Love, Magic and Misfortune by Karla Nikole

5

Now

Janet fumed through the phone. “We don’t have enough T-shirts. I sent you emails with updates for the order. Did you not get them?”

Violet had made a shared spreadsheet with ‘names,’ ‘dates’ and ‘number of requested shirts per family,’ asking both of her bosses to update the data as they saw fit and as they received direct requests. Perfect organization and meticulous planning—a wonderful system to keep things in order.

Utterly ignored. What Violet had received instead was a barrage of carelessly forwarded email chains across four weeks with any number of correspondences that she was expected to manually decipher and count. It had been a complete mess.

“I received them,” Violet explained. “But the number of participants in your correspondences weren’t always clear and there were multiple emails. I tried my best to keep track of your numbers. I’ll have more T-shirts delivered as soon as possible—”

“Do you know how expensive expedited shipping is?” Janet exclaimed. “Just forget it. I might have some T-shirts from last year’s event in my basement. I’ll pull those out and count them. This is one of the most important marketing events of the year, Violet. I expect things to be flawless.”

Violet sighed. Things would be flawless if she weren’t always being set up for failure. Should she mention that she ran the final T-shirt count by her bosses twice? Probably not.

“I understand, and I apologize sincerely for this mishap.” Should she mention that they were only missing three T-shirts, and that two people had already cancelled attending the event (and that they had ordered one for her, too, and she could always give hers up)?

Nope.

“We’ll talk more about this in our meeting next week. This is your job, Violet. The expectation is for these things to be taken care of. I know we’re letting you work remote because of your grandmother but… if I have to step in and do things like this, maybe we should reevaluate your role here.”

Gosh, over three T-shirts.Mind you, because of Violet’s marketing efforts, this event had already raised more funds than any of their past events, and would have the highest attendance. “Understood,” Violet said.

When she hung up the phone, she looked at her wristwatch: 12:46 p.m. She logged off her computer. It had been a week since she’d dropped the first bag off at Laurent House, so according to Gram’s schedule, she was due for another trip. She grabbed her coat and purse, deciding to make the hour-long drive into the city for her grocery haul. An uncomfortable encounter with Freddie Martin was the absolute last thing she needed right now.

When she reached the front door to the cottage, her work phone buzzed. Pulling it out of her bag, she glanced at the screen.

[Karen: Shoot I missed the call.]

[Karen: What are we doing about the T-shirts we’re missing?]

Karen: How many is it?]

[Karen: OMG this is so stressful!!!]

[Karen: Should I ask my cousin about the thing in his garage?!]

Violet set the phone down on the foyer table and left.

* * *

The day wassunny and bright after a week of dreary rain. It made the drive into the city all the more pleasant and Violet had even cracked her windows for some fresh air despite the chill.

Pulling up to Laurent House, it looked slightly less homely because of the sunshine. It was still in desperate need of some care, but its derelict nature wasn’t as severe juxtaposed against a lovely blue sky.

She pulled her wool coat a little tighter against her body, then grabbed the heavy grocery bag and headed toward the door. She’d bought a little extra for Jasper since she knew she’d have to travel into the city next week for the work event. She’d do the shopping again the day after, but she wanted to be certain.

Standing on the porch, the yard and house were silent again. Nothing stirred as she used the heavy knocker. She waited.

Quiet. Only the rustling of dry leaves in the apple orchard.

“Well, last week’s bag is gone, at least…”

Sighing, she placed the new grocery bag against the door. But she lost her breath when it whipped open as she bent down, scaring her half to death.

“Oh good God.” Her heart in her throat, she lurched upright. Violet blinked, palm flat against her chest as she stared at the man peeking through the cracked door.

It was Jasper, for certain. He was the same, but different. Not Jasper as a boy, but Jasper as a man. Taller, with squared features rather than soft, rounded ones. And those big gray eyes. He’d grown into them a little. But not entirely.

“You scared me,” Violet breathed, her heart pounding.

“Sorry… Hello.”

“Hi…”

Time—that fuzzy, indiscernible thing—stood still. She took him in. His cheeks were shallow, pale, but he wasn’t a Boogeyman like Freddie had said. He did look a bit… something. Not akin to a monster. Perhaps a human that lived his life among the dust bunnies underneath a bookshelf. Like maybe before running to the door, he’d set his book down, rolled out from under the shelf and hastily fluffed out his hair—the color of it dark but warm, like black coffee or chocolate.

He looked like that.

Violet swallowed. “I… You—”

“Listen, you don’t need to keep doing this.”

She blinked, drawing back a little. His voice had changed, too. A smooth, warm tone. Assured. Not the animated squeak of a little boy or the breathy rasp of a sick person. “Wh-What?”

“Gloria put you up to this, I know. But you don’t need to do it. I can manage, so please don’t feel obligated to take this on?”

He stared, awaiting her response. Violet swallowed and settled her shoulders to knock herself out of whatever had come over her. “Jasper Oliver Laurent.”

He winced as if she’d cursed him. “Yes?”

“We haven’t seen each other in almost fifteen years.” She paused, wide-eyed, letting that truth sink in.

Taking a breath, he reached his hand up, mussing his hair. She half expected a puff of dust to swirl up as a result of his action. “It-It’s been a long while.”

“Would it be okay if we had tea together? Maybe caught up a little?”

Jasper bit the inside of his bottom lip, a subtle movement, but Violet noticed it nonetheless. It was at least one trait he’d carried forward from his boyish days. “I… Hm…”

“Yes?”

He’d looked away, but his anxious gray eyes flicked back to her. He inhaled another deep breath. “Well, okay. Alright. Just for a short time… I’m sick, Violet.”

“Are you contagious?”

“In some intrinsic ways. Potentially.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged. Nothing.

Violet shook her head. “Are you tired? Will I get sick if I come in and have tea with you?”

“Well, no… and no.”

“Okay…” The nervousness Violet felt in this moment slowly morphed into something else. She repressed a laugh, marveling at the awkwardness between them. Life was interesting in this way. The same two people who were once so close—sharing significant time, space and affection together—could later transform into complete strangers.

He took a deep breath, dropping his shoulders as he leaned down to grab the grocery bag from in between them. “Sorry. Okay, please come in.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Violet said, stepping over the threshold. “Thank you for having me.”

The light inside was dim, the curtains drawn closed in the adjacent great room. Even still, it was easily apparent that the house was a mess. Jasper didn’t need to live underneath a bookshelf to be among the dust bunnies. The house itself was filled with them.

Newspapers, magazines and books were stacked on and around the foyer table, all frosted with a thin layer of dust. A tall oak coatrack stood beside a large gilded mirror hanging on the wall. The ornamental rug was the same one from when they were kids, and it too had seen better days—now faded to a pale burgundy, the pattern worn in the center and the edges frayed. She looked up. The light fixture overhead was also covered in wispy, floating cobwebs.

Why on earth is he living like this?

“Um, this way…” Jasper said, gesturing with his free hand. “The house is a mess but the study is a little better. We can sit in there.”

He walked forward, down the dim corridor, and Violet followed. The house even smelled timeworn. Not bad, but of dusty things—old furniture and paper, the air dry and cool. Opening a few windows would be an easy fix. Old family portraits on the walls showed Jasper as a boy, grinning ear-to-ear as a happy and healthy child. Other photographs revealed his parents smiling and posed close together—one of his father and mother gazing romantically into each other’s eyes and another of the three of them, hugging and laughing. The images were like stills from a movie reel of a blissful family.

“You can sit on the couch,” Jasper said when they reached the wide entrance to the study. “I’ll put the groceries away and make tea.” He stalked off, his long legs carrying him toward the kitchen.

Violet stepped inside. Here too, the curtains were shut. Only a single beam of sunlight streamed in, hitting the creaky hardwood floor. The rest of the room was primarily lit by warm firelight dancing in the hearth, casting shadows over the adjacent wall of bookcases and the desk in a nearby corner. She settled on the brown leather couch. It was soft, and not dusty like everything else she’d seen thus far. Clearly, this room was where Jasper spent most of his time.

Glancing around, Violet observed the details of the space. A laptop on the desk. Beside it, black-rimmed glasses, a coffee mug and… nuts? Trail mix, just sitting atop some papers. A different coffee mug on the low table in front of her along with lots of books. She immediately recognized some titles. Violet leaned forward and picked one up, turning it over in her hands in amazement.

She flipped through the pages, skimming one of her favorite passages as Jasper returned with a tray of cups and a teakettle. She narrowed her eyes. Something about the tea set was very familiar as he placed it down on the table (and atop a stack of books, inevitably).

“Is this Gram’s?” she asked. She hadn’t seen this particular set since she was a teenager.

He nodded. “Yes. She gave it to me a long time ago for when she came over—you can take it with you today if you—”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m just surprised. So, she would sit with you?”

Violet knew that Gram had been dropping off Jasper’s groceries for many years now. At least since he’d turned eighteen. But she was under the impression that it was a simple “drop and run” delivery arrangement. She hadn’t known that Gloria regularly spoke with him, let alone sat and had tea with him. Why wouldn’t she have mentioned that?

Jasper stepped around the table, sitting in the armchair adjacent to the couch. The fireplace flickered and popped behind him. “Yes,” he said, rubbing his palms across his faded charcoal trousers. “She’d come inside and visit when she dropped off the groceries.” There was a moment of hesitation, but then he looked up at Violet, meeting her eyes. “I’m so sorry about her passing. She—Gloria was truly a wonderful person.”

Smiling, Violet took a breath to soothe the permanent ache in her chest. “She was. And pretty fond of you, it seems.”

Jasper waved a hand. “She pitied me. There’s a difference.” He leaned forward, gripping the kettle handle and pouring hot water into her cup. “I only have chamomile, but there’s lemon or honey, if you’d like.”

Pitied him?Violet didn’t say so, but she disagreed. Gloria Marie wasn’t the type of person to do things out of pity. She gave her time and energy to people she found deeply valuable in some way. She’d been a very intentional woman.

The silence was awkward as they arranged their tea. Eventually, Violet asked, “Are you doing okay?”

His tea in hand, he shrugged. “I’m fine. How are you? Are you still working in the city?”

“How do you know I work in the city?”

“I—well, I hear things from time to time. And where else would you be working? How’s it going?”

“I’ve had the same job for about three years, but I’m working remotely now. I’m thinking of moving back and staying in Gram’s house for good.”

“Really? There’s nothing here. Everything is the same as it was when you left.”

Violet smiled. “Yeah. Freddie is still working in the grocery store—ringing up groceries like when we were teens.”

“Well, he’s the owner now. He’s still an idiot, though.”

“I noticed. Did he take over for his father?”

Jasper nodded. “His father died maybe five years ago? I’m surprised he hasn’t run it into the ground, but I suppose it’s what he knows.”

“Probably the only thing he knows.” Violet grinned. Jasper smiled with a huff, a little breath of a laugh, before pulling his tea to his mouth and glancing away from her.

“You read Ambrose Marcello?” she asked.

He paused, lowering his cup. “I read a lot of things. Why?”

“I saw the books on the table, but I’ve never seen these editions before. I love his writing so much—it’s expressive and vivid. Reading his books makes me feel like I’m traveling the world. My absolute favorite is The Moroccan Butterfly.”

“That was his third book,” Jasper said.

“Yes. The first two books were a little bumpy, but in book three, he really hit his stride with the mystery and intrigue. And the descriptions of Morocco… gosh. I’ve always wanted to go there because of Mom.”

“I remember. Chefchaouen, right?”

“Yes. There were even scenes written in Mom’s hometown. Just reading the book, it was like I could smell the air and feel the humidity. Practically transcendent. And Marcello—I went to one of his speaking engagements when he came to the city. Wonderful.”

Jasper furrowed his brow. “He’s a little too ‘mystical guru’ for me.”

“Really? I think he’s insightful. He teaches all these lessons with beautiful subtlety in his books, so it’s nice to have him say things directly when he gives talks.”

“I prefer subtlety. Not everything needs to be beaten over a person’s head.”

“Rosie would agree with you. She enjoys the books, but doesn’t like his personal ramblings.”

“How is Rose?” he asked. “Is she doing okay?”

“She’s fine. In love with Jillian, her partner. They’ve been together… two years, now? They met on the patio of a coffee shop because the waiter accidentally switched their orders. It’s a really cute story—well, except that Rosie’s wallet ended up getting stolen that same day. But even with that, Jill helped her out, and they hit it off instantly. Rosie is working as a family lawyer in the city. She loves her job, has a fab apartment. She’s doing great.”

“Sounds like she has the perfect life,” Jasper observed.

“Well, almost. She’s weirdly had her identity stolen a few times. It’s annoying, but she doesn’t let it get her down. You know Rosie. Unshakable.”

“She is. And that kind of thing happens a lot these days.”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Violet said. “She wants to introduce Jill to Dad because they’re talking about getting married, so they’re planning to visit Los Angeles in the spring. Dad’s being wishy-washy about it, as usual. He couldn’t even make it here for Gram’s funeral.”

Violet paused, blinking as if waking up from a trance. She was sitting and talking to Jasper like no time had passed between them. As if it hadn’t been fifteen years since they’d seen each other—as if he hadn’t abruptly disappeared from her life because of some mysterious illness.

She focused on him, her brows drawn tight. “Jasper, are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine. I told you—”

“Why—In what way are you sick? Why are you living like this?”

It wasn’t her place to demand an explanation, but she needed one. Something to help rationalize what had happened back then.

He straightened in the chair. “I’m perfectly fine with the way I’m living, Violet. And I… I don’t like to talk about my sickness.”

“Alright, I don’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“You just… disappeared when we were kids.”

“I had to,” he said.

She shook her head, taking a deep breath. “I guess I don’t understand. I was worried about you. It’s not like you were in the hospital for visits, and no one would tell me what happened or what was wrong. It was awful and I really missed you.” The confession was a bit naked, but true. Lately, Violet felt as if her emotions were constantly running at level-ten intensity (or zero, once she finally wore herself out and fell asleep).

Jasper glanced down into his cup, avoiding her eyes as his skin flushed a rosy shade. “It was awful for me, too. I—” He inhaled softly, but nothing followed except another quiet moment. A brief space in time for them to mutually acknowledge the hurt within their past. To mourn together.

Violet tilted her head. “But you’re okay? You’re still sick, but…”

“I’ll always be sick, but yes, I’m fine.”

“Earlier, you said that Gram used to visit with you. What if—”

“No, Violet,” he said, serious gray eyes on hers.

“But you don’t even know what I was about to say.”

“You were about to ask if you could visit when you drop off groceries. But you don’t need to do that, alright? You… You are a vibrant, exciting young woman—full of life. You shouldn’t be sitting around in a dusty house with an invalid. Please don’t.”

Despite herself, Violet grinned. “You think I’m exciting?”

“Is that the only thing you heard?”

“No, I heard the rest.” She snickered, reveling in the growing ease of their banter. It was similar to when they were little, but different somehow. Enthralling in a way she didn’t quite yet understand. “If you think these things about me, why wouldn’t you want to have tea together?”

“Because bad things might happen.”

Violet’s expression dropped, the dark nuance of his statement utterly sobering her. “What… what kinds of bad things?’

A loud snap made them both jump in their seats. They turned, looking over at the hearth and watching the fire whip and lash the log like a clawed monster devouring its prey. Jasper laughed, standing and grabbing a poker to move the logs. “Bad things like that.”

“That’s not so bad.” Violet adjusted against the sofa, calming herself from the shock of the unexpected sound. “I was thinking more like a gang of debt collectors banging down your door and threatening to break my knees, or a house falling out of the sky and onto my head.”

He turned, his eyes full of amusement. “I don’t have any debt. The other option also feels improbable, but I can’t promise you anything.”

“It happened in the movie The Wizard of Oz—the house thing, not the knee-breaking debt collectors.” They both snickered as Jasper returned to his seat. He exhaled, his expression softened and relaxed from their moment of laughter. He looked up, only briefly meeting her gaze before glancing away again.

“About having tea, Violet, I… Well…” He rubbed his palm against his face.

She leaned forward slightly at the waist, catching his downcast stare and making him meet her eyes. “Just tea. Sometimes?” she prodded, smiling. “Once a week when I drop off the groceries. I don’t pity you, and it’s not just because Gram asked me. I’m enjoying this—seeing you again. Is that alright?”

Dropping his hand, he shifted his head to look at her from beneath dark lashes. The innocent movement caught the narrow stream of light from the window, making his haunting eyes shine like silver. He nodded. “Once a week. Okay.”

Violet nodded too, grinning and feeling whimsical, as if she’d invoked her preadolescent self. The version of herself that spun around in floaty dresses and was overjoyed at the sight of a Monarch butterfly drifting across a field of radiant flowers.

She bit back her silly smile, then took a breath to calm her racing pulse.