Page 17 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
“Top cabinet on your left.”
Lifting to her tiptoes, Violet pulled the handle of the chipped cabinet door open and grabbed two cups from the shelves. “I’d like to meet this Jeeves and learn about what other luxuries he can offer. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“He’s off today. What question?”
“How do you spend your time every day? Do you work?”
“I do things. I keep busy.”
“That’s not vague at all.” Violet grinned, setting the kettle and teacups on a tray, then lifting and carrying them toward her friend. The island in the center also functioned as a table. Jasper pulled a tall stool out from underneath and made himself comfortable as Violet placed the items down in between them. She sat on the opposite side.
“My work is just my work,” Jasper said. Violet chuckled at the second very vague statement and Jasper added, “I’m not living off of an inheritance, if that’s what you’re thinking. There wasn’t anything like that when Dad died—and if there was, Mom is probably living off of it now. This house and the land around it are a family heirloom, for better or worse.” Jasper reached for the kettle and filled her cup before his own.
“Gram told me when your father died. I was so upset. I sent flowers here, to the house. When we were little, I always thought he was a wonderful person. He ran around in the orchard with us sometimes, and he always had those funny little brain teasers and games for you. He was one of the few adults that actually playedwithus instead of just sending us off on our own. It stuck with me.”
Jasper nodded, his eyes downcast. “Dad was really great. And I got your flowers. Thank you for that.”
“Of course. Where is your mother?”
“She went back to Lisbon since her brother and sister are still there. But she and Dad lived an hour away in the city together for the past almost… six years? When they were planning to leave, I overheard her telling Dad that she wanted to go back to Portugal, but he didn’t want to be that far away from here. From me, probably.”
Violet considered, doing the math. “So they left here when you were eighteen?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”
Jasper nodded, bringing his tea to his lips but pausing. “Typically. Yes.”
“Why did they leave you here alone?”
He turned his head, looking off into the distance. “My mother had a very difficult time with my sickness. If she could have left earlier, she would have. But Dad encouraged her to stay until I was eighteen. So…” Jasper finally met her eyes and shrugged.
“I’m sorry that happened.”
“It’s fine. I don’t blame her at all.”
A lull fell over the space, emphasizing the melancholy coolness of the kitchen. She glanced past Jasper’s shoulder and through the window. The wind whipped the bare branches of the orchard’s trees—the cloudy sky was the color of steel. She held her warm cup between her palms, the comforting heat flowing up her arms.
What kind of parents abandoned their sick eighteen-year-old son? It didn’t make any sense. Yes, he was legally an adult at that age. But emotionally, mentally… Was he capable of running an estate on his own? By the looks of things, the answer was no.
The memory of Jasper’s father was easy for Violet to recall: his tall, wiry frame, bright, happy smile, unruly sandy-brown hair and golden-rimmed spectacles. Something about his warmth and kindness, the gangly quirkiness of him had been cemented within her psyche.
But when Violet thought of his wife, the memories were blurry and scattered. Violet had to dredge them up from somewhere deep within.
She’d been an innocuous woman: dark hair, fair skin and with a simply stated beauty. A little too stiff, uppity and outwardly pleased with the Laurents’ social standing within the village. The family had done well for themselves with the orchard. They’d been big fish in a little pond.
It was strange to imagine her being so unsupportive of her only son, considering his sickness. She’d fawned over Jasper when he was young—always making sure he was clean and smartly presented. That he exhibited excellent manners and intelligence. What could have happened to make her abandon him? Was his sickness so terrible?
“Has Freddie been bothering you when you go to the grocery store?” Jasper asked, his expression serene. He’d inherited his light eyes and coffee-colored hair from his mother, but he’d unquestionably been saddled with his father’s awkward and gangly (but charming) demeanor.
Violet sighed. “I haven’t been back since he told me my hips match my hair.”
Jasper choked on his tea. “Ex-Excuse me?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Dear God, what an idiot. What does that even mean? Your hips are—”
