Living Violet

by Jaime Reed

  “I read Specter, by Nan Jacobs,” Alicia chimed with excitement, holding the book up so everyone could see the worn cover.

  A number of groans filled the break room. People adjusted their chairs, preparing for the diatribe that would surely follow.

  This was the book series that every bookseller loved to hate, and its popularity boggled the minds of everyone in the room. But no one could deny the number of sales among teenage girls, and an entire shelf in the store was devoted to the saga. Anything that mainstream was enough to keep us from reading it. Well, most of us.

  “Okay, first off, I have to say I loved this book. It’s so romantic and sweet, and the characters were so believable, and I felt like I was right there with the main character and, Omgoodness, Nicolas Damien is so hot!” Alicia bounced in her seat and swallowed a lungful of much-needed air.

  “Have you met him?” Nadine leaned back in her chair and allowed her hands to touch at the fingertips. “This Nicolas Damien—has he come to the store or something?”

  Alicia frowned in confusion. “Uh, no. He’s a character in the book.”

  “Then how do you know he is hot?”

  “Because the book makes him hot, that’s how,” Alicia snapped, then addressed the group again. “Anyway, the story’s about a young girl who goes to detention and falls in love with a gorgeous new guy. But there’s something mysterious about him.”

  “Let me guess, he’s a serial killer?” Caleb piped in. He sat at the opposite side of the circle with one leg resting on his knee and his arms folded. Every so often, I caught him watching me, probing me with an open curiosity that had no shame. I tried not to stare at him, tried not to squirm in my seat, but his stare had a physical presence.

  I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  “No, he’s not a killer.” Alicia rolled her eyes. “He’s dead.”

  “How romantic,” I mumbled. “Forget Teen Beat; go to your local cemetery. Corpses are the new heartthrobs.”

  “No, I mean he’s a ghost,” Alicia explained. “Anyway, the girl doesn’t know that at first, and the thing is she’s the only one who can see him. Nicolas thinks it’s a sign that Angelica is his soul mate.”

  “Angelica?” Nadine and I mimicked in unison.

  Alicia spun her head at the jeering. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s reaching, isn’t it?” Nadine asked. “Let me guess, Nicolas calls her ‘his angel’?”

  Alicia snarled in our direction, then continued, “Anyway, it’s about forbidden love. They can’t be together because Angelica is still alive and he’s a ghost, and they can’t even touch. The story follows her search to figure out how Nick died, all while fighting their attraction.”

  “Why is she the only one that can see him?” Linda asked.

  “Because Angelica is a rare and unique snowflake,” I answered, picking at my doughnut.

  Redness rushed to Alicia’s cheeks, giving her skin a rich mahogany tint. Her fist slammed down against her knees. “Shut up! You’re just jealous of Nicky and Angie.”

  “Wow, we’re on a nickname basis with these made-up people?” Caleb asked, his chest shaking with laughter. “It’s just a book, Alicia. Relax.”

  Applying some serious neck action, Alicia contended, “Look, you write a bestselling novel and then you can complain about someone else’s book.”

  “Will someone else go now, please?” Linda rubbed the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. That vein on her forehead looked ready to pop, so I jumped in.

  “Okay.” I reached behind my chair and pulled the book from my shoulder bag. “Trick of the Light—I love that title—by Harriet Coffman-Frost. It’s about this male prostitute, Ren, who runs into some bad luck and gets evicted from his house, and ends up rooming with one of his lady customers, named Janice. Janice is emotionally unavailable—some Madonna-whore complex where she can’t sleep with someone she has feelings for, so she buys male company. The tables slowly turn as they get to know each other. Ren ends up having feelings for Janice and tries to woo her, but she clams up and ignores him. So he ends up using his hooker money to buy her affection. I’m almost to the end; I’ll let you know what happens.”

  Alicia sucked her teeth in disgust. “That’s sick.”

  I grinned. “Isn’t it, though? But the characters are real to life, unlike your oh-so-perfect Nicky.”

  “Can’t be too perfect if Nicky can’t remember how he died,” another employee added.

  “All right, settle down people,” Linda broke in. She turned toward Caleb and smiled. “Okay, how about you? What book did you read?”

  Caleb unfolded his arms and presented the paperback to the group. “Snap Shot, by Orlando Hutchins. It’s about this demonic photo booth in the middle of the Jersey boardwalk. When Mark Daniels goes inside, the camera flash gives him a subliminal message to murder people. And out of the photo slot are pictures of five people he has to kill. So Mark goes on a mindless killing spree, but he only figures it out when a friend comes to kill him. The friend also has a strip of pictures with Mark’s face on the last square. It’s a crazy, vicious circle.”

  “Wow, that’s awesome.” Linda jotted something down on her notepad.

  “Yeah, it’s got plenty of gore and violence,” he agreed, glancing over at me. “Good family fun.”

  After another twenty minutes of show-and-tell, we all decided on Caleb’s book choice. Sighing in relief, everyone got up and filed toward the doors. I grabbed my bag and walked out, ignoring the prickling feeling on the back of my neck, the warm humming over my skin, and Alicia giving me the stink eye.

  Linda stayed behind to lock up, while outside an ambulance and two cop cars flanked a vehicle at the end of the lot. Aside from the employees’ cars, the parking lot was empty.

  Nadine leaned into me and asked, “What’s that about?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” I stepped to the side as the rest of the crew moved in to watch.

  Nadine’s eyes widened with excitement. “You think there was shooting or something? I would kill for action in this town.”

  She had a point, but I wasn’t sure if this was the way to go about it. Williamsburg was one of the most boring cities on the planet. It was a far cry from Mayberry, but this town still had some sleep in its eyes. It was a resort town, the hotbed for tourists for the summer, and most of its revenue banked on the hotels and restaurants in the area. So any sign of a skirmish proved enough to keep the townsfolk talking for a while.

  A group of skateboarders sat on the grass, watching the fallout from the opposite side of the lot as a heavyset officer took statements from each of them.

  I looked to the dark blue SUV parked near the store when the driver’s window rolled down. Mr. Holloway popped his head out the window. “Alicia, come on!”

  “Coming, Daddy!”

  Alicia rushed from behind me and bumped my shoulder. Obviously, she took her book rejection personally and needed someone to blame.

  Reaching the van, I straightened my back and saluted Alicia’s dad. “Captain Holloway, sir!”

  My foolishness never failed to make him smile, no matter how hard he tried not to. The man was too serious, as was the military fade cropped close to his head. “At ease, soldier,” he said. “You guys are coming out late.”

  Alicia climbed in the passenger side. “Yeah, we had our book club tonight. Sorry you had to wait so long.”

  “Hey, what’s up with the police?” Nadine asked before I could.

  Mr. Holloway turned his head to the flashing lights. “A woman had a heart attack in the parking lot. Some kids found her unconscious in her car; I guess they called the cops. God, for a minute there I thought it was my little girl.”

  “Daddy, I’m fine,” Alicia chided. “You’re such a drama freak.”

  “Hey, kid, mind your elders!” I pointed a finger at her.

  “My mom’s got me on lock like that too. It’s a parent thing.”

  Alicia snickered. “W
hatever, thumb-sucker.”

  I spread my arms wide, inviting the challenge. “Anytime, training bra.”

  “Ladies.” Dragging a hand over his face, Mr. Holloway lifted his head and sighed. “You two will never grow out of this phase, will you?”

  “Well, your daughter’s a bad influence,” I said in defense.

  He gave me a hard look. “And you’re not?” Not waiting for my answer, Mr. Holloway revved the engine. “You guys be safe going home—lots of weirdos out there.”

  “Will do.” I drifted up the lot with Nadine at my side. I dangled the keys on my finger, all the while trying to sneak a peek at the action without appearing too obvious. The emergency team eased a body out of the driver’s side. I recognized the slim build and long red hair right away. That was the same woman Caleb performed the poor man’s CPR on earlier today. From the look of her unconscious state, she needed a professional.

  Linda moved to the scene and talked to one of the officers by his car. A few head nods and shakes followed, but relayed no solid info to go on.

  “She looks awful young to have a heart attack,” I told Nadine.

  “You can have attack at any age. It depends on person,” she returned, riveted at the sight before her.

  Nadine held an affinity for all things macabre, so something like this was right up her alley. But behind her normal blank-slate expression laid a note of contained anger. “Did you recognize the girl?” she asked.

  I had no idea why I said no. Maybe I wasn’t up for a police interview in the middle of the night. Maybe it was just a freaky coincidence. I just knew I needed to get home.

  “See you tomorrow.” I chucked my bag in the passenger seat.

  Nadine waved and inched to her car two lanes down, struggling to break from the draw of tragedy.

  As I turned to get in, that feeling returned, that electric zing on the back of my neck. Swallowing hard, I spun around and jumped.

  Caleb stood behind me, staring, as if waiting for me to hand over the doughnut I inhaled earlier. I returned the look, slowly backing away until my body wedged between him and the car door. His hand reached for my face. A scream was about to break from my throat before he brushed the side of my lips with his thumb.

  “You’ve got something there.” He pulled back his hand and examined the smudge of powdered sugar on his finger. “See ya tomorrow.” He strolled up the lot to his Jeep, unfazed by the flashing lights and his chick getting wheeled off by paramedics.

  That’s no way to treat a make-out partner, no matter how bad they kissed. If he owned any decency, he would at least follow the ambulance to the hospital. Just watching his proud swagger made my stomach roil.

  For the eighteen months I’d been on this job, at least twelve girls had hung on his arm, and there were no signs of stopping. Mr. Too-Cool-for-School was a man-whore of the highest order.

  I couldn’t think about it anymore. I was already late, and I didn’t want to be the last one in the parking lot. Evidently, this wasn’t a safe place for a girl to be alone.

  3

  It was a good thing I lived five minutes from work. I was dead tired.

  Warm air rushed through the window, carrying the whiff of yeast that drifted for miles. Commuters on I-64 labeled the smell as one of the many Williamsburg staples.

  Most areas of Williamsburg were historical sites. Every child within the state was forced on a field trip here and shown how tobacco was made. It’s a quiet city that reeked of beer from the local brewery and the smell of mildew from the old money that circulated through the area. It was wall-to-wall old people, the new Florida, with dozens of golf courses and country clubs. It became tradition to those who grew up here to only return when they needed somewhere quiet to die.

  I lived in a pretty decent middle-class neighborhood, just off the main strip of James City County. No one could ever call us wealthy though, that’s for sure. Our home was a two-story colonial-style house with a wraparound porch, though it had seen some better days. The white paint curled and chipped, but the tall pines bordering the yard fought to hide that fact from our neighbors. An unexpected bee infestation had slaughtered our bed of gardenias, yellow button poms, and daisies.

  Gravel crunched and popped under my tires as I pulled up to my house and met a silver Lexus parked by the curb.

  Whimpering, I turned off the car and gathered my stuff. I avoided this situation for a reason, and some people just didn’t know when to take a hint. Mom had left the porch light on for me. As always, she worried about her baby.

  Entering the house, the smell of sautéed onions and garlic hit me immediately. The aroma dragged me to the kitchen, kicking and screaming. Mom stood over the kitchen island, chopping mushrooms on the cutting board, while Dad sat on the bar stool peeling potatoes.

  This was an odd pairing if I ever saw one, but my folks were anything but normal. Unlike most estranged parents, mine actually got along. They rarely argued, and if they did, it was about something stupid on my end. With that said, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was a setup.

  Mom’s yellow sundress cast a glow to her fair, lightly freckled skin and revealed more than a peek of cleavage. Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun with brown tendrils framing her face.

  Though she had put on a little weight over the years, Julie Marshall was a nice-looking woman. True, I got my curly hair, flat butt, and ultra-sensitive skin from her, along with the Wolf-Man eyebrows that required waxing every week. But not even that could detract from her round, honest face and the best legs this side of the Mason-Dixon Line. All the same, if I had a kid at sixteen, I would probably look like a MILF at her age too.

  Dad was dressed casual tonight, a far cry from the corporate takeover suits he usually wore. His white button-down shirt made a bold contrast to his dark chocolate skin. The overhead light bounced off his shaved head.

  They worked in silent harmony, oblivious to my presence, even as I dropped my bag on the kitchen table. Against its original purpose, the table overflowed with coupons and unopened mail. Mom’s laptop, the only thing the woman had ever splurged on, chimed away, letting her know more unread mail waited in cyberspace.

  “You can’t speak now?” Dad’s deep baritone stopped me in my tracks.

  “Hi, Daddy.” I bent to kiss his cheek.

  “You’re home late, honey,” Mom said while cutting green peppers.

  “Monthly book meeting. Sorry.”

  Rubbing my back, Dad asked, “Is there something wrong with your cell phone, baby girl? I’ve tried calling you all day, and all I got was your voice mail.”

  “I was at work,” I explained quickly. “I can’t have my phone on at work.”

  “Uh-huh. I figured as much, so I decided to pay you a little visit.” He set down a peeled potato and reached for another. “So your mother told me you agreed to our arrangement with your car.”

  “Yep.” The thought brought a smile to my face.

  My current car had served its purpose, but it was time to put it down. It was a 1998 Honda Civic with chipped white paint and a busted air-conditioning unit. My phobia of public transportation was the only thing that kept me from chucking it off a cliff.

  Dad frowned in thought. “I’m glad to hear that, but she didn’t say anything about you watching Kyle and Kenya.”

  My smile dropped. “Who watch what?”

  “You heard me.” He seemed amused that he had just ruined my victory party.

  “Samara.” Mom sighed, knowing this song and dance all too well. “You’re their big sister. You need to show them some support.”

  Oh yeah, this was definitely a shakedown. I stole a glimpse at my traitorous mother before saying, “Well, now I gotta pick up more hours at work to save up for the car. I don’t think I can take the time to watch the twins.”

  Dad nodded. “You know it’s your stepmother’s and my anniversary next weekend, and it would mean so much to us if you could take the time out of your busy schedule to help us out.”


  “Why can’t Nana watch them?”

  “Nana’s in Atlanta until next Tuesday. Plus the doctor told her to take it easy after her hip surgery. She couldn’t keep up with a pair of six-year-olds.”

  “Well, Dad, sorry about your luck. Have you broken the news to Rhonda?”

  Dad dropped the peeler and locked eyes on me. For anyone else, that look would involve imminent death, but I was lucky to get away with a sound reprimand. Though the spankings had stopped years ago, the look in his dark eyes told me the legendary belt was about to make a comeback.

  Instead, he spoke in the calmest voice. “Samara, it would mean a great deal to me if you did this favor. I haven’t gotten a weekend off in months, and the reservations I made are nonrefundable.”

  I must have gotten that stubborn streak from him, because I managed to stand my ground.

  “If you don’t help me,” he continued, “I may have to retract my end of the deal involving your car.”

  The statement hung in the air on a dangerous note.

  My body went rigid. “What? You can’t do that!”

  “I’m an adult, and unlike you, I can do whatever I want with my money.”

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something. I wanted to slap him across his big bald head. I had to play it cool, but how could I when injustice was purely on my side? It was no secret that I didn’t like Rhonda and her minions, and my reasons were justified. He knew I would do anything for him but that. I loved my dad, but nothing would stand between me and new wheels.

  Clearing my throat, I whipped out the SAT vocabulary and my best diplomatic voice. “Father, you of all people should know how injudicious it is to renege on a verbal contract.”

  “Verbal contracts rarely hold up in court,” he disputed.