Violet invented a full life. She took friends on trips to Europe and Asia, trips they never could’ve afforded otherwise. She did charity work at a local women’s shelter and made large financial contributions as well, though always anonymously.

She gained nothing through the various investigators she hired, but never lost hope that her daughter would seek her birth mother. Violet even ran personal advertisements, discreetly worded, in the Tampa and St. Petersburg newspapers. She was sure her daughter would come to her if she could find her way.

Many of her Birmingham friends passed on or moved away. In 2003 she sold Tolly’s massive house and moved to a renovated Victorian in Anniston, near her parents’ former home. She walked by their old place daily and saw herself playing hopscotch on the driveway; heard her mother calling her to dinner. She was lonely at times, but content.

It was by accident she learned that Johnny Perkins had moved into Fairfield Springs. She’d gone there to visit a church acquaintance who bought an apartment in their new, elegant assisted living section. As she wound her way out through the dining room, she saw Johnny in his wheelchair. His hair was pure white; he wore huge, thick glasses—but his name tag clearly read “Mr. Perkins.” He was talking to another old man, this one in a dapper suit and bowtie. She grabbed a chair to steady herself. Sam Davidson’s blue eyes twinkled as he waved his hands, then mimed a basketball throw for a laughing Johnny.

A week later Violet nodded slowly as the cheerful young woman showed her around the largest apartment Fairfield Springs offered. She couldn’t imagine paring her furnishings down to suit fourteen hundred square feet. “Are the buildings all finished?” she asked.

“No, ma’am, they are working on the final phase of construction. Does this not suit you?” Violet thought she looked a little resentful, a sudden cloud passing over her plain features. Maybe she worked on commission.

“It’s lovely, dear, just a lot smaller than I’d wanted. Tell me, do you think y’all could combine two units into one?”

The girl’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No one’s ever asked that before, Mrs. Thompson. I’m sure the cost would be prohibitive.”

“Don’t worry about the cost,” Violet glanced at the name tag, “Misty. It’s very important to me to live my final years here. It’s such a pretty place, and I know I’d enjoy all the activities you offer. I heard the food in the dining room is excellent, too.” She scanned the small living room and nodded to herself. “If y’all combined two apartments for me, it would be just about right.”

“But ma’am, we can’t change...”