “Please, please Chet. Come back to your family. Come back to me, because there will be no light in the world if you’re gone.” She leaned back, never releasing his hand until she heard the door open.
Eric and Loretta found her sitting beside the bed, smiling strangely. She stood and told them, “Thank you for letting me spend a few minutes with him. I feel like he’s going to be all right. I’ll be praying for him. Loretta, will you please call me at this number and let me know something tomorrow?” She slipped a calling card to Chet’s wife and hugged her briefly. “It was good to meet y’all.”
The next day, Loretta telephoned and said Chet was awake and had amazed his doctor with his recovery. They would discharge him within a week. He would, however, have to be careful and take a variety of medications. Surgery would be scheduled if possible. “His heart is badly damaged,” she said.
Violet thought: yes, mine is, too. “Thank you, Loretta.” She hung up the phone and said a small prayer of thanks. Part of that prayer was to see Chet again someday, if only for a little while.
Violet invented a full life. She took friends on trips to Europe and Asia, trips they never could’ve afforded otherwise. She did charity work at a local women’s shelter and made large financial contributions as well, though always anonymously.
She gained nothing through the various investigators she hired, but never lost hope that her daughter would seek her birth mother. Violet even ran personal advertisements, discreetly worded, in the Tampa and St. Petersburg newspapers. She was sure her daughter would come to her if she could find her way.
Many of her Birmingham friends passed on or moved away. In 2003 she sold Tolly’s massive house and moved to a renovated Victorian in Anniston, near her parents’ former home. She walked by their old place daily and saw herself playing hopscotch on the driveway; heard her mother calling her to dinner. She was lonely at times, but content.
It was by accident she learned that Johnny Perkins had moved into Fairfield Springs. She’d gone there to visit a church acquaintance who bought an apartment in their new, elegant assisted living section. As she wound her way out through the dining room, she saw Johnny in his wheelchair. His hair was pure white; he wore huge, thick glasses—but his name tag clearly read “Mr. Perkins.” He was talking to another old man, this one in a dapper suit and bowtie. She grabbed a chair to steady herself. Sam Davidson’s blue eyes twinkled as he waved his hands, then mimed a basketball throw for a laughing Johnny.
A week later Violet nodded slowly as the cheerful young woman showed her around the largest apartment Fairfield Springs offered. She couldn’t imagine paring her furnishings down to suit fourteen hundred square feet. “Are the buildings all finished?” she asked.
“No, ma’am, they are working on the final phase of construction. Does this not suit you?” Violet thought she looked a little resentful, a sudden cloud passing over her plain features. Maybe she worked on commission.
“It’s lovely, dear, just a lot smaller than I’d wanted. Tell me, do you think y’all could combine two units into one?”
The girl’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No one’s ever asked that before, Mrs. Thompson. I’m sure the cost would be prohibitive.”
“Don’t worry about the cost,” Violet glanced at the name tag, “Misty. It’s very important to me to live my final years here. It’s such a pretty place, and I know I’d enjoy all the activities you offer. I heard the food in the dining room is excellent, too.” She scanned the small living room and nodded to herself. “If y’all combined two apartments for me, it would be just about right.”
“But ma’am, we can’t change...”
“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Violet answered. “If you don’t know how, Misty, have the owner of this complex call me. Tell him it’s Mrs. Tolliver Thompson, formerly of Birmingham. I’ll bet he finds a way.” She smiled warmly and walked toward the door, calling over her shoulder, “I’d like to move in within two months, Misty. This will be the perfect new home for me.”
Of course, she got her way. In a little over two months, Violet sold the largest and most uncomfortable pieces of Tolly’s mother’s furniture and moved into a twenty-eight hundred square foot apartment that cost more than the sprawling Victorian home she left behind. She sat before the same vanity mirror she’d known as a young bride in Birmingham and regarded her reflection. She’d had her hair freshly done and her makeup was flawless. The thing that made her feel beautiful, though, was the excitement shining in her eyes. Today at lunch she’d join two of her favorite men for the first time in sixty years, but she was sure they’d recognize her. She was sure they’d adore her, too.
At noon Violet swept into the dining room in an ivory silk suit, trailing Chanel No. 5 and attitude. Heads turned, both men’s and women’s, to size up the new girl. Violet found an empty table and sat to survey the room. Johnny was nowhere in sight, nor was Sam. She’d been back to spy at Fairfield more than once, though, and knew they’d turn up.
She hadn’t counted on Rose, Johnny’s wife, following his electric wheelchair by a few paces. Violet watched as they settled across the room, realizing at once Mrs. Johnny Perkins didn’t reside in Fairfield Springs. She was dressed the way a visitor would, cheerful and manicured and coiffed for the special occasion of a visit with her husband. She was much younger than Johnny, Violet noted with the tiniest wince. She took in the Hermés Kelly bag and Rose’s Ferragamo flats with grudging respect. This woman, at least, had taste.
Sam Davidson entered the room alone from the opposite side. Violet saw him deliberately avoid the Perkins’ table and look around for a place to sit. She gathered her courage and stood to offer a tentative beauty queen wave. Sam seemed to think it was intended for someone behind him, checking and then turning back to face Violet from twenty feet away. She could tell the very instant he realized who she was; the skies parted and glorious sunshine lit his expression. He was by her side as soon as he could make his way through the crowd. Sam took her hand a made a big show of gallantly kissing it as Violet rose to throw her arms around him. He swiped an old-man tear from his eye and said, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I can’t believe what my eyes are seeing, my beautiful Violet.” He hugged her tighter and asked, “How can you ever forgive me?”
“Shh,” she whispered in his ear. “We’re not going to talk about the past. You’re here and I’m here, and that is enough, Sam.” She held his hand and pulled him to sit beside her.
There was no one else in the busy dining room for Sam. His eyes were fixed on Violet’s face, his mouth slightly open. “I just can’t believe it. First Johnny...did you know Johnny’s living here, too?”
“Yes, I saw him with his wife. She’s lovely.” Violet offered her most sincere smile and lowered her head slightly, gazing up at Sam through extra-length mascara.
“Not
as lovely as you, Violet. No one ever has been.” Sam leaned back as a server placed salad before him. “Wait...are you visiting, or have you moved in?”
“No, I bought an apartment in Independent Living, which sounds hopeful and depressing at the same time. This place is unlike any I’ve seen, so pretty and welcoming.”
“It oughtta be, for the price,” Sam replied. “Is your husband here with you?”
“No, he passed away years ago. And you? What about Debbie?” Violet knew she’d always despised the nickname.
“Deborah passed away a few years ago, too. I’ve had some health problems and the kids wanted me in a tiny assisted living cubbyhole. This was an elegant solution since our only store is in Anniston now, and they think the winters will be easier for me. You have kids?”
She’d imagined this scene a thousand times. She would collapse into Sam’s arms and say, “How could you let your parents leave me sobbing in a train station, carrying your child? How could you leave me? I was ready to marry you, no matter what obstacles we’d face. We had a daughter, Sam.”
Sam waited, his head cocked to one side. Violet saw the years of hard work, the wrinkles and gray hair of late nights worrying about sick toddlers and teenagers getting home after curfew. The utter joy of his holding his first grandchild. She saw the map of his lifetime’s happiness and sorrows with a family he probably treasured.
She shook her head. “No. No, I wasn’t able to have children.” A permanent decision was made in that split second: he would never know.
“I’m sorry, Vi. You’d be a wonderful mother.” Sam put his napkin on the table with a flourish. “You know, I don’t feel like eating right now. Want to take a walk outside and get something later?” He stared at her like he’d stumbled onto a huge diamond in a cow pasture.
“I’d love to go for a walk,” she smiled. “Maybe you can give me the grand tour. I’m learning my way around this place.”
She noticed, for the first time, that Sam’s hands shook as he grasped the chair to rise. He moved so slowly and unsteadily to a standing position, Violet knew she’d been right to keep the truth from him. He was far more fragile than she’d realized.
Johnny was expecting Violet the next day at lunch because Sam had told him all about her. He wasn’t prepared, however, for Harvey, James and Clifton following Violet to the table. By the time Sam took his place of honor on the other side of Vi, theirs was a solid six and that number wouldn’t change until one of them passed away a year later. Violet was surrounded by courtiers and found it more fun than her tenure as Homecoming Queen.
Any hint of discussion about Johnny’s accident or any of the sadder parts of their shared history were immediately waved away by Violet, dismissed with a few succinct words about enjoying their good memories and creating new ones. She lectured them on appreciating the glorious “chance” that had brought them together again. They should treasure each moment.
All the men but Johnny let her know they’d prefer a more romantic relationship. She’d briefly dated Harvey, a lifelong bachelor, before Tolly came into her life. James and Clifton were retired military men like Harvey, brought to the area by Ft. McClellan and charmed by the local hospitality.
Violet blossomed like her namesake in the adoration, drinking in flirtatious flattery and teasing each man like she was Scarlett with Tarleton twins at the barbecue. She pretended to enjoy chatting with the women around her, but they knew she watched over their shoulders for one of her male admirers. Soon they retreated from Violet and offered an occasional glare in her direction.
The tenth annual Fairest of Fairfield pageant was held a few months after she moved in. Violet blew kisses to her men as she modeled her evening gown, a deep aubergine satin that set off her brown eyes and slightly lavender hair. They cheered loudly as she bent to accept her crown, especially since they’d made her agree to wear it to lunch each day for a week if she won.
Earlier in life, she’d have been thoroughly embarrassed. Instead she strolled into the dining room like Marie Antoinette, and was a little wistful when the week was over.
Afternoons now included a regular bridge game with Johnny, Sam and Harvey. Violet carried a dainty flask of rum and added a bit to her Coke now and then, though she didn’t share it with anyone but Harvey, whose medication didn’t forbid him occasional alcohol.
She woke each morning eager to greet the day, thanking God for the happiness she’d found in her old age. The only thing she found unpleasant was her nephew Herb’s visits, which she regarded as necessary for his mental health, not hers. Herb was hoping for a share of her estate, she knew, and she allowed him to bore her with twenty minutes of frantic minutiae every month or two because it seemed to reassure him. He never asked her for money outright, but let her know the health club he owned was not doing well. He’d introduced a California fitness franchise in Birmingham after his year and a half at The University of Alabama. Now Violet had no hope he’d leave the state.
In her second year at Fairfield Springs the most wonderful thing happened: she met a young nurse named Ronni who reminded her of her younger self. Ronni spent hours listening to Violet, captivated by her stories and, Violet thought, in need of a mother’s love and guidance. And she found the daughter’s love she needed just as much.
Ronni helped her through losing Harvey, who succumbed to pneumonia, and then James two months later when he died instantly from a stroke. Violet discovered how much strength it took for Ronni to work with patients she loved and lost, over and over again. “The truth is,” Ronni told her, “I am no better at grief and loss than anyone. I get through it by remembering these people I love are still with me. I carry them in my heart, always, the smiles and especially the things I learned from them. I learn something, no matter how small, from everyone I come to know.”
Violet nodded and told her, “I wish I’d understood that at your age. I also hope I’ll remember it when I listen to people talk, no matter who they are.” She smiled at two old ladies working on a jigsaw puzzle, women she’d avoided as “vexations” and made fun of for their silliness. She surprised Ronni by joining them and asking if she could work on the puzzle, too.
Sam loved to walk through Fairfield’s gardens and around its lake with Violet. Almost every day after lunch they’d set off, usually settling on a bench next to a towering weeping willow to talk. Sam told her his mother had made him fetch switches for his own spankings from an identical tree in his childhood backyard.
One day he sat heavily on the bench and gazed at the willow, distant and preoccupied, so Violet asked what was on his mind.
“You won’t let me talk about it,” he said. “No bad memories, enjoy today, grateful we reconnected, blah blah blah.”
Violet laughed and said, “Okay, for this afternoon only you have my permission. Go ahead, Mr. Davidson.”
He cleared his throat and leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring straight ahead. “I want you to know I’m sorry, deeply sorry, for what my parents and I did to you. They convinced me you’d be miserable married to me, and I knew my mother well enough to believe it. That was pretty much a guarantee from her. Plus they told me we’d be forced to find some other way to earn a living, because I’d have no ownership or hope of ownership in the stores, ever. Not even a job, and that was what I’d been trained for all my life. I was too scared to argue. I let myself be led onto a plane and into a new life, and I didn’t have to courage to call you. Not once. I hated myself for years because of that.”
Violet said, “Oh, Sam...”
“Wait,” he interrupted. “There’s more. I resented Deborah, I missed you, and I wanted to leave a thousand times for the first year or two. But over time,” he shook his head and let it fall to his chest, “over time I grew to love her. And I came to understand you’d never have been happy, especially not if they’d made you convert. I convinced myself that everything turned out for the best. I need to believe that, Violet.” He looked up at her, eyes brimming. “I need very much to believ
e that everything turned out best for us both.”
She rested her forehead against his and held her palm to his cheek. “Of course everything turned out for the best, dear Sam,” she lied. Violet stood and offered him her hand. “Come on. We’re back to enjoying every moment, blah blah blah.”
Years passed and Violet grew more content, enjoying her shopping trips with Fairfield’s chauffeur even though she had a perfectly usable car. Her hair appointments and other stops were built around a busy social life. She never doubted her decision to move into her overpriced, extra-large apartment once.
Violet was busy restocking books in the facility’s library, the former study in the Queen Anne Victorian that served as Fairfield Springs’ core. She volunteered a couple of days a week and often bought new novels for the collection. She hummed softly, unaware anyone was nearby. Ronni walked in and smiled at Violet’s long ivory chiffon skirt and matching blouse, the last thing most women would choose for shelving books.
Ronni hesitated, unsure how Violet would react to her news. She’d heard all about the dark-haired, “beautiful” man named Chet she still missed. It was a topic Violet loved, and it seemed to sooth her to tell Ronni about “the true love of my life.”
That morning she’d discovered Chet Wilson was a new patient in the medical wing of Fairfield Springs. He was there for cardiac rehabilitation after bypass surgery, but Ronni had read his chart and didn’t think he was recovering well. The man’s wife and son were probably at his bedside for visiting hours right now. She bit her lower lip, wondering if she should tell Violet at all. She drew her friend to a wing chair and sat opposite her, Violet tapping her fingers on “Pride and Prejudice” impatiently and smiling in expectation. “What is it, Ronni? You’re supposed to be dispensing meds about now, aren’t you?”
