Love, Magic and Misfortune by Karla Nikole
3
Now
“Why are there specific visiting hours? Isn’t he in the house all the time?” Violet flipped the little notepaper over in her hand. It was two-sided and filled with Gloria Marie’s unmistakable handwriting. Gram had also organized her will, land deed and all remaining documents into a neat folder in a bedroom dresser drawer.
Violet leaned her head back and closed her eyes, exhaling and listening to the rain pitter-pattering against the car. She missed her grandmother’s voice and the very soul and essence of her being. Her physical presence. But the absence of Gloria Marie’s voice—that self-assured and bright tone singing over her, always encouraging her, comforting her—created an unexpected chasm in the center of Violet’s chest. A hole that might never again be filled.
She took another breath in the rainy silence, opening her eyes and staring at the note in her hands just as a ray of gray sunlight caused the surrounding slick pavement of the parking lot to glow. On the backside of the handwritten note, her grandmother had written two sentences: Live the life you really want, sweet pea. I love you.
“The life I want…” What did she want, exactly? Violet glanced around, taking in the mundane view of the local grocery store with its faded green scalloped awning. The line of bright red grocery carts neatly arranged out front and dripping with water. Today was particularly gray, with raindrops pelting against the windshield before racing down in long streams. Quiet tears from the sky to match her melancholy.
After several days of crying and staying huddled within the loving comfort of Gram’s cottage, Violet finally mustered the energy to go out. Unfortunately, the weather wasn’t in agreement with her decision. Autumn was officially settling in and having its way.
Violet knew that she wanted to be here, in this village. It was her home and she loved it. The wild, grassy fields swaying in the summertime, all stretched out around Gram’s cottage and framed by thick woods. The flowers blooming in spring like fireworks, and the way the snow flattened everything down in winter—a heavy, fluffy comforter. All around, the jagged bluish-purple mountains acted as a loving fortress, protecting the town’s inhabitants. She wanted to be here, but she wanted to be free, too.
What does that mean? What does it look like?
Her phone buzzed and she pursed her lips. This. This long leash was not freedom. Reaching inside her bag, she groaned and pulled her mobile out to glance at the screen.
[Janet: Did you send me the estimates for the T-shirt order?]
Violet switched over to her email to verify, then typed out a text before hitting send.
[Yes. I sent it in an email on Monday at 2:47 p.m.]
Three days ago, mind you. Not that they were in a time-crunch to get the T-shirts ordered. Except they were, as had been emphasized by her bosses in earlier meetings.
[Janet: Well, I don’t see it.]
“Did you even look?” Rolling her eyes, Violet quickly flipped back to her email, found the correspondence in question and re-forwarded it to her boss. Yes, she could have just texted the info, but… Proof.
[I just re-sent it to your email. Please let me know you received it.]
Dropping her hands and the phone in her lap, Violet contemplated. She needed something hearty and warm to eat tonight. Some kind of baked casserole with molten cheese. Lasagna? After a moment, her phone buzzed in her grip.
[Janet: Got it. Thanks. Let’s place the order.]
[Will do.]
Violet punched the necessary information into the website and placed the order. When finished, she twisted around for her umbrella in the back seat, drew up the hood of her raincoat and grabbed the door handle. Her phone buzzed again—over and over.
[Karen: What’s happening with the T-shirts?]
[Karen: Don’t order them yet!]
[Karen: They’re way too expensive!!]
[Karen: Should we look into a cheaper alternative??]
[Karen: My cousin might be able to print T-shirts for us.]
[Karen: He has a thing in his garage.]
Violet exhaled a heavy sigh, threw her phone into the passenger seat and took her chances with the rain.
* * *
“Didn’t getto talk with you at Gloria’s funeral last weekend.” Freddie Martin scanned her groceries (at an excruciatingly slow pace), smirking like he knew something she didn’t. Whatever it was, Violet would rather not know. Anything he knew probably wasn’t worth knowing.
“Didn’t think there was anything to talk about,” Violet said, avoiding his gaze and digging in her purse.
“You moving back here?”
“Not sure yet.”
“You got that fancy-pants job in the city… you’re a fancy-pants girl now.”
“I don’t know what that means. Please don’t talk about my pants.”
“No boyfriend up there? Girlfriend?”
“That is unquestionably none of your business.”
Freddie swiped the peanut butter across the scanner, then paused, holding the jar up and looking at it in great detail. She’d never seen anyone ring groceries so slowly. It was a wonder how he stayed in business.
“Can you move with a little more urgency, please?” she asked, shifting toward the end of the lane and pulling her reusable bags from her purse to pack the groceries herself.
“Are you taking over all your Gram’s business affairs?” he wiggled his dark golden eyebrows. “I know she’s got some fun stuff in that greenhouse out back. And is all of this going up to Jasper?”
“Again, none of that is any of your business.” She rearranged the items, frowning. Strawberries, fresh salad greens, almond milk and a bar of dark chocolate. Packing grocery bags was a bit like playing Tetris. Violet enjoyed the humdrum task, but she needed to concentrate. Good spatial reasoning took focus.
“He comes out once in a blue moon—was down here the other day since Gloria passed and nobody can take food up to him anymore. He’s like the Boogeyman.”
“You’re the only Boogeyman around here that I’ve ever encountered.”
“I offered to help him… said I’d take the groceries up to him, but he didn’t want me to, of course…”
“Sounds like his intelligence is still firmly intact.” Finally, the last item, a large bag of sunflower seeds, made its way down the conveyor belt and Violet placed it on top.
Freddie cocked his eyebrow. “Sassy Violet Ainsworth—you grew up pretty. The city’s been feeding you well. Your hips match your hair.”
“And your mouth still matches your butthole. Ring up my groceries and spare me your observations.” Violet dug into her bag and pulled her wallet out with a little more force than was needed.
He chuckled again, totaling her order. “Relax, darling, I meant it as a compliment. Fancy-pants women don’t like compliments?”
“We don’t like idiots.” Her transaction complete, Violet put her debit card away, dropped her wallet into her purse and grabbed the grocery bags, moving as far away from Freddie as quickly as possible.
* * *
The Boogeyman…
Laurent House was one of the oldest manors in the village. It sat a little farther off than the other homes, but was still easily accessible. The perimeter was lined with a stone wall. Oddly, it had seemed much higher when Violet was little, the enormity of it exaggerated in her capricious child’s mind. Dry ivy crawled up the front face of the home like spider limbs, reaching and creeping along the dusty beige stucco—even stretching over the dirty white window shutters.
Juxtaposed with the skeletal apple orchard, it wasn’t spooky, exactly. It simply… needed some love. A little affection. From whom, Violet didn’t know. But she’d played in the gardens here as a child. Had run amidst the apple blossoms in spring. It had been wonderful and not scary at all. She held those memories like warm candlelight at the forefront of her heart as she climbed out of the car, grocery bag in hand, and made her way toward the wrought iron gate. Thankfully the rain had subsided, leaving the air heavy and chilly with damp. It made her feel like a mist-breathing dragon.
Jasper was sick, but with what? No one knew for certain. There were speculations, of course. The adults had rationalized possibilities of a more serious nature—leukemia, lupus or some other autoimmune disease. But the children were, of course, ridiculous in their guesses: he was a vampire or rife with cooties. Overflowing with them to the point where contact with another person was detrimental. Violet hadn’t known any better than the rest despite being his best friend, but she’d always defended him fiercely.
She never saw him after that day in the garden when she fell from the apple tree. The situation had been a mess: a broken arm and wrist, coupled with a strict mandate from Gloria that she was forbidden from climbing another tree ever again. Her wrist still ached on rainy days like this.
The iron gate squeaked loudly as she pulled it open. Walking down the cobbled path, she glanced around at the wide, open yard. The grass was overgrown and dry where once it had been luscious and green.
As she approached the wooden door, she lifted her wrist to check her watch: 4:22 p.m. Well within the apparent 2:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. visitation range. Shouldering the single grocery bag, she took hold of the brass knocker and struck it against the faded olive-green surface.
A rustling immediately to her right made her jump in surprise. When she looked down, a black cat with white paws came hobbling out of the bushes underneath the window.
“Hey kitty.” She looked closer, finding that one of its front paws was wrapped in a bandage. The cat meowed in response, but then walked away, turning a corner and disappearing around the side of the house.
Violet waited. No sound. No movement. She stepped back from the porch, glancing around at the five rectangular windows: three on the second floor, two on either side of the door on the first. No lights were on despite the dark, overcast gloom of the weather.
Stepping forward, she tried again. Knocked. Waited. Nothing.
“Is he here?” Truthfully, she wanted to see him. Perhaps deep down, and in a place she’d never speak of (especiallynot to her bossy sister), she desperately wanted to see him. A small part of her ached with it. She wasn’t proud. Surely, she should have moved on by now. Should be the uncaring, flippant and mature woman she presented to everyone. The one that said, “Jasper? Who? Oh, the eccentric boy from my childhood? I never think of him.”
It would be a lie. She thought of him often. For five years of her life, he’d been a staple—an integral part of her existence, not unlike water or sunlight. After her mother had died, Violet, her father and Rose had moved here to live with Gram. She’d been five years old then, and in complete misery. It had been so empty and lonely: the world suddenly a scary, sinister place that had snatched someone precious away from her.
But then Jasper was there. Her very first friend in this new, terrifying world. A kind and gentle guide in an unfamiliar landscape.
After a third knock with no response, Violet set the grocery bag down, tucking it as closely to the pale, paint-chipped door as possible. She walked back down the lane, looking over her shoulder once. Then a second time. As she walked back through the gate and toward her car, she repeated to herself the second instruction of her Gram’s note. The quick but elegant handwriting practically floated to the forefront of her mind.
Be patient with him.
