Desires of the Dead
Page 52
She didn’t ask though, mostly because she didn’t want to know the answers.
“Happy birthday,” her dad interrupted the awkward hush. He embraced her too but more gently, thoughtfully.
Violet smiled at him.
Her aunt and uncle were there too, along with her two little cousins, Joshua and Cassidy. Cassidy reached her arms up for Violet, and Violet lifted the little blonde-haired girl, commenting about how heavy she’d gotten, even though she was as light as a feather.
“So what are you now,” Violet teased the little girl wiggling in her arms, “like twelve, thirteen years old?”
“No!” Cassidy giggled, but that was all the answer she gave.
Joshua, who was just barely five years old himself, was already serious like Violet’s dad, a little accountant in the making. She had to force herself not to notice the similarities between him and the picture of the little boy from the waterfront. “She’s not even three yet. Her birthday is April sixth,” he stated precisely.
“Hmm,” Violet responded skeptically, looking at him like she didn’t quite believe it. “I would’ve guessed older than that.”
Joshua shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him. And then he asked, “What’s wrong with you? Are you sick or something?”
“Joshy! That’s rude!” Her aunt Kat glanced apologetically at Violet. “Say you’re sorry right now.”
Violet set Cassidy down. The little girl grabbed hold of Violet’s leg and held on tight.
“It’s okay,” Violet told her aunt. And then to Joshua, she shrugged lazily. “I’m something, all right. I just don’t know what.”
The awkward hush was back. And Violet was aware that they all knew, or at least had their suspicions, about what was wrong with her. Probably that she and Jay were fighting, maybe even broken up.
She was glad when her dad linked his arm through hers and drew her toward the kitchen. “Come on. There’s enough food for an army. Let’s eat.”
Violet didn’t have to be asked twice. Food, at least, was something she could agree on. And he was right: There was more than enough.
Violet found a spot at the table and pretended to be interested in the conversations going on around her. She didn’t want anyone to ask her what was wrong. She didn’t want to answer questions that were too tough even to consider.
Her dad finished fixing dinner, and the chicken was served with garlic mashed potatoes and a Caesar salad. Thankfully the conversation steered away from anything to do with Violet—at least where Jay was concerned—and there were very few lapses. And even though it was Violet’s birthday, Violet was hardly required to participate.
She found herself chatting with the little kids—her cousins—more often than not, mostly because they didn’t need anything real, anything deep, from her in return. They were risk-free, and Violet preferred it that way.
Her mom had gotten around the no-balloons-or-streamers rule on a technicality. Obviously, Violet had not been clear enough, and she realized that she should have been broader in her statement, making it a no-decorations rule instead. But since she hadn’t, and since her mom had taken her at her word, the table—and the room—was overflowing with flowers and candles.
The result was dramatic. And even though Violet wanted to protest, to claim that her wishes had been ignored, that the spirit—if not the letter—of her request had been violated, she couldn’t.
Maybe it was just the effects of the first real food she’d eaten in days, or maybe it was the lack of sleep, but even she had to admit that it was beautiful. It made Violet feel better to be surrounded by it, and by her family, on her birthday.
“Thank you,” she said, almost to herself, as she kept her eyes down, concentrating on her plate.
The only reason she knew they’d heard her at all was the brief lull in the conversation.
That, and Joshy’s unaffected, knee-jerk response. “You’re welcome.”
Violet smiled as she took another bite of her mashed potatoes.
The conversation continued. There was cake and there were presents. Violet did her best to stay in the moment, to remain focused on the here and now, instead of letting her mind wander to other places.
But it was hard, and she found herself distracted far too often, which was what made it so much worse when they heard a knock at the front door.
Violet’s stomach tightened anxiously. There was no one she wanted to see right now, at least no one who wasn’t already there in her house.
She hated the tangle of sensations, the expectation and the dread. She felt traitorous to herself for even hoping it might be Jay when she’d spent so much time convincing herself that he was the last person she wanted to see. Especially tonight.
Violet glanced around the table, at her mother and father and her aunt and uncle and even at her two little cousins. Everyone seemed as paralyzed as she was.
“I’ll get it.” Her uncle Stephen finally stood up and left the room.
Violet held her breath.
She knew. She already knew it was him. She was afraid to see him, afraid of what it might do to her fragile resolve.
But when her uncle came back into the kitchen, he was alone. And maybe only she noticed it, but she felt herself slump into her chair. She choked on the bitter disappointment that she’d been mistaken and was frustrated with herself for feeling that way.
And then he said the words that Violet had both anticipated and feared. “It’s Jay. He wants to talk to you.”
“Happy birthday,” her dad interrupted the awkward hush. He embraced her too but more gently, thoughtfully.
Violet smiled at him.
Her aunt and uncle were there too, along with her two little cousins, Joshua and Cassidy. Cassidy reached her arms up for Violet, and Violet lifted the little blonde-haired girl, commenting about how heavy she’d gotten, even though she was as light as a feather.
“So what are you now,” Violet teased the little girl wiggling in her arms, “like twelve, thirteen years old?”
“No!” Cassidy giggled, but that was all the answer she gave.
Joshua, who was just barely five years old himself, was already serious like Violet’s dad, a little accountant in the making. She had to force herself not to notice the similarities between him and the picture of the little boy from the waterfront. “She’s not even three yet. Her birthday is April sixth,” he stated precisely.
“Hmm,” Violet responded skeptically, looking at him like she didn’t quite believe it. “I would’ve guessed older than that.”
Joshua shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him. And then he asked, “What’s wrong with you? Are you sick or something?”
“Joshy! That’s rude!” Her aunt Kat glanced apologetically at Violet. “Say you’re sorry right now.”
Violet set Cassidy down. The little girl grabbed hold of Violet’s leg and held on tight.
“It’s okay,” Violet told her aunt. And then to Joshua, she shrugged lazily. “I’m something, all right. I just don’t know what.”
The awkward hush was back. And Violet was aware that they all knew, or at least had their suspicions, about what was wrong with her. Probably that she and Jay were fighting, maybe even broken up.
She was glad when her dad linked his arm through hers and drew her toward the kitchen. “Come on. There’s enough food for an army. Let’s eat.”
Violet didn’t have to be asked twice. Food, at least, was something she could agree on. And he was right: There was more than enough.
Violet found a spot at the table and pretended to be interested in the conversations going on around her. She didn’t want anyone to ask her what was wrong. She didn’t want to answer questions that were too tough even to consider.
Her dad finished fixing dinner, and the chicken was served with garlic mashed potatoes and a Caesar salad. Thankfully the conversation steered away from anything to do with Violet—at least where Jay was concerned—and there were very few lapses. And even though it was Violet’s birthday, Violet was hardly required to participate.
She found herself chatting with the little kids—her cousins—more often than not, mostly because they didn’t need anything real, anything deep, from her in return. They were risk-free, and Violet preferred it that way.
Her mom had gotten around the no-balloons-or-streamers rule on a technicality. Obviously, Violet had not been clear enough, and she realized that she should have been broader in her statement, making it a no-decorations rule instead. But since she hadn’t, and since her mom had taken her at her word, the table—and the room—was overflowing with flowers and candles.
The result was dramatic. And even though Violet wanted to protest, to claim that her wishes had been ignored, that the spirit—if not the letter—of her request had been violated, she couldn’t.
Maybe it was just the effects of the first real food she’d eaten in days, or maybe it was the lack of sleep, but even she had to admit that it was beautiful. It made Violet feel better to be surrounded by it, and by her family, on her birthday.
“Thank you,” she said, almost to herself, as she kept her eyes down, concentrating on her plate.
The only reason she knew they’d heard her at all was the brief lull in the conversation.
That, and Joshy’s unaffected, knee-jerk response. “You’re welcome.”
Violet smiled as she took another bite of her mashed potatoes.
The conversation continued. There was cake and there were presents. Violet did her best to stay in the moment, to remain focused on the here and now, instead of letting her mind wander to other places.
But it was hard, and she found herself distracted far too often, which was what made it so much worse when they heard a knock at the front door.
Violet’s stomach tightened anxiously. There was no one she wanted to see right now, at least no one who wasn’t already there in her house.
She hated the tangle of sensations, the expectation and the dread. She felt traitorous to herself for even hoping it might be Jay when she’d spent so much time convincing herself that he was the last person she wanted to see. Especially tonight.
Violet glanced around the table, at her mother and father and her aunt and uncle and even at her two little cousins. Everyone seemed as paralyzed as she was.
“I’ll get it.” Her uncle Stephen finally stood up and left the room.
Violet held her breath.
She knew. She already knew it was him. She was afraid to see him, afraid of what it might do to her fragile resolve.
But when her uncle came back into the kitchen, he was alone. And maybe only she noticed it, but she felt herself slump into her chair. She choked on the bitter disappointment that she’d been mistaken and was frustrated with herself for feeling that way.
And then he said the words that Violet had both anticipated and feared. “It’s Jay. He wants to talk to you.”
