The Blossoming Universe of Violet Diamond (7 page)

F
or a moment we stood at the entrance to the museum, where mom reminded me about what we were going to do if Roxanne Diamond ignored us.

“I remember,” I told her. “If she won't talk to us, we're going to leave.”

“And no argument, promise?”

“Promise . . . can we please go inside now?”

Mom held my hand and took a really deep breath, then we entered through the double doors.

Inside the huge room that had a polished concrete floor, the paintings of Roxanne Diamond covered the walls, and there were white people, black people, and all sorts of other people holding wineglasses, talking, and eating hors d'oeuvres, and I, Violet Diamond, for the first time in my life, felt kind of grown up.

My eyes searched the room until I finally saw the back of someone who had gray dreadlocks and was wearing a dress made from African material just like on the website. There were people huddled around the woman. It had to be her.

I tore away from my mom and bolted. In seconds I was standing in front of Roxanne Diamond. Her skin was the color of chocolate and she had brown eyes like mine. She wasn't fat or skinny. She was just right and she had on red lipstick.

Patiently, I waited for her to notice me, but she was so busy talking that she didn't. Inside my chest, my heart was pounding fast.

Am I invisible or something? I'm right here, Violet Roxanne Diamond.

Finally, I tugged on her dress. “I'm Violet,” I blurted.

The people in the group around her smiled, but Roxanne Diamond looked at me like she didn't believe what she was seeing.

“Your granddaughter,” I added.

And that was when the faces of the people around her changed to curious.

Just like I'd practiced for the past week, I reached out my hand for her to shake and Roxanne Diamond took it and held it. She stared at me in an odd way, like she was trying to memorize me. But when my mom got to my side, Roxanne Diamond immediately let go of my hand and her look changed to not-so-nice.

“Hello, Roxanne,” Mom said, and offered her hand.

I could tell Roxanne didn't want to shake my mom's hand, but because there were people around, she did, giving my mom a counterfeit smile.

“Justine. How nice that you could make it.”

Somehow, those words made the faces of the people who were standing around turn normal again. One by one they drifted away, as if they could tell we needed some privacy.

Finally, when it was just the three of us, I told her something else I'd practiced. “Don't be mad at my mom, okay? Because I made her bring me.”

That made her almost smile. “You made her bring you, huh?”

“Yep. I found out about this exhibit online and I wanted to meet you and see your paintings . . . so here we are.”

“So here you are,” Roxanne replied.

Is that all she has to say?

I was expecting hugs and twenty kisses and lots of mushy things. But at least she was talking to us, which meant my mom wasn't going to drag me outside and screech away in the car.

She looked my mom over good, from her hair and face clear down to her shoes. “You're looking well, Justine.”

“So are you, Roxanne,” Mom said.

Neither one was smiling, but boy, they were sure being polite.

Thinking this might possibly be the only time I would ever get to talk to her, I said a bunch of stuff in one breath. “Your paintings are really cool and you look just as pretty as your picture and I like the clothes you wear and the way you're a bohemian.”

“A bohemian?”

“Yeah. Like you have an unconventional life.”

Her gaze shifted from me to Mom.

Right then, a flock of people gathered around Roxanne Diamond, some just wanting to shake her hand while others praised her artwork, and suddenly Mom and I were pushed out of the circle.

“Don't leave,” Roxanne told my mom.

Don't leave?

I smiled.

Mom nodded as if to say okay, and we wandered off to look at the paintings.

Some of them were on canvasses so ginormous that I wondered how they got them inside the room. I asked Mom, but she said she didn't know much about art.

“That's okay,” I told her. “Probably most artists don't know much about being a doctor.”

For the first time since we got there, Mom smiled.

Most of the paintings were of real people and real things, but there were three that I couldn't figure out. I stopped in front of one. “The colors are pretty, but what do you think it's supposed to be?” I asked my mom as I chomped on an appetizer.

“Hmm . . . I don't know. It's abstract.”

“In English, please.”

“It's whatever you think it is or want it to be.”

“Actually, it's a representation of the labyrinth of the human mind,” a voice spoke up from behind us. The voice of Roxanne Diamond.

And I thought my mom didn't speak English.

I stepped back from the painting and gave her a side glance. “Huh?”

“Sometimes the inner workings of the human mind are so convoluted, it makes it hard to find our way,” Roxanne explained.

It was one of those times—time to change the conversation fast—and I knew how. “Should I call you Grandma?”

I didn't expect it to, but that shut her up. By the look on her face, you would have thought I'd asked her for a million dollars.

“Is that what you want to call me?”

“No,” I replied. “I could call you RD.”

“For Roxanne Diamond.”

“Yep. But I also like your middle name, Kamaria, because it means ‘like the moon' . . . that's kind of awesome.”

“You've done your research,” she said.

“Yep. Research is something I'm very good at.”

That was when she finally gave me the grandparent-love look. I knew because it's the same look I get from Gam and Poppy. But all of sudden the look turned sad and her eyes got watery with tears. Carefully, she wiped them away before they could drip onto her cheeks.

“What's the matter?” I asked.

She patted my head and whispered, “You remind me too much of your father.”

“Sorry,” I told her. “I didn't mean to.”

But my words didn't stop Roxanne from crying. And as I glanced around the room, I noticed a few people watching us.

My mom reached out to touch her shoulder, but Roxanne jerked away and angrily said, “Coming here was a mistake, Justine.”

Right then, without warning, a swarm of fans surrounded Roxanne Diamond and swallowed her up. I reached for her but my mom caught my hand, and the next thing I knew we were outside, standing on the sidewalk.

Mom was shaking her head the way she does when she's mad. “I knew this would happen! I knew it!”

“Sorry,” I repeated.

“There's nothing for you to be sorry for, V,” she said, then hugged me so tight, I could barely breathe.

Mom led me to the car, and during the drive back to the hotel, the worst gloomy clouds ever filled up my brain. I gazed out the window at the city lights. Roxanne had turned Seattle ugly, and like a violet, I shrank again.

“I hate Seattle,” I told my mom. “It's not so great. Maybe we could move to Portland. Portland's pretty, don't you think?”

“Portland might be nice,” she said sadly.

“Or really far away, like New York City.”

Mom sighed. “New York's nice, too.”

Or maybe if there were people on the moon, we could move there and never have to think about Roxanne Diamond again.

The problem was, I knew I wasn't going to be able to erase her from my mind.

I turned my head away from my mom and, as quietly as I could, cried.

Too sad + very mad = lots of tears.

W
e hadn't eaten dinner, so we stopped at Serious Pie for some pizza, but I wasn't very hungry and the food, because I was feeling sad, didn't taste very good—well, maybe the pepperoni and mushrooms did, because pepperoni and mushrooms always taste good.

“So much for my wishes,” I said.

Mom patted my hand. “Sounds to me like you're praying, Violet, not wishing. When we wish, it's usually for something frivolous.”

“Frivolous?” A new word.

“Something not serious. Like what you want for your birthday. Prayers are for more serious things,” Mom said.

“Like?”

“Like at night when I pray for you and Daisy to be safe or when I pray for the sick babies in the nursery.”

“But Daisy told me you're mad at God,” I told her.

“Mad doesn't mean I stopped believing. There are just some things I don't understand.” She sighed loudly.

“There are some things I don't understand, either—like why Roxanne Diamond acted the way she did. And that's probably why, on the way here, I wished something bad,” I confessed.

“What?”

“I wished Roxanne Diamond would be sad and cry . . . a lot. That's bad, huh?”

“Prayers and wishes should always be good, but we all think bad thoughts when our feelings get hurt. It's human, V. And about what happened with Roxanne, I blame myself. I should have listened to my inner voice when it warned me that coming here wasn't a good idea.”

If Mom was blaming herself, I figured I could, too. “Maybe if you hadn't been there, she . . . ,” I blurted, then shut my lips tight to keep any more words from flying out.

“She what?” Mom asked.

“Never mind,” I said. “And please don't get that stung-by-a-bee look on your face. I really hate it when you do that.”

“Stung-by-a-bee look?”

“Yep. That look you get when you're mad or your feelings get hurt or you don't want to talk about something. It's what you always do . . . and Poppy does it, too. It's like a warning not to say anything that's not nice.”

For some reason, that made her start laughing—hard—and for a long time. And soon, I started giggling, too. It was as if we'd caught a disease, the laughing disease.

The silence that came after the laughing spell made me kind of nervous, so I broke it. “Maybe we should just go back to the way it was before . . . when she was kind of dead.”

“But she's not dead, V.”

“If she doesn't want to have anything to do with us, then it's kind of like she doesn't exist, so we should pretend she's dead. That way we won't have to be sad about her. And I promise not to make any more good wishes or prayers about seeing her.”

“Or bad ones?”

I stared into my mother's hazel eyes for what felt like a long time before I answered, “Or bad ones.”

T
he next morning, we ordered room service and had a very yummy breakfast, which included French toast, my favorite. And afterward, we lounged on the beds for a while, Mom reading a book, me playing games on my iPad but mostly thinking.

I don't need Roxanne Kamaria Diamond making me feel like an unwanted guest, some kind of party crasher.

I glanced over at my mom and smiled. She loves me. Plus, Gam and Poppy and Daisy do, too. That I knew for sure.

And eventually, checkout time snuck up on us and we had to hustle.

Hurriedly, we exited the elevator and headed to the lobby.

That's when we saw her, standing there as still as a statue, wearing dark sunglasses, black pants, and a white tunic blouse—Roxanne Diamond, looking not so bohemian.

We halted and Roxanne, with a sorry look on her face, approached us.

I took my mom's hand and tried to pull her in another direction, but it was no use and in seconds Roxanne was up close.

“How'd you know where to find us?” I asked.

“I called the house and your grandmother told me,” Roxanne answered calmly, then removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were puffy and red like when someone has cried a bunch. “I'm sorry,” she said, and sighed. “I just wasn't expecting this.”

“Neither were we, Roxanne,” Mom told her.

“It's just that
she
reminds me so much of Warren, and all the pain came flooding back.”

She? I'm not she, I'm Violet. And I'm your granddaughter and you're supposed to be nice to me.

Mom glanced at her watch. “We need to check out, Roxanne, unless there's something else.”

Roxanne touched Mom's arm. “Can we start fresh, Justine? I'd like to try.”

“I don't want
her
feelings hurt again, Roxanne.”

Her? Why do they keep talking about me like I'm not here?

“What happened yesterday made her cry,” Mom added.

“It made me cry, too,” she admitted.

As Mom paid the bill, Roxanne stood nearby, and when we left the hotel, she followed us outside. She didn't seem the same as she did yesterday, famous and beautiful, lighting up the museum. Today, Roxanne Diamond seemed normal, tired, and small.

“Justine, unless you're in a hurry, I was hoping we might grab a bite to eat,” she said.

Mom glanced my way as if to ask how I felt.

I shrugged and said truthfully, “My stomach's still full from breakfast.”

“How about a walk or a coffee?” Roxanne offered.

Mom stuffed our suitcases in the trunk and replied, “Sure.”

“We could go to Pike Place Market,” I said as we strolled along. “It's not that far. Or we could go to the Space Needle, but I don't think they have coffee. Did you know Seattle is called the Emerald City, just like in
The Wizard of Oz
?” Mostly to fill up the quiet, but partly because I was nervous, I was being a chatterbox.

“Pike Place Market sounds good. I haven't had my morning coffee yet,” Roxanne said.

Mom agreed, and we headed to Pike Street.

Roxanne ordered espresso, Mom had a decaf vanilla latte, and I had my favorite, a caramel apple spice. And as we sat sipping, except for the sounds all around us, there was more silence.

Someone say something, please.

“How's your work at the hospital, Justine?” Roxanne finally asked. “You're still working with newborns, aren't you?”

“She's the head of the NICU,” I bragged. “The neonatal intensive care unit,” I added, in case she didn't know.

“How wonderful that must be,” Roxanne Diamond said, smiling like she really meant it.

“It's rewarding, sometimes a challenge, some days it's heartbreaking. I've worked very hard to make it a top-notch unit.”

“Drive and work ethic . . . two qualities I respect,” Roxanne commented. “Warren was the same.”

Mom's eyes got misty. “I know.”

After that, Mom chatted about her doctor work and Roxanne rambled on about hers, and by the time they'd finished their drinks, it seemed like they were all talked out. It felt the same way it does when the teacher makes you work on a project with someone you barely know and all you have in common is the project.

“We could go to the shops,” I said. “They have a 3-D puzzle store.”

But before we got up to leave, Roxanne reached in her purse, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to my mom. “Before we go, I have a letter I'd like you to read, Justine.”

Mom took the envelope and read the three-page letter. By the time she finished, there were tears in her eyes.

“I hope that explains some things,” Roxanne told her.

“It does. Thank you for telling me,” Mom said as she carefully folded the letter and placed it in the envelope. The way she did it reminded me of the way she treats my Mother's Day cards, as if it was something nice, a thing worth saving.

What did it say?

We had looked around a lot in the 3-D puzzle store, rummaged through the antique place, and headed into Holy Cow Records. A place we
usually always
go to whenever we come to Seattle.

“My mom's really into old stuff, especially records,” I told Roxanne.

“So am I,” she replied. “I have quite a few.”

Quietly, we were going through the store's collection when Roxanne broke the silence. She stammered a bit, then said, “I have to stay in Seattle until next weekend, but then I have two weeks off between shows, and I was hoping Violet could fly with me back to Los Angeles for a week. If you don't have other plans.”

Stuff inside my brain felt jumbled up like in Roxanne's human mind painting. Part of me wanted to go back to pretending she was some kind of strange extinct animal. But most of me wanted to spend some time with this person whose eyes were kind.

I tugged Mom's sleeve. “I wanna go.”

Mom nodded and said, “Okay.”