“It’s not easy, being here without her,” I acknowledged. “Nothing looks or feels the same, somehow, if that makes sense.”
Vivi’s head bobbed in agreement. “It makes complete sense, believe me. When my mama died, it felt like everything had changed, even though the only thing that was really different was that she wasn’t there anymore. It took awhile, but things started to get back to normal.” She paused thoughtfully. “It’s still not as good as it was, and it might never be—but I think that’s because part of what can make something or somewhere so special is who you’re there with.”
I felt myself staring at Vivi, a bit stupefied. She seemed so different here, on her own, without Annabelle around to throw down any verbal challenges.
“Mind if I sit?” The question, really, was asked only out of courtesy, the words having barely left her lips before her butt was firmly planted in the chair across the small table from mine. She plunked down her nearly empty cup, studying me carefully. “So tell me, Dellie, how long are you here for?”
I swallowed. Uh-oh. Was that moment of sensitivity we were sharing over now, only to be followed up by an intense line of questioning? She’d warmed me up, now she was going to begin the interrogation?
She seemed to sense my hesitation. “Don’t worry, I’m just asking because I’m interested. Your grandmother was a great lady, really special. And I remember you when you were little—happy little thing. Creative, too. Always drawing and making things,” she said.
I looked at her, puzzled. “You knew me when I was little?”
Vivi nodded. “Not very well, mind you. I was a teenager then, running around town and doing stupid teenager things; so I didn’t spend a whole lot of time at Azalea’s, if I could help it. Not that your grammie was a regular customer there or anything. Mostly I knew her just from running into her from time to time at the store and things like that. And, of course, because of her cakes,” she continued. “I met you a few times while you were here visiting for the summer; I used to come with Mama when she’d pick up cakes from your grammie’s house, and you were always busy working on something. Merry would brag about you, every chance she got.” Vivi smiled warmly. “She was proud of you.”
I felt the choke of tears at the back of my throat.
Grammie had always been so special, so present, when it came to her grandchildren. Even though Charlie and I had been the ones who had been so far away, the thousand miles between us had never diminished her enthusiasm for what was going on in our lives. Cards came in the mail for every possible occasion, like cheery little reminders that we were never far from her mind, affirmations that she loved us and wanted us to feel it. It was one of the things that had made summers so highly anticipated, being able to bridge the distance between Florida and Virginia and cast off the cares of the school year and just be. Grammie’s was a magical place; and even though we always missed Mama and Daddy if we came without them, we loved those days in Hampton in ways we could never seem to duplicate anywhere else.
“Anyway. How long will you be visiting? Can’t be easy, staying at the house all by yourself with that old cuss of a grandfather.” She gave me a knowing grin. “I’d have probably killed him by now!”
“Actually, it hasn’t been bad,” I said. “Then again, I’ve only been there a couple of days, so by the time I leave in a month, my answer might be totally different!” I laughed. “Who knows—he might be ready to kick me out by then!”
Vivi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “A month? That’s a long time to be away from home. Your husband won’t mind you being gone that long?” she ventured. I could see her eyes creeping toward my hand, trying to see if there might be any rings on my finger, but that oh-so-telling digit was blocked from view by my other hand—and both were wrapped around the warmth of my paper cup, absorbing the heat as much as they could. No luck for Vivi.
“No husband,” I replied, hoping we might be able to leave it at that.
Clearly, Vivi was perplexed. “Really? I could have sworn your grandmother telling me they were going down to visit you for your wedding,” she said, her words slowing as she neared the end of the statement. “Or was that your sister’s?”
I shook my head, not meeting her gaze. I stared at my hands, still wrapped around the cup in front of me on the table. “No, that was my wedding,” I said, my voice low. “It just didn’t last.”
Vivi clicked her tongue, and I finally looked up. What might she be thinking? I wondered.
Fortunately, my imagination didn’t have too much time to run away with itself on that one.
“Well, sometimes things don’t work out, do they?” she said, sounding like she knew from firsthand experience.
“No,” I murmured. “And sometimes you find out too late that you married someone you didn’t know.” The words seemed to come out all on their own, like being in Vivi’s presence required a certain amount of disclosure, even if you’d had every intention of keeping things to yourself. She would have made an excellent cop, I realized, though at this point, I wasn’t sure whether she would excel most at Good Cop or Bad Cop. She was adept at both, from what I had seen so far.
“Honey, you’re preaching to the choir on that one. I could tell you stories for days.”
I felt my own eyebrows rise. “You’ve been married, then?”
“Which time?” She laughed, shaking her head, though I couldn’t tell if it was out of regret or that strange sense of awe that can settle over you once you’ve had enough time and distance from a bad situation to look back at it without being knocked flat on your back. “I’ve been married a couple of times. And boy, I knew how to pick ’em!” She barked out another laugh. “Fortunately for me, they both saved me the time and expense of having to hire a divorce lawyer by dying.”
My eyes bugged in shock. Hadn’t seen that one coming.
“Forgive me. I’m sure Annabelle would be giving me her best scathing look right now for being crass, but really, what’s the point in sugar coating things?” Vivi rolled her big eyes toward the ceiling, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lipsticked mouth.
I didn’t really know how else to respond, so I just nodded, keeping my mouth closed tightly around all of the questions that were forming on my tongue.
“Hank was my first mistake, but I was nineteen, so I might not have had the best judgment on that one. I was young, in love, and stupid. Hank was just stupid.” She paused, reconsidering. “Stupid and mean.” Vivi shook her head, raised her cup and sucked out the remainder of her now-melted frozen drink. “And much as I hate to sound like I watch Oprah or Doctor Phil, I didn’t have the benefit of growing up in a house where my parents were married and happy. I had a single mother and a father who ran off before I was born.” The edge in Vivi’s voice was barely detectable, but it was still there. “Like I said, Hank was mean and stupid, and after being married for three months, he decided that using me as a punching bag was beginning to be a little bit boring and thought it might be fun to find a new one at some seedy joint in Richmond. He picked the wrong one, though.” She stopped so abruptly I wondered if she would finish the tale or leave me hanging.
“The man got his face beaten into hamburger meat, then left the bar drunk out of his mind. Wrapped the front end of his car around a utility pole.” Vivi trailed off again, staring at nothing as though she might have been picturing the scene. After a few beats, she shook her head, re-shifted her eyes to look back into mine.
I must have looked stunned, because she gave me a wry smile. “Wasn’t exactly what you were expecting to hear when you asked me if I’d been married, was it?”
I shook my head. “No, but things aren’t always as simple as you might expect,” I said cryptically. I wasn’t ready to tell her so many of my own details just yet. Not if I could help it, anyway.
“So what about husband number two?” I asked quickly, hoping to head her own questions about my marriage off at the pass.
She groaned, a look of disgust crossing her face. �
��Warren wasn’t mean, he just had a bad memory for wedding vows, if you catch my drift. Had a thing for the ladies, and I knew it; but I was under the mistaken impression that maybe marrying me would change that fact.”
“I take it he had a few affairs on you then?” I ventured, knowing I was probably just stating the obvious.
“Saying a few would actually be an understatement,” she replied, somewhat flippantly. “We were married for five years, and the man had more women on the side than they have flavors of ice cream at Baskin-Robbins.” She caught the look on my face. “You think I’m joking.” Vivi shook her head, tapping a bubblegum pink nail on the table in emphasis. “I counted forty-three women’s names on rotation in his phone. Forty-three!” She let the number sink into my brain. “That’s more than an average of eight women a year for those five years we were married!” Vivi leaned forward, her eyes glittering under the overhead lights. I could see the flash of enjoyment there, the slight sense of triumph at having so utterly shocked me. “It’s no wonder he had a heart attack,” she finished, almost anti-climactically, as though dying at the hands of a lover’s enraged and cuckolded husband might have been a more interesting end to the story.
Admittedly, it would have, but it was almost a relief to hear that her husband had met his end in such a humdrum way—unless I was missing something, of course. Which was entirely possible, given our conversation this far.
I went out on a limb, hoping I wouldn’t bring on a line of questioning directed at me and my own blissful history. “I’m surprised Annabelle didn’t tell me all about that when we were having coffee,” I said, watching Vivi’s face to see what response Annabelle’s name might elicit. “She seems to like to tell you what she knows, doesn’t she?”
This earned me an arched eyebrow. “You picked up on that, did you?”
I nodded.
“Annabelle loves to be the keeper of knowledge; she’s like the walking, talking version of the society papers. She was Page Six before there was a Page Six,” Vivi said. “She knows everything and everybody, but she knows who to tell what, and how, and when. It’s like a gift—or a curse, for those of us who have ever become fodder for her gossip mill.”
While this bit of insight into Annabelle’s character was hardly a revelation, it still left me a bit mystified as to why—and how—she and Vivi could maintain the kind of relationship they had.
“I can see the question mark above your head,” Vivi said with a low chuckle. “That’s just the way she is, and the way she’s always been. If you know that and understand that, it’s a whole lot easier to live with—and even to like—Annabelle. She’s very charming, as you already know. And very intelligent. And she can be extremely generous.”
“In other words, she’s a good person to have in your corner,” I supplied, hoping I wasn’t completely missing the mark with my assessment.
Nod. “Yes, a very good person to have in your corner. Fortunately for me, she’s decided I’m her pet project, so she’s also appointed herself as my guardian. If anyone comes sniffing around that she perceives as a threat to my best interests, she has a way of making the problem resolve itself.”
The idea of Annabelle running her very own version of the mafia skittered through my brain, and I almost giggled as I pictured a gaggle of aging society ladies sliding knobby fingers through brass knuckles encrusted with antique gemstones.
“Don’t let the scathing-yet-witty repartee fool you,” Vivi said. “We’ve actually got each other’s backs.”
“Like she did with your mother?” I asked, knowing it might be something that I would regret. Right now, it was a relief to realize there were still more avenues of conversation to pursue than any that might lead to my own doomed marriage.
She paused, staring at me with a look that left me wondering if she was wise to my attempt at deflection.
“Yes. But despite what she might think, not everything Annabelle does in everyone’s best interests is actually in everyone’s best interests all the time.” Vivi’s voice was matter-of-fact.
There was far more to that statement than she was willing to say, but I was smart enough to realize that I had hardly earned her trust enough to be made privy to whatever she might be alluding to. And as far as she knew, I hadn’t been enlightened about any of it.
True, Annabelle had given me a version of events—both in regards to her relationship with George, as well as her account of what had happened with Azalea all those years ago. But I was hardly so naive that I would ever fully rely solely on her perspective. Whatever the whole truth was, however, things between Annabelle and Azalea must have been repaired enough to salvage their friendship and sustain it until Azalea’s death—which meant that somewhere along the way, Azalea had either chosen to forgive her friend on her own, or that Annabelle had actually offered an apology. Not that the act of forgiveness had completely cleaned the slate—that much was apparent in Annabelle’s relationship with Vivi and the way each woman regarded the other with grudging affection. Until Vivi gave me her own commentary, though, I wouldn’t know anything for sure. At this point, I still wasn’t ready to push the issue—I wanted things to happen organically, to let Vivi tell me in her own time. I’d been a writer long enough to know that she would eventually. I just had to give her her own space.
“I’m assuming you already know Annabelle’s husband was supposed to have married your grandmother,” she said, bringing my thoughts back to the present. It was a statement, a pronouncement, rather than a question. She knew that I knew, and she knew exactly who had told me. At least, she thought she did. I blinked, trying to escape the death stare I seemed to have fallen into, but Vivi never broke her gaze.
“That’s what Grandpa told me,” I said.
A puzzled look shot across her face. Naturally enough, she’d been under the assumption that Annabelle had been the bearer of the news.
“He told me that Annabelle and George ran off and got married and that Grammie was hurt for a long time after that,” I continued, wondering what fresh bit of information the woman across from me might provide, what puzzle piece she might contribute.
It seemed, suddenly, as if we were at an impasse, each of us silently assessing the other, waiting to see who might speak first.
To heck with that.
“I have to admit, I really don’t get it. Any of it. Grandpa has no use for Annabelle, and he sure doesn’t mind sharing his opinion,” I said, shaking my head in befuddlement. “But he still won’t tell me much about what actually happened. He says it’s the past and that it doesn’t matter anymore, but he acts like he’s holding a major grudge against Annabelle; and he wasn’t even the jilted lover!”
Vivi’s eyebrow shot up. Just the one. The other was fixed firmly in place.
“You do realize we’re in the South, right?”
I stared at her. “Yes,” I said slowly.
“And you know as well as I do that Southerners hold a grudge better than anyone else,” Vivi said simply.
“But—”
“And your grandpa might not have been raised in the South, but he’s lived here most of his life.” She paused, her mouth tilting slightly in the barest beginning of a smile. “And he’s a stubborn Swede, which doesn’t help matters any.”
I snorted a laugh. “True,” I admitted. “Can you tell me anything, Vivi?” I leaned forward, hoping the weight of my question might be appreciated. “This is important to me. It’s part of a story I’ve never heard, part of what makes up my family’s history. Grandpa’s about as forthcoming as a doorpost; and I have a feeling that Annabelle’s side of things isn’t the most reliable, if I’m hoping to get an accurate picture.” I slumped back into my seat with a heavy sigh. “I want to know. She’s gone, Vivi, and this is part of her I never knew.”
Vivi offered a small, sad smile. “I understand,” she said at last, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “And I’ll tell you, but I want something in return.”
My blood froze. I knew it couldn�
��t have been so simple.
“I’ll tell you everything I know, but you have to tell me why you’re really here.”
Chapter Fourteen
I blinked at her, feeling both unsurprised and caught off guard all at the same time.
“Why I’m really here?”
Vivi smirked. “You and I both know that you’re not here simply to keep your grandfather company. Knowing Peter, I’d bet he’s hardly had an idle second since your grandmother died. He doesn’t let moss grow under his feet,” she observed.
I pressed my lips together, trying to come up with an answer that might hold her off for a little bit longer. I still wasn’t ready to offer up all the gory details of my life to someone I hardly knew. If I told her, how could I be sure that the news wouldn’t be all over town by the time the nightly news came on? She was, after all, a close personal friend of Annabelle, possessor of minute-by-minute society happenings and self-appointed Hampton news wire. I looked hard at Vivi, searching for even the slightest clue that might suggest she was more discreet than her friend.
She seemed to read my mind.
“Don’t worry, I can keep a secret. Lord knows, I know when to keep my mouth shut. And remember, I might be friends with Annabelle, but I’m hardly blind to her ways.”
“Speaking of which—” I began, abandoning my earlier decision to let Vivi tell me in her own time about what had happened and wondering whether she’d actually answer the question I was about to ask without having received any real response to her own. “She hurt your mama so much, and it seems like you’ve got a really hot and cold relationship with her, as well. Why keep that going, now that your mama’s gone? And why did she maintain their friendship? Wasn’t it hard for her to trust Annabelle and forgive her for something like that?”
Vivi grimaced. “Mama was a fan of forgiving, not necessarily of forgetting—which is how she raised me to be. You don’t survive being a single mother without learning things like that, believe me,” she said, confirming my suspicions.
Life Without You Page 12
