Farewell, Dorothy Parker (20 page)

“So you think it’s your place to further her education with this smut?”

“No, that’s not what this was about. I just thought she would enjoy going to the theater. I honestly had no idea—”

“That’s the problem with someone who’s never been a parent. You have no real sense of responsibility.”

No real sense of responsibility? How dare she! Violet rose, her fury turning her blood white hot. Did Sandra conveniently forget everything Violet had done? Did she need to be reminded that after the accident, while Sandra and Malcolm were indulging in grief, Violet put her emotions on hold so she could pack up everything from her Manhattan apartment and move into her sister’s house to care for Delaney? She had given up everything for this child…and she would do it again in a heartbeat.

She wished she could reach across the phone line and throttle the woman.

“Sandra,” she said calmly, “you know I would do
anything
for Delaney.”

“I’ll bet the judge agrees with me at the custody hearing. And you can be darn sure we’re going to tell him about this.”

The judge. Damn it. Violet’s palms started to sweat. Would he actually take these accusations seriously? God, what had she done!

She swallowed hard. “I’m sure the judge will understand—”

“He will! He’ll understand that he can choose the responsible, law-abiding grandparents or an irresponsible single woman of questionable moral character.”

“ ‘Questionable moral character’!”

“And I promise that if you ever do anything like this again, you’ll not only lose custody but lose visitation!”

Violet slammed her desk. “If you really loved Delaney, you wouldn’t even say such a thing.”

Silence.

“Sandra?” Violet said. “Sandra!”

“What happened?” Mrs. Parker asked.

Violet returned the phone to the receiver and sat down. “She hung up on me.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Deep trouble,” Violet said, and put her head in her hands. “I have to call my lawyer.”

“She accused you of having questionable moral character?”

Violet grunted her assent.

“Ironically,” Mrs. Parker said, “her own husband is the one whose morals are in question.”

Violet looked up. “We don’t know that,” she said. “The mysterious friend he visits during Delaney’s piano lessons could be just that—a friend.”

“Weren’t you planning to hire a private investigator?”

“I was thinking about it, but my attorney said it won’t do any good. All a private investigator can do is get pictures of Malcolm walking in and out of a private house. It proves nothing. And if the investigator is sneaky enough to go further—say, actually spy on the lovers inside the house—it would be illegal and inadmissible.”

“Submitting evidence in court is not the point,” said Mrs. Parker.

“It’s not?”

“My dear, you only need enough proof to present to Malcolm so that he knows you know. He doesn’t even need to be told how you obtained the information.”

“What good would that do me?”

“You simply explain to him that if he and his darling, long-suffering wife don’t drop the case, you will have no choice but to tell her about the affair.”

“That’s almost blackmail,” Violet said.

“No, my dear. That
is
blackmail.”

“Whatever it is, it’s crazy. I’d have to find a private investigator willing to break the law, and that’s not the kind of character I want to get involved with.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Parker said. “You wouldn’t even
need
a private investigator.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s something on your shirt, dear.”

Violet looked down. “Where?” she asked, but when she looked up, Mrs. Parker was gone. “Very funny,” she said.

I’m trying to make a point.

“A point?”

My dear Ms. Epps, I can be less visible than a fly on a wall.

Violet considered that for a moment. “
You
want to spy on Malcolm?”

Why not?

“For one thing, we’d have to find a way to get the guest book into his alleged mistress’s house.”

Not an insurmountable problem.

“I disagree.”

Have a little faith, my dear. I’m fairly skilled in the art of lies and manipulation. I can counsel you on this.

“It sounds like you’ve already worked out a plan.”

It’s fairly foolproof.

Spying…blackmailing…it was all such nasty business that even the thought of it made Violet wish
she
could disappear. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t feel comfortable with this.”

Dust particles appeared in the chair opposite her desk and quickly took on Mrs. Parker’s shape and substance again.

“When you change your mind,” she said, “I’m here.”

Chapter 22

Delaney had been talking about the bat mitzvah for months. It was her friend Alexandra’s special day, and it promised to be a big, splashy party where Delaney would get to reconnect with old friends. So when that weekend finally rolled around, Violet expected her niece to be in a happy mood.

“Let’s go,” Delaney said, throwing her backpack into the car. She flopped into the passenger seat as if she couldn’t bother to fight gravity.

“Everything okay?” Violet asked.

“Of course,” she said bitterly. “Of course. I’m the luckiest girl in the world. Let’s just get out of here.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Delaney…”

“I said nothing’s wrong, okay? My life is perfect.”

“Don’t be sarcastic.”

“Sarcastic? Moi? What could possibly make you think my life isn’t perfect? Except maybe that my parents are dead and that I have to take heart medicine every day for the rest of my stupid life. Or maybe that I’m living with two old farts who won’t even let me keep my own
dog
in the house, and that I hardly ever get to see my friends. And, oh, let’s not forget that my clueless grandmother throws a fit if I don’t wear
the fugly sneakers she bought for me at Payless.” She pulled off her shoes and threw them into the backseat.

“You want me to talk to her?”

“God. Let’s just
go.
”

Delaney’s therapist had warned Violet not to get alarmed every time the kid was in a bad mood.
Teenagers can be mercurial,
she had said.
Don’t assume she’s in a crisis every time she throws a hissy fit. Just wait it out.

Violet took a deep breath and pulled away from the curb, assuming that surely by Sunday—the day of the big bat mitzvah party—Delaney would come around.

By that morning, however, even her favorite breakfast didn’t lighten Delaney’s mood.

“I don’t
want
French toast!” the girl yelled, when Violet set her plate in front of her.

“But you love French toast.”

“I’m not in the mood, okay? You never ask me if I’m in the mood. You always just
assume.
”

“Delaney, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Can’t I just not be in the mood for French toast? Why does everything have to be such a big deal?”

Violet pulled out a chair and sat. This wasn’t the simple moodiness the therapist had warned Violet about. In fact, she hadn’t seen her niece act out like this since the dark months after the accident. Her stomach lurched at the thought of losing the valuable ground they had gained.

“What
are
you in the mood for, Del?”

The girl pushed her plate away and folded her arms. “Nothing.”

“You need to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s almost time for your piano lesson,” Violet reminded her.

“If the prince of orangeness is coming to pick me up again, I’ll vomit.”

“He won’t. I specifically told him I would drive you today, since you’re going to this party and we have limited time together.”

“When do I have to go to the bat mitzvah?”

Have
to? Violet was getting more and more concerned. Delaney had been bubbling with excitement about this party.

“Right after your lesson,” she said. “We’ll come back here, you’ll change, and we’ll scoot right out. Are you sure you don’t want to eat something?”

Delaney shrugged.

Violet took that as a sign of softening, but understood the girl’s need to save face by holding fast to her petulance. So the loving aunt simply slid the plate of French toast back in place.

“In case you change your mind,” she said, and left the room with her fingers crossed.

When Violet picked up Delaney after her lesson, the girl continued to brood. She didn’t even notice Malcolm’s salsa-red RAV4 pass them on the road, right around the corner from her piano teacher’s house. But Violet sure did. Clearly, something besides his granddaughter’s musical education was bringing him to this neighborhood every week.

Later, when Delaney was dressed in a short black shift she had begged her aunt to buy for her (“I swear,
everybody
wears black to these things!”), Violet drove her to a pretty country club where the party was being held.

“I changed my mind,” Delaney said, when Violet parked the car. “I’m not going.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to go. Let’s just leave.”

“But we’re already here. And all your friends are inside. Don’t you want to see Alexandra? And Ashley? And look, isn’t that your friend Caroline walking in?”

“I don’t care.” She folded her arms.

“It’ll be great, Del. You’ll dance and play games. And I bet your friends will do that loud girl-squeal thing when they see you.”

Silence.

“I don’t understand,” Violet said. “I thought you were dying to connect with all your old BFFs.”

“What difference does it make now? I’m never going to see them again, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?”

Delaney folded her arms and Violet stared at her profile, waiting for a response. Her heart ached for this child’s suffering. She would do anything to make the girl feel whole.

“Delaney…”

The girl huffed and rolled her eyes. “You think I’m
stupid
?”

“Sweetheart, what is it?”

“I heard them talking. My grandparents…”

“About what?”

“About me and that dumb show. They found out about the naked people, and now they’re not going to let me come back home because they think you’re a bad influence.” She put her head down and started to cry. “I’m stuck there for
ever
!” She buried her face in her hands.

“Oh, honey…”

“I just want to die!” she said into her palms.

“Delaney, look at me,” Violet said, taking her niece’s hands. She felt a surge of righteousness as she steeled herself to do what was right. She was going to break the law by defying the court order. The judge had
been very clear on this—neither Violet nor the Webers were allowed to discuss the custody case with Delaney. But sometimes, justice is blind to the pain of a troubled girl who needs to know the truth.

“Listen,” Violet said, “your grandparents might think they’ve got custody sewn up, but they don’t. I spoke to my lawyer about this, and she really doesn’t think it’s a big deal. She said we can fight this. And I will, Delaney. I can’t make any promises about the outcome, but I can promise you it’s not over, and that I won’t stop at
anything.
I’m still fighting for custody, and I’ll continue to fight.”

Delaney was silent.

“You understand?” Violet asked.

The girl nodded.

Violet released her hands so she could retrieve a tissue from her purse. She gave it to her niece.

“Thanks,” Delaney said, as she wiped her nose.

“You don’t have to go to this party if you don’t want to.”

“I know.”

Violet waited for her niece to say something, but she kept folding and unfolding the tissue and wiping her nose.

“Do you want to talk about it some more?” Violet asked.

A shrug.

“Do you want to go home?”

“I don’t know.”

Violet started the car.

“Wait a second,” Delaney said, looking out the window.

Violet peered out to see what she was looking at. It was a boy with exceedingly curly hair.

“Is that Brian?” Violet asked. “The kid who plays first violin?”

“No and yes.”

“No he’s not Brian, but yes he plays violin?”

“Right.”

This was where things got dicey. Delaney simply would not utter the kid’s name, and if Violet didn’t get it right she would take it as a personal affront—as if her aunt were trying to trick her into saying it.

Violet closed her eyes to think. She remembered that Delaney had spoken about him, insisting they were “just friends,” which Violet thought was so damned adorable she wanted to burst. But had she ever said his name?

“Ryan?” she guessed.

Delaney’s expression softened as she nodded. “The lion,” she said, touching her hair to show Violet where the nickname came from.

“He’s cute,” Violet said.

Delaney handed her aunt the balled-up, mucus-filled tissue. “Pick me up at six?”

“I’ll be here at five.”

“I’ll keep you waiting.”

Violet smiled. She had made the right decision to tell her the truth about the custody battle. “I’ll bring a book,” she said, and kissed her niece good-bye.