The Violets of March (38 page)

He dropped me off in front of Bee’s. After I paid the fare, I just stood there for a moment, staring up at the house with my bag in my hand, wondering if I’d made the right decision to come back. I walked closer to the house, to the front door, and noticed that the lights were on. I let myself in.

“Bee?” I could see her there, sitting in her chair, just like I’d never left. After all that had happened, it was a comforting sight.

“Emily?” She got up to hug me. “What a surprise!”

“I had to come back,” I said.

“I knew you would,” she said. “And Jack, is he one of those reasons?”

I nodded. “I just went to his house. But he’s not there.”

Bee wore a solemn look on her face. “It’s Elliot,” she said. The way she said his name, it sent shivers down my arms. “He’s sick. Jack called earlier and told me. He wanted me to know that”—she paused as her voice cracked, revealing her pent-up emotions—“to know that Elliot is . . . well, he isn’t well, dear. He’s dying.”

I gulped.

“He’s on his way to the hospital now. He just left for the ferry, in fact. If you leave now, you might catch him.”

I looked at my feet. “I don’t know,” I said. “Do you think he’ll want to see me?”

Bee nodded. “I know he’ll want to see you,” she said. “Go to him. She’d want you to.”

Of course, she was talking about Esther, and it was Bee’s words that got me to the ferry terminal that night. It was her words that changed my path forever. And with those words, I believe, she redeemed herself, for everything. She knew it. I knew it. And somehow I had a feeling that if Esther were here, she’d be nodding in approval.

“Can I borrow your keys?” I said, grinning.

She tossed them to me. “You better drive fast.”

I felt my pulse race. “What about you?” I said, remembering her history with Elliot. “Don’t you want to see him?”

She looked as though the answer might have been yes, but she shook her head. “It’s not my place,” she said.

I could see tears welling in her eyes. “You still love him, Bee, don’t you?”

“Nonsense,” she said, wiping away a tear.

“That package,” I said, “the one Elliot gave you. What was it?”

She smiled. “It was the photo album, the one he’d given me after he came home from the war. I sent it back to him after everything happened with your grandmother. But he saved it all these years.”

I squeezed her hand and grabbed my bag.

“Now, you go,” she said. “Go after your Jack.”

I drove Bee’s Volkswagen so fast, so furiously, it was as if my life depended on it. I didn’t think about police officers or accidents or anything else—just Jack. Every minute, every second counted.

I whipped the Volkswagen around the island until I made it to the ferry terminal, and as I pulled into the parking lot, my heart sank when I heard the ferry horn signaling its departure. I ran to the terminal and down the gangway, again considering taking that leap. But the ferry was too far now. I’d missed it. I’d missed Jack.

I clutched the railing tightly, scolding myself for my timing. Of course this was how it would go. In recent years, my life had been one missed connection after another. I shuffled along until I made it to the ledge, where people usually wait for friends and relatives to arrive from Seattle. The ferry was in full view. I squinted in vain for the sight of Jack, but the boat was already too distant to make out faces.

Then I heard footsteps behind me. Someone was running toward the terminal. I turned around, and there he was, sprinting toward the gangway with suitcase in hand, looking worried—that is, until he saw me.

“Emily?”

“Jack,” I said, loving the sound of his name on my lips.

He dropped his bag and ran to me. “I had no idea you were going to be here,” he said, pushing the hair out of his eyes, then running his hand along my face.

I let my heart do the talking. “I got your message,” I said, “and I wanted to surprise you.”

He grinned. “Well, you succeeded at that.” He looked as if he was about to say something, but he got derailed by the sound of a ferry horn in the distance. Another ferry was coming into the harbor ahead of schedule.

“I went to your house,” I said, searching his eyes for something, anything.

He reached for my hand, and his touch rushed warmth to every inch of my body.

“Bee said your grandfather is ill,” I said. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You were going to see him, weren’t you?”

He nodded. “I thought I’d go over tonight and stay with him so he isn’t alone. He’s having surgery in the morning.”

“Is he going to be OK?”

“We’re not sure,” he said. “He’s had two bypass surgeries in the last five years, and the doctors say that if this one doesn’t do the trick, it might be their last attempt.”

I wondered if Esther knew that the love of her life’s heart was breaking, quite literally.

“You should go to him,” I said. “We can see each other tomorrow, after he comes through surgery.” I motioned to the ferry, now offloading passengers and nearly ready to board. “You go, catch that ferry. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

He shook his head. “And leave you here all beautiful and lovely? No, my grandfather would never approve. Why don’t you come with me?”

I rested my head on his chest, the way I had done at Bee’s house that afternoon in the lanai. “OK.”

“I just keep thinking of that morning,” he said, turning to face me again, “when I saw you at Henry’s house.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, looking up at him, hoping he was going to say what I thought he was going to say.

“I hoped we’d end up like this.”

I was overcome with a feeling I’d never had before. I felt loved, but there was more. I felt adored.

Jack reached into his pocket, then for my hand.

“Emily,” he said, clearing his throat. “I want you to have something. He held a small black box in his hand, and I couldn’t help but remember the box Elliot had given him at Evelyn’s funeral.
What’s inside?
I lifted the lid with trembling fingers and could see something sparkle under the streetlights.

Jack cleared his throat. “My grandfather gave me a ring he gave to a woman he loved many years ago. I’d like you to have it.”

I gasped. There was an enormous pear-shaped diamond set between two rubies, and I knew it in an instant. It was Esther’s engagement ring. It had to be. Instinctively, I slipped it on my finger.

Jack saw the recognition in my eyes. “You know the story, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“How?”

“I’ve been doing some research this month,” I said cryptically.

“So have I,” he said. “I wanted to see if I could locate Esther, for my grandfather’s sake. I wanted them to see each other again.” He kicked a pebble on the walkway. “But it’s too late now.”

“What makes you think it’s too late?”

Jack looked worried. “I’m afraid she passed away.”

My heart sank. “How do you know?”

He rubbed his eyes, either because of exhaustion or because of sadness. “Her nurse told me. She was the woman who took care of her these past fifteen years while her health declined—she was also the one you saw me with that night in town, and the woman who answered the phone that night at my house.”

“I’m confused,” I said. “How did you find her?”

“She contacted me,” he said. “She told me she was fulfilling Esther’s dying wish to learn my grandfather’s whereabouts.”

I sighed. “So she died.”

Jack nodded. “Yes.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “That can’t be true.” My heart refused to believe that the story ended this way.

“What did you say her name was?”

“Lana,” he said.

I smiled knowingly. “That explains everything.”

Jack looked confused. “What?”

“Jack, Lana is not her nurse. Lana is her
daughter
.
Elliot’s
daughter.”

Jack rubbed his forehead. “This makes no sense,” he said.

“I know it doesn’t. But it’s true. And if Lana reached out to you and didn’t tell you the true story of her relation to Esther, maybe she’s not telling the full truth about her whereabouts, or the fact that she may be still
living
. I think she’s trying to protect her mother.

“Wait,” I continued, before Jack could respond. “You mentioned that this woman, Lana, had commissioned a painting. Was it the portrait in your studio, the one of the woman on the beach?”

“Yes,” he said. “She said it was for her mother. I painted it from an old photograph.”

“Jack,” I said, “did it ever occur to you that the woman in the photo could have been
Esther
, that she wanted to give her mom a painting by Elliot’s
flesh and blood
?”

Jack considered the idea for a moment and then shook his head. “It’s just that she said her mother and her
father
were in a retirement home in Arizona. If what you’re saying is true, why would she tell such an elaborate story to hide the truth?”

“It has to be because she doesn’t want her mother to get hurt again,” I said.

Jack shrugged. “I wish it were the case, Emily,” he said. “But I just don’t see it that way. I saw the way she spoke of Esther’s life, and her passing. It was all very real.”

The wind picked up, and Jack instinctively wrapped his arms around me like a blanket. “I wish it could have ended differently for them,” he said, holding me tight. “But we can write our own story. Ours doesn’t have to be tragic.”

He kissed my forehead softly as the ferry’s horn sounded again.

“And to think I almost ran away, from you, from all of this,” I said.

He squeezed my hand. “I’m so glad you didn’t.”

We walked, hand in hand, onto the boat and nestled into a booth facing the Seattle side. The closer we approached the city’s skyline, the more I could sense Jack’s concern for his grandfather. What state would Elliot be in when we arrived? Would he be coherent? Would my presence bring him greater sadness, especially after reading the pages of the diary I’d mailed to him?

We arrived at the hospital and made our way to the fourth-floor reception desk, where we inquired about Elliot. “I’m afraid he’s not doing well,” said a nurse in almost a whisper. “He’s been combative and disoriented since this afternoon. We’re doing everything we can to make him comfortable, but the doctors say there isn’t much time left. You may want to say your good-byes while you have a chance.”

Jack’s face was almost white as we approached the door to his grandfather’s room. “I can’t do this alone,” he said to me.

I put my hand on his arm. “You don’t have to.”

Together we walked into the room, and there he was, hooked up to an arsenal of wires and machines. His skin was pale and his breathing barely registered.

“It’s me, Grandpa,” Jack said quietly, kneeling beside Elliot’s bed. “It’s Jack.”

Elliot opened his eyes slowly, but just halfway. “She came,” he said softly, in almost a whisper. “She was here. I saw her.”

“Who, Grandpa?”

He closed his eyes, and they fluttered a little as though he was dreaming. “Those blue eyes,” he said. “Just as blue as they were.”

“Grandpa,” Jack said softly, his eyes sparkling with hope, “who was here?”

“She told me she was getting married,” Elliot said, opening his eyes again, but it was clear he was lost in his memories, and I could see the disappointment on Jack’s face. “She told me she was marrying that schmuck, Bobby. Why would she marry him? She doesn’t love him. She never loved him. She loves me. We belong together.” He sat up and suddenly began tugging at an IV line attached to his arm. “I have to talk her out of it. I have to tell her. We’ll run away together. That’s what we’ll do.”

Jack looked worried. “He’s hallucinating,” he said. “The nurse warned me about this. It’s the medication.”

Elliot appeared wild and desperate, knocking a heart rate monitor to the floor with one weak swoop of his arm before Jack could jump up to calm him. “Hold on, Grandpa, you’re not going anywhere.” He turned to me. “Emily, get the nurse.”

I pressed the red button near Elliot’s bed, and moments later, two nurses rushed in. One helped us settle Elliot back into his bed, while the other injected something into his left arm. “This will help you rest more comfortably, Mr. Hartley,” she said.

When Elliot was sleeping, I turned to Jack. “I’m going to go get something to drink. Do you want anything?”

“Coffee,” he whispered, without taking his eyes off of Elliot.

I nodded.

I walked down to the cafeteria, thankful to find it still open, and poured two cups of French roast, tucking a packet of sugar and two miniature containers of half-and-half in my pocket.
How does Jack take his coffee?
I remembered Annabelle’s research, but quickly pushed the thought aside and searched my wallet for $2.25 to pay for the coffee.

On the elevator, my mind turned to Elliot, and how he’d been so convinced, or rather, confused, about seeing Esther. It broke my heart the way he loved her so, even now, even at the end of his life. When I had almost made my way back to Elliot’s room, I heard someone approaching behind me.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a woman said.

I turned to see one of the nurses holding a slip of paper in her hand. “You didn’t happen to find a woman’s scarf in the room with Mr. Hartley, did you?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything.”

The nurse shrugged. “All right,” she said, looking at the paper in her hand. “A woman called earlier saying that her mother had left a”—she looked down at the paper—“a blue silk scarf in the room when visiting Mr. Hartley earlier today.”

My eyes widened. “Did she give you her name? Did she leave a number?”

The nurse looked at me. “Do you know her?”

“I might,” I said, swallowing hard.

She looked at the paper again. “Well that’s odd,” she said. “The nurse who worked the earlier shift took the message.” She shook her head. “Looks like she didn’t get a name.”

I sighed.

“Well, if you find it, bring it to the nurse’s station,” she said. “Maybe she’ll call back again. Sorry to bother you.”