Farewell, Dorothy Parker (34 page)

“And guess what?” Violet said, as she stroked her niece’s hair. “I didn’t get fired. In fact, I’m some kind of viral phenomenon now. How do you like that?”

“
Awesome,
Aunt Violet.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me Aunt Violet in the last five minutes.”

Delaney nodded. “I know.”

“I shouldn’t have told you my job was in jeopardy,” Violet said.

“And I shouldn’t have ditched school,” Delaney said.

Violet watched as Dorothy Parker walked slowly to a wooden bench and sat, holding the Macy’s box on her lap.

She looked back at her niece. “I love you,” Violet said.

“I’m a brat,” said the girl.

“You’re not.”

“Your friend Daisy said it was okay. She said if I couldn’t be a brat at my age, when
could
I be?”

“At her age,” Violet said, laughing. She looked back at Mrs. Parker, who seemed to be opening the box.

Delaney followed her aunt’s line of vision, then reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a folded page. “She told me to give you this,” she said, handing it to Violet.

“How did she know I’d find you?”

“She said after I texted Kara you’d figure it out.”

Violet had to smile. Dorothy Parker wasn’t content to just leave a clue to bring her to Delaney but had to orchestrate a connection that would bring Michael and Violet together. She unfolded the note and read it.

“What does it say?” Delaney asked.

“Grown-up stuff,” Violet said, as she refolded the note and stuck it in her own pocket. She glanced over at the bench where Dorothy Parker had been sitting, but she was gone.

Chapter 38

Gone?

Frantic, Violet glanced around the cemetery and finally saw Mrs. Parker walking up a small hill.

“Wait!” she shouted, but her friend didn’t seem to hear. Violet watched as Dorothy Parker reached the top, laid the box on the ground, and stared into the distance.

It’s the light, Violet thought. She’s going to walk into the light.

Violet felt a rising panic. She wasn’t ready to let go—not yet. There was still so much to say.

“You need to talk to your friend?” Delaney asked.

“I do,” Violet said, crying.

“I’ll wait in the car.”

Violet hugged her niece and then ran toward the hill. “Mrs. Parker!” she shouted.

At last her friend heard her and turned around.

“I have to go now, Ms. Epps,” she said, waving good-bye.

“Please wait,” Violet said. She reached the top of the mound and bent to catch her breath.

“Was there something you wanted to ask me?” Mrs. Parker said.

Violet straightened and looked into her friend’s dark eyes, thinking hard about what final wisdom she hoped to glean from this woman. There was so much she still needed to talk about. She wanted to tell her that things were working out with her career, that she had boldly
reached out to Michael, that she finally understood that her relationship with her sister had been at the root of her fears all along.

“I don’t know where to start,” Violet said.

“Perhaps that’s because there’s nothing more to say.”

“There is,” Violet insisted. “I never really told you about my sister.”

“What about her?”

Violet closed her eyes. There was so much to explain, but she sensed that Mrs. Parker wouldn’t have the patience for a protracted conversation. She was so ready to cross over she was practically gone already. Violet needed to boil the point about her sister down to its essence.

“She wasn’t…perfect.”

“And this is news?”

“What I mean is, it’s all her fault. When we were small she…she pushed me around so much it made me afraid of my own voice.”

Mrs. Parker shrugged, as if it were barely significant. “My dear, in the history of the world, I doubt there’s been a family that wasn’t every bit as awful as it was wonderful.”

Violet sniffed. “I suppose.”

“Look,” Mrs. Parker said, “if she were here now, what do you think she would say to you?”

Violet knew the answer with such certainty it surprised her. “That she was sorry.”

“And what would you say back?”

That I forgive her,
Violet thought. But she couldn’t get it out. A roiling wave of tears pushed up from her center and overtook her before she could speak. Of course she forgave her. How could she not? Ivy was a mere child when she tortured Violet with silence—just a jealous little girl consumed with sibling rivalry. Violet had to hold herself equally responsible for not realizing all of this years ago.

Dorothy Parker seemed to understand. “You need to forgive yourself, too,” she said.

Violet caught her breath and wiped the tears from her face. “Are you leaving now?”

“It’s time,” she said, peering into the distance as if she were looking at something specific, something Violet could see only as a soft shimmer in the air. “I have my own bratty big sister waiting. My mother, too, of course. And it seems the old Algonquin friends have a seat saved for me. They’d better have decent gin over there.”

Violet took a step toward her mentor and gave her a hug.

Mrs. Parker returned the embrace and then backed away. “I hate dramatic good-byes,” she said.

Violet smiled. “I’ll miss you, too,” she said.

“The kid’s going to be okay,” Dorothy Parker said, as she stepped into the shimmering light.

“I hope so,” Violet said. “And thank you. Thank you, Mrs. Parker…for everything.”

“Dorothy,” her friend corrected, and then vanished.

Chapter 39

Violet leaned against the wall in the narrow hallway outside the courtroom of Judge Anita Jacobs, fanning herself with a magazine. Her lawyer, Allison Oliveri, had already briefed her on what to expect, and now tried to make small talk to calm her nerves. It wasn’t working. The Webers and their bear of an attorney, John Gibb, stood just a few feet away. And while everyone else got jostled as people made their way through the hot, crowded passageway, no one dared make contact with the intimidating Mr. Gibb, who looked more like he belonged in the corridors of power than the cramped hallway of this dingy makeshift courthouse.

Violet stared at him. He wore a pin-striped European suit that had to have been custom-made for his massive frame. His bald head looked as shiny as it did the last time she saw him, and she imagined that he shaved it daily as some kind of pre-battle ritual. She could smell his cologne from where she stood.

Allison followed Violet’s line of vision and read her mind. “Don’t worry,” she said. “He’s all form and no substance.”

“He scares the shit out of me,” Violet whispered. For all her newfound courage, she couldn’t help slipping back into her old pattern of fear with this terrifying figure.

“Don’t let the expensive suit fool you,” Allison said. “These New York City lawyers tend to get too cocky for their own good.” She put a slender hand on Violet’s shoulder. “We’ll eat him for lunch.”

A whole
village
couldn’t eat him for lunch, Violet thought.

She couldn’t get a good look at Malcolm and Sandra, who were mostly blocked by their attorney. Occasionally, though, the nosy Sandra craned her neck to watch the parade of humanity pass through the hallways. Violet could see that her hair had been beauty-parlor coiffed for the occasion.

The door to the courtroom opened, and the uniformed court officer appeared. “Epps versus Weber!”

“Showtime,” Allison whispered.

They filed into the courtroom, which was blessedly cooler than the cramped hallway, and stood behind a long wooden table, scarred by years of note-taking, pen jabs, and other assaults. Judge Anita Jacobs entered. She was in her late forties, with narrow features and dark hair wound into the kind of tight curls that could come only from a perm.

“If everyone’s ready,” she said, after the attorneys stated their names and affiliations, “let’s take a seat and begin. Mr. Gibb?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” He spoke so loudly Violet thought he was trying to project through the walls, down the hallway, and clear across the pillars of justice. He called Sandra Weber to the stand, where she was sworn in by the court officer. Then John Gibb proceeded to ask her routine questions about how long she had been married and living at her current address. He established that she was the girl’s grandmother and had known her since birth. This was followed by a series of questions about the house she lived in, what kind of accommodations the girl had, and what a typical day was like.

“And how long have you been married?” her lawyer asked.

“We just celebrated our forty-fifth wedding anniversary,” Sandra answered.

“Forty-five years!” John Gibb said, as if he were surprised by the
answers. “Congratulations. I imagine it must be tough to keep a marriage going that long. How do you do it?”

“Like any couple, we have our ups and downs, but we talk and we work it out.”

“So you have no plans to get divorced or separated?”

“No, never. Absolutely not,” Sandra said.

The warrior attorney told the judge he had no further questions, and Violet’s lawyer approached for cross-examination.

“I understand you believe a two-parent household is a better environment for raising a child than a one-parent household,” she said. “Is that correct?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Under
any
circumstances?” Allison pressed.

“Well, maybe not
any
circumstances, but if the marriage is solid—”

“What kind of issues might make a marriage less than solid, Mrs. Weber?”

Sandra put her hand to her throat. “I…uh…”

“What if one of the spouses was cheating? You think that might create a less-than-ideal environment for a child?”

“It depends,” Sandra said. “If the couple can work it out—”

“But couples can’t always work it out, can they?”

“We’re going to counseling!” Sandra said. “We’re fine. Everything is fine.”

“You’re seeing a
marriage
counselor?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Because…because we want to be sure our marriage is strong.” Sandra leaned back, pleased with herself.