by Beth Duke
He turned to face her, his eyes on hers for the first time that night. “You are special. When other people look at you they see a gorgeous woman, but there’s so much more. When I look at you, I see kindness and joy and laughter and grace and every other beautiful thing I could ever imagine. I see you. And it takes my breath away.” He smiled, revealing the dimples she couldn’t resist. “I can’t hide how I feel, either. I’m sure no one can miss it. Your mother doesn’t. She’s going to run me off with a broom soon.”
Violet laughed softly.
“I also see the way you look at me, Violet. It makes me the happiest and saddest man on earth.” He stood and glanced at the house. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Now, go in there and just try to think of anyone or anything but me.” He walked to his truck without another word. As he opened the door, he looked into her eyes and said, “Anyone but me.”
He knew she couldn’t. She did, too.
Violet kissed her parents good night and went up to her room, claiming she was going to read. She substituted a legal pad for a diary and made a list like she would’ve as a teenager: Chet was great-looking, strong, tender, warm, funny, smart, successful, confident, the perfect height for her, his eyes were the darkest brown and full of sparkles, his dimples made her want to lick his face, when his fingers brushed against hers it sent a riot of sensation all over her body, he adored her, he made her feel safe and protected, and he would never hit her. She told herself it was pathetic to put that on a list of a man’s good points, and tore the paper into tiny pieces. She knew it all by heart, anyway.
And she’d have to forget it soon.
Two days later, as her parents ran errands in town, Chet appeared at the front door. “Hey. I was wondering if you could go for a ride with me.” He stood there awkwardly, hands in pockets, his eyes pleading.
Violet looked around the neighborhood. Mrs. Sweeney was sweeping her porch. The Tanner children rode bicycles by and waved.
“I can’t, Chet. I’m sorry.”
“Then let me come in. The truck’s here in the open. I’m working on a circuit breaker or something.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Your folks are downtown, and I saw them walking into Jimmy Gardner’s Cafeteria. They’ll be at least another hour getting home.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but her hand swept the door back of its own accord. Violet closed it quickly and took a look out the window beside it. “Five minutes. Then you’ll have to go, Chet.”
He sat in her father’s recliner and leaned his elbows on his knees as Violet settled onto the couch three feet away. She clasped her hands to hide their shaking.
“Five minutes, huh? Is that long enough to kiss me? One kiss, Violet, that’s all I want. I’ll never ask you for another thing.” He leaned forward, lacing his fingers into the back of her hair and sweeping his thumb along her jawline softly. “You’re shaking.” He smiled with a touch of concern, but mostly satisfaction.
Violet reached to pull his hand away and planted it on the arm of his chair, pressing it into place. “Stop it, Chet. You know that’s something I won’t do. I can’t.”
He leaned back, grinning at her. “But you want to. I know you so well, Violet Louise Glenn. And I’m not the boy with a crush anymore. I don’t need a picture of you, I don’t need a note from you to take out and read, I don’t need you to promise me anything, and this house hasn’t needed electrical work for a week.”
Violet laughed. “You’d better give my dad a great deal on all these service calls.”
“I’ve been telling him everything’s under warranty.” He patted the sides of the recliner and looked around the room, settling on her eyes. “What’s between us is always going to be there, Violet, whether you admit it or not. You’re not happy with your husband...”
“You don’t know the first thing about my marriage, Chet,” she interrupted.
“I know what I see in your eyes. I know how the light goes out of them when he’s mentioned.” Chet leaned forward. “Is he good to you, Violet? Does he treat you like you deserve to be treated?”
She forced a smile. “Yes. Tolly’s good to me.”
“Has he ever hurt you?”
“No. I don’t know why you’d even say that.”
“The bruises from your accident didn’t look like they were caused by a steering wheel, Violet. And the front of a wrecked Corvette is crumpled fiberglass, not metal. You can easily see the difference.” He crossed his arms and leaned back.
Violet felt the actress in her take over. “He’s a wonderful husband. And I don’t know anything about cars. I was too shaken up to notice what the damned car looked like.”
He nodded slowly. “All right, then. You know you can always call me, right? Call the office. They can track me down.”
Violet looked out the picture window nervously. “I appreciate that, Chet. You should go now.”
He stood and leaned over to whisper into her ear. Violet closed her eyes and held her breath as he lingered there. “You’ll give me that kiss someday.” He brushed his lips on her cheek and walked out the front door, leaving Violet with one hand to her face, staring after him.
Last night he’d telephoned after her parents had gone to bed. Violet stood in the kitchen, whispering and watching the staircase.
“You looked so beautiful yesterday,” he said. “It’s gonna kill me when you go back to Birmingham. Even though we can’t be together, Vi, you know how I feel about you. It’s not going to change.”
“I wish things were different, Chet.” She wouldn’t let herself say more than that.
There was a full thirty seconds of silence before he spoke. “I know you’re not happy with him. You can lie to me all you want, but I can see right through you. I’ve known you forever, Vi. I know you tell people you like rock and roll but you’d really rather listen to classical music. You like the color red and you have a weakness for graham crackers and you’re a terrible dancer and you dream of writing a best-selling novel and you bite your bottom lip when you’re nervous. You’re doing it right now.” Dear lord, she was.
He paused, and Violet imagined him looking over his shoulder to be sure he was alone. “Everything about you is mapped on my heart. I love you, Violet. I always have.”
“Chet, I’ve loved being with you these two weeks, but...”
“Don’t say it, Violet,” he broke in. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t feel the same way about me. I know you do. We laugh together, we never run out of things to say, and you look forward to seeing me the whole time I’m not there. Admit it. You sat there thinking about that little brush on your cheek until your parents got home, didn’t you? “
“No.” Yes. They’d opened the door to find her in a daze, glued to the couch with her eyes closed.
“You’re as drawn to me as I am to you. I can’t stand in the same room without shaking all over, trying to resist the pull you have on me. Please, before you go, just let me kiss you one time. I’ll never ask again. Meet me somewhere, Violet. Name a place and I’ll be there.”
She shook her head. This had to end. “It doesn’t matter what I feel. I’m a married woman and you’re a married man. I’m going home to my husband soon.” And one kiss would be the end of life as I know it. There would be no turning back, no stopping my body’s response, no end in sight. There would be no way to stop Tolly from ...she shuddered to think what he’d do.
“You won’t forget me. You won’t forget any of this.”
“No, I won’t, Chet. Good night.” Violet hung up the phone in her parents’ kitchen and slid her back down the wall to sit on the worn green and cream linoleum squares. She closed her eyes and saw nothing but Chet’s face; heard him saying You’re as drawn to me as I am to you. I can’t stand in the same room without shaking all over, trying to resist the pull you have on me. She wondered if he knew he’d put her own thoughts into words.
She had to get out of here, and she had to do it fast. She’d call Tolly tomorrow.
Chet didn’t retu
rn to the Glenns’ once. Violet found herself staring out the windows, listening for his truck, but he was gone. She sat on her bed and recounted every word, every look, every time their eyes had met. She let that warmth settle into her bones and promised herself she’d keep it there. It was hers alone, something Tolly could never take from her.
Tolly came on Sunday and seemed so happy to see her it hurt her heart. She kissed her mother and father goodbye and smiled at her husband as he closed her heavy car door with a thud. His Coupe DeVille was annoyingly perfect inside, not a speck on the bright red and white leather. Violet fought the urge to smear lipstick in a hidden patch and lost. She swiped a pinkie tip full of Revlon’s Spring Tulip and smeared it along the bottom of her seat.
When Tolly slid in beside her he said, “You look radiant, Violet. It’s done you so much good to be with your folks. I’ve missed you, but I’m glad you had this time with them.” He pecked her cheek and shifted the car into drive. Violet noted he smelled of some new cologne, one without the slightest hint of bourbon.
She looked out the window at the flowering trees and pink azaleas on Quintard Avenue, marveling at the beauty of her hometown. She smiled at the majestic Parker Memorial Baptist Church where she’d married Tolly. In a parking lot on her right, Chet leaned against his truck and stared at Violet as they passed.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He said more to her with his eyes than a thousand letters could have; more than if he’d been driving the car and holding her hand, talking all the way to Birmingham.
twenty-five
RONNI
Deanna and I stood in the reception area of Mary Mac’s Tea Room. It was eleven o’clock, and the place was already filling with a steady stream of Atlanta regulars and tourists. Melvin Sobel arrived in the middle of a big group of Red Hat Society ladies, swept along in a wave of chunky, middle-aged women. He spotted me and parted the red-and-purple sea to walk over.
“Mr. Sobel,” I said, “Meet your cousin, Deanna Henderson.”
“Please, both of you, call me Mel.” He was about Deanna’s height and gave her a side hug.
She hugged back, her eyes glued to Mel’s face. She was studying him, I knew, for genes she recognized. I wondered if Sam was in Mel’s craggy, lined features anywhere.
I waved at the hostess, who flashed a brilliant smile and beckoned us with three menus. She led us by framed photos of celebrity diners ranging from the Dalai Lama to Alan Jackson. A large sign proclaimed Mary Mac’s was declared “Atlanta’s Dining Room” by the Georgia House of Representatives. I eased into a seat at our table under a huge, colorful landscape painting.
Deanna did not sit, and was clearly struggling not to cry. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered.
Mel patted her hand gently and smiled encouragement. He looked around the room as Deanna walked away. “Funny you chose Mary Mac’s. My family loves the food so much we drive over every couple of months. My daughter used to want to live here when she was little.” He waved at a black lady with gray hair in cornrows and her hands on her hips. “That’s Marietta. She’s been working here since the seventies.” Marietta practically ran to our table.
“How you doin’, Mr. Mel?” She cocked a hip and wagged her finger at me. “This your first time?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, wondering what difference that could make.
“We have a guest who’s new here, too,” Mel told her.
“All right.”
What kind of initiation was coming? A Mary Mac’s hazing?
I know what you’re drinking, Mr. Mel.” A wink. “How about you, ma’am?”
Mel pointed to the Georgia Peach Martini on the menu. “Oooh,” I said, “I’ll have that and a glass of ice water, please.”
Marietta’s smile crinkled her eyes and radiated sweetness. I felt like we were visiting her house, not a restaurant. “You’re gonna want two of those, wait and see. What about your guest?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. Let’s start her with ice water.”
She nodded and disappeared.
Mel showed me the order form and pencil supplied to give Marietta our choices of entrees, side dishes and desserts. “Only place I’ve ever seen that does this,” he said. “It’s a great idea. Take a look at your menu, because I promise you’ll have a hard time choosing.”
He was right. I wanted every single bit of Southern comfort food listed: fried chicken, turkey and dressing, baked chicken and gravy, country fried steak, chicken and dumplings, roast pork, honey-glazed ham—the entrees were endless—and every side dish, too. I wondered if cheese grits and macaroni and cheese might be overdoing it.
Marietta placed the world’s tiniest cup of collard greens and a mini corn muffin in front of me and left some for Deanna, too.
“It’s tradition,” she said. “Complimentary taste of heaven. And the good food you’ll get today.”
Deanna slid back into her seat, hair and makeup freshly fixed and smiling. She picked at her tiny collards with a fork and asked Mel, “Please tell me about my mother.”
He looked at the table. “Well, for starters, she was good with secrets. I never had any idea she had a relationship with my cousin Sam, much less a daughter. And I talked to Violet a lot. I was her friend as well as her attorney.” He played with the salt shaker, frowning. “Honestly, she was a good bit older, but I always had a crush on her. Everybody loved her.”
“That’s true, Deanna. She wanted it to be the title of a book her book,” I chimed in. I caught Mel searching her face her along with me. Her eyes were Violet’s deep brown and she’d inherited her mother’s skin. Anyone would think she was at least fifteen years younger if they didn’t know better. If she had Sam’s and Mel’s red hair, it had been transformed by a pro into a light shade of brunette.
“We have a lot to talk about,” I patted Deanna’s arm. “Let’s get through lunch and then we’ll take a little walk.”
Mel glanced at his watch. “I won’t have time to join you after we eat. I have a three o’clock.”
“Can you call and reschedule, Mel? Just one hour later?” I asked. “I want to show y’all something.” I smiled at Deanna, who eyed my martini as Marietta set it down.
“I’ll have one of those, too,” she told her. I was surprised; I had her down as a sweet tea person.
“I’m starving.” I waved my pencil and order form in the air at Mel. “Let’s fill these out quick before I change my mind. I’m trying to make a firm commitment to turkey and dressing. Or maybe chicken and dumplings.”
“You won’t be sorry either way,” Marietta said. “I’ll be back in a minute with your drink, and take y’all’s orders.”
Mel excused himself to call his secretary.
Deanna followed him with her eyes. “Not what I expected. I know it’s stupid, but I’d imagined him younger than me.”
“You have cousins younger than you, Deanna. I’m sure Mel will help you get in touch.”
Deanna looked at the drink that appeared before her. “Thank you,” she said. “I need this.” She took a long swallow.
Marietta gathered our order sheets and waved, sensing we were in the middle of discussing something serious.
“Ladies,” Mel announced, “I’m yours for the rest of the afternoon. Mrs. Detweiler can wait until tomorrow to discuss her case for increased alimony. Cheers.” He clinked his glass to ours.
The turkey and dressing was better than any I’d ever had, and I’m a connoisseur. I’d rounded out my carb festival with cheese grits and—yes—macaroni and cheese. Deanna seemed to savor her country fried steak, and Mel clearly relished every morsel of fried chicken.
There was no way we could hold dessert. Mel reached for the check, and I didn’t try very hard to stop him. He was probably amused by my feeble protest.
“All right,” I announced, “If y’all will please get into my car, we’re going to take a little ride.” Mel volunteered to sit in back, so Deanna could see Atlanta. “She’s not going to see too much
,” I laughed. “We’re only going a few miles.”
When I pulled into the parking lot they looked at each other and frowned.
“Ronni, why are we at Whole Foods?” Mel asked.
“Just bear with me. Y’all come on, it’s not too far from here.”
“What’s not too far?” Deanna removed a shoe and rubbed her heel. “You could at least tell us.”
“I’d rather show you.” I led them to the edge of the parking lot, then around back past the array of dumpsters and loading docks. Both wore looks of utter boredom with a thin layer of determined politeness. “Here,” I waved a hand at the huge magnolia tree, “this is what you came to see.”
“Well, it’s lovely, Ronni, but...” Deanna was looking around as though she expected to be mugged or worse.
“Look, please, both of you,” I stood on my tiptoes and pointed at a spot several feet above us. “This tree was once in the outfield of Ponce de Leon Park, where a team called the Atlanta Crackers played baseball.” Deanna was shaking her head, confused. “And one bright spring day, two young lovers visited it and the boy carved their initials into its trunk. Do you see?”
They squinted and finally focused where I’d pointed at the faint VG + SD. Deanna released a tiny gasp and started to cry. I did, too.
Mel put his arm around his cousin, her head on his shoulder. “I wish I’d known him better,” he said.
“So do I,” she answered.
I was about to leave for work the next morning when Deanna came into the kitchen, perfectly made up and patting her hair, sporty in a dark rose velvet tracksuit. She looked like a Florida grandmother postcard.
“Ronni,” she asked me, “would you mind if I stayed here a few more days? I hate to impose, but there’s something important I’d like to do before I leave.”