The Violets of March (15 page)

He looked at me with wide eyes. “Landon Park?” He shook his head. “Why, no, this is the Washington Athletic Club.”

“Right,” I said. “Of course.”

I turned to walk back, this time using the sidewalk.

“Wait, miss,” he called out.

“This
used
to be the Landon Park Hotel, but not since the nineteen fifties, when the place nearly burned down.”

“Really?” I said, grinning.

He nodded. “It was completely gutted.”

I thanked him and glanced across the street to where Bee and Evelyn were standing. They both looked confused, especially Bee.

“I’ll be right there,” I shouted, pretending to be looking at the newspaper machine, but I was really soaking in the spot where Elliot and Esther’s troubles had begun. Standing there made the story feel that much more real, even if they were only figments of someone’s daydreams a lifetime ago.

We skipped the shopping trip and caught the two o’clock ferry. I faked a headache for Evelyn’s sake; I could see that she wasn’t doing well. She looked pale and fatigued. I knew she needed to rest, but I also knew she wouldn’t admit it.

Bee headed to her bedroom for a nap, and I did too. But I didn’t plan on sleeping.

I could hear the phone ringing in the kitchen. Busy in the bathroom, where I was bathing the baby, I decided that the caller could wait. But the phone kept ringing persistently, until I’d rung out the washcloth and wrapped her in a little blue terrycloth towel that Bobby’s mother had given us. She’d been hoping for a boy.

“Hello?” I finally answered. I didn’t mask the annoyance in my voice.

It was Frances. “Esther, you’re not going to believe it.” Her voice sounded choked up, excited, panicky—all at once.

“Slow down and tell me,” I said, adjusting the baby so I could hold the phone more comfortably.

“It’s Elliot,” she said. When she said his name, I nearly fell to my knees.

“No, no, Frances,” I said. “Don’t tell me. I can’t bear to hear it.”

“No,” she said quickly. “He’s alive. He’s fine. And he’s home! He’s home from the war.”

Tears began to well in my eyes. “How do you know this?”

She paused for a minute, as if considering whether to tell me the full truth or the partial version. “Well,” she said finally, “because he was here.”

“Where?”

“At my house,” she said. “He just left.”

“What on earth was he doing there?”

I could sense Frances stiffening, and tension swelled within me. I was apprehensive about their friendship, and I couldn’t hide it. “Frances,” I continued. “What was he doing there?”

“Esther, I don’t know what you’re implying,” she said defensively. “He knows I love photography so he gave me an album with some photos he took in the South Pacific. They’re beautiful. You should come see them—coconut trees, beaches, the people he encountered.”

I formed my right hand into a tight fist. “Why would he give you a gift?”

“What kind of question is that?” Frances said, sounding hurt. “Let’s not forget that we’re old friends too, Esther. It was simply a kind gesture.”

“And what about me?” I said. “Am I not a friend?”

“Esther, you’re married with a child,” she said a little more bluntly than I had expected. “He doesn’t exactly feel welcome on your doorstep.”

The anger was building now, stirring up years of emotions that I’d tried to ignore. “You’ve always put him above our friendship,” I said bitterly. “You’ve always wanted him for yourself.”

Frances was silent.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did,” Frances said.

“No, no, I didn’t. It came out wrong. Can you forgive me?”

“I have to go, Esther.” There was a click, and then I heard nothing but the lonely dial tone.

I stared into my closet the next morning, and finally pulled out the fitted blue dress I’d bought in Seattle last year. It had a black belt and a V neckline with a white peony on the lapel, just like the ones in the fashion magazines.

I called Rose. “Hi,” I said. “Have you heard the news?”

“About Elliot?” she said. “Yes.”

I sighed. “I’m a wreck.”

“Why should you be? He’s alive.”

“Yes, I know, but this island is too small for the both of us.”

Rose knew that as well as I did. “Want me to come over? I can catch the next ferry.”

“Yes,” I said. “Can you meet me for lunch? I can be at Ray’s at noon, just after I do my shopping. I’ll have the baby, but if I’m lucky, she’ll sleep in her carriage.”

“Perfect,” she said.

Ever since Rose had moved to Seattle, the island felt lonely. I had Frances, of course, but the two of us had grown distant in the past year, for reasons I understood but couldn’t bring myself to speak of. Until now.

“Rose,” I said, “is Frances in love with Elliot?” It sounded absurd that one of my best friends could love the man I loved, but I had to ask. I had to know. And I knew Rose would have the answer.

“You need to ask her yourself,” she said simply. But I didn’t have to. Somewhere in my heart, I already knew.

At the market, I could hardly turn down one aisle before I was peering down another to see if Elliot might be there. But instead of him, I ran into Janice Stevens, my next-door neighbor, who was staked out near the canned goods. She was a widow, which is why I tried not to feel irritated by the way she looked at me or the things she said. She was always baking cookies, cakes, and pies, and pointing out the fact that I didn’t. Frances told me once that Janice had eyes for Bobby, and perhaps she did. She’d bring over her confections and say things like “You poor man! Esther never bakes for you, so it’s my duty as a neighbor to make sure you’re looked after.” She always wore a fresh application of red lipstick and had a habit of lingering in our doorway longer than I liked.

Even in high school, I’d gotten the feeling that she wanted me to fail, that she was waiting in the wings, ready to swoop in like a vulture as soon as I showed any sign of weakness.

It’s partly why I braced myself that morning when I saw her. She looked at me with a saccharine smile and said, “I heard that Elliot is home. Have you seen him?”