It All Comes Back to You Read online

  So suave, he was. Violet knew Mrs. Wilson didn’t have money for a barber shop, but wondered why she couldn’t at least trim the poor kid’s hair. She’d do it herself, but was afraid she’d look out her bedroom window late one night to find Betty Wilson hovering on a broom, casting an evil spell on her.

  She adored Chet, but CeeCee was another matter. She followed her mother into the hall, clutching a clay-stained muslin doll and staring at her with openly declared hatred.

  “No, thank you, Chet. I’m not thirsty.”

  Mrs. Wilson darted her heavily mascaraed eyes at Chet. “We don’t have any Co-colas, Chet.”

  “I could go get her one.” He rubbed his bare foot on the dirty boards of their cheap floor.

  “No, you cain’t. Now go on back and play. Violet, Mr. Wilson will be home about ten or so. They don’t get anything for supper other than the peas and mashed potatoes on the stove.” She waved her hand at the children. “Y’all go on to the back yard. Now.”

  When they were out of earshot she confided, “My husband should have the money to pay you. If he don’t, I’ll bring it over tomorrow. I’m goin’ to visit my Cousin Dewey and his wife. Make ‘em behave.” She was gone before Violet could respond, trailing orange blossom cologne and a touch of whiskey.

  Chet was instantly back by her side, tugging her hand. “Come and sit out back, Violet. I’ll show you how high I can jump from.”

  “No, you won’t,” she replied. “I need you and your sister to stay in one piece.”

  He shrugged and thrust his hands into tattered jean pockets.

  “I brought you a present. Do not tell CeeCee.” Chet brightened immediately when Violet produced the Baby Ruth from her handbag.

  “I’m goin’ to hide and eat this. Will you go out back with my sister?” He eyed the kitchen door anxiously.

  “Yes, I have some homework to do, so I’ll sit out there and watch her. See you in a minute.” She winked at him, but he missed it as he raced off.

  “Homework” consisted of writing “Mrs. Johnny Perkins” and “Violet Perkins” over and over on the last page of her biology notebook. Violet added tiny hearts and the wedding date she wanted: July 30, 1947. He would ask—she was more certain of this than anything in her life.

  Chet appeared and yelled for Violet to watch him imitate a fighter pilot, shooting his sister and other targets of choice as he ran around the yard. He took a break to squat on the ground next to her chair. “So,” he began, “you still datin’ that skinny basketball player?”

  Violet swatted a mosquito and stifled a laugh. “Yes, I am. He’s not that skinny.”

  “Looks wormy to me.” He squinted at CeeCee, who was producing a giant mound of dirt with a small shovel. “I think you need someone more manly. Maybe a guy who fought, like my Uncle Chunk.”

  “Uncle Chunk” was his father’s younger brother, well known for killing “thousands” of Krauts and Chet’s role model. He’d settled back into town after the war and started a car repair business on Leighton Avenue using his preferred name, Wally Wilson.

  “I bet your uncle has lots of girlfriends already. Besides, he’s a bit old for me.”

  “No, he is not. You need a full grown man, Violet, not some high school kid.” He stood and announced, “I’m really hungry. Could you fix supper for us?”

  “Yes,” she smiled. “I’ll call y’all in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you, Violet. You’re the best.” He seated himself in her chair, carefully placing the notebook in his lap.

  When the skimpy meals were on the kitchen table, Violet opened the door to find Chet and CeeCee on the step. He handed her the biology binder with a flourish. “I’m goin’ to take CeeCee to wash her hands.”

  For some reason, Violet thought she should look inside. There it was, on the next to last page:

  She smiled at his sweetness and put her notebook with her handbag. If she ever had a son, she hoped he’d be like dirt-smudged, smelly, lovable Chet Wilson.

  Chet and CeeCee seated themselves and ate like they hadn’t seen food in a week. Violet wondered if that were true. The little girl was characteristically quiet, listening to her brother ramble on about guns and airplanes. She never made eye contact with Violet unless absolutely necessary.

  Chet helped with the dishes as CeeCee threw her doll around the living room. Violet persuaded her to get into the tub by promising jellybeans on her next visit. She read the only children’s book in the house to the little girl, a beaten copy of “Cinderella” she’d delivered months ago. CeeCee listened wordlessly and began snoring softly after five pages.

  Chet wanted to turn on the radio, but Violet persuaded him to sit on the front porch and talk. She sipped water as he outlined his school problems one by one: the meanest bully in class wanted to fight him after school. Mrs. Dothard got onto him every single day for talking too much. Math was boring. Finally, in the most casual manner possible, “I never have lunch or lunch money, and everybody makes fun of me.”

  Violet reacted by fetching her purse and extracting fifty cents. “Hide this in your room. You should be set for a week.”

  Chet pretended to swipe a bug from his cheek, but she knew it was a tear. He hugged his scabby knees and laid his head on them. “Are you going to see Johnny tonight? Tomorrow night?”

  “That’s none of your business, Chet.” She shook her head at him with a smile. “But no. He’s busy and I won’t be with him again until Sunday afternoon.”

  Chet nodded. “I was just wonderin’.” He stared out at the street for a minute. “I’m tired, Violet. I think I’ll go on to bed.”

  She was completely surprised; bedtime was usually a major battle. “Okay, honey. Sweet dreams.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll wait out here for your dad.” Violet watched the sky and wondered where Johnny might be. Was he thinking of her?

  At nine thirty Mr. Wilson walked up the street, exhausted by hundreds of impatient travelers at his train station ticket window. He greeted Violet with a wave. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, they were angels.”

  “I kinda doubt that.” He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and reached into his pocket, handing over twenty-five cents more than Violet had secretly given his son. “Will this be enough?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Wilson. I’ll just get my things.”

  He held the door for her and followed, collapsing onto the couch and closing his eyes. “Did Mrs. Wilson say when she might get home?”

  “No, sir. I’m sorry, she didn’t.”

  He sighed and put a pillow behind his head. “No matter. I’ll wait up for her.”

  Violet thought the poor man deserved so much better than his conniving wife offered. She gave him her brightest smile and said, “Your children are very nice, Mr. Wilson. You should be proud.”

  “Oh, I am. I’ll see you next time.”

  She hurried out the door and began walking the three blocks to home. She heard nothing but distant traffic downtown, and a cool breeze tipped her dress upward every few steps. Most houses she passed had already turned out their lights for the evening. As she turned onto her street, Johnny pulled up in his dad’s car. He reached over and lowered the window. “Get in, baby. It’s early.”

  “Oh, Johnny, I really should...”

  “...get into the car with your boyfriend,” he finished.

  Violet dutifully climbed in, wondering if he was taking her home or elsewhere. She got her answer when he turned, heading up the mountain road. Excitement scampered along her spine. What would Mama say? Mama would never know.

  Johnny found a spot overlooking the city lights and turned the radio on. Nat King Cole crooned “I love you for sentimental reasons...I love you and you alone were meant for me, please give your loving heart to me, and say we’ll never part” Violet turned her face to Johnny’s and whispered, “Let’s move to the back.”

  “If you say so,” he grinned. He reached for her hand, his face suddenly sti
ll and solemn. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. It’s been over a year, Johnny. I don’t want to wait any more.”

  Violet laid across the seat and pulled his body to hers. She explored his mouth with her tongue, teasing and probing. He unbuttoned her dress and eased it off along with her white lace bra, then lowered his head to her nipples, kissing and licking each one until she moaned. “Please...” she said.

  “Please what?” he sounded choked.

  “Make love to me, Johnny.”

  Afterward, she tried to decide what all the fuss was about. It took only a minute and hurt more than she’d imagined. She wondered if sex ever felt good, and if practicing made it better. Johnny had collapsed on top of her with a groan. She stroked his sweaty back, grazing it with her fingernails. “I love you, Johnny.”

  “And I love you. I’m going to marry you, Violet.”

  She giggled and raised herself to rest on her elbows. “When?”

  “Soon. I need to talk to my folks about a few things. And I’ll want to ask your dad for permission.”

  She pulled her dress up and began fastening buttons, gazing at him in the moonlight. Violet told him, “I’ll love you forever, Johnny, but I won’t wait forever. I want to be your wife when you start college.”

  He nodded. “Of course. That’s part of the plan, baby.” He pulled her close for a long time, his head buried in her hair. “Now let’s get you home before your folks start wondering where you are.” He climbed out and helped her to the front seat. “Smoke, smoke smoke that cigarette,” Tex Williams chanted at them. Violet thought that sounded like a good idea, but hadn’t ever smoked around Johnny. He was too concerned with having good wind on the basketball court.

  Johnny eased the car down the mountain as Violet smiled at a thousand diamonds glittering in her hometown below. Johnny said, “If they see the car, I gave you a ride home from the Wilsons’. That’s all.”

  Violet glanced at her house, reading the lights and realizing her parents were still awake.

  “I’m not an idiot, Johnny. Except where you’re concerned.” Violet regarded her clasped hands and suddenly felt like a tearful little girl. “I love you.”

  “I love you, Future Mrs. Perkins.” He jumped out and swept her door open, then kissed her for only a second. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

  She nodded. “Sunday. Good night.” Violet realized she had no idea of the time. Johnny’s tail lights disappeared as she opened the front door. Her mother sat on the sofa, knitting.

  “How was babysitting?” she asked.

  “Wonderful, Mama, wonderful.” Violet noticed Mama’s odd smile.

  “Was he there to help you?”

  “Oh, Mama, he picked me up as I was walking home.” The family’s golden retriever, Blondie, lifted her head and ambled over to sniff Violet.

  “I see. Well, I’m going to bed, and you should, too. Good night.”

  “Good night, Mama.”

  Violet closed her bedroom door, removed her clothes and studied herself in the mirror. Same small breasts. Same everything. Nothing looked different or changed on the outside, though she thought her face looked more mature. She pulled on her white chenille robe and went down the hall to take a long bath.

  She returned smelling of White Shoulders and shampoo. Blondie was asleep at the foot of her bed as usual. Violet patted her gently and whispered, “Tonight I am a woman, Blondie.” The dog snorted and rolled over.

  Violet took out her diary and wrote, “Finally.” She placed it back beneath her underwear and turned out the light, hoping to dream of Johnny.

  Early Saturday morning her mother woke her to help Corinna with housework. Corinna was a short, sturdy woman who never seemed to tire of washing and ironing the Glenns’ clothes or scrubbing their floors. Her mahogany face was broad and perpetually smiling. Violet loved her nearly as much as Mama. They hummed spirituals as they worked, exchanging only a few words. When Corinna sat down with her afternoon coffee, Violet joined her.

  “You drinkin’ coffee, baby girl? You feelin’ all growed up?”

  “Actually, Corinna, I am.”

  “You all lit up like a bonfire of sparklers and mirrors. Somethin’ to do with young Johnny Perkins?”

  “Well, I did see him last night. I think I’m going to marry him someday, Corinna.”

  “Is that right? Well, I s’pose you could do worse. He a good boy from a good family, though his mama be one grumpy, spoilt woman. Spoilt as year old milk.”

  Violet laughed. Corinna had worked for Mrs. Perkins for one week before informing her she had too many other houses to clean.

  Corinna finished her coffee and began preparing supper. While she fried chicken, Violet swept the downstairs floors. The phone rang and she dropped her broom with a clatter.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, doll. Just wanted to hear your voice. I have to get back to the basketball court and teach these jokers how to play in a minute.” She heard Red’s laugh in the background and wondered how Johnny had gotten into the school’s office.

  “I’m helping Corinna clean, and then I’m doing nothing interesting at all while you run off to Tuscaloosa.”

  “You could ride with us. I’m spending the night over there, though.”

  “You know my parents would never go for that.” Violet bit her lip. “You’ll be back for lunch after church, right?”

  “Yes, I promise. Coach is yelling. I have to go.”

  “I love you, Johnny.”

  “You, too.” Red must still be listening. She hung up and put the broom back into lazy motion. Soon Mama and Daddy would be home from shopping and she’d join them for supper and television. Theirs was the first house in town with a set, and it was a special point of pride for Doug Glenn. His family loved watching together. “Mark my words,” he’d say, “this television thing is going to be big. Someday nearly every house will have a set.”

  When they arrived, however, Doug and Alice Glenn were arguing heatedly over something. Violet swept the back porch and listened as they stomped up to their room and closed the door, then resumed yelling. She decided she’d had enough Cinderella time and wandered into the kitchen to pester Corinna for a piece of chicken and some iced tea. It was on the table with a note: “Here, sweet girl. Love, Corinna”

  She knew Violet very well.

  Mama and Daddy wandered downstairs a half hour later, looking calm and determined to coexist. She set the table and the family ate in companionable silence, pausing only to ask for more potato salad or rolls. Violet did the dishes as her father fiddled with the television antenna so they could watch The Kraft Television Theatre. After that, Violet excused herself to read in her room, though she used the time to update her diary in greater detail about the wonders of sex.

  Violet woke to sunlight streaming through her windows and Blondie’s nose in her face. She stretched and greeted the day by brushing her teeth and hair, then made her way to the kitchen for Adult Coffee with Mama and Daddy. They shared Corinna’s pecan muffins and talked about the baptism scheduled for Mrs. Edwards’ twins that morning. Mr. Glenn was on his way upstairs to dress when the telephone rang. Violet and her mother listened intently, but couldn’t make out his end of the conversation. He returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, his face the color of Elmer’s glue.

  “Violet,” he began, then glanced at her mother. “Violet, there has been an accident, honey.”

  “Okay, Daddy. Is everyone all right?” She wondered if their preacher had hit something on his way to church and it might be canceled. It was worth hoping.

  He moved to her side. “It’s Johnny, honey.”

  “No, Daddy,” she replied. “Johnny took Kimmie to Tuscaloosa last night. I’m sure he’s back by now. We’re seeing each other for lunch.”

  “Violet, he’s in the hospital in Birmingham. He went off the road somehow between there and Tuscaloosa and into a ravine.” He paused. “Violet, Kimmie didn’t make it.”

  “Oh my God!
I have to get to the hospital!” she screamed, jumping to her feet. “He’s okay, isn’t he? Daddy, he’s okay?” Violet was hysterical and sobbing. Her mother grabbed her and forced her to sit, then looked to her husband for answers. There were none. Violet’s parents told her to collect her things. They’d drive her to Johnny.

  It took two hours to reach the hospital. Violet found Dr. Perkins in the dull green concrete hallway outside his son’s room. “Mrs. Perkins has been admitted and sedated, Violet,” he told her. “Johnny is not doing well. You can’t see him right now.” He grabbed her upper arms and met her wildly darting eyes. “Violet, he’s suffered a spinal injury. They’re watching him closely. He’s not conscious yet, and wouldn’t even know you’re in the room.”

  “He...he doesn’t know about Kimmie?” She immediately regretted her question. Dr. Perkins began to cry, horrifying her.

  “No, Violet. He doesn’t. We won’t tell him until he’s stronger. His doctor is not sure he’ll pull through, Violet. Please understand what we’re dealing with here.” He turned to Violet’s mother. “I have to go and check on Edna. Please wait here.”

  She nodded and forced Violet onto a hard metal chair. “We’ll be right here, Dr. Perkins. Praying.”

  “Thank you.” Violet saw her father place his arm around the older man’s shoulders. They walked away together.

  three

  RONNI

  The drive to Birmingham gave me lots of time to think. I was very nervous about Mr. Sobel’s news and the impact it would have on my life. The worst part would be having no one to share it with.

  My mother, Jocelyn Edwards, had a passionate affair with whiskey and bars. She never met a pill she didn’t adore, either. Her greatest talent was for disappearing; it approached genius level. I have almost no memories of her and the ones that remain hurt. I try to keep them locked away.

  I’m five. Someone is banging on the door very hard. Mama is asleep in her room and I am not supposed to wake her up. I pick up Mrs. Noodle, my only doll, and carry her to the door. I stand there very quietly. “Open up, Joss!” a man yells. I go to Mama’s bed and shake her arm. “Go away, Ronni,” she mumbles. “I’ll get you something to eat later.” She rolls over and starts to snore. The door sounds like thunder now, and I’m afraid it will break.