Love, Magic and Misfortune by Karla Nikole

8

now

On her third visit to Laurent House, Jasper opened the door as Violet made her way up the narrow cobblestone path. He met her with his gentle smile. “Hello.”

“Good afternoon. Grocery delivery at your service.” Violet beamed, crossing over the threshold.

He took the bag from her hand. “Thank you for doing this. Really.” He turned, walking down the hallway. Violet quickly shut the door and followed as he went on. “If you get tired of helping, just tell me. I can—”

“I know, you told me already.” She shook her head, smiling as she stepped into the kitchen. The room was at the back of Laurent House, awash with overcast light and overlooking the decaying garden and orchard through a neat row of square windows positioned over the sink. The cabinets were antique white: distinctly characteristic of a charming country home. Although this room was less dusty than the others Violet had seen, it would still benefit from a deep clean.

Jasper placed the grocery bag on the island in the center of the kitchen, then diligently removed its contents. Violet paused, taking the moment in. She was in the same room with Jasper. She’d known nothing about him for almost two decades, but suddenly here he was, standing before her. It didn’t seem real.

The permanent hole in Violet’s chest still ached with the loss of Gloria Marie. But this unexpected turn—being reunited with her childhood friend after so long—stirred an entirely new feeling inside her. Something warm and gentle that helped to distract her from the hollow loneliness.

As he dug through the reusable bag, she smiled. “Your grocery list makes me feel a little like I’m shopping for a squirrel.”

His hands froze. When his large eyes flickered up to meet hers, she drew back at the startled expression there. He didn’t say anything, but slowly removed a jar of almond butter from the bag and set it on the counter.

Violet stepped forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything malicious by that. Mostly I meant you eat very healthy, which is a good thing.” She pulled two pouches out of her purse. “I brought these, too. Gram has a lot of dried chamomile in her pantry for tea, and peppermint, too—”

“I can’t have peppermint.” Jasper snapped his head up. “At all. I—I’m very allergic.”

“Okay, sorry…” Violet placed the small bags back inside her purse, then sighed. “I’m off to a terrible start here, aren’t I?”

“No, no you aren’t.” He shook his head. Walking toward the fridge, he opened it to transfer the items. “I’m… just being uptight. Would you mind starting the tea?”

“Sure.” Violet turned and stepped toward the gas stove, glad to have an assigned task. Maybe it would help keep her mouth under control? The kettle was already there and filled with water. She turned the dial, tick-tick-tick until the blue-yellow flame puffed out with intense heat. She lowered the flame just a little.

“The chamomile tea bags you brought… Gloria always made two separate batches.”

“Ah, the planter that shares the mint versus the isolated pot,” Violet realized. “I don’t know her pantry and herb system yet, so let’s just use yours, if you have any left? I’ll be sure to dry a new batch myself, next time.”

“I do. And thank you, that’s very kind. The tea is in the white container on your left. How was your work thing yesterday? The event with the T-shirts.”

“It went perfectly fine. A complete success.”

“So, a lot of fuss for no reason?” Jasper said, tearing his requested bag of pumpkin seeds open as he stood at the island.

“That’s my job, really. I have three key responsibilities—one, fielding my bosses’ crazy requests. Two, talking them down when they freak out and three, being showered in accolades when everything turns out great.”

“Exhausting but rewarding?” he asked, munching a mouthful of seeds.

“Much more so the former.”

“So why subject yourself to it?”

Violet shrugged. “Money.”

“Mm, the great motivator.”

“What about you, Jas? How do you sustain your lifestyle? How is it you can hand me a bank card and tell me to do whatever I want?”

He chuckled with a warm, airy sound while digging his hand into the bag for another round of seeds. “I didn’t say ‘do whatever you want.’ I said buy yourself groceries and gas.”

“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t need to pay for my groceries. I did buy myself a nice bottle of wine though.”

“You could have gotten more… if you wanted.”

Violet lifted her chin. “How do you know I won’t? Maybe later I’ll hit up Tiffany’s and buy those earrings I’ve always wanted. A new candy-apple-red Mercedes.”

He laughed again and it was such a nice sound. It seemed to fill the chilly, shadowy space. “You wouldn’t have gotten that far. If anything, you would probably be in jail for fraud. Is that what the twenty-five-year-old version of Violet Ainsworth likes? Expensive cars and fine jewelry? Should I have Jeeves prepare the caviar?”

“No.” She turned toward the stove behind her at the whistle of the teakettle, then threw a feisty look over her shoulder. “But you don’t know that.”

He shifted his stance, lifting his bag of seeds toward her. “True… You want some?”

“No thanks. Cups?”

“Top cabinet on your left.”

Lifting to her tiptoes, Violet pulled the handle of the chipped cabinet door open and grabbed two cups from the shelves. “I’d like to meet this Jeeves and learn about what other luxuries he can offer. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“He’s off today. What question?”

“How do you spend your time every day? Do you work?”

“I do things. I keep busy.”

“That’s not vague at all.” Violet grinned, setting the kettle and teacups on a tray, then lifting and carrying them toward her friend. The island in the center also functioned as a table. Jasper pulled a tall stool out from underneath and made himself comfortable as Violet placed the items down in between them. She sat on the opposite side.

“My work is just my work,” Jasper said. Violet chuckled at the second very vague statement and Jasper added, “I’m not living off of an inheritance, if that’s what you’re thinking. There wasn’t anything like that when Dad died—and if there was, Mom is probably living off of it now. This house and the land around it are a family heirloom, for better or worse.” Jasper reached for the kettle and filled her cup before his own.

“Gram told me when your father died. I was so upset. I sent flowers here, to the house. When we were little, I always thought he was a wonderful person. He ran around in the orchard with us sometimes, and he always had those funny little brain teasers and games for you. He was one of the few adults that actually played with us instead of just sending us off on our own. It stuck with me.”

Jasper nodded, his eyes downcast. “Dad was really great. And I got your flowers. Thank you for that.”

“Of course. Where is your mother?”

“She went back to Lisbon since her brother and sister are still there. But she and Dad lived an hour away in the city together for the past almost… six years? When they were planning to leave, I overheard her telling Dad that she wanted to go back to Portugal, but he didn’t want to be that far away from here. From me, probably.”

Violet considered, doing the math. “So they left here when you were eighteen?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

Jasper nodded, bringing his tea to his lips but pausing. “Typically. Yes.”

“Why did they leave you here alone?”

He turned his head, looking off into the distance. “My mother had a very difficult time with my sickness. If she could have left earlier, she would have. But Dad encouraged her to stay until I was eighteen. So…” Jasper finally met her eyes and shrugged.

“I’m sorry that happened.”

“It’s fine. I don’t blame her at all.”

A lull fell over the space, emphasizing the melancholy coolness of the kitchen. She glanced past Jasper’s shoulder and through the window. The wind whipped the bare branches of the orchard’s trees—the cloudy sky was the color of steel. She held her warm cup between her palms, the comforting heat flowing up her arms.

What kind of parents abandoned their sick eighteen-year-old son? It didn’t make any sense. Yes, he was legally an adult at that age. But emotionally, mentally… Was he capable of running an estate on his own? By the looks of things, the answer was no.

The memory of Jasper’s father was easy for Violet to recall: his tall, wiry frame, bright, happy smile, unruly sandy-brown hair and golden-rimmed spectacles. Something about his warmth and kindness, the gangly quirkiness of him had been cemented within her psyche.

But when Violet thought of his wife, the memories were blurry and scattered. Violet had to dredge them up from somewhere deep within.

She’d been an innocuous woman: dark hair, fair skin and with a simply stated beauty. A little too stiff, uppity and outwardly pleased with the Laurents’ social standing within the village. The family had done well for themselves with the orchard. They’d been big fish in a little pond.

It was strange to imagine her being so unsupportive of her only son, considering his sickness. She’d fawned over Jasper when he was young—always making sure he was clean and smartly presented. That he exhibited excellent manners and intelligence. What could have happened to make her abandon him? Was his sickness so terrible?

“Has Freddie been bothering you when you go to the grocery store?” Jasper asked, his expression serene. He’d inherited his light eyes and coffee-colored hair from his mother, but he’d unquestionably been saddled with his father’s awkward and gangly (but charming) demeanor.

Violet sighed. “I haven’t been back since he told me my hips match my hair.”

Jasper choked on his tea. “Ex-Excuse me?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Dear God, what an idiot. What does that even mean? Your hips are—”

Violet straightened, her eyes wide. Jasper adjusted in his seat, too, and the tension in the room thickened despite the cool ambiance. But then he shrunk, looking away and bringing his tea to his mouth with his dark brows scrunched together. Violet chuckled.

“How the heck were you going to finish that sentence?”

“I wasn’t going to finish the sentence,” Jasper said, still avoiding her gaze. “There is literally no appropriate way for that sentence to have ended.”

She laughed again, and this time Jasper laughed, too. He lifted his palm to his forehead and shook his head, his face changing to an increasingly familiar rosy shade of red.

Violet raised her chin. “Enough talk about my hips, sir.”

“We are not talking about that.”

“Being back here, it’s making me think a lot about when you and I were kids. Little things, you know? Like when we’d go exploring in the woods all day on the weekends and you’d show me creepy bugs.”

“Was I the stereotype of a boy?” Jasper smirked. “Did I have toy trucks and baseball cards in my pockets, too?”

Violet chuckled. “No. Not at all. You picked the bugs up but never chased after me with them or anything. You were alright.”

“I’m glad.” Jasper smiled, his face returned to its normal shade. “Our weekends together were really great, weren’t they? Gloria would test all of her new dessert recipes and teas on us. The blueberry lemon bars were my favorite.”

“And the lavender tea she concocted that one summer?”

“With fresh honey,” Jasper added. “I remember that one—and the raspberry hot cocoa in fall. Brilliant woman. We asked her to make it so much that she eventually cut us off.”

“She spoiled us… I was so anxious and sad when Rosie, Dad and I moved here. But between Gram and you, it ended up being pretty darn wonderful.” He’d played a big part in her acclimating to a new environment—in finding a sense of joy and wonder again amidst the sorrow and drastic changes. She wondered if he understood the significance of the role he had played. If she’d ever had the chance to properly express her gratitude.

She was working up the courage to tell him, but he looked away and cleared his throat. “So… have you decided what you’re going to do?” he asked. “About Gloria’s cottage?”

Leaning on her elbow, she cradled her chin in her palm. “I’m staying. I haven’t officially announced it to my job yet, but it’s been three weeks and… I love that house. It makes me feel close to her and honestly, I feel calmer and more content here than I ever have in the city.”

“It seems like it would be boring here for you,” he reasoned. “There’s so much more variety in the city—more people your age and you have easy access to the airport to travel anywhere you want.”

“Our age. And after almost four years of living there, I hardly took advantage of any of those things.”

“But you’ve done well, Vi. You have your own place, a high-paying job, and you’ve traveled to Spain and Greece. Those things are all remarkable—”

“Jasper, how do you know I’ve traveled to Spain and Greece? Did you and Gram talk about me?”

“Sh-She mentioned things. Just sometimes.” He reached for the kettle, busying himself with refilling his cup.

That felt unfair. Gram had been keeping Jasper updated with her life, but she’d never mentioned sitting with Jasper. Never once revealed that she talkedto him—had sat inside his house and brought him handmade chamomile tea from a special flower pot she kept separate just for him because he was allergic to mint. Gifted him one of her favorite tea sets.

Why? Why had Jasper let Gloria so close to him when he’d spent years hiding himself away? It didn’t make any sense.

“Do you have any plans to travel to Morocco?” Jasper asked. “Since you’ve always wanted to go there.”

Violet sat back, sighing. “No. Not yet.”

“May I ask why?”

“Well, I want it to be a special trip, and I don’t want to go alone. Rosie isn’t interested and doesn’t care—even though she was literally named for El Kelaa M'gouna and the Rose festival. You would think that she’d want to see the place her namesake is derived from. It’s like… growing up in Los Angeles brainwashed her. I barely remember living there because we left when I was still so young. But she tells me she used to be teased for looking different, and it was worse when she spoke in Darija. She doesn’t remember any of Mom’s language because she just refused to speak it after a while—even with Mom. That makes me mad. I would give my left arm to speak Arabic fluently.”

“Have you considered taking classes?” Jasper asked. “It’s not too late. And you don’t need to sacrifice your limbs.”

“I’ve thought about it time and time again, but work was insane back in the city. And when you’re paid a good salary, you’re always on call. I’m a corporate modern-day slave and it doesn’t leave a lot of time for personal endeavors. Maybe with moving back here, I can achieve more balance.”

“You only get one life, Violet. You should do the things you really want to do.”

Violet blinked, then clapped her hands together and bowed from the waist. “Thank you, O wise and great teacher.”

“I-It’s just an observation.”

“No, I know you’re right.” Violet grinned, lifting her mug. “I’m going to do better. What about you? What do you really want to do?”

He shook his head, his face blank. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I can’t do much because of my sickness, so I don’t think about anything. What I’m doing now is fine. Being here…” Jasper lifted a hand, then raked his fingers through his thick, unruly dark hair. “Sitting with you like this, it’s nice. I never expected this, so it’s enough for me.”

What’s wrong with you? Why couldn’t he just explain it? Whatever it was. Why was it a secret? It was nagging her, but she wouldn’t ask again. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about it.

Still, as she stared at the man across from her—his calm demeanor, linty blue sweater and pale gray eyes that almost constantly avoided her direct gaze—she wished that he would just tell her. Or perhaps that she could read his mind.