Page 2 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
2
Now
Gram looked tired and ancient. Technically, she’d seemed old ever since Violet was a little girl. That’s what a grandmother was to a child: a lovely elderly person (for the lucky children, anyway).
Even so, the woman had always radiated life, tenacity and love. It overflowed from her like the buttery, sugary goodness of a cake spilling over and out of its Bundt pan.
“The cottage is yours,” she whispered to Violet, stretching her withered hand up and placing it on Violet’s cheek. “Everything. And my secret recipe for the cannelés.”
The sterile white hospital room felt like a dim cave. A highly advanced one, with its monotonous hum of machines, echoing beeps and chilly atmosphere. Violet shook her head, tears pouring down her face. “Gram, that stuff isn’t important right now.”
“You’ve been pestering me about that recipe for years. I thought you’d be pleased? Just… promise me you won’t make them for any of those selfish boneheads you date—”
“Gram.” Violet laughed. They both did.
“Save my cannelés for someone special. You haven’t mentioned anyone in a long while.”
“Because there isn’t anyone,” Violet assured her. “There won’t be for a long time, I don’t think. I’m over it—dating and trying to find ‘the one.’ What does that even mean?”
“Well, I could tell you that there are many fish in the sea, but I don’t blame you. I’ve found that the world is chock-full of interesting things for a woman to do.”
Gloria was a woman who’d done many things. She lived freely, dabbling and creating, giving and supporting herself and others. All the while, she exuded an aura of joy—a soul truly living in their own freedom and choices.
Gram took a deep breath, her fragile state apparent once more. The signs of her fatigue had almost disappeared for a second. Just a glorious moment, as if she’d hop up out of the bed, pull Violet toward the door and insist on showing her the secret, prized canelé recipe step-by-step.
But it wasn’t so. Gram closed her eyes, her chest slowly rising and falling in the silence. When she spoke again, her eyelids seemed heavy as they opened. “I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything.” Violet smiled. Gram would have all manner of unfinished business to address: money to be raised, cakes to be baked and townspeople to be helped. The local schoolhouse might require a new roof, or a bridge tournament would need to be organized at the local community center. Gloria ran the village like a queen, and her loyal subjects had filled her hospital room with flowers, potted plants, balloons and well-wishes from the moment she’d fallen ill. It was only calm like this in the evenings. During the day, Violet directed streams of people coming in and out like an air traffic controller.
Soon, the queen would pass her torch. Of course there were things that needed to be done.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” Violet whispered, lifting and kissing the back of her grandmother’s hand. “I’ll take care of it. Bake sales, church bazaars, whatever. You don’t need to worry.” It wasn’t all just cookie-cutter grandma stereotypes. There were more eccentric things, too, but Violet wasn’t sure how she’d handle all that. She would, but it would take a more delicate hand. A little bit of research and study.
Gloria Marie shook her head. “No, sweet pea, nothing like that. The town will take care of itself…”
“Okay, then, what is it?”
Gloria opened her eyes wider, her gaze soft. “Jasper. Just, check on him sometimes. Don’t… Don’t leave him all alone.”
Violet’s stomach did a twisty thing as she sat straighter. “Wh-What? Why?”
Another gasp. A gentle rise and fall of the sheets covering Gloria Marie’s frail body. “That boy was dealt a very bad hand. I left instructions. Please, sweet pea?”
Gram closed her eyes again, her lips parted—then nothing. The weighted silence was only broken by the rhythmic beeping of the machines around them. Violet rested her head at Gloria Marie’s side, clasping her wrinkled, frail hand in both of hers as if to hold onto her and keep her in the land of the living. Willing it with all her might.
But her effort was useless. The next day, Gloria went quietly—peacefully encircled by her granddaughters and cherished friends within the community. They wept together, holding each other against the loss of a great anchor that had stabilized them in countless ways.
Violet had been given specific instructions. Her grandmother’s dying words. Not “I love you,” of which Violet had no doubt was true. No insecurities there.
No regrets or lamentations of missed opportunities in life. No deep, dark secrets confessed. Nothing one might expect of a person lying on their deathbed. Instead, a sincere request: Please check on Jasper. Go and see about the boy with big moon eyes. But he wouldn’t be a boy anymore. He’d be a man now—nearly twenty-five, the same as Violet.
What in the world for?
* * *
Violet dabbedthe cotton handkerchief at her eyes, wiping away the tears there. It wasn’t fair. She’d known it was inevitable: these moments were one of the few, absolute certainties of life. Inescapable. But still, she found herself unprepared. Perhaps, a person could never be prepared enough to lose someone they love. Not ever.
Rose, Violet’s older sister, snaked an arm around her shoulder, holding her tight. Of course Rose wasn’t crying. She was always the sensible one, with everything in perfect order: her character akin to a solid, immovable boulder while Violet floated through life with the whimsy of a bird’s stray feather.
