by Susan Gloss
April’s face perked up. “Really? It wouldn’t be too much work, with the store and everything?”
“Not at all. I love babies, and the way things are going for me, it’s looking like there’s less and less of a chance I’ll ever have my own, so I’ll take my baby time when I can get it.”
“Yeah, but what about all the stuff you have to do to close up at night?”
“I can just leave all of the more complicated closing stuff for other nights, and if no customers are there at the end of the evening, I can always just shut down a few minutes early.”
“Oh, my God, that would be wonderful,” April said. “I can’t wait to tell Charlie. He’ll be so relieved. He was planning on talking to one of his professors to see if he could cut out of class fifteen minutes early every Wednesday, but now he won’t have to.”
“Where is Charlie, by the way?”
“Oh, he’s at the store getting diapers and onesies and a whole bunch of other stuff we need. We have a few things, but I don’t think we had any idea how many changes of clothes this kid would need. I’ve changed her outfit three times already today because of some, um, accidents.”
“Well, you must have cleaned her up well because she smells heavenly right now.” Violet felt her arm falling asleep, so she shifted Kate in her lap.
“Hey, you said you’ve thought before about carrying vintage baby items in the shop,” April said. “We should do that.”
Violet thought about it. “Sure, we could try it out. I mean, I wouldn’t want to carry a ton of that stuff. I still want the emphasis to be on regular women’s fashion. But if it means people would buy more when they came in, maybe something for themselves, something for their kids . . .”
“Exactly.”
Kate started crying, and Violet got up and walked her around the room, bouncing her gently.
“I need to get one of those baby swings, I think,” April said. “She loves being rocked or bounced, and it would be nice to have my hands free for a little while sometimes.”
An idea occurred to Violet. “I’m gonna throw you a shower,” she said. “You can register for whatever stuff you need but don’t have yet.”
“Isn’t that supposed to happen before the baby?”
“Yeah, but who says I can’t throw you one now? I’ve never been big on convention, anyway. Talk to Charlie and figure out a date that works for both of you and I’ll get planning.”
A smile spread across April’s face. Violet didn’t want to tell her about Betsy—she didn’t want to do anything to break up the happy feel to this evening—but she knew she had to tell her. April would find out eventually.
Violet sat back down, making soft shushing noises. As Kate quieted down, she said, “Betsy passed away two days ago.”
“No.” April put a hand to her mouth. “Were you there, when she . . . ?”
Violet shook her head. “I got the news just a couple of hours before Charlie called me.”
“Bad news followed by good news.”
Violet kept her other bad news—her breakup with Sam—to herself for the time being. She didn’t want anything else to shift the focus away from perfect little Kate, who was now settling back to sleep in her arms.
Chapter 27
INVENTORY ITEM: passport holder
APPROXIMATE DATE: 1975
CONDITION: fair
ITEM DESCRIPTION: Tan and white pony-skin passport holder. Leather lined. Some general wear and tear.
SOURCE: flea market
Amithi
AMITHI PUSHED OPEN THE front door of the house she’d entered thousands of times. The hinges squeaked, and she noted with irritation that Naveen must not have fixed them. She shut the door behind her. Despite the fact that it was a beautiful September day, warm and golden, the windows were shut and the house smelled stuffy, stale.
If she had her timing right, she guessed Naveen was teaching a class this afternoon. Amithi passed the kitchen and looked inside to see dirty dishes covering the countertops. A few brown bananas and a wrinkled apple moldered in the fruit bowl, and half of a Taste of India microwave dinner sat in a box on the table. It took all of Amithi’s willpower not to go into the kitchen and start cleaning. She reminded herself she was just there to get her passport and kept walking.
In the office, she opened up the file cabinet and retrieved the folder where she and Naveen kept all of their important documents, like their naturalization papers and social security cards. She riffled through the file and found her passport underneath a certified copy of Jayana’s birth certificate. Seeing her signature and Naveen’s next to one another on the certificate, signed so many years ago, reminded Amithi of just how much her life was intertwined with his.
All the more reason why I need to leave for a while, she thought, and snapped the folder shut. As she turned off the office light and passed back through the quiet house, she realized how strange it felt to be there. It didn’t feel like home anymore.
Just as she reached the front door, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned and saw her husband standing on the stairway. His beard was untrimmed and his legs looked thin beneath his bathrobe. He had lost weight.
“Amithi?” he said.
She put her hand on the doorknob.
“Please, wait.” Naveen came down to the foyer and put a hand on her arm. His face was fragile, hopeful.
For a moment, Amithi felt sorry for him, but the pity was quickly replaced by fury. She pushed his hand away. “I just came to get my passport,” she said. “I was hoping you would be at work.”
“Jayana told me you are taking a trip to India next month,” he said with a wounded expression.
“Is she returning your phone calls now?” Amithi asked.
Last she had heard, Jayana was still shutting Naveen out. Amithi had mixed emotions about it. On one hand, she appreciated her daughter’s loyalty. On the other, she wanted them to have a good relationship. Even though Jayana was an adult, and a very independent one at that, Amithi didn’t want her to grow to regret having drifted apart from her father.
“No,” Naveen said. “I happened to run into her at a sandwich shop near campus.”
“I want you to know that I never told Jayana to ignore you,” Amithi said.
“No, of course not. I know you would not do that.”
The pain in Naveen’s eyes was something Amithi could empathize with, though she knew he had brought it upon himself. She, too, had lived with the fear of growing apart from Jayana, which made their renewed closeness all the more precious.
“Do you remember the last time we went to India as a family, when Jayana was a teenager?” Naveen asked. “She complained about having to go the whole plane ride there but then didn’t want to leave by the time our trip was over.”
Amithi remembered, angry that her memory of that trip—and nearly every memory of their family—was now tainted by Naveen’s betrayal.
A silence ran between them, full of half a lifetime of emotions.
Finally, Naveen said, “I suppose I should tell you I am planning to take a trip to India at the same time you and Jayana are there. To visit my family.”
Amithi clenched her fist around her passport, bending the cover. “This is my trip, Naveen,” she said in an irritated tone. “I have rarely asked for anything for myself, in all these years.”
“I know. I know.” Naveen held up his hands, palms facing out. “And I promise I have no intention of interfering with your time with Jayana. I will be staying at my sister’s house. I expect nothing of you, I swear. I simply want to be near where you are.” He gestured around the dusty house. “Everything is empty without you, jaanu.”
“Jaanu.” A Hindi term of endearment meaning, literally, “my life.”
Amithi exhaled. She doubted that Naveen expected nothing from her. When had that ever been true, of him or any husband?
“If you have no expectation of me, then why can you not go to India another time, after Jayana and I get home?” she ask
ed.
Naveen’s eyes revealed the truth before he said it. “I suppose I hope that, by being in the place where we first met, we might be able to remember how things used to be between us. I can still picture what you looked like the first time I saw you at your parents’ house. I was nervous and sweating, but you were so beautiful in your blue sari, and so calm. You have always been the calm place in my life, Amithi. When I think of how I hurt you, how foolish I have been—” His voice wavered and he looked away.
Hearing Naveen’s nostalgia for happier days set off a torrent of anger within Amithi’s chest. How dare he long for something that he himself ruined? What selfishness to feel sorry for himself when he’d hurt her so deeply! His loneliness was evident, from his haphazard housekeeping to his unshaven face. But it was a result he could have avoided, had he thought about how his actions would affect his family.
“Those days are gone, Naveen,” she said.
“I am so sorry, Amithi. You have every right to be angry with me. I understand if you do not want to see me while you are in India. But if you do, even if just once for a cup of tea, it will have made the whole trip worth it for me.”
Amithi sighed. “How long will you be there?”
“Two weeks. It is all I could manage to be away from work. And you? When will you return?”
“I am not certain,” Amithi said. “I’m going to spend some time in New York after I get back. There are some classes I’ve signed up for at FIT.”
“FIT?” Naveen looked skeptical. “I have never heard of it. What sort of classes?”
“The Fashion Institute of Technology,” she said, not expecting Naveen to understand. “They have some continuing education courses that are open to the public and look very interesting. There is one on design and pattern making that I think would help me with my tailoring work.”
“That explains the charge I saw on the credit card bill.”
Amithi felt defensive. “The classes are a bit pricey, but I can write them off as a business expense once my tailoring business starts to make a profit.”
“I’m not worried about the cost,” Naveen said. “But what is this about tailoring? I did not know you were working.”
“You did not know I had any interests that didn’t involve you,” Amithi said with a rush of adrenaline.
Naveen looked as surprised to hear these words as Amithi was to say them. She had never before spoken so frankly with her husband.
“I always knew you liked to sew,” he said. “And I know you used to design things before we were married. You mentioned it when we first met.”
“I didn’t know you remembered,” Amithi said.
“I remember everything about the day we met.” Naveen put his hands in his pockets. “I just wish I would have known that you were interested in taking classes. We could have figured out a way for you to do that.”
“This is not about the classes, Naveen,” said Amithi with growing frustration. “It is about the fact that you cheated and you lied.”
Naveen looked at the tiled floor. “I know. I am so sorry, Amithi. I only wish things could go back to the way they were.”
“That is not possible. The life we thought we had—it is nothing but a story, a fiction. And it is too late to rewrite it.”
“Well, then, perhaps it is possible to start a new story instead,” Naveen said in a tentative tone. “One in which I am a better husband to you.”
“Perhaps,” Amithi said.
“Have a cup of tea with me, then, when we are in India. Please. I promise I will ask nothing more of you than that. We could meet at that little café you like in the Old City.”
“No,” she said in a firm voice.
The hope fled from his face.
“I’ll come to your sister’s house, and you will cook breakfast for Jayana and me,” she said. “Nothing more. Just breakfast.”
Naveen looked startled at first, but then a smile spread across his lips. “Yes,” he said eagerly. “I will make that filled bread you like—aloo paratha. And I’ll get mangoes. The sweet, small ones from the market. Just wait. It will be the best breakfast you’ve ever tasted.”
Amithi put her hand on the doorknob again. She opened the door this time, and stepped out into the sun.
Chapter 28
INVENTORY ITEM: brooch
APPROXIMATE DATE: 1960s
CONDITION: fair
ITEM DESCRIPTION: Faux gold starfish pin with rhinestone detailing. Some tarnish on edges.
SOURCE: garage sale
Violet
THE GOATEED TATTOO ARTIST examined the brooch Violet handed him. The gold setting and blue stones glittered in the glow of the neon lights in the window of his shop.
“What do you think, Gary?” Violet asked. “Do you think you can do something like that?”
“Sure.” He turned over the brooch in his enormous hands. “I’ve never done a starfish like this before, but I’ve done plenty of other marine life. Lots of dolphins, of course. Those were really popular for a while there. And I’ve done coral, shells . . . one lady even had me do that cute little fish from the movie. What’s his name? Nemo?”
Violet laughed. “Good God. I do not want this tattoo in any way to resemble a cartoon fish.”
Gary held his hands up. “Hey, I don’t judge. I just give people what they want. Anyway, I know that’s not your style.” He walked around to Violet’s side to get a better view of her arm. “The phoenix I did for you a few years ago is still looking good.”
“That’s why I came back,” she said. “I trust you.”
“I’m gonna have to hand-draw the design. Can you give me a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Violet said.
As Gary sat down at his desk, Violet waited on an overstuffed fake leather couch, watching the evening foot traffic on Williamson Street. A couple with matching lip piercings strolled by the window, arm in arm. On the porch of a coffee shop across the street, boxes of vegetables stood in neat stacks. Violet watched as a woman loaded the contents of one of the boxes into a canvas bag. She guessed it was a pickup spot for one of the dozens of local community-supported farms that delivered vegetables to their shareholders every week.
Gary got up, holding a piece of paper and a stencil that went over it. “How does this look?” he asked, removing the stencil so Violet could see the drawing. “Is this what you had in mind?”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, touching one of the long, delicate legs of the starfish in the picture.
“Then have a seat.”
Violet settled back into the reclining chair and rolled up her sleeve.
“Your bicep again?” Gary asked.
Violet nodded. “The other one this time.”
“You know, I’ve gotta hand it to you. A lot of chicks want ’em somewhere you can’t see ’em, like their hip or their back.”
“Yeah, well I’m not most chicks.”
Violet thought she detected a faint smile on his lips as he wiped her arm with rubbing alcohol, then pressed the stencil to it. When he removed it, there was a blue outline of what the tattoo would look like.
“So why the starfish?” he asked. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but I like hearing folks’ stories if they’re okay with talking about ’em.”
“Me too. I listen to my customers’ stories all the time,” Violet said. “I picked a starfish because they can heal and regenerate, even if they are injured or lose a leg. I’ve had a lot of loss in my life lately.”
She thought of Sam, and how much she longed to be in his easy presence again, to feel the strong warmth of his arms around her. She thought of Grandma Lou and of Betsy, who had become much like an adopted grandmother to Violet. She thought, too, about her old life in Bent Creek and how, in distancing herself from Jed, she’d necessarily had to distance herself from her parents, too, and all the echoes of the girl she used to be.
“Regeneration.” Violet let out a half laugh. “That probably sounds really flaky,
doesn’t it?”
“Nah, it’s cool. I’ve heard far flakier.” Gary went to work putting together an intimidating contraption with a needle and tubes. Violet watched, trying not to get nervous. The whole point of getting the tattoo, after all, was to remind her that something good could come of pain.
He rubbed ointment over Violet’s bicep and leaned toward her with a needle attached to a bag. “You ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Remember to breathe.” Gary switched on the machine.
Violet felt a prickling stab. Her arm radiated pain as the needle touched her skin with a buzzing sound. To keep herself from dwelling on all she’d lost, she focused instead on her new house, her new start. It might take a long time, but she was determined to grow whole again.
“Doing okay?” he asked.
She nodded, clenching the fist of her free hand.
The buzzing stopped and Gary lifted the needle. “Good work. We’re done with the first line, and that’s always the worst part.”
Violet smiled. “It’s always good to know the worst is behind you.”
The next morning, Violet’s arm still felt sore. She smoothed ointment on it and searched her closet for something to wear that would cover up the raw, red-looking tattoo for now but wouldn’t rub against her skin. She startled when the doorbell rang. It was only eight thirty—an hour and a half before the shop would open.
She threw on a soft cotton T-shirt dress before running down the stairs to get the door. When she opened it, a man in a suit stood in front of her, clutching a briefcase. Violet’s heart pounded. She remembered her run-in with the process server a few months earlier.
“May I help you?” she asked. She didn’t invite him in.
The man set his briefcase down on the worn wooden slats of the porch. “Are you Violet Turner?”
“Yes. What is this regarding?” she asked, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.
“My law firm is handling Elizabeth Barrett’s estate,” he said. “And I’ve been instructed to contact all of the interested parties.”
