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
He slammed the door and it reopened a few seconds later. Rick dropped my drenched cans of soup and bruised apples into the apartment and slammed it again.
thirty-two
VIOLET
Beatrice, newly restored, stood outside Violet’s bedroom door. She knocked lightly and announced, “They’re here. She brought her husband and little boy, too. Marched in like they own the place.”
Violet opened the door with a shaky hand and stood smoothing her black dress. “She probably thinks she does own the place. Tolly hadn’t spoken to her in twenty-eight years, and she was surprised to hear he had a wife. I’m sure she’s hoping he included her in the will. It’s going to be a major shock, traveling from California for nothing. He left almost everything to me.”
“Do you know that for a fact?” Beatrice reached to tuck an errant piece of Violet’s hair in place, shaking her head with doubt over any good Tolly might’ve done for his wife.
“His attorney called yesterday. He’s a very nice young man named Melvin Sobel, and he assured me,” Violet paused to phrase it delicately, “I needn’t worry about finances.” She turned for a final look in the mirror and turned to join her sister-in-law downstairs. “Please bring us some sweet tea and cookies or muffins, Beatrice. We’ll be in the formal dining room.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes at the thought of Violet making her visitors as uncomfortable as humanly possible in that rigid setting, when her usual style would be the library or living room. She was delighted, though, because she’d be able to hear every word from the kitchen.
All Violet knew of Charlotte Thompson Andrews was Tolly’s description of a woman so embittered by his success investing and managing their parents’ money she refused to speak to him. She’d set off for Hollywood at nineteen, weeks after her father followed Mother to heaven, with fifty thousand dollars from her brother and a warning there would be no more. He’d said she was pretty and spoiled then. Now she was a handsome older woman at best, a failure as an actress with a husband who owned a corner drugstore catering to the movie stars she’d dreamed of working and playing with. Tolly had kept tabs on Charlotte; he knew he had a nephew but had never tried to meet him. When Violet walked into her living room she found the three of them picking up vases and figurines like they were casing the house. She cleared her throat and enjoyed the little jump Charlotte made. Violet hugged each of them and asked them to follow her into the dining room, where seven-year-old Herb Andrews grabbed two of Beatrice’s cinnamon muffins and asked for a Coke.