It All Comes Back to You Page 7

  She tilted her chin down and made her eyes as big as possible, gazing into his. “I would never do anything to get you in trouble, Red. Maybe I can find someone else to take me.” Her lower lip quivered slightly. “My parents are mad at me, Johnny needs me, I’m terribly behind in my schoolwork...I just don’t know what to do.” A fat tear traced her cheek, and Red reached to swipe it with his thumb.

  “Come on,” he said, sweeping the car door open for her, “no need for tears. Everything’s all right. Please don’t cry.” He hated the effect Violet’s emotional displays had on him, hated the mental image of himself as a fish hopelessly hooked. Not even a sporting fish with fight...a weakened minnow.

  The drive down Quintard Avenue was short. Violet smiled at the beautiful azaleas and graceful oak trees; the spectacular Victorian homes lining the street. She adored her town, and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

  Red parked his car out of sight at Davidson’s Department Store and hurried to open Violet’s door. “Are you sure you want to come in and help?” he asked. “You could wander around downtown.”

  “No, it’ll go much faster if I pitch in.” Violet noted Red’s eyes scanning the path to the stockroom. “No one will see us, silly.” She beamed at him and straightened her skirt, then rolled up her shirtsleeves. “Let’s get to work.”

  She thinks she’s Rosie the Riveter, Red decided. He wondered how she’d react to the dusty, dank stockroom with its occasional scampering mice. Violet was accustomed to plusher environments and little in the way of physical work. He’d let her price the shipment of handbags—easy and probably amusing for a female.

  He swung the door open and nodded Violet ahead, waiting for her delicate sneeze or other expression of distaste.

  She smiled and asked, “Where do I begin?”

  Red pointed to the stacked boxes of handbags and the wood chair next to them. “Price sheet’s in each box along with tags you tie to the handles.” He demonstrated by attaching a tag. “Make sure you check the style number inside each one and match it to the correct price.” Violet immediately began scanning the price sheet and pulling out purses, focused as Da Vinci sketching the Mona Lisa.

  Thirty minutes later he was finished with the clothing racks and returned to check on her. Violet stood and swept her elegant hand at the boxes. “All done. Every one has its tag.”

  “Great,” he told her. “We’ll leave as soon as I speak to the store manager for a minute.” Red opened the door to a flood of bright sunshine and announced, “You should wait in the car. I’ll be right there.”

  The drive to the hospital was much too long for Red, even with Violet all to himself. He was not used to Birmingham traffic and got lost twice, cursing softly and banging his hand on the steering wheel. Violet alternated between forced cheerful chattiness and tears. She checked her face in a compact mirror and reapplied lipstick three times on the way, but still required a five minute beauty break in the restroom before visiting Johnny.

  She stopped Red in the hall, saying, “Please let me have a minute alone with him first.”

  “Of course. I’ll join you in a little while.” Red sank back onto the bench he’d suffered on yesterday. When Violet entered Johnny’s room, he saw there were no other visitors. He hoped Dr. Perkins was occupied with his wife; he didn’t think he could make small talk with anyone.

  Violet was thrilled to see Johnny’s eyes open, and to find him alone. She sat next to the bed and reached for his hand.

  He moved it away. “Get out,” he spat. “I don’t want to see you or anyone else.”

  Violet plastered a smile to her face. “Johnny, I know you’re going through a horrible time, but...”

  “A horrible time?” Johnny turned his eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, Vi, it’s kind of difficult. I killed my sister. My mother is upstairs having a nervous breakdown. My body is broken into pieces, and nothing—are you listening, Violet?—works from the waist down.” He offered her a grimacing smile.

  “We’re all praying for you, Johnny.”

  “Save your prayers. God has already decided how to punish me. I’ll never walk again. I’ll never stand up again. All I want to do is die, and I promise you, I will find a way.” He closed his eyes. “Get out, Violet. I am no longer your boyfriend. Find someone else.”

  “This is nonsense, Johnny. You are going to be fine. The doctors will help you...” Violet twisted her hands in desperation. Johnny was shaking his head violently back and forth.

  “I am begging you: get out of this room and don’t come back, Violet. If you have someone with you, tell them I don’t want to see them. I want to be alone. Do you understand?”

  Violet patted the stack of cards in her lap. “People at school sent these for you,” she sobbed. “I’ll leave them on your bed.”

  “Take the goddamn cards with you. Leave, Violet. Please.” He slapped the bedsheets. Violet saw tears streaming to the bandages on his head.

  “I love you, Johnny. I’ll always love you. I can help you...”

  “I don’t want your help. Unless you can help me die right here and now, there is no reason for you to be here.”

  “You’ll feel better...”

  “When? When they bring my wheelchair? When I roll into Kimmie’s funeral? Do you know why I wrecked that damned car, Violet? I was hurrying to get her to Tuscaloosa so I could get back Saturday night and see you. I ditched practice and left early.”

  Violet palmed the tears from her face. “Please let me try to help you through this. We can be happy together. We’ll find a way.”

  “Violet,” he glared at her, “I want nothing to do with you. Nothing.”

  She placed the cards next to his leg and Johnny swept them to the floor. He threw his arm over his eyes. Violet yanked the door open and ran to the only place she could: Red’s arms. He jumped from the bench to enfold her.

  “What’s wrong? Violet, honey...” Red threaded his hand into her hair and pushed her head harder into his shoulder, wondering what Johnny had said or done to reduce her to choking sobs. She stayed there for at least a minute. The nurses at the station watched silently. As Red and Violet walked away, one started out for Johnny Perkins’ room.

  “Miss?” she said to Violet. “Give him time. He needs to adjust to all this. Dr. Deason has arranged for a psychiatrist to see him tomorrow morning.”

  “But he will walk again, won’t he?” Violet asked. “He can get better with therapy, right?”

  Nurse Meador shook her head. “No, there is no possibility. I’m sorry.”

  Red stared at the scuffed linoleum floor and fought down his emotions. He turned to Violet. “Would he talk to me?”

  “No. He doesn’t want to see any of us.”

  Nurse Meador patted Violet on the shoulder. “He’s young and strong. He will find his way. Pray for him.” She went down the hall, silent as Red’s tears.

  “I don’t want to go home,” Violet told him outside. She took a deep, raggedy breath. “Could we get a cup of coffee? I don’t think I could eat anything. The truth is, I could use a cigarette.”

  Red produced a pack and shook one out for her, then cupped her hand to light it.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” she said. “You basketball guys are always too concerned about your breathing.”

  “Johnny’s a true basketball guy.” Red cringed. “I’m only out there because it’s fun.” He lit a Marlboro and exhaled slowly, contributing to Birmingham’s early evening smog. The western sky was awash in brilliant vermillion and gold. His parents told him “The Magic City” got its name from these exotic sunsets produced by industrial haze. He took Violet by the arm. “Let’s walk. I know a place nearby.”

  She attempted a smile for him. “Red, you are the sweetest thing.”

  “Would you do something for me, Violet? Something no one but my family will do?”

  “Yes.” She cocked her head, puzzled.

  “Call me Sam. I hate being called Red.”

  Violet gave a weak
laugh. “Sam it is. What a pair we sound like, anyway: Violet and Red. That’s bad poetry.”

  “Yes, I know.” He wished he could tell her how many times he’d considered that very thing.

  Violet snapped him back to reality. “I have to figure out what to do for Johnny.”

  “Like the nurse said, we pray for him. Johnny has to make up his mind to get better, Vi. The shrink will help him with that tomorrow.” They started down concrete steps toward the city street, Sam’s hand reflexively grasping Violet’s elbow.

  “The little diner near here has excellent pie,” Sam offered. “My parents like to go there.”

  “You eat pie. I’m too fat already.” Violet tugged at her narrow belt.

  Sam raised his eyebrows. “Yep, you’re a tub of lard. That must be why you were Homecoming Queen. Alabamians love girls who look like prize heifers.”

  “Thanks, Re...Sam. You’re too good to me.”

  No, Violet, he thought. You’re too good for me. “Let’s have coffee and get back on the road soon,” he said. “I have a feeling your parents and mine are not going to be pleased with us.”

  They weren’t. Violet’s mother met Sam’s car at the curb, thanking him for delivering her daughter safely. She ushered Violet inside without a word and nodded toward the sofa. A teary Chet Wilson jumped up and ran to Violet, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  “Chet? Honey? What is it? What’s wrong?” Violet looked to her mother for an answer.

  “He’s been waiting for you since school let out,” she said. “Mrs. Wilson has moved away and taken CeeCee with her.”

  Chet turned his dirt and tear streaked face up to Violet’s. “She left Daddy a note. She didn’t want me, Violet, just CeeCee. She said she could only take one of us.” He broke into fresh sobs. “Daddy says I have to go live with my Aunt Junie. I don’t want to leave here. Can’t I stay here with you?”

  Alice Glenn said, “Chet, we can’t do that. Your father knows what’s best for you.” Her gaze told Violet she’d better add to that message.

  “Chet, my mom’s right. I’m sure your Aunt Junie will love having you with her. It’s probably only for a little while, until your dad can work things out. I’m sure you’ll be back soon.”

  Chet responded by clutching Violet harder. “I don’t want to go.”

  Mrs. Glenn cleared her throat. “Violet, Mr. Wilson is waiting for Chet to come home. I’ve telephoned him twice while we were waiting for you. You walk him home and don’t forget this.” She held out a paper sack of cookies. “They’re chocolate chip, Chet—your favorite.”

  Chet allowed himself to be hugged and gently released, swiping at his face. He took the cookies and held his hand out to Violet, head bowed low. As soon as they reached the sidewalk, he stopped and tugged her around to look at him. “You can’t make me go, Violet, please. I belong here with you. Can’t you see?”

  “Chet, you know I care about you, but there’s no place for you to stay here, honey. Your dad knows what’s best for you. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. You’ll come to visit.”

  He clung to her hand and kept his eyes on the ground the rest of the way, without another word.

  Mr. Wilson was sitting on his front steps. He had aged ten years since Violet had seen him a few days ago. Violet felt everyone had.

  He stood slowly and brushed the knees of his trousers. “Chet, wait for me inside.”

  Violet’s heart broke for the boy. He clung to her and allowed himself to cry for another minute before facing his father, then trudged into the house.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilson.”

  “Me too, Violet. Me too.” He shook his head. “But he’s in trouble and I can’t take care of him by myself.”

  “Chet’s in trouble?” She glanced at the house and saw a living room curtain move back into place.

  “He’s suspended from school for the second time this year. The first was for fighting, and hell, I understood that.” He shook his head and adjusted his glasses with a sigh. “This one, though, is for a full two weeks because he stole lunch money from three other students in his class. One little girl says he threatened to hurt her if she told.”

  “Lunch money,” Violet said, thinking of all the change she’d slipped Chet. “I hate to hear that, Mr. Wilson.” She placed a sympathetic hand on his arm and squeezed. “I’m sorry for all you’re going through.” She glanced at the house once more and saw Chet peering out a different window. “I’d better get home now.”

  Mr Wilson hesitated and then blurted, “His mama has never done right by him. He needs a woman to take care of him. My sister can do that. He deserves a good mother.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Violet smiled and walked away, hoping it was true.

  Alice Glenn was again waiting for her daughter at the door. She waved Violet in and crossed to the sofa. “We need to talk. Sit down with me.”

  Violet would rather have been anywhere but under Alice’s steely stare. She folded her hands in her lap and crossed her ankles in Southern lady fashion, a perfect imitation of her mother’s posture.

  “Violet, we are going to have to speak to your father about your condition.”

  Too many things were twirling through Violet’s mind. It took her a moment to realize she’d informed her mother she was pregnant. Now what? She decided to tell a version of the truth. “Mama, I lied to you. I am so sorry. I knew you and Daddy would try to keep me from Johnny’s side, and I thought the only way you’d take me seriously was if I was carrying his baby. I’m not. We’ve never,” here she paused and looked down, “never done anything like that. I’m sorry, Mama.”

  Alice found she’d been holding her breath and released it slowly, in little relieved gasps. She threw her head back and said a brief prayer for patience. “Are you sure, Violet? You must tell me the truth.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry for worrying you. It was a stupid thing to do.” She reached for her mother and began crying for the twentieth time that day. “Red took me there after school. It’s terrible, Mama. Johnny is never going to walk again. He doesn’t want anything to do with me. I don’t think he loves me anymore.”

  Alice held her daughter at arms’ length and forced her to meet her eyes. “Dr. Perkins called earlier, Violet. He wanted to tell you about Johnny’s emotional state and ask you to wait several days before visiting the hospital.” She bit her lower lip. “Violet, they need time to grieve. To heal. Your father and I knew that. You’d do well to listen to us, honey. We usually know what we’re talking about.”

  “Have you ever been through anything like this?” Violet had trouble believing her parents had experienced much of anything prior to her birth.

  “Of course we have. Everyone on this earth has been through pain and loss, Violet. Please try to see beyond the tip of your nose for a minute and start considering other people’s feelings.”

  “You make me sound like a terrible person, Mama.”

  “No, I think you’re one of the finest people I’ve ever known, Violet. You are warm and caring and kind. I’m only trying to point out that you often act without considering the consequences. For instance, scaring your mother to death with a lie about pregnancy.” Alice rubbed her forehead. “I’m going upstairs to lie down. Your father will be home soon. There are leftovers in the icebox if you’re hungry.”

  “I love you, Mama.”

  “I love you, too. Do your biology homework.”

  Violet wondered—not for the first time—if her mother had spies following her.

  Two mornings later Violet opened the Glenns’ front door to find Chet waiting on their front porch, rocking in her dad’s favorite chair and seemingly unaware he was at the wrong house. He grinned at her and patted the seat next to him. “I only want to talk to you for a minute. My train leaves in two hours.”

  Violet sat and offered him her prettiest smile. “Are you excited?”

  “To be going to Aunt Junie’s? No.” Chet shook his head and reached into hi
s pocket. “I came to give you this.” He placed a small gold nugget in Violet’s hand. “It’s not real. It’s Pyrite.”

  Violet suppressed a grin and said, “It’s beautiful, Chet, thank you.”

  “I bought it on a field trip we had to Noccalula Falls last week.”

  “It must have been expensive,” Violet turned the rock over in her hands, thinking about what Mr. Wilson had told her.

  “I saved up lunch money.” He shrugged his shoulders.” It’s to remind you how much I care about you, Violet.” He turned his gaze to the street. “I know you don’t understand, but I was just born too late to be with you now. Someday, though...”

  “Chet, you’ll find someone who is perfect for you. Wait and see. In the meantime, I’ll cherish this gift and hope to see you when you visit your dad.” Violet stood and held out her arms. “Give me a hug before you leave.”

  He held on for a long time, then looked up at her, biting his bottom lip. “Promise me you’ll think about me.”

  “Promise me you’ll behave for your Aunt Junie,” Violet responded.

  Chet shook his head like a freshly bathed Labrador Retriever. “I doubt that’s gonna happen. See you, Violet.”

  She watched until he turned the corner, where he looked back one last time with a wave.

  .

  seven

  RONNI

  The photo on the newspaper’s website was five years old. He stood next to a smiling blonde goddess with thoroughbred legs—she wore a cream lace dress the size of my ankle socks. The caption read, “Sargent Richard O’Shea named Alabama’s Trooper of the Year after heroic rescue.” The accompanying story identified her as his wife, Victoria. Sargent O’Shea had risked his life to pull a three-year-old boy from a burning wreck on I-20. When I reached the part about his two young sons, I closed the laptop and cried for twenty minutes.