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If only Scarlet was here to see this, Anna thought. She would have a field day.
It was evening, which called for beers on the back porch. Smith set up The Copperfield House’s brand-new Bluetooth speaker and attached it to his shoddy phone to play one of Anna’s favorite songs, “Linger” by The Cranberries. Anna sang gently, wondering what Adam thought of the vibrations through her chest. When it was over, she selected “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out.”
“The Smiths?” Smith cackled and threw his head back.
Anna nodded and matched his smile. “Were you named after them?”
“Gosh, I hope not,” Smith joked.
“Come on,” Anna shot back. “This song is amazing.”
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the jangle of a forty-year-old British pop song with heavy depressive undertones. A roommate from college had first shown Anna The Smiths, calling them “essential listening for the college era.” Smith, of course, had never gone to college. But she liked this about him—the fact that every step of the way, he’d had a different experience from her. It made his writing strange and exciting. It made their conversations deviate wildly.
When the song was over, Anna turned down the volume. “I just made that phone call I was telling you about.”
Smith’s ears perked up. “To Larry?”
“Yes.” Anna winced. “He didn’t know anything about Adam. He’s thinking about moving to Florida with his new girlfriend.”
“Oh, no.” Smith shook his head sadly and stared at the bouquet, which they’d placed in a vase in the center of the porch table.
“I just keep thinking about what Violet was like when she first got here,” Anna continued. “She pretended she’d be here for just a couple of weeks, even as she dragged four suitcases up the staircase. And she waded her way out of every conversation about anything real. She’s been hiding.”
Smith closed his eyes. Sensing something wrong, Luka rushed him and placed his nose on Smith’s thigh. “We lie to cope with the things we can’t handle,” Smith said finally.
Anna bit her lip. “I wish I could tell her it’s okay to tell the truth. That we’ll accept her. That we’ll help her.”
“She’s not the kind of woman who accepts help,” Smith went on delicately.
Anna knew he was right. But she still wasn’t prepared for what he told her next.
“Sometimes she cooks for me,” Smith said. “She comes up to my bedroom with big bowls of pasta with homemade sauce and parmesan. There’s this look in her eyes like it’s really important that she take care of me. Like she has to save everyone but herself.”
Smith’s voice broke. Slowly, he raised his chin, and the moonlight that swam through the night sky reflected off his glossy eyes. “She doesn’t know how it kills me,” he went on slowly. “My mother never cooked for me like that. And it’s like, I’m seeing into how so many other people grew up. How much love they felt from their parents. Sometimes thinking about it rips me up so much that I can’t write for the rest of the day. I can just eat the beautiful pasta and stare into space.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ella and Will’s band was in the midst of their second encore of the night when Anna’s text came in. Distracted, Julia tugged her phone from her pocket and read it.
ANNA: Larry and Violet are divorced. Larry has moved on. Didn’t even know Adam was born.
Julia shoved the phone back into her pocket and gave Violet a sidelong glance. Effervescent and alive after a few too many glasses of wine, Violet had both hands in the air and swayed to the music, her hips churning. Although she’d never heard this song before, she tried to sing along with the chorus, matching the rest of the voices in the venue. Julia’s heart went out to her. Violet had been alone for months—and she’d been too terrified to say so.
After the final song cut out and the lights flashed on above them, Violet strung her arm around Julia’s and cried, “This was one of the best nights of my life!”
Julia smiled. “It isn’t over yet, honey.”
In the wake of the concert, Bernard led them, whistling, down the block to a local bar with five-dollar draft pints and overfilled glasses of wine. During their stint in Manhattan last year, Julia and Bernard had frequented the place during Bernard’s book tour. The bartender welcomed Bernard back with a clap on the shoulder. “I read that book of yours,” he said. “It took me six months. It was the only book I read all year. But I loved it!” Bernard laughed heartily and dropped his head back.
Violet, Charlie, Jeremy, Alana, and Julia snuggled into a booth with beers and wine. Violet’s eyes were enormous as she took in the vibrant bar, the young people flirting and chatting, the chandelier glinting from the ceiling.
“We don’t have nights like this in Ohio,” Violet said wistfully.
Charlie snapped his fingers. “I’ve been meaning to ask you more about Dayton,” he said. “What’s it like there?”
Violet raised her shoulders. “For a long time, I thought it was the only home I’d ever know.”
“And now?” Alana asked.
