Chapters (38)
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- epilogue
“Well,” I said, “if my manuscript’s any good, I’ll be paid by the publisher. In the meantime, this money could be helping Violet’s daughter, granddaughter, and great-grandchildren. I can’t imagine any better use for it.”
Mel held my gaze. I knew Jennifer had told him I didn’t have enough of a book to get into print. It didn’t matter. I was doing what Violet would’ve wanted.
thirty
VIOLET
The beautiful journal, the color of violets, lay unused in a vanity drawer under a pile of innocuous paperwork. She hadn’t written a word in the past two weeks; hadn’t the heart or the concentration. Tolly came and went, oblivious to her moods. He pecked her cheek perfunctorily every morning before he left the house. He was sleeping in a guest bedroom.
She drove to a pay phone one afternoon, armed with enough dimes to stay for hours. Violet managed to locate a private detective in Tampa with an operator’s help. His name was Benny Carlock, and he’d promised to have a report when she called again at the end of the month.
“I will do my very best, Mrs. Thompson, but please understand the adoption process in Florida protects the minor child first and foremost.” Violet listened to him light a cigarette and waited impatiently for something she hadn’t already heard over and over. “If you have the resources to cover my time, though, I may be able to...shall we say...open a few locked doors?”
“I understand, Mr. Carlock. How much money will you need to get started?”
“For the next two weeks, I’ll need eight hundred dollars.”
Violet nearly dropped the phone. She would have to use some of the money she’d saved to travel. “All right, Mr. Carlock, I’ll wire it today. I expect answers the next time we speak. Thank you.”
She’d been counting the days, fantasizing about the news he’d give her. She tried to keep her expectations reasonable; tried to tell herself that simply knowing Alicia was well and happy would keep her going. Maybe Mr. Carlock could provide her photographs of her daughter. That, alone, would be worth eight hundred dollars and more.
Violet had not heard another word from Chet since his visit. She suspected he was disgusted with her, either for lying or for allowing herself to be abused by her husband. She could relate to that; she was disgusted with herself.
Most days she found plenty of soul-crushing housework to fill the time and provide distraction until she could expect Mr. Carlock’s report. She was well enough now to go out in public, but didn’t feel like lunching with her friends or shopping. Either one required too much acting skill.