trembling, but she was proud of herself. She was doing it. She was standing up to Carl.
“But I rented the truck. I bought twenty cartons.”
“I’m sorry,” Violet said. “I’ll reimburse you.”
Mrs. Parker rose. “Don’t you dare!”
“What’s that?” Carl said. “Is someone there?”
“It’s the radio,” Violet said. “NPR.”
“Listen,” Carl said, “I’m going to finish packing a couple more boxes, and then I’ll drive over there so we can talk about this in person.”
“No, don’t come over.”
“If he does, you’ll call the police,” Mrs. Parker said.
Violet stood and started to pace. “Please, Carl. Don’t come here.”
Mrs. Parker took a step toward her. “Don’t plead with him. Just tell him if he shows up here the police will be waiting with handcuffs.”
“I already told my parents I’m moving out,” he said.
“They’ll understand,” Violet said.
“C’mon, baby. This is such an important step for me. For us, I mean.”
“You were right the first time,” she said.
He lowered his register to what he clearly thought was a sexy baritone. “I love you,” he said. “You’ve been under so much stress. I know this is a big change, and it probably brings up a lot of stuff about losing your sister. But I’m here for you.”
“Don’t bring Ivy into this,” Violet said.
“I know you miss her,” he said. “I know it’s hard.”
Goddamn him. Of course she missed her. Of course it was hard. After her parents passed, Ivy was all she had. Losing her was so incomprehensible that when Violet first moved into the house, she could feel Ivy’s presence in every room. And lately, well, she still felt Ivy’s presence, but she could sometimes go hours at a time without thinking about her.
Now Carl had to go and bring her up, and the knot of pain in her belly was unfurling and spreading through her. She didn’t even have to close her eyes to see Ivy’s smile. Ivy was everywhere. Everywhere but nowhere.
It was so goddamned unfair.
“You’re crying,” Carl said.
Violet sniffed. Of course she was crying.
“It’s hard,” she choked out.
“I know it is, baby. I’m on my way. You need a hug.”
Violet lost her bearings. She sank back into the chair, weeping. Almost immediately she felt a strange tingling in her feet that quickly turned to burning. She looked up expecting to see Dorothy Parker, but she was gone. And yet Violet could sense her very close. In fact, oh, dear God, she was entering her! Violet was seized with the same soul-sick nausea she had felt in the Algonquin, only this time it moved from her toes upward. She curled into a ball and moaned.
“You sound terrible,” Carl said.
Within seconds, the nausea compressed itself into a tiny physical presence, like a marble lodged behind her navel. Violet uncurled and opened her eyes. Everything in the dimly lit room seemed to have sharper corners and higher contrast, like the world had switched to high-def. She craved a cigarette. She felt…alive.
“Are you still there?” Carl asked.
“I am,” she said. “And if you set foot within fifty yards of this place I will have you shot and stuffed.”
“That’s not funny,” he said.
“That’s one thing we can agree on.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You most certainly are not,” she said.
“You need me.”
“Like I need arsenic.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said.
“I’m locking the door.”
“I have a key.”
“I changed the lock.”
“I’ll use the window if I have to.”
She crossed her legs, examined her nails. “That’s breaking and entering.”
“You need a
hug.
”
Violet suppressed a yawn. “That’s assault.”
“What’s the matter, baby? I thought you loved me.”
“Not only do I not love you,” she said, “but I loathe the sound of your voice, abhor your appearance, and am not entirely thrilled with your sexual performance. Furthermore, your artwork is uninspired, and you have bad breath. Have I
“But I rented the truck. I bought twenty cartons.”
“I’m sorry,” Violet said. “I’ll reimburse you.”
Mrs. Parker rose. “Don’t you dare!”
“What’s that?” Carl said. “Is someone there?”
“It’s the radio,” Violet said. “NPR.”
“Listen,” Carl said, “I’m going to finish packing a couple more boxes, and then I’ll drive over there so we can talk about this in person.”
“No, don’t come over.”
“If he does, you’ll call the police,” Mrs. Parker said.
Violet stood and started to pace. “Please, Carl. Don’t come here.”
Mrs. Parker took a step toward her. “Don’t plead with him. Just tell him if he shows up here the police will be waiting with handcuffs.”
“I already told my parents I’m moving out,” he said.
“They’ll understand,” Violet said.
“C’mon, baby. This is such an important step for me. For us, I mean.”
“You were right the first time,” she said.
He lowered his register to what he clearly thought was a sexy baritone. “I love you,” he said. “You’ve been under so much stress. I know this is a big change, and it probably brings up a lot of stuff about losing your sister. But I’m here for you.”
“Don’t bring Ivy into this,” Violet said.
“I know you miss her,” he said. “I know it’s hard.”
Goddamn him. Of course she missed her. Of course it was hard. After her parents passed, Ivy was all she had. Losing her was so incomprehensible that when Violet first moved into the house, she could feel Ivy’s presence in every room. And lately, well, she still felt Ivy’s presence, but she could sometimes go hours at a time without thinking about her.
Now Carl had to go and bring her up, and the knot of pain in her belly was unfurling and spreading through her. She didn’t even have to close her eyes to see Ivy’s smile. Ivy was everywhere. Everywhere but nowhere.
It was so goddamned unfair.
“You’re crying,” Carl said.
Violet sniffed. Of course she was crying.
“It’s hard,” she choked out.
“I know it is, baby. I’m on my way. You need a hug.”
Violet lost her bearings. She sank back into the chair, weeping. Almost immediately she felt a strange tingling in her feet that quickly turned to burning. She looked up expecting to see Dorothy Parker, but she was gone. And yet Violet could sense her very close. In fact, oh, dear God, she was entering her! Violet was seized with the same soul-sick nausea she had felt in the Algonquin, only this time it moved from her toes upward. She curled into a ball and moaned.
“You sound terrible,” Carl said.
Within seconds, the nausea compressed itself into a tiny physical presence, like a marble lodged behind her navel. Violet uncurled and opened her eyes. Everything in the dimly lit room seemed to have sharper corners and higher contrast, like the world had switched to high-def. She craved a cigarette. She felt…alive.
“Are you still there?” Carl asked.
“I am,” she said. “And if you set foot within fifty yards of this place I will have you shot and stuffed.”
“That’s not funny,” he said.
“That’s one thing we can agree on.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You most certainly are not,” she said.
“You need me.”
“Like I need arsenic.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said.
“I’m locking the door.”
“I have a key.”
“I changed the lock.”
“I’ll use the window if I have to.”
She crossed her legs, examined her nails. “That’s breaking and entering.”
“You need a
hug.
”
Violet suppressed a yawn. “That’s assault.”
“What’s the matter, baby? I thought you loved me.”
“Not only do I not love you,” she said, “but I loathe the sound of your voice, abhor your appearance, and am not entirely thrilled with your sexual performance. Furthermore, your artwork is uninspired, and you have bad breath. Have I
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