It All Comes Back to You

by Beth Duke

  “I have ulterior motives,” he grinned and winked. “I intend to seduce you later and defile Violet’s entertainment room.” He twirled me around twice as the song changed to The Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody”, then dipped me dramatically to applause from the entire room. “All the songs from here on are from these people’s courtin’ days,” he whispered. “We’ll dance to all of ‘em if you want to.”

  “No,” I giggled, “I need to talk to my guests. Most of them have an early bedtime.”

  When the song ended, Rick settled at a table in the middle of the room while I hugged and kissed everyone in sight.

  “We’re so proud of you, Ronni,” they told me. “You have to come back and see us, even after you’re famous. Send us postcards from your book tour.” I cried each time I said goodbye.

  By seven thirty most of my party had retired early to settle in and watch TV. Deanna and Sarah kissed my cheek and followed soon after. Mel Sobel asked me to walk him to his car. Rick nodded and said he’d wait.

  Mel opened the passenger door of his Mercedes and extracted a small package. It was beautifully wrapped in floral print and fabric ribbon, topped with an ornate bow. “They said no gifts, but I want you to have this,” he said. “Go ahead, open it.” His eyes were twinkling.

  Inside was a gold pendant necklace bearing a small book with an amethyst set in the center. The box bore the name of Birmingham’s fanciest jeweler.

  “It’s so beautiful!” I was crying as I held it up to the fading daylight. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “I wanted you to have it for the book tour. It’s a locket, so we’ll pick your favorite photo and have it placed inside. Here, let me put it on you.” I turned my back and felt him fasten the necklace, patting it into place.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Mel. I will treasure this.”

  “Good, Ronni. I treasure our friendship.” He clasped both my hands in his. “Listen, umm, could you take another minute or two and sit down with me? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  I nodded and he led me to a bench near the entrance to Fairfield’s lobby. We settled and Mel turned to face me.

  “I’ve gone around and around for months with this, Ronni, not knowing if I should tell you. Violet didn’t really want me to, but she didn’t forbid it.”

  My heart thudded. “Okay.”

  “Tolly Thompson was not a good man, Ronni, as you know,” Mel began. “But when he died, he left Violet a wealthy woman. At first, she played with her money; she traveled and bought a new car and jewelry and other expensive stuff. It didn’t make her happy, though.” He stopped to smile at me. “So, she came to see me about setting up a foundation to fund shelters for battered women, which we did. Soon after, we formed another charity called All God’s Children. Its purpose is to assist families in adopting children out of foster care, getting them out of the system. I still serve on the board after all these years.”

  “Oh my gosh.” I thought I knew what was coming, but waited for him to say the words.

  “The Johnsons weren’t very well off, Ronni, and they depended on the monthly checks they received to care for you. But they loved you and very much wanted to adopt you permanently. They approached Violet, and she approved the funding for your adoption.”

  Memories of my parents brought tears to my eyes. I sat quietly for a minute, thinking about them, before it occurred to me and I blurted, “So she knew who I was when we met here?” I shook my head in disbelief.

  “Not at first. She pieced it together after a while. Violet didn’t tell you because she didn’t want to diminish the love your Mom and Dad had for you and all the sacrifices they made. They adored you, Ronni, and dedicated themselves to raising you and securing your future. Violet said all she did was write a check with her dead husband’s money.”

  “It was much more than that,” I palmed away a tear. “When Mom and Dad told me they wanted to adopt me, that I was going to be Ronni Johnson...well, it was the first time the ground under my feet felt solid. It’s the point where I started looking forward instead of back.”

  “Maybe I should have kept quiet, Ronni. Like I said, I’ve debated whether to share this with you for a long time.” Mel stared at something in the distance.

  “No, you did the right thing, and I thank you so much. I’m grateful to know Violet helped me all those years ago. She changed my whole life.”

  Mel smiled and patted my hand. “She changed a lot of lives, Ronni. Everybody loved her.”

  I laughed softly. “So she mentioned.”

  Mel stood and said, “I have to get on the road. Have a wonderful book tour, Ronni. You’ll be great.”

  “Thank you.” I hugged him goodbye and watched him walk to his car, lingering until his lights faded into the distance.

  Rick was waiting alone near the corner booth. “Beautiful necklace,” he told me as I walked up. “That was so nice of Mel.”

  “Yes, it was.” I reached to touch the locket, then chastised myself for getting fingerprints on it. “But you won’t believe what he told me...”

  Rick smiled and kissed me into silence. “We’ll talk later. Right now we’re going to dance real slow and then I have a little gift for you and this...” he looked around, “romance emporium of Violet’s.” He pressed a remote button and the oldies jukebox came back to life. I recognized the opening chords of Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”

  “Take my hand, take my whole life too,” Rick whispered. We were barely moving in the middle of the tiny dance floor. When the song ended, he held my face in his hands and said, “I love you, Ronni Johnson.”

  I smiled into his eyes and said, “I love you, too. Where’s my present?”

  “I see the Romance Emporium Effect is wearing off.” Rick laughed softly and went behind a booth to retrieve a large package wrapped in brown paper.

  It was a poster-sized enlargement of the photo of Johnny and Violet laughing and holding hands in the school’s archway, beautifully matted and framed.

  “Oh, Rick, this is wonderful,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “It’s to hang behind the soda fountain.” He took it from my hands and hung it on a hook he’d obviously sneaked onto the wall earlier. “I even had the mat matched to the countertop.”

  “Yes, you did. Thank you so much, Rick. They belong there.” I looked at Violet, so full of beauty and love and happiness, on the brink of beginning her grown-up life. I couldn’t help thinking that I was beginning a new chapter, too. I closed my eyes and just for a second I saw the blonde and brown-eyed little girl I’d have someday.

  I already knew her name.

  ―The End―

  A word about this story:

  I’ve said it before: authors are thieves.

  Though this is a work of fiction, some of the most incredible scenes are based on actual events.

  The crazy vine thing in the first chapter, for instance.

  I couldn’t have made that up if I tried.

  Writing about the abuse Violet suffered was dark and painful, particularly as she lived in a time when

  help wasn’t readily available.

  It is now.

  Please support your local shelter for

  victims of domestic violence.

  Acknowledgments

  I am the most fortunate writer in the world to depend on a discerning and lovable group of advance readers. My heartfelt thanks go to Lucinda Hathaway, Beth Monette, Marianne Barnebey, Robert Gebhardt, David Boyd, Dan Brown, and Lillian Pizzo.

  Debbie Tuckerman deserves a title far more special than advance reader. She has been by my side through every revision as well as the entire publishing industry roller coaster, offering steadfast encouragement, inspiration, ideas, and support. She’s lived with Ronni and Violet only a fraction of time less than I have, and there are no adequate words to express my thanks. Debbie, you made this a much better story. I am so grateful to you.

  My beautiful daughter Savannah
read the manuscript while pursuing a master’s degree, which is above and beyond any call of duty. Thank you, baby!

  I am very thankful also to my original advance reader, my mother, Patricia Poucher. Everything I write, I write for my mom. I joke that I’m still trying to make things she’ll hang on the refrigerator―and she actually asked for this book’s author photo page to hang on her refrigerator, which made my heart sing all day.

  My cousin, Amanda Winfield, is a completely dedicated nurse to her elderly patients. She shared fascinating (often hilarious) stories and even allowed me to shadow her at work, where I learned a lot and witnessed the beauty of her kindness. Mandy and so many nurses like her are love and compassion personified.

  Thank you to my dad, Bob Poucher, for expert answers to questions on a variety of topics I researched for this book, from automobiles to telephones.

  Kristin Gause is not only a dear friend, she’s a fabulous banking consultant. She has a namesake character in this book, like the real Kris, but not as cool.

  Thank you to many wonderful residents of Anniston, Alabama for helping me bring the 1940s and 1950s to life. I love my hometown and her gracious people.

  I am grateful to John Ferrell, owner of Mary Mac’s Tea Room, for his story guidance and for serving the best soul food in Atlanta. It’s a real and delightful place, folks. You should eat there at least once in your life! The same is true of the elegant and much-loved Classic On Noble in Anniston. Both restaurants are fabulous, and if you visit, please tell them I sent you with my highest recommendation.

  Finally, thank you Jay, Jason, and Savannah for your endless patience, support, love and understanding. Writers can be slightly irritable, self-absorbed, preoccupied, and diva-ish. Not me, of course.

  And thank you, cherished reader. Always.

  Other books by Beth Duke:

  Delaney’s People: A Novel in Small Stories

  Don’t Shoot Your Mule

  Please visit www.bethduke.com

  Beth Duke is the recipient of short story awards on two continents and is eyeing the other five. Her work has been published in numerous magazines and literary digests.

  IT ALL COMES BACK TO YOU is her third novel.

  She lives in the mountains of her native Alabama with her husband, one real dog, one ornamental dog,

  and a flock of fluffy pet chickens.

  She loves reading, writing, and not arithmetic.

  Baking is a hobby, with semi-pro cupcakes and

  amateur macarons a specialty.

  And puns—the worse, the better.

  Travel is her other favorite thing,

  along with joining book clubs for discussion.

  Author photo by Savannah Duke

  Florence, Italy, New Year’s Eve 2017