Farewell, Dorothy Parker (36 page)

He pointed at her face. “You’re
excused
!”

Violet’s reptile brain heard
Run! Run or I’ll eat you!
She tried to fight it and find her center again, but she was dizzy from hyperventilating.

“Just a minute, Counselor,” Judge Jacobs said. “I’d like to hear what Ms. Epps has to say.”

John Gibb folded his arms and stared Violet down. She averted her eyes and tried to find her courage by remembering the heady feeling she got when Dorothy Parker had entered her.

She thought back, recalling the day she lost her nerve on the phone with Carl, and Dorothy Parker took over. She had been so brave then, so powerful. Why couldn’t she conjure that now? Why was this fear so paralyzing?

She closed her eyes.

Delaney, Violet thought.
Delaney.

Violet held up her hand to let everyone in the courtroom know she needed a minute. As she had been taught in kung fu class, Violet took a long, slow breath to the count of four, held it to the count of four, and released it to the count of four. Then she repeated the whole process until finally she was ready to speak. And when she did, the courage that pulsed through her wasn’t Dorothy Parker’s. And it wasn’t playacting. It was nothing but her own true strength.

“My friend,” she said, “did not kidnap the girl. She saved her life.”

“Your Honor,” John Gibb said, “this is absurd.”

The judge shot him a look. “Please finish, Ms. Epps.”

“Delaney was feeling suicidal, only I didn’t know it. Sandra and Malcolm didn’t know it. No one did. Except for…for Daisy, who, well, had a sense for these things. If she hadn’t gone to her when she did and
spent the day talking to the girl, listening to her, taking her to visit her parents’ grave, who knows what might have happened.”

“Why was Delaney suicidal?” the judge asked.

“Because she thought I would lose this case,” Violet said. “That’s how badly she wants to come home. She needs me, Your Honor.”

“Hearsay!” said John Gibb.

“You can ask her yourself,” said Violet, who knew Delaney was waiting in the judge’s chamber with her court-appointed attorney for the child.

Judge Anita Jacobs rose from her bench. “I will,” she said. “Thank you, Ms. Epps. You are excused.”

Chapter 40

On a bright Saturday in late September, more than a year after she had gained custody of Delaney, Violet sat next to Michael behind an exhibitor’s table at a local street fair. The sign above them said
RED DRAGON KUNG FU ACADEMY.
Michael had rented the space so that he could promote his business, and Delaney and Kara had cheerfully volunteered to work the booth, giving out lollipops to the kids, refrigerator magnets to the adults, and discount coupons to anyone who would take them. But after putting in several hours, the girls asked if they could take a walk around, so now it was just the two of them.

A middle-aged woman approached. Her hair was dyed pink and blue, and she wore long dangling feather earrings. She was at least fifty but dressed like a teenager in a pop-star T-shirt and short denim skirt. If Violet had to guess, she would have pegged the woman as the owner of multiple cats.

“What are you giving away?” the likely cat owner asked.

Violet knew the type. People like this often came to these fairs looking for anything they could get their hands on for free, no matter how useless.

“Are you interested in learning kung fu?” Violet asked.

“Depends,” the woman said.

“On?”

“On what you’re giving away.”

“Would you like a refrigerator magnet?” Violet asked, holding one up. It wasn’t exactly exciting swag—just a magnetized version of the Red Dragon Kung Fu Academy business card.

“Can I have five?” the woman asked.

“You can have two,” Violet said, smiling. “And a coupon for a free lesson. How’s that?”

“I can get a free lesson?”

“Yup.”

The woman squinted at the coupon, trying to read it. She moved it farther from her face. “Can I bring my boyfriend?”

“The more the merrier.”

“Thanks,” she said, shoving the coupon and two refrigerator magnets into her purse. Then she grabbed a handful of lollipops and disappeared into the crowd.

“You suppose she sells the stuff on eBay?” Michael asked.

“I prefer to imagine a house full of shoe boxes crammed with crap she intends to make into jewelry one day but never does.”

Michael gave her a kiss, and Violet smiled. She didn’t have Dorothy Parker in her life anymore. She didn’t have her parents or her sister. She would miss them forever, of course, but she had figured out how to enjoy and appreciate all she did have—Michael, Delaney, and her own powerful voice. Not that she didn’t backslide into fear every once in a while, but those regressions were getting less and less frequent.

Violet decided to take a walk around the fair and see if she could find the girls before they filled up on too much popcorn, cotton candy, and funnel cakes. A few things caught her eye as she made her way through the aisles, but the booth that attracted her most was the one selling antique and collectible printed materials, including books, magazines, and postcards.

She went through a stack of old battered hardcovers, most of which
were missing the book jackets, and was surprised to discover a first edition of
Enough Rope,
Dorothy Parker’s first poetry collection.

“How much?” she asked the proprietor.

“Twenty,” he said.

Violet knew the damaged volume wasn’t exactly a collector’s item, but she thought she might enjoy owning it. Then again, she wondered if a small part of her wasn’t succumbing to wishful thinking, hoping there might be another book out there that could bring back her friend. Of course, it wouldn’t. She knew that. Dorothy Parker had gone into the light where she belonged, and now all that was left of her were her words.

“Aunt Violet!”

She turned and saw Delaney and Kara walking toward her, holding massive tufts of cotton candy on paper tubes.

“How much junk have you girls eaten?”

The teenagers exchanged looks.

“Not that much,” Delaney said. “But listen, you’re not going to believe who’s here. Vincent van Loser!”

“Carl?”

“He’s selling those little painted chairs again, only now they’ve got kind of an antique country look.”

“He called it
Americana,
” Kara added.

“We told him you were here,” Delaney said. “I hope that’s okay.”

Violet paused to think about that and realized she had no nervous tension about seeing Carl. “Of course it is.”

“He said you should stop by and say hi,” Kara said.

Delaney seemed excited. “He asked us to find you,” she said. “But if you don’t want to talk to him—”

“No, it’s fine,” Violet said, still holding the book. She looked over at the man who managed the booth, but he was talking to another customer.

“Excuse me,” Violet called. “I’m coming back for this.” The man waved his assent, and Violet placed the book on the table. “Where is he?” she asked her niece.

Giggling over the gossip-rich situation they were orchestrating, the girls led Violet to Carl.

“She’s going to rip his head off,” Delaney said to Kara, and then pulled her away so they could watch from a distance.

Of course, Violet knew she would do nothing of the sort. She greeted him like an old friend, and the girls, bored and disappointed by the lack of drama, walked off.

“You look great,” Carl said. “Different, but great.”

That was, in a nutshell, exactly how she felt. “You, too,” she said, and meant it. He had lost a little weight and seemed happy.

“I’ve been seeing you on TV. My girlfriend can’t believe I used to go out with someone who’s on television. We liked your review of that three-D movie.”

So he has a girlfriend, Violet thought. Smooth how he worked that in. “Thanks, Carl. Sounds like things are working out well for you.”

“After we broke up I started dating a neighbor, Bonnie. She’s awesome—older but very cool, and a sculptress. We live together now.”

Violet latched right onto the word
older,
as Carl had clearly been looking for a mother figure, and she guessed he found one.

“I’m glad for you,” she said. “Where are you living?”

“Just around the corner from my old place.”

In other words, he moved into his girlfriend’s house.

“And you’ve got a whole new esthetic,” she said, pointing to his painted chairs, which no longer bore kitschy sixties-inspired designs. “I like it. It’s…earnest.”

“Yeah? Thanks.” He was, she could tell, genuinely pleased. “Delaney tells me she’s back home now, living with you. That’s awesome.”

Violet smiled. “It’s been a hell of a year.”

“How did Sandra and Malcolm react? They must have freaked.”

“They did, at first,” she said, recalling the hysteria in the courtroom after the judge announced the verdict.
You’ve ruined everything,
Sandra had shouted at Violet.
Everything!

“And then?” Carl asked.

“Then they wound up separating.”

Carl’s eyes widened. “Malcolm and Sandra?”

“Turns out the marriage had been shaky for a long, long time. I think that deep down, the real reason they wanted custody was because they thought it might help glue the marriage together. But the split was inevitable.”

“Are they doing okay now?”

“Malcolm got to keep his new car, which was really all he wanted. He moved in with his girlfriend.”

Carl looked stunned. “Malcolm had a
girlfriend
?”

Violet smiled. “The best part is how Sandra transformed. She sold the house and most of that horrible stuff, and moved into a small place on the North Shore. She went back to work as a medical receptionist and she actually has
friends.
I’ve never seen her so happy.”

“Please tell me she sold that life-sized ceramic Weimaraner.”

“Phil,” Violet said. “She calls him Phil, and he’s the closest thing she’ll ever have to a pet, so no. She kept that.”

Carl laughed, and then focused on something in the distance over Violet’s shoulder. “There’s Bonnie,” he said, waving. “I’d like you to meet her.”

Violet turned around to see Carl’s new girlfriend, the older woman artist whose house he had moved into. And when she saw the short denim skirt and the hair dyed pink and blue, she had to smile. It was the freebie-hunting woman she had pegged as a cat owner.

After spending a few moments chatting, and listening to Bonnie apologize for not having recognized her earlier, Violet said good-bye
and went back to the booth selling antique books and magazines, as she desperately wanted the Dorothy Parker collection. It would, she thought, be a meaningful memento, something she would enjoy owning. She pictured sitting in the study with Delaney as they read the poems to each other.

“Too late,” the man at the booth said. “Someone just bought it.”

“But I told you to hold it for me!”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know if you were coming back.”

Violet’s disappointment felt physical, like a little piece of her heart had been taken. Dejected, she went back to Michael’s booth, where the girls were busy handing out goodies as a couple of teenage boys stood nearby, flirting.

“Where’s your father?” Violet asked Kara.

“He went to get drinks,” she said.

Sure enough, a short time later Michael returned with a tray of refreshments. He handed a bottle of water to Violet, who offered a weak smile as she thanked him, trying to get past her sunken spirits.

“I bought you something else,” he said, and gave her a small paper bag with a book inside.

It couldn’t be, she thought, could it? She pulled out the slim volume. Sure enough, it was the first-edition Dorothy Parker book.

“How did you know?” Violet asked, running her hands over the smooth surface of the cover.

“Delaney said you were looking at it.”

She threw her arms around him. “Thank you.”

He returned her embrace and she almost couldn’t let go. When they finally pulled apart, he looked at her face. “You’re crying,” he said, laying a cool hand on her cheek.

“I’m happy.”

“Because of one little book? You must be a hell of a Dorothy Parker fan.”

Violet opened the volume and scanned the verses Mrs. Parker had written so long ago. It seemed remarkable that every single one was about love or death. More amazing, though, was that most of them were as vibrant, funny, and insightful as they were in 1926.

She looked up and saw Delaney laughing at something one of the teenage boys said to her. Not a fake, flirty giggle, but a genuine, deep-in-the-gut laugh she couldn’t control. Violet closed the book and wiped her nose. Though her voice was now as strong and as brave as she ever dared dream, she knew that sometimes the loudest comment need only be whispered.

She looked back at Michael and smiled. “I am.”

Author’s Note

J. D. Salinger once said that writers should get very still and ask themselves what piece of writing in the whole world they would most want to read if they had their heart’s choice, and then sit down shamelessly and write the thing themselves.
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