Love, Magic and Misfortune by Karla Nikole

2

Now

Gram looked tired and ancient. Technically, she’d seemed old ever since Violet was a little girl. That’s what a grandmother was to a child: a lovely elderly person (for the lucky children, anyway).

Even so, the woman had always radiated life, tenacity and love. It overflowed from her like the buttery, sugary goodness of a cake spilling over and out of its Bundt pan.

“The cottage is yours,” she whispered to Violet, stretching her withered hand up and placing it on Violet’s cheek. “Everything. And my secret recipe for the cannelés.”

The sterile white hospital room felt like a dim cave. A highly advanced one, with its monotonous hum of machines, echoing beeps and chilly atmosphere. Violet shook her head, tears pouring down her face. “Gram, that stuff isn’t important right now.”

“You’ve been pestering me about that recipe for years. I thought you’d be pleased? Just… promise me you won’t make them for any of those selfish boneheads you date—”

“Gram.” Violet laughed. They both did.

“Save my cannelés for someone special. You haven’t mentioned anyone in a long while.”

“Because there isn’t anyone,” Violet assured her. “There won’t be for a long time, I don’t think. I’m over it—dating and trying to find ‘the one.’ What does that even mean?”

“Well, I could tell you that there are many fish in the sea, but I don’t blame you. I’ve found that the world is chock-full of interesting things for a woman to do.”

Gloria was a woman who’d done many things. She lived freely, dabbling and creating, giving and supporting herself and others. All the while, she exuded an aura of joy—a soul truly living in their own freedom and choices.

Gram took a deep breath, her fragile state apparent once more. The signs of her fatigue had almost disappeared for a second. Just a glorious moment, as if she’d hop up out of the bed, pull Violet toward the door and insist on showing her the secret, prized canelé recipe step-by-step.

But it wasn’t so. Gram closed her eyes, her chest slowly rising and falling in the silence. When she spoke again, her eyelids seemed heavy as they opened. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything.” Violet smiled. Gram would have all manner of unfinished business to address: money to be raised, cakes to be baked and townspeople to be helped. The local schoolhouse might require a new roof, or a bridge tournament would need to be organized at the local community center. Gloria ran the village like a queen, and her loyal subjects had filled her hospital room with flowers, potted plants, balloons and well-wishes from the moment she’d fallen ill. It was only calm like this in the evenings. During the day, Violet directed streams of people coming in and out like an air traffic controller.

Soon, the queen would pass her torch. Of course there were things that needed to be done.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Violet whispered, lifting and kissing the back of her grandmother’s hand. “I’ll take care of it. Bake sales, church bazaars, whatever. You don’t need to worry.” It wasn’t all just cookie-cutter grandma stereotypes. There were more eccentric things, too, but Violet wasn’t sure how she’d handle all that. She would, but it would take a more delicate hand. A little bit of research and study.

Gloria Marie shook her head. “No, sweet pea, nothing like that. The town will take care of itself…”

“Okay, then, what is it?”

Gloria opened her eyes wider, her gaze soft. “Jasper. Just, check on him sometimes. Don’t… Don’t leave him all alone.”

Violet’s stomach did a twisty thing as she sat straighter. “Wh-What? Why?”

Another gasp. A gentle rise and fall of the sheets covering Gloria Marie’s frail body. “That boy was dealt a very bad hand. I left instructions. Please, sweet pea?”

Gram closed her eyes again, her lips parted—then nothing. The weighted silence was only broken by the rhythmic beeping of the machines around them. Violet rested her head at Gloria Marie’s side, clasping her wrinkled, frail hand in both of hers as if to hold onto her and keep her in the land of the living. Willing it with all her might.

But her effort was useless. The next day, Gloria went quietly—peacefully encircled by her granddaughters and cherished friends within the community. They wept together, holding each other against the loss of a great anchor that had stabilized them in countless ways.

Violet had been given specific instructions. Her grandmother’s dying words. Not “I love you,” of which Violet had no doubt was true. No insecurities there.

No regrets or lamentations of missed opportunities in life. No deep, dark secrets confessed. Nothing one might expect of a person lying on their deathbed. Instead, a sincere request: Please check on Jasper. Go and see about the boy with big moon eyes. But he wouldn’t be a boy anymore. He’d be a man now—nearly twenty-five, the same as Violet.

What in the world for?

* * *

Violet dabbedthe cotton handkerchief at her eyes, wiping away the tears there. It wasn’t fair. She’d known it was inevitable: these moments were one of the few, absolute certainties of life. Inescapable. But still, she found herself unprepared. Perhaps, a person could never be prepared enough to lose someone they love. Not ever.

Rose, Violet’s older sister, snaked an arm around her shoulder, holding her tight. Of course Rose wasn’t crying. She was always the sensible one, with everything in perfect order: her character akin to a solid, immovable boulder while Violet floated through life with the whimsy of a bird’s stray feather.

Lifting her head, Violet focused on the puffy white clouds overhead, drifting silent across the perfect blue sky. At least the weather was nice for Gram’s funeral. Crisp with a light breeze. It was chilly for so early in October, but the day proved to be a lovely send-off, nonetheless.

When the Bishop recited the last prayers, Violet turned into her sister’s embrace and wept, letting all the sorrow and hurt pour out. She’d received the call about Gram taking ill a week ago. Had it been a week? Time felt fuzzy even as an adult. But now, its movement was rampant and utterly beyond her control: much too fast in some moments and excruciatingly slow in others.

Eventually, she pulled her head from her sister’s embrace as they stood in the graveyard washed in overcast sunshine.

“I’ll head over to the community center first to greet everyone. You two take your time.” Jillian leaned in, giving Rose a quick peck on the lips before affectionately rubbing Violet’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Jill.” Rose sighed. She reached down, taking Violet’s hand as her partner walked away. “Are we alright?”

“More or less,” Violet shrugged. The crowd dispersed, moving across the dried lawn and toward the long row of parked cars on the gravel road. The view from the hill of the cemetery was majestic despite the dour setting—shadowed purple mountains framed the horizon, enclosing the charming country village she’d grown up in. Violet inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the cool earthiness of the air as if it would cleanse her.

“Who is that?” Rose asked.

Violet looked up, following her sister’s gaze. Past the row of cars and atop the gentle slope of another hill, a lanky man stood in a hooded coat. As if knowing he was being watched, he turned and descended the other side of the slope, disappearing from sight.

“One of the newer townies?” Rose guessed. “I thought everyone we grew up with was here.”

“Maybe…” Violet said, skeptical. “Let’s head to the hall and get this over with. I’m tired of being around all these people.”

* * *

Several hours later,Violet sank deep into the couch in her grandmother’s sitting room, a hot cup of spiced tea cradled in her palms. A profound weight sat heavily in her heart… But somehow, the house felt like a loving embrace. Gloria’s embrace. The vibrant smell of Roman chamomile and mint blooming on the covered back patio, the fire burning low just before her and a soft knitted blanket across her lap. Gram might be gone, but in many ways, she was still very much present.

“A couple years ago, she told me she was leaving the house to you.” Rose walked into the sitting room holding her own mug, taking a seat just beside Violet on the couch. “I think she didn’t want me to be upset. As if I would be.”

“You never liked it here,” Violet acknowledged, bringing her own cup to her lips. “Your daily, teenaged lamentation of ‘I miss my friends in LA’ made it very clear… I’m surprised it’s not tattooed somewhere on you—”

“I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this boring little town and start my real life, but Gram had to push you out of the nest. I couldn’t believe you almost turned down that job.”

A sudden clang in the kitchen made both Violet and Rose sit straighter and turn their heads.

“Sorry, I’m fine, I swear,” Jillian called out.

Violet looked at her sister, her voice low. “Is she fine? She always seems scatterbrained to me.”

Rose shrugged. “It’s because her work is so crazy and demanding. There was some big buyer’s meeting she was prepping for, but it got cancelled at the last minute. She said it was with a famous company, too. Huge upset for her team.”

“What famous company?”

“Oh, I have no idea. She insists the details are confidential, and mind-numbing, so she spares me.”

“Hm,” Violet sighed, laying her head back against the couch. “I still don’t quite understand what she does. Whatever it is, is her company hiring? I hate my job, Rosie. My bosses are—Do you know what it’s like to have to keep track of everythingyou do, because at any given moment, you might be accused of not doing something? I literally have a folder on my desktop called ‘Proof,’ where I screenshot every single task I complete—a spreadsheet of every action I take because I always need to cover myself. What kind of work environment is that?”

“A steady one. A profitable one.”

“It’s hostile.”

“You make excellent money—”

“Is money everything?” Violet asked. “Is it worth my sanity? That’s how they get you stuck in the hamster wheel. You make money so you can survive and buy things, and then you need more things so you have to keep making even more money. Gram wasn’t stuck in a hamster wheel. She lived by her own rules. And Ambrose Marcello says—”

“Oh no, here we go—”

“He says, ‘Chasing money yields money, but chasing life yields riches beyond measure.’ What am I chasing, Rosie? Being a drone and always covering my tracks.”

Rose turned and stared at her. Awkwardly.

“What?” Violet asked, frowning.

“You. Quoting that goofy writer. And Gram was a total hippy.”

“She wasn’t. She was free. And Ambrose is not goofy.”

“He’s hot.” Rose smirked. “I’ll give him that. That’s seventy-five percent of his appeal.”

“Well, it certainly doesn’t hurt him, does it?”

They were both silent, but Rose’s expression shifted into what Violet recognized as her serious ‘big sister’ face. “Keep your excellent job. Stay the course. If you move back here, what are you going to do in this sleepy Mary Poppins town, huh? Piddle around Gram’s creaky old-lady hippy cottage—”

“Charming cottage. It’s charming—”

“Read through her weird herbalist books and daydream about how much fun you had living here when we were kids? Hoping to catch a glimpse of that creepy boy in Laurent House.”

“Don’t—No. That’s not it, Jasper has nothing to do with my decision. Don’t talk about him that way.”

“You haven’t seen him since you were nine. Nobodyhas. He’s allegedly ‘sick’ but his parents moved away ages ago and left him up there alone in that rundown manor. Who knows what the hell is going on? And I don’t like the idea of you back here and fixated on that situation, again.” Rose set her mug on the table in front of them, then twisted to fully face her sister. “You finally left here and started building a good life outside this boring village. Please don’t use Gram’s passing as an excuse to saddle yourself back here.”

Violet considered her sister and the sincerity in her eyes. Rose always wore her brown hair straightened, and it framed her pale, slim face like a very dark and heavy curtain. “Rose is so lovely, she should model.” People had said as much over and over when they were both young. Within the ethnic spectrum between their parents’ genes, Violet had gotten all of the curls, and all of the curves. Every last bit of them.

And she was glad for it. Growing up, she’d thought of herself as odd compared to her peers. Different. But now, she felt unique—embracing her brown, sun-kissed skin and the smattering of dark freckles across her nose.

Turning her head, Violet stared into the fireplace. She understood her sister’s perspective, but they were different people with different lives. Violet had tried the “young woman moves away from home for a fancy job in the big city” bit. She’d been doing it now for three years. She hated it.

“You just don’t get it. I love this house and this town. I’m staying.”

“Ugh.” Rose fell back into the couch, slouching.

“What’s the problem?” Jillian said, pulling her blonde, straight hair into a ponytail as she walked into the room. She plopped down in a nearby armchair. “You trying to boss your baby sis around and failing miserably?”

Violet lifted her mug to her lips. “As per usual…”

“This house is beautiful,” Jillian said. “There’s so much interesting stuff here. I don’t blame you for wanting to stay.”

“I do,” Rose whined. “You’re too young and headstrong to be stuck in a sleepy place like this. You could do and be so much more. I just feel like you’re wasting your potential.”

“First, that’s insulting,” Violet said, frowning, “I’m enough. Right now, as I am. Screw ‘potential.’ I had an ex-boyfriend that used to say that to me and I really disliked it. Second, it’s my life. Stop making me feel bad about my choices. You’re being a jerk.”

Rose whipped her head toward Violet, her lip stuck out in a full pout. “I’m a jerk for wanting to protect you? For keeping you from chasing unrealistic hippy-dippy fantasies when you’ve already got something solid? And I know Gram used to take your weird little friend groceries every week. She asked you to take over, didn’t she? That’s what this is about.”

“Stop calling him weird and creepy—and he’s not ‘little’ anymore. He’ll be twenty-five on Christmas Eve.”

Silence. Both women stared at Violet, accusation written all over their faces. Violet shrunk. “This is not about a man. I’m still going to work my terrible job remotely, alright? They know I’m here managing Gram’s estate. Surprisingly, as long as I’m accessible online, they’ve told me to take my time. I just want to be here and mourn right now. Can you stop being so pushy about it?”

“Yeah, stop being so pushy,” Jillian chimed in, smiling. “Pushy woman—like you’re always in a bloody courtroom. Vi never listens to you anyway.”

“Exactly.” Violet smiled at her sister. “So give it a rest. Your lawyer is showing. Might want to cover that up.”

Rose lifted her chin. “Oh shut up, both of you. Why shouldn’t you listen to me? I have a career that I love, stability, a wonderful partner—”

“Aw, cheers, babe,” Jillian gushed.

“And I want these things for you, too,” Rose continued. “I don’t see how that makes me a jerk.”

“So, Vi,” Jillian said, sitting straight and narrowing her green eyes at Violet. “What are you going to do with all your gram’s stuff? Are you just going to keep everything as is?”

There was so much stuff, in the typical way that people who lived long lives ceaselessly gathered worldly possessions across time: trinkets placed in corners, books stuffed in shelves, boxes stacked in closets. Violet sighed. “I have no idea.”

“Well, let us know when you decide,” Rose said, folding her arms and smirking. “I’ll try to stifle my inner jerk lawyer when we come help you.”

Violet grinned. “You’re feeling pretty salty about that comment, huh?”

“I am.”

“Good,” Violet said. “That’ll teach you.”