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
The restaurant was full of chandeliers and floral arrangements that could comfortably host entire flocks of birds. Rick seemed right at home, ordering some kind of fancy appetizer and champagne as soon as we sat down.
“About the book, Ronni,” he began. “I’ve been thinking. You might not be able to show it to me, but we could discuss the things you’re trying to put into words, right? Surely Violet allowed for pillow talk.”
I stared at him.
“I’m a big reader,” he continued. “Mostly crime and spy stuff like James Patterson and Nelson DeMille, but I know a good story when I see one. Or hear one.”
“I told you I’m giving up.”
“Yes, you did. Right before you told me how your mother made you feel worthless. I’m wondering if the two are related.”
“Jeez Louise, Rick, you’re not my shrink. Let it go.”
He covered my hand with his. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you. Giving up on something you’ve worked so hard to do ...well, I think you’ll regret it. I want to help. I can take some time off work, and so can you. We could stay at the lake and shut out everything. You, me and a laptop.”
I smiled. “And case of Pop Tarts.”
“And, of course,” Rick added, “a bulldog and an antisocial cat. But we can keep Kitty and kitty separated. Come on, Ronni, say yes.”
Across the restaurant, an elderly couple held hands and smiled at us. Maybe they thought Rick had just proposed.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll talk to Donna Monday about taking a couple of weeks.”
fourteen
VIOLET
Bradenton Beach, Florida, 1948
No one told Violet the baby would flutter and kick and grab fistfuls of her heart. No one told her she’d feel so nauseated, either. Tourists traveled from everywhere to see the Gulf of Mexico caress the sugary beach, and most days she was sick in it before her morning walk ended.
Violet swore she’d never return to Florida.
She opened her eyes and gazed out the window. The beach was deserted this time of morning, so she felt free to waddle out for a little exercise. Her belly was too enormous to appear in a bathing suit. Aunt Jean would be gone to work, expecting Violet to join her in an hour.
She’d had no idea where to turn after Katie Ruth picked her up at the train station. They’d cried together for hours, finally deciding Violet had to call and beg her mother’s younger sister in Florida for help.
Aunt Jean had listened to Violet explain her situation without interruption or judgment. She telephoned her sister Alice the next day and explained she’d like Violet to come work in her ice cream shop. She would send money for a bus ticket and meet her niece in Tampa.