Farewell, Dorothy Parker (29 page)

No, she thought. It couldn’t be. Ivy was just a young girl whose feelings were hurt. She wasn’t trying to control her little sister. The proof was that she had spent so much of her adult life trying to get Violet to be bolder, to speak up for herself, to overcome her fears.

Again, Violet could almost hear Mrs. Parker’s voice:
She was compensating, my dear.

Violet didn’t want to believe it. She just wanted to love Ivy with all her heart, and to honor her memory by missing her every hour of every day. But the pain of this realization formed such a terrible lump in her throat Violet felt she might choke.

Worst of all, she no longer had Ivy in her life to love
or
to fight with. She couldn’t pull out her cell phone and press two on her speed dial to talk to the one person who always made time for her. “Are you busy?” Violet would say, and her sister would understand that it was shorthand for
I need you.
“Always,” Ivy would answer, “but what’s up?”

And on those occasions when she couldn’t talk because she was in the middle of paying the cashier at Waldbaum’s or walking into
Delaney’s school concert or trying to hear over the noise of a car full of loud, excited kids, Ivy would always call back. No matter what was going on, she made time for Violet.

And maybe Ivy
had
been a brat. Maybe there were mountains of things to be angry with her about. But she loved Violet with everything she had. And the loss of that was almost too much to bear.

Violet felt a terrible chill of loneliness. Who was left for her? She no longer had a mother, a father, or a sister. Dorothy Parker had disappeared. Even Delaney had slipped from her grasp. And Violet had distanced herself from most of her dear friends.

She pulled out her cell phone and ran her fingers lightly over the keypad. There was a great big hole inside her that needed to be filled by hearing the voice of someone who loved her.

Her finger hovered above the two, where Ivy’s number was still programmed in the speed dial. Once, while she sat by Delaney’s bed in the hospital shortly after the accident, she had called it just to hear her sister’s recorded voice. It was a stupid thing to do when she was already in so much pain, but grief does that to you. When things get that excruciating, you’re compelled to pick at the wound, as if it might offer some relief. But of course it doesn’t, and hearing Ivy’s voice just about ripped her apart. She had never done it again, but she didn’t want to erase it. Ever. One day, she just might need to hear it again.

Violet considered reaching out to one of her old friends, like Jill, but it was the middle of a workday, and she would be too busy for a heart-to-heart. She could call her friend Heidi, who was home with her two small kids, but someone was always crying in the background.

Of course, there was someone in her life she could call. Someone she wanted to talk to, needed to talk to. Someone who would understand her pain.

But she had pushed Michael away, too.

Was it too late to make things right? Could she call him now and open a dialogue?

Never too late,
Mrs. Parker might say. But how would he react to hearing her voice? She had treated him so unfairly. She couldn’t just phone him out of the blue and tell him she needed to talk, as if they were old friends. As far as he was concerned, she was some unbalanced woman who toyed with him, taking him to bed while she was in love with someone else.

Violet stared at her phone and thought about telling Michael the truth. Or the important part of the truth, anyway—that she really
wasn’t
in love with Carl, that she wanted another chance with him.

I’ll do it, she thought. I will! But her cell phone battery was running low. If she called him and got only halfway through the conversation, that would be worse than not calling at all.

No excuses, damn it! Just place the call.

This time, the voice wasn’t Dorothy Parker’s but her own.

She opened up the contact list, scrolled down to Michael’s name, and pressed the call button. She stared at the display, waiting for it to connect, but the screen went black.

Her cell phone was dead.

After the train pulled into the Oyster Bay station, Violet got into her car and held tight to the steering wheel. The plan was to go home, take Woollcott for a walk, and leave him some food before heading out to the Webers’ to pick up Delaney for the screening. But she had enough time for one important detour. The question was, did she have enough courage?

If you can do a push-up, you can do anything.

She put the car in gear and headed off.

“Hello?” Violet called, when she entered the Red Dragon Kung Fu Academy studio. There were no classes going on, and the place seemed empty.

“Hello!” she called again. She stood in the middle of the waiting room, her hands trembling.

She heard a sound from the back, and then there he was, in his black silk Chinese jacket—the one he wore to greet students.

“Violet!”

She tried to read his face. He was surprised, for sure. But did he also seem glad? Her heart raced.

“My cell phone died,” she said.

“Tragic,” he said. “I would have sent a card, but—”

Was he being snide, or was that just one of his goofy jokes? His face was unreadable.

“What I mean is,” Violet said, “I was going to call, but I couldn’t. Is it a bad time?”

“Not at all.”

Violet wiped her hands on her slacks, hoping this wasn’t a mistake. Sure, he was being polite, but where was the warmth?

It was gone. Of course. It was silly of her to assume it could be otherwise. She had treated him horribly. I should just go, she thought. This was a bad idea.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes, fine. Better than fine, actually. I started the day thinking I was going to be fired, but…I made a splash.”

“Congrats,” he said. “I’ll order a fresh bouquet from 1-800- paper-towels.”

Another corny joke, but maybe he was warming up. It was an opening, anyway. She continued, “I wrote a review that got a ton of negative attention—”

“
A Foundling’s Story,
right?”

“You read it?”

“I read all your reviews.”

That felt like an electric charge. Violet tucked her hair behind her ear and went on. “I was ambushed about it in a TV appearance. Then I got called into my boss’s office and was
sure
I was being fired. Turns out…” She paused, almost embarrassed to say it. She took a deep breath. “Turns out I went
viral.
”

She braced herself, expecting him to say something like,
Can you take anything for that?
But she hoped he wouldn’t. She needed him to be happy for her. If he made another dumb joke now, she would know he was shut down and that she had no chance.

“That’s wonderful,” he said. “I’m glad you came to tell me.”

“Thanks,” she said, and paused, wondering how to say what she had really come for.

“Is there something else?”

Violet nodded and fidgeted. She glanced toward the darkened training hall they called a
mo gwoon,
and pictured herself going through exercises in there.
Kick, punch, kick, punch
. It had always made her feel so strong.

“I wanted to clear the air about something I said to you,” she announced. “Something I’ve been feeling bad about.” She looked down—this was just too hard to say straight to his face. “Remember the other day, when I told you I was still in love with Carl?”

“Violet—”

“I just…I need to say this. It was a lie. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“Relax,” he said. “I already knew.”

She looked into his eyes. “You knew it was a lie?”

“I’m guessing you don’t play much poker.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Sorry to break it to you,” he said.

It sounded like a joke, but his eyes were nothing but earnest, and it made her pulse throb with crazy affection. Why had she gone so far to sabotage this?

“You must think I’m terrible,” she said.

“I think you’re scared.”

“I’m trying not to be.”

“I know.”

She looked toward the
mo gwoon
again, trying to channel it all—the lessons she learned there, the courage of Dorothy Parker, and the wisdom that was right in her own heart.

She could do this. Violet took one long breath…and then she said it. “Can we start over?”

“Start over?”

“Us, I mean. I…I’d like to try this again from the beginning, take things one step at a time.” She stared hard at his face, looking for a reaction. “What do you think?”

He went silent, pensive, and Violet swallowed hard. Was he groping for a kind way to reject her?

A woman can handle being maimed or blinded better than she can handle being rejected,
Dorothy Parker had said to her. And maybe she was right, but Violet knew it was a risk worth taking. Whatever happens, she thought, at least I tried.

He took her hand. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked.

Chapter 34

Violet drove home, imagining a brighter future than she had been able to picture in a long time. She saw her career becoming stronger and stronger as she got braver about making television appearances. She saw herself in a happy, healthy relationship with Michael. And best of all, she pictured winning custody of her niece and settling into a life that would pave a promising path for the girl.

She remembered a conversation she’d had with Dorothy Parker about her hopes for Delaney. They were sitting in the study, and her guest, as usual, was sipping a glass of gin.

“What do you think will happen to the girl if she has to stay with those people?” Mrs. Parker had asked.

“I don’t know,” Violet said. “It’s hard to think about.”

“Are they monstrous?”

“Clueless, is more like it.”

“An odd turn of phrase,” Mrs. Parker said. “What does it mean?”

“It means they don’t have a clue how to handle her.”

“So you think they could ruin her?”

Violet sighed. Her heart felt so heavy. “Yes, and that scares me. I mean, I know they love her and want what’s best for her. But they’re just not the right people to raise her. They can’t give her what she needs. I even feel like there’s something disingenuous about their desire for custody, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Kind of like the stepmother who raised me,” Mrs. Parker said, “except for the loving-and-wanting-what’s-best-for-her part.”

“That’s the thing,” Violet said. “They really do love her. But it’s not enough. She’s such a fragile kid.”

“She might be stronger than you think.”

Violet shook her head. “Sometimes she seems strong, but she’s not. And my fear is that she’ll grow up wounded, bitter, and unhappy.”

“I resemble that remark.”

Violet squinted at Mrs. Parker, trying to remember where she had heard that joke. “Isn’t that a Groucho line?”

Her friend didn’t respond.

“What’s the matter?” Violet asked. “You didn’t like Groucho?” She had never read anything about the two of them not getting along.

“It’s not that,” Mrs. Parker said.

“What, then?”

“Never mind. I’m just being wretched again.”

“Tell me,” Violet pressed.

“I’ve been known to bristle over matters small and petty,” Mrs. Parker said, “and this is no exception. I’m certainly not proud of myself. It’s just that our vicious little group was so competitive, always arguing over who was the first to coin a phrase or invent a joke. But does it even matter? Maybe Groucho said it first. Or maybe George Kaufman wrote it and Groucho just read it. Or perhaps Mr. Benchley said it first and I repeated it and Kaufman wrote it and Groucho made it famous. But who really cares? In the end, does any of it matter?”

Mrs. Parker was sounding particularly morose, even for her.

“Are you okay?” Violet asked.

“I’m dead, my dear child, so the answer to that is unequivocal—I am most definitely
not
okay.”

“I just meant—”

“Don’t worry about
me,
” she said, waving away Violet’s comment. “The damage is already done. But I’d hate to see your niece grow up to be a writer of light verse and unimportant short stories, remembered only for her wisecracks and her last drunken years.”

Violet could have argued with Mrs. Parker about the lasting value of her writing, which was still being read all over the world, but she knew this wasn’t really about that.

“Do you think…if someone had been there to help you cope with the death of your mother—”

“Please,” Mrs. Parker said.

“I mean it,” Violet said. “Maybe if you’d had someone to help you deal with it—”

“Does one ever ‘deal’ with the death of one’s mother? Did
you
?”

Violet was acutely aware that being motherless was something she shared with Dorothy Parker and Delaney. But since the day Mrs. Parker had called her “lucky” for having a mother until she was well past childhood, Violet had avoided bringing it up, as she sensed her friend would resent the comparison. So even though the pain of it was as primal as anything she had experienced, she knew Dorothy Parker would see it as an entirely different kind of loss.