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Violet remained quiet. They’d had this conversation many times, poring over the details of Violet’s sister’s inability to show compassion and respect in conversation. But Violet’s sister had been there for her through thick and thin. Meanwhile, Larry had been in the side yard, plotting his escape.
Violet propped herself up on her elbow and turned to face Larry. This close to him, the air was thick with the perfume, which sizzled in her nostrils.
“When did it start again?” Her voice was firm yet not accusatory.
Larry frowned, and that familiar wrinkle deepened between his eyebrows. Violet knew his face so intimately; she knew every nook and cranny; she could practically envision how it would age into the future. But she wasn’t sure she would be around for it.
“Just tell me,” Violet said quietly. “I’m not angry. I’m too brokenhearted.”
Larry blinked several times as though he wished he were dreaming and wanted to wake up. And then, he said, “After Dean passed away, she called. She wanted to meet.” Larry stuttered. “I was so broken. I needed to talk to someone.”
Violet nodded, urging him to go on. She remembered that when they’d first received word of Dean’s death, she’d locked herself in the bathroom and refused to come out. She and Larry hadn’t been able to give each other any comfort. She’d suddenly felt he was a stranger. Or maybe she’d felt that way all along.
“I went to see her,” Larry went on, “and I realized how much I’ve missed her over the years.”
Violet nodded. She tried to pretend that Larry was an acquaintance, telling her a story of his long-lost love. She tried to find happiness for him.
“You’ve lost so much time together,” Violet said.
Larry flinched. “It’s not that I regret any of our time together.” He said it as though he knew he had to.
“Now that Dean’s gone, we can’t pretend anymore,” Violet assured him. Each word felt like a knife through her heart. “We have to build lives that will make us happy.”
Dean’s eyes glistened. He reached over and took her hand in his. Violet guessed this would be the last time they ever touched. There would be no more casual hand holding. There would be no more kisses before they left home.
“I tried to love you as best as I could,” Violet offered, her voice breaking.
“Dean wouldn’t want us to be miserable,” Larry said.
This was the final wound. Violet closed her eyes, trying to come to terms with the fact of her life: that her husband had been miserable when married to her and that for ten years, he’d longed to be with someone else.
Downstairs, someone dropped something in the kitchen. It sounded as though glass scattered across the floor. Violet remained motionless on the bed, listening as other people busied themselves, cleaning up the mess of her life. It was impossible to know where her story would guide her next. But she imagined herself completely alone, without anyone to come home to. And she tried to make peace with the idea that her life, as she’d once known it, was officially over.
Chapter Nine
Present Day
It wasn’t such an uncommon thing for a new mother to struggle with breastfeeding. Just because it had come easily for Julia twenty-four years ago didn’t mean Anna and Adam would immediately be up for the task. Doctors, nurses, and specialists all agreed—it would be all right. Julia tried to instill in her daughter a level of confidence, to remind her that “fed was always best.” But Anna had read too many articles on the internet. She now regarded herself as a “failure” each time she requested time with the lactation consultant. And Adam was only two days old.
“You’re not a failure, honey,” Julia reminded her. “You love and care for your baby. You’re here. That’s all that matters.”
Not for the first time, Julia thought of Smith’s mother, who’d created a poisonous atmosphere for growing up and instilled in her child the belief that he wasn’t good enough, that the world was cruel. Anna would never do that to Adam. She wouldn’t even dream of it.
Unsurprisingly, Violet made sure to be at the hospital when it was time to take Anna and Adam home. As was her custom, she stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, urging Anna to “keep working” at breastfeeding.
“Breast is always best,” Violet said, her eyes wide. “I breastfed my children. And I know for a fact they weren’t as sick as my sister’s children, who were all fed from the bottle. And don’t you think formula is poisonous? Unnatural?” She wrinkled her nose.
“They’ve done so many studies,” Julia chimed in for what felt like the fifteenth time. “There are plenty of amazing formula options on the market. You have to do what’s best for you and Adam and no one else. Okay?”
But Anna looked disgruntled and weary. She’d dressed in a big sweatshirt and a pair of leggings, and she held baby Adam with arms that didn’t yet look comfortable with the task. Pregnancy was hard enough, Julia remembered. It was easy to forget that the real “hardships” came afterward—especially when other parents decided to share unsolicited parenting advice. The fact that this parenting advice came from the grieving mother of Anna’s dead fiancé did not make things easier.
“Let’s get you home,” Julia said. “Everyone’s anxious to see you both.”
Julia wheeled Anna from the hospital with Violet hot on her heels. At the exit, Charlie sat idling in Julia’s SUV, in which they’d already attached the baby car seat. Gingerly, Julia helped Anna slip Adam into the car seat as Violet attempted to help from a distance. “Watch his chin!” she cried. Anna and Julia made momentary eye contact, both annoyed.
In the car, Julia and Anna sat on either side of Adam’s car seat in the back as Violet babbled up front. To Julia’s surprise, Anna texted her from two feet away.
ANNA: She hasn’t mentioned leaving Nantucket yet, has she?
