The Glass Butterfly

by Louise Marley

  A young girl, a housemaid in Villa Puccini, had reportedly been driven to suicide. According to the account, she had bought poison at the chemist’s, and taken it. The girl’s family sued Elvira Puccini for hounding the girl to her death, and Elvira had been convicted, though Puccini later paid the family a substantial amount of money in order to keep his wife out of prison. The book claimed there had been a suicide note, though no one knew what had become of it. Puccini had threatened to divorce Elvira for what she had done, and the couple only reconciled after months of pleading and persuasion by the family.

  Johnson came padding back to the step where Tory sat. She rubbed his ears, and pulled him close for warmth. “I don’t know what it all means, Johnson,” she murmured. “Or if it means anything at all.” He scraped her cheek with his long pink tongue, and she chuckled, wiping it with her sleeve. “You’re probably right,” she told him, pressing her chin to the top of his smooth head. “It was just a dream. They were all just dreams.”

  As she let the dog back into the house, she caught sight of the small cardboard box that now held the shards of the Murano glass paperweight. She tried to tell herself there was no point in carting the shattered pieces back to Vermont, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave them. She padded into the kitchen, touching the box with her fingertips as she passed it, and wondered if this was, after all, truly the end.

  Tory and Jack chose the first of the year as a good day to depart. Her rent was paid up through the end of December, and though Iris assured her she would happily grant her a few days as thanks for all the repairs she had done, Tory thought it made a good start on a new year and a new direction for them to set off on the first of January.

  “Breakfast at my house before you leave,” Iris decreed, and that seemed like a good idea, too. They gathered around her table for eggs Benedict and plates of smoked salmon and toasted baguette slices. Zoe and her mother were there, and Hank, of course. The cat had been tucked away upstairs so Johnson could come in and lie on a rug near the front door. “No rushing,” Iris said. “You might as well not head out until the roads are dry.”

  Jack and Tory were content with that. They expected to take a week to get back to Vermont. The Escalade was outfitted with half a dozen audio books, food for Johnson, the few things Tory wanted to keep.

  The yellow Beetle was now in Zoe’s proud possession, though the paperwork still had to be straightened out. The rest of the items Tory had bought for the cottage she left there. “If you have renters, they can use them,” she had said.

  “Including the family photos?” Iris had asked slyly. “Paulette Chambers’s history?”

  Tory had chuckled, and given a helpless shrug. “No, I’m keeping those,” she said. “Those poor people have already been sold to strangers once, and I don’t think it should happen again.”

  “What a story,” Iris said. “You could be an actor. Or a fiction writer.”

  It had all come out, bit by bit, so everyone now knew everything. They still had trouble remembering to call Tory by her real name, but the drama of the tale evidently overrode any feelings of resentment at her deception, and there was abundant sympathy for what had happened to her.

  Of Ellice Gordon there had been no sign. In absentia, she was charged with murder, but Tory could have told the sheriff’s department not to bother. She knew Ellice was gone.

  So did Jack.

  “She’s dead, Mom,” he had said one evening, when he had come in from seeing a movie with Zoe.

  “Who?” Tory asked.

  “Ellice Gordon.”

  “So you feel it, too.”

  He nodded, and the smile that had been on his face when he first came into the cottage faded. “It’s uncomfortable,” he said. “Knowing things you shouldn’t know.”

  “Sometimes,” Tory said. She had been sitting in the old easy chair, a small fire crackling beside her, the Puccini biography open on her lap. She closed the book, and folded her hands on top of it. “Sometimes it’s uncomfortable,” she agreed. “Often it’s helpful.”

  “You can’t count on it, though.”

  “No. Nonna Angela told me that, a long time ago. She told me not to depend on it. Just to use it when it comes along, and be grateful.”

  Jack threw himself onto the little sofa, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He said, staring at the scuffed toes of his sneakers, “How do you live with it? I mean, never knowing when you’re going to get that feeling?”

  “I guess,” Tory said, “you just live with it like you live with anything else that’s part of your nature. Like being short, or tall, or shy, or . . . whatever.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance from beneath his eyelids. “Is that therapist talk, Mom?”

  “Being a therapist is part of my nature, Jack.”

  “I know,” he said, and she saw he was smiling, his eyes closing as if he felt perfectly relaxed. “Are you going to be a therapist again?”

  “Yes, I think so. I hope so. I have a few kinks to work out, since I didn’t report Ellice’s crime. I’ll speak to Chet’s lawyer when we get back, but the circumstances work in my favor, I think.”

  “You’re good. It would be a waste for you to give up your practice.”

  The compliment made her cheeks warm, and she was glad he kept his eyes closed, his head tilted back against the worn fabric of the sofa. She could watch him unhindered, admiring the young man he had so swiftly become. She said, “I’m going to need a new license, of course.”

  He said, “Easy squeezy.”

  “Now you’re quoting Zoe!” She laughed.

  “Yeah. She’s pretty quotable.”

  “I know. She’s one of a kind.”

  “She sure is.” There was a pause, and then he said, still with his eyes closed, “I’m sorry about the house, Mom. I never expected that.”

  “Of course you didn’t. How could you?”

  “I’ll help fix it up.”

  “No, you’ll go back to school.”

  “Well—yeah. I guess so. The house is a mess, though.” He opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. “It’s just—ruined, Mom. All your pretty things, your kitchen . . . You’d never feel the same there.”

  “It’s too bad, that’s for sure. But it will make it a bit easier to let it go.” She had meant it. It was hard to think of selling her house, parting from Chet and Kate, but she knew it was the right thing to do. They could come and visit her in Oregon. And she needed no reminders of Ellice Gordon.

  When it was time for them to leave, everyone pulled on coats to follow Jack and Tory out into the chilly morning. The rain of the night before had given way to the familiar low cloud cover. The wet leaves glowed gently in the gray light, and in the distance the tip of Haystack Rock thrust up against the grayness like a big black thumb. They all trooped out to Iris’s driveway, where the Escalade waited. Tory handed Iris the key to the cottage, and said a warm thanks. Zoe, in a bright yellow vintage coat and purple plaid scarf, hugged Tory and said, “I’ll be seeing you soon. Jack’s asked me out to visit over spring break. Hope that’s okay by you!”

  Tory was still speechless from this announcement when Hank came to help Johnson jump up into the back of the car. He settled him with his blanket and a stuffed toy he’d brought from the clinic, then came around to the front to hand Tory up into the driver’s seat. Jack stood by Iris’s garage, teasing Zoe, making her laugh. Tory fastened her seatbelt, then unfastened it so she could settle her purse—the same old fake leather drugstore purse—near her hand, and put a CD in the player.

  When everything was settled, she turned back to Hank. “Thanks,” she said, as he adjusted the seatbelt over her shoulder.

  “You’re welcome.” His deep voice was as calm as always, but the pressure of his hand on hers had an urgency about it. “Drive carefully.”

  “I will, Hank. We will, I mean.”

  “Call me every night.”

  She smiled at him, and leaned to kiss his cheek. “Okay,” s
he said. “Every night.”

  “If you’re not back in three months,” he said, “I’m coming to get you.”

  She chuckled. “Ah, a deadline. Okay! I’ve been warned.”

  The passenger door opened, and Jack hopped nimbly up. “Show on the road, Mom!” he exclaimed.

  “Right.” It was time. She put the key in the ignition.

  “Keep an eye on her, son,” Hank said, and Jack gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Hank—” Tory began, but sudden tears closed her throat, and she had to blink her eyes against them.

  He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “No worrying,” he said. “We’ll talk every day.”

  She swallowed, and managed to say, “Right. No worrying.”

  He stepped back, and closed the driver’s door, touching the glass briefly with his fingertips. She had to look in the rearview mirror to back out, to turn the car, to face toward town and the highway. At the last minute she looked back to see, through a mist of tears, all of them standing on Iris’s steps, waving good-bye. She thought she would never forget the picture they made: Zoe’s scarlet grin, Iris’s gray hair whipping around her face, and Hank’s lean figure towering over them all.

  Jack inclined his seat as far as it would go and leaned back, his hands behind his head. “You didn’t find this place by accident, did you, Mom?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “It’s great. I love it. I may just join you here—once I finish school, that is.”

  She sniffled, and smiled across at her son. “That would be lovely, sweetheart. Really lovely. You know you’d always be welcome—if you think you might like it.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I think we have some time to make up.”

  She smiled at that, blinking away her unshed tears. She wheeled the Escalade through town, past the flower shop and market and beachfront hotels, over the bridge and out toward the highway. Behind her, the dog sighed, and flopped to one side to sleep away the journey.

  Discussion Questions

  1. Tory Lake’s practice as a therapist was enhanced by her psychic gift, which she called her “fey.” In what way did her fey help her protect herself from Ellice Gordon? In what way did it fail her?

  2. Giacomo Puccini often referred to his wife, Elvira, as his “policeman.” Does that resonate with the character of Ellice Gordon, since she’s a sheriff’s deputy? Can you see other parallels between the memories Tory has of Torre del Lago in 1908 and her current crisis?

  3. Tory, with nothing but a bit of cash in the lining of her coat, has to create an entire new life, symbolized by the photographs of strangers she buys and displays as if they were her own family. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to start your life over as someone else? Do you think you could do it?

  4. The presence of the butterfly paperweight is a connecting thread running through the plot of the book. The paperweight belonged to Puccini and then, briefly, to Doria, before it was passed down through the Manfredi family to Tory. In what ways does the butterfly symbolize the relationships between the principal characters?

  5. Classical music, especially opera, is Tory’s passion, the one area in her life that allows her to release her emotions. Doria Manfredi also loves opera. Iris Anderson loves jazz, and Jack Lake likes rock music. Do you think musical preferences help to define characters? In your discussion group, who likes which kind of music?

  6. Doria Manfredi lived at a time when servants were all but slaves to their employers. In the remote village of Torre del Lago, Villa Puccini offered the best possible job for a girl of low birth. What other life choices could Doria have made? Can you understand why she would tolerate Elvira Puccini’s abuse in order to hold on to her job?

  7. In what ways does the dog, Johnson, help Tory to heal?

  8. Tory’s son, Jack, is shocked to find that he, too, has the fey he has previously dismissed, and is not completely happy about it. Do you think Nonna Angela was right when she told Tory that the fey was both blessing and curse? Have you ever had a psychic or intuitive experience you couldn’t explain?

  9. Madama Butterfly is one of the most famous and most beloved of all operas. Can you see why Doria Manfredi identifies with Cio-Cio-San, the little Butterfly?

  10. Are you convinced, at the end of the book, that Ellice Gordon is gone for good, or do you think this is an instance in which Tory’s fey—and Jack’s also—might fail them?

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2012 by Louise Marley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  ISBN: 978-0-7582-7996-5