by Olivia Luck
“Who is it?” Just hearing her voice, garbled through the crappy intercom system, ratchets up my heart rate.
Get a grip, Stone.
At the sound of Violet, Rocky barks animatedly, hops up on his hind legs and scratches at the door. “Your charge and his owner,” I respond. With a pop and a click, she unlocks the door and I push it open. Rocky launches himself inside, gasping for breath as he tugs against my rigid hold on his collar. “Play it cool, man.”
“Second floor, door’s open,” Violet’s voice floats down the steps.
True to her word, the door’s wide open when Rocky and I reach the second landing. Elton John’s singing Rocket Man from a stereo inside.
“How’s my favorite boy?” Violet coos as Rocky demands her attention.
When I cross the threshold, I soak in every detail of the living/dining/kitchen combo. From Blake, I know this place once belonged to Stella, and somehow, I know instantly the décor is not Violet. It’s too generic, looking like it came straight out of a catalog. I zero in on a needlepoint picture hanging above the sectional couch.
Home is where your heart is.
This reveals another, if not complicated, piece of Violet. Where is her heart?
Surreptitiously, I study Violet while she greets Rocky. In this light, the true shades of her thick auburn hair shine. Dark reds and brown sift together in the strands lying over her shoulders. Tight black leggings cling to her legs. I know that if Violet turned just the right way, I’d have a view of her ass I’d never forgot.
Is it just me or is it hot in here? The collar of the sweater I’m wearing feels like a noose. That’s not the only way my body’s responding, but I’m steadfastly ignoring the strain on my jeans.
Violet pops up to her full height. That’s when I notice a hot pink piece of foam separating her toes, which are painted a fuck-me red.
This woman must know what it takes to kill me.
“Pedicure,” Violet explains with a sheepish smile. She bends down again to pull the foam from her toes. If I were a gentleman, I wouldn’t notice the way her baggy t-shirt gives a preview to a lacy white bra cupping her perfect, lickable breasts. But I’m not a gentleman and I sneak a look.
“By the way, do you prefer Cam or Cameron? I realized I was the only one calling you Cameron and I thought maybe it wasn’t even your full name,” she babbles, but I’ve hardly heard a word. In her full height, I have the view of Violet, face clean of make-up, timid smile on display. You can call me whatever you want.
I clear my throat. Roughly. Does my stupidity know no bounds? This woman is off the market and the last thing she needs is for me to ogle her. “Cameron’s good. Working on the gala?” I jut my chin toward the notebook, tablet, and pen spread across the table.
“This? No, this is something else.” Her dark lashes flutter down and I realize she doesn’t want to talk about what’s on the table. Challenge accepted.
“Can’t be that silly if you’re working on it. What is it?” I place Rocky’s bag of stuff on the floor and bend down to peer at what she’s working on. If it were too personal, I figure she would be insistent about hiding whatever this is.
There’s a list; some items crossed off and others are still legible. “Movies?” I ask in surprise. “I have half of these at home.”
“Of course, you do.” Do I detect a touch of self-loathing in her tone? Violet rolls her expressive deep blue eyes toward the ceiling.
“I’m missing something.”
“I grew up in a really small town four hours west of the city,” Violet explains. “My dad was strict, to put it lightly, and I wasn’t allowed to watch many mainstream movies or read popular books. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do so I keep a list of all the things I want to do . . .” She trails off, shrugging. Another piece of the Violet puzzle falls into place. The knowledge fits into the Violet place in my mind. More information I’ll consider.
“This is quite the endeavor you’re undertaking,” I say seriously.
Violet lifts her gaze to mine. She gets that I’m joking, the twinkle appearing in her eyes. “Tell me about it. There are a million Rocky movies.”
“What you need is a pop culture personal trainer. Even though I’m really busy, I think I can take on one more client and help you out,” I say as though I’m doing her the biggest favor in the world. Really, I’ve just come up the perfect way to repay Violet for taking care of my dog.
A plush green throw blanket takes up a full cushion of the sofa. Violet lifts it and scoots down in a silent gesture for me to sit. Rocky’s next to Violet in a flash, laying his head on her thigh and staring up at her adoringly. She laughs and scratches behind his ears.
“Do you think you can fit me in with your busy schedule?” Violet jokes.
I lean back in my seat, drumming my fingers on the arm of the couch. “There should be enough time. I only take on committed students. If you want to be a master of all things pop culture, you’ve got be serious. There will be quizzes.”
She giggles. It’s sweet sounding, and now that I’m this close to her, the tantalizing scent of strawberries dances in the air around me. I want to inhale deeply, but I don’t. I just grin at her with the most friendly, nonthreatening smile I have in my arsenal.
“Back when DVDs were a thing, I collected them. Next time you’re at my place, go look through them. Take whatever you want.”
Violet’s lost to me then. Deep blues go glassy and she stares at the wall behind my shoulder. Stupidly, I glance around the room until I realize she doesn’t have a DVD player. There’s not much by way of media—just a flat-screen TV that is in need of a serious upgrade. Inwardly, I smile. This will be easy.
One, two, three blinks and she’s back with me. Wherever Violet went was obviously not a pleasant memory because her smile has dimmed. “Sure. I will definitely do that. Thank you.”
“Here’s Rocky’s things,” I say. Gently, she lifts my dog from her body and drops a kiss on the crown of his head. My chest warms, watching her tenderly shift him away so she can skirt around the furniture and crouch next to the bag. She rifles through the contents, nodding to herself.
“Cool. I got your email with his walking and feeding schedule. Pretty straightforward stuff. Do you want me to send you updates while you’re gone or will that be a bother?”
Texts from Violet when I’m on the road a bother? She must be out of her mind. “By all means.”
There’s a shift in the air. Without a word, Violet tells me that she is ready for me to go. That’s a first, a woman not wanting to spend time alone with me. Wake up, asshole, she has a lot more going on than what you want.
“We’ll watch your games when we can. Make sure he gets to spend time with Dad even though he’s away,” she says lightly.
“Thanks for taking care of my guy,” I say earnestly.
She holds up her hand to make me stop talking and I freeze. No one interrupts me. I don’t let people push me around. I’m not the one who pales to others, but in this instance, soft blue eyes have me frozen.
“You’re the one doing me a favor, remember? Good luck on your road trip, Cameron. We’ll be here when you get back.”
Dismissed.
I lean over to Rocky for a quick belly rub before slowly rising to my feet.
“Okay. I’ll let you know when I’m back in the city to get him.”
“Sounds good. Take care,” she says, walking toward the door and pulling it open.
With one click of a lock, she’s gone again. Who am I? Not a shrinking violet, pun not intended, easily dismissed. Despite that, every time I see Violet, she reveals a new side of me that I didn’t realize was there. Today, it was the flexibility of my spine. That sweet, shy smile melted any resolve I had to do anything. She could have demanded I watch reality TV with her or repaint her toenails and I would have agreed.
Shaking my head, I stomp down the steps. The night air shocks my system, and I examine the unfamiliar uncertainty. The more I get to know this wo
man, the more unraveled I become. Violet unlocks a gentler, more patient version of myself. Her beautiful broken bits make up the most spectacular vision. Does she have any idea the power she wields over me?
When I’m in my car, I press a few buttons on the touchscreen to dial Blake.
“What’s good?” he answers.
“You still have the keys to Stella’s old place?”
“Yes,” he draws out the word over a few extra syllables. “What do you need them for?”
“Violet’s watching Rocky for me, and since she won’t accept payment, I want to do something to show my appreciation. I was thinking . . .”
Blake agrees. It’s a brilliant idea.
Violet
Some people think it’s a pain to walk a dog. How can you handle walking him in the winter, they ask. What do you do when it’s raining? A little inclement weather doesn’t deter me from being outside. Some of my best thinking growing up was done outdoors with my dogs.
Rocky’s well trained and stays by my side. The grip on the leash remains loose while we stroll down the sidewalk, occasionally stopping for Rocky to sniff or mark his territory.
“Nice dog.”
A guy wearing a backward baseball cap juts his chin to Rocky. The dog plops down in front of me, his stance defensive. Inwardly, I smile at the protective gesture.
“Thanks.” With a gentle tug and cluck of my tongue, I steer Rocky along the concrete.
“What’s his name?”
Obviously, my not interested vibes are not translating. The guy’s cute in a sporty kind of way, but I’m not looking to date. Or flirt, for that matter. The only men I’m comfortable being around are ones who are my friends and nothing more. “His owner probably wouldn’t want me sharing that information.” I flash a phony smile and continue without looking back.
“How about your name then?”
“Sorry, I’m taken.” The words breeze out of my mouth automatically and then I wince. My facial features seize up when I remember I’m not taken. My Facebook page should say relationship status: crippling limbo. There was the woman who was endlessly devoted to her husband and then she lost him. Where does that leave me? I’m caught between the absolute love I felt for my husband and the desolate sea of loneliness. How will I survive this?
Hopelessness builds up in my chest and suddenly it’s difficult to pass oxygen through my lungs.
Leaving the church is asking the devil for punishment. Walk out that door and only trouble will come your way.
The harsh words from my father worm their way through my mind like the preacher is scorning me all over again.
“Let’s go in, Rocky,” I say to the dog. Even though he doesn’t answer my words, he senses my anxiety and stays close to my side as I hurry back to the apartment. By the time I slam the door shut behind us, I’m breathless. Then the memory overtakes me.
“Father, I love this family and I love our faith–”
“Clearly not enough, Violet. Do you have any idea the ramifications of disowning the church?” My father’s lips are thin, his face stern as ever.
A shudder rolls through my shoulders. He’s furious with me.
“This isn’t about disowning the church. It’s about my dreams and goals for myself. I want to be an event planner. Ever since I was little, I organized parties at the church. You said I was good at it. College will give me the chance to learn how to do the job. That’s all I’m looking for, a chance,” I plead with him to answer. Across the living room, my father’s expression grows even more fierce. In my peripheral vision, I see movement on the staircase.
Iris, my sister, peers through the railing. Thankfully, Father’s back is to her. If he found her snooping, he’d surely blow a gasket. For eighteen years, members of my father’s congregation have told my sister and me how lucky we are to have such a kind father. They asked how it was to be raised by such a fair and compassionate man.
They didn’t know him like we did. Father never raised a fist to us or our mother, but he ruled with a heavy hand. We were to be dressed a certain way, speak a certain way, and behave a certain way. Mother included. She never stood up to his unreasonable rule. None of us did. I followed my father’s demands because I feared him. It wasn’t until my guidance counselor at school asked me about college last year that I started to think there was a life for me outside the confines of the church and my father’s will.
I don’t want to leave my sister. That’s why I applied to small colleges within an hour drive of our town. What I didn’t expect was to get into all of the schools and even a full ride to one of them! I knew my grades were good but worthy of scholarships?
“You won’t have to pay anything,” I say softly. “Colton gave me a scholarship to go there because of my GPA and SAT scores. It’s really not far and there are church groups I can join on campus. Please try to see my perspective, Father. This would be a wonderful experience for me to spread my wings . . . test my own limits.”
“Do not speak me as though I am your equal, Violet. I am your father and I am to be obeyed. There will be no more talk of college. I forbid you to go.”
A gasp echoes off the walls of the living room, but it doesn’t come from my lips. Father spins around and catches Iris’s terrified expression. “It would be good for you to hear this, too. Stop eavesdropping and get down here.” Head bowed, cornflower-colored hair hiding her face, Iris descends the staircase and stands next to me. I thread an arm around my little sister’s shoulder and squeeze her to my side. She knows how badly I want to break free and follow my dreams.
Lifting my chin, I stare directly into my father’s eyes. They flash with anger. I’ve never openly defied him before and it plainly incenses him. “Well.” I swallow loudly, scared, but unwilling to drop the topic. “Now that I’m eighteen, I am legally allowed to make my own decisions. One last time, Father, I’m begging you. Please support me in my choice to go to Colton.”
“Leaving the church is asking the devil for punishment. Walk out that door and only trouble will come your way.” He’s so furious he practically spits the words.
A torrent of fear rips through me. “Father . . .”
“Let me state this as clearly as I can. If you attend this college, you will no longer be welcome in my home.”
Our home, I silently correct him. But Father never saw it as the family home. He views the home as the castle he built and we are his minions.
“Presumably, the semester begins very soon. Make this decision very carefully, Violet. If you are to leave now, you won’t be back to see Iris graduate high school, you’ll never have another one of your mother’s apple pies, and you sure as stones won’t have Porter with you,” Father says cruelly.
At the sound of his name, my German Shepherd lumbers into the room. The dog makes a beeline to me, sitting at my feet, dark, soulful eyes staring at me hopefully. My hand falls to his head, rubbing behind his velvety ears. Iris and Porter are my best friends–my only friends because Father practically forbade us to leave the house unless it was for a church related function or school.
“I . . .” My stomach summersaults with nerves, and next to me, Iris shivers. Our eyes meet. My sister’s blue irises are full of uncertainty and sorrow. How can I leave my baby sister? It’s my job to protect her. The thought of never hearing her sweet laughter, braiding each other’s hair, talking way late into the night, sharing our secrets . . . it’s too much to bear.
“You need to go,” my selfless sister whispers. “He won’t mean it. You’ll come back to me.”
Neither of us believes what she says. Father’s rigid and unyielding. He’ll never forget my betrayal.
“Think very carefully,” he hisses.
Do I really need to say the words? I’ve already made my mind up. “I’m going to Colton in one week.”
“Pack up all of your things while you’re at it. You won’t be coming back here,” he snarls.
Father kept his promise. The day I moved out ten years ago in August was th
e last time I ever want back to my childhood home. At first, I tried calling Iris, but soon enough, Father cut off any means I had to contact my sixteen-year-old sister.
Rocky waits patiently for me to unleash him then he bounds across the small living space to his water bowl. My eyes hone in on the needlepoint hanging above the couch. The eight-by-ten frame is the only thing, aside from my clothes, that I brought from my home with Max. As if drawn by a magnet, I move to the sofa. Bending my knees, I lean up on the sofa to place my fingertips against the cool glass. She made this for me while I was at college and mailed it to me secretly after calling me from the library to get my address. There’s no other way it would have gotten to me if she hadn’t kept it from Father. It’s the only way I know for certain my sister still loves me even though I left her behind.
I miss Iris.
I miss Max.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Rocky whines next to me. He nudges my hip with his nose, staring up at me with his black eyes. Twisting around, I fall into a seat and collect the dog into my arms. Soft fur tickles against my cheek when I press my face against his neck, breathing in the dog smell. Porter used to sleep next to me. I’d curl up against his big body and not feel so alone.
Felix and Stella don’t know the full extent of my departure from my family—just that we don’t speak anymore and my father was a strict head of a congregation. Though I’m sure they figured something was amiss when my parents and sister didn’t come to my wedding. Felix was the one who gave me away because my mother and father had no idea that Max existed. Of course, they didn’t know when my husband died either.
Rocky’s fur mats to my skin, now damp from my wet cheeks. It’s been a while since I let myself cry like this. The grief of losing all that mattered to me is too much to shoulder today. The heaviness of all the emotion presses down on me in a suffocating grip. Will I ever be okay?
The ‘what ifs’ swirl around at a dizzying rate.
What if I had never left home? Would I have learned to like my life?
What if I had brought Iris with me after she graduated? Would she have wanted to come with me?
