Higher Ground (15 page)

“Really?” Wade looks at me and smiles.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you first.” I stare at my plate and push the food around with my fork. “I’m worried Miss Verity may not be able to travel.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” he says.

“I haven’t been to New Orleans since before Wade was born,” Patricia says. “This is a wonderful reason to go back. Aren’t there cruise lines there? Y’all could sail away for a romantic honeymoon…”

“Mom,” Wade says. “Give us some time to figure things out. One step at a time, okay?”

“Right,” she says. “I’ll try to ease up.”

“We don’t want to take the spotlight from Van and Corey’s celebration, so we’re waiting to tell Violet’s family until Christmas.”

The disappointment is clear on my future mother-in-law’s face for a moment, but then she smiles. “So no social media announcements until next week.” She nods. “Okay. Let me know as soon as I can say something, though. I’m so proud of you both.” She turns to me and reaches out to touch my arm. “I’m thrilled you’re going to be family, Violet. Beyond happy. I can’t wait to tell everyone.”

“Soon,” I promise, trying not to get emotional over the warmth in her words and her hand. “I’m happy, too.”

“Am I allowed to tell Ari?” she asks.

“I’m sure she’ll stop by today,” Wade says. “We’ll tell her, if you think she’ll be discreet.”

“Ari’s like family to you,” I say to Patricia. “Of course we’ll tell her.” And hopefully, her daughter, too.

My pettiness is pointless. Deep down, I know this. I’d still like to be the one to tell Hillary, though.

Sally spends a good part of the meal explaining how important it is to register for china. We’re using the set Patricia’s mother left her when she passed away years ago, and it helps emphasize Sally’s point. Coordinating dinnerware is the key to family mealtime.

I don’t tell her my mother has four sets: one for spring, one for fall, one with Christmas trees, and seventy-five place settings of a beige set she ordered specifically when she hosted Van’s senior class for a luncheon the year he graduated. I’ll inherit at least one of those sets, but I can guarantee my mother will give me this same talk sometime next week. It’ll probably be right after lecturing me and Wade about the importance of investing in a house instead of throwing our money away on rent.

I don’t need Miss Verity’s intuition to tell me there are boring conversations in my future.

For now, I nod and agree with everything Sally tells me we’ll need. Wade grins and plays along, too, like we’re not adults who’ve already been shacked up in the same apartment for a couple of years.

After lunch, Patricia makes us pose in front of her tree with my left hand on display. She snaps picture after picture, and I try to keep my smile in place for her and for Wade. I look at the camera when she tells me to and let Wade anchor me when I want to close my eyes and leave the flashes behind.

Once she’s satisfied she’s captured the perfect shot, I make a break for the dining room to help carry dirty dishes to the kitchen. Wade follows.

I take advantage of the few moments alone by burying my face in his shirt and hugging him tightly. “This is just the beginning,” I say.

“The joys of matrimony. Picking out china will be more fun than picking out nursing homes someday, so let’s enjoy this while we can.”

My shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re so creepy romantic. Watch out or I’ll swoon.”

“Do you know how hard it is to make an English major swoon? You’ve read every romantic hero out there.” His lips brush the skin below my ear. “I’m a reader, not a poet, so I have to rely on my limited wit.”

“And your strapping good looks.” I lift my hand to touch the stubble on his jaw.

“Whatever works.” He smiles and leans in to kiss me. “I’ll tell Mom to cool it with the pictures.”

“It’s fine,” I say.

“I thought you were going to pass out for second there, Violet. It’s definitely not fine.”

“I’m okay. Really, I am. It’s been a while since…” Since I’ve felt okay under the scrutiny of a camera. “The flash bothers me, but I’ll be fine. Let her take pictures. This is good practice for later this week.”

“Having your picture taken hasn’t always bothered you this way,” he says.

“No, it hasn’t.”

Then

There had always been something special about that last day of class before Christmas break, and it was more intense my senior year. In my mind, I was almost there—almost an adult, almost away, almost somebody.

When the final bell rang that Friday, I went to my locker long enough to shove my entire backpack in there and slam the door shut. Studying over the holidays wasn’t on my agenda. The others were waiting for me at the picnic table.

Oliver stepped down from his throne as I approached. “Happy fucking holidays,” he said to the crowd of kids standing around. “See you next year.” His eyes settled on my chest, and he licked his bottom lip. “I’m going to see you now,” he said to me.

There was no mistaking his tone when he mumbled “later” over his shoulder to our friends. They weren’t invited. Every minute it took to get to his house felt like ten, and he didn’t turn on a single light when we got there. Instead, he pulled me down the darkened hall, pointed to his bed, and walked over to his window to push the navy curtains aside and open the blinds.

I stripped down to my bra and panties and scooted across his comforter until my back was against his headboard. He stood there and stared at my sunlit skin as one hand reached for the camera on his desk. I stayed quiet when he lifted it to his face and hesitated. Taking my picture was nothing new, but it normally happened after sex and when I was covered.

He gave me time to say no, and part of me wondered if he wanted me to. God knows I wish I had.

Instead, I closed my eyes and let him take picture after picture. When he told me to unhook my bra, I did. He demanded my panties, too, so I tossed them at his feet.

That made him laugh.

The clicking and flashing continued through the foreplay and the act itself. Then he held the camera above us as we lay there afterward, catching our breath. It was a rare shot of both of us. There weren’t many pictures of Oliver.

He stood to put away the camera, and while he was up, he opened the window, pulled a small pipe out from behind his bookshelf, came back, and sat criss-cross applesauce and bare-ass naked on the bed next to me. We took a few hits and lay around for a while, talking about getting up to make grilled cheese sandwiches, but the sudden sound of the front door slamming sent both of us scrambling—me for my clothes, and Oliver to hide the bowl and spray the room with air freshener.

If I hadn’t been stoned, I would’ve climbed out the window. As it was, I rushed to the bathroom to clean up, get dressed, and run a brush through my hair. The only thing available on the counter was a comb, so without thinking, I yanked open the top drawer of the vanity and immediately regretted it. An opened economy-size box of condoms shared company with a silver barrette and a charm bracelet with a diamond cross attached. For a moment, I thought I was going to puke.

I slammed the drawer shut and took care of business. Oliver was dressed and waiting for me in his room when I finished.

“My parents are home. That motherfucker decided to surprise us for Christmas.”

“Oh,” I replied as I followed him down the hall to the living room.

“Can I have the keys for a few minutes?” he called out.

His mother stepped out of the kitchen, gave me a warm smile, and held out her keys to him. “Hi,” she said.

My hand flew up from my side in a lame wave. “Hi.”

“You know her, Mom. This is Violet. We were in—”

“Ms. Wimberly’s class together. I remember.”

A man followed her into the room, wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and kissed the side of her head. Oliver rolled his eyes, while I was busy scoping the man’s blond hair and thick, flannel-covered arms. Oliver’s father was far better looking than I thought a river barge captain would be, much hotter than the guy I saw her with back in October, and far more affectionate with Oliver’s mother than I expected.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Clovis, Oliver’s
père
.” There was an unmistakable Cajun French lilt to his words.

“
Bonjour
,” I said. “
J'ai été heureuse de te rencontrer
.” I had no idea if it was nice to meet him, but I’d been raised to be polite no matter what.

His smile split wide to show off his perfect, white teeth, and the sparkle in his eyes bled into his voice. “
Vous aussi
.”

“Enough.” Oliver wrapped his hand around my wrist to pull me from the room. He was quiet in the car until he parked in front my house. “I’ll see you tomorrow at Penn’s house, right? His mom’s bringing his grandma home for Christmas, but they won’t be back until Sunday.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” I didn’t kiss him goodbye.

He either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

I went up to my room to crawl under the covers and sleep away the afternoon, but it was harder to rest than I thought it would be. When I finally found it, it was a restless sleep—the kind with dreams so vivid that it felt like I was awake the entire time.

The sun was down by the time I sat straight up in bed, convinced someone was in my room. Oliver sat hunched at the foot of my bed, camouflaged by shadows and the darkness outside.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“After 9:00,” he replied. “Van said you slept through dinner.”

“I guess.” I relaxed against the headboard. “What are you doing here? I thought you were with your parents.”

“They were driving me nuts, so I had to get out of there. Come on. Miss Verity sent me to wake you.”

“Where’s Van?”

“George picked him up right after I got here a few minutes ago.”

“So you left and came back?” My mind was still foggy from the short nap I’d managed.

“Yeah,” he said. “You okay?”

“I’m tired,” I snapped. “That’s why I was asleep.”

He followed me down the hall and then the stairs. Miss Verity looked up when I entered the kitchen. “Wow,” she said. “You’re in a right foul mood.”

I was, so I didn’t argue. She could see it written on my face, anyway.

“Are you hungry, Oliver?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. I had dinner with my parents and my brother, but thank you.”

“That’s nice.” She nodded, stirring jambalaya as it heated on the stove. “Violet, I’m expecting someone shortly. We’ll be in the parlor.”

I nodded in agreement. “Where are Mom and Dad?” I asked.

“One of your father’s friends is having a small holiday gathering. In some ways, it’s a work function.”

I remembered being stuffed into a dress, getting a crash course in manners, and being forced to play with my parents’ co-workers’ kids when I was younger. We’d all grown, though, and my parents had stopped forcing us to go with them a few years prior.

Oliver sat across from me at the kitchen table and watched me. Miss Verity had already eaten with the rest of my family, so she abandoned me with him when the doorbell rang.

“It’s a little late for a reading, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Miss Verity works when she wants to.”

“You really are pissy tonight.”

His phone rang before I could answer. It’s probably a good thing, too, because I was ready to tell him to get the hell out of my house.

“I’ll have it tomorrow,” he said. “Yeah, I know. Candy and a quarter.” There was a long pause, so I stood to leave him there. Drug dealing from my kitchen table was shitty. As I walked out, he lowered his voice. “I’ll bring it to you. Yeah. Around 5:00.”

Miss Verity was locked up tight at the end of the hall, and I didn’t want Oliver in my bedroom again. I turned off the lights as I moved through the house until the white lights of the Christmas tree glowed soft against total darkness. The plush velvet tree skirt that matched that year’s theme looked comfortable enough.

I stretched out like a present and scooted until I was under the tree looking up. Branches and violet bulbs were beautiful from the ground.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asked a few moments later.

“Waiting for you to leave.”

“Wow,” he said. “My afternoon was complete shit, and I thought seeing you might make it better.” The urge was strong to cave and ask him why his afternoon was so bad. When I didn’t, he continued. “She’s leaving him. I’ve wanted her to for so fucking long, and now that she is, I’m all fucked up about it.”

“Your mom’s leaving your dad?”

“Yeah. He took a call from my sister in front of us, and Mom went nuts on him. They were screaming at each other when I left.”

“I didn’t know you have a sister.”

“She’s seven. She lives near the port in Greenville, Mississippi.”

I had no idea what to say. I stared at the lights until they blurred and shimmered around the edges. Oliver moved next to me, and I heard the click of the shutter but didn’t smile for him the way I normally did. I was busy trying to picture a little girl who looked like Oliver and Mitchell.

“Have you met her?” I finally asked.

“No,” he said. “I don’t give a fuck about her.”

“What are you going to do? I mean, who will you live with?”

“You’re kidding, right?” He pushed a branch aside to look me in the eye. “I’ll live with Mitchell before I live with my mom and that jackass she fucks.”

“You know him?”

He laughed. “Yeah. He’s the director of security at the hotel. He’s only a few years older than Mitchell, for fuck’s sake. There’s no way I’m playing ‘daddy’ with that douchebag. She was screaming at my dad about getting a transfer when I left, but I’m not leaving New Orleans,” he said.

“She lov…” I let the thought die on my tongue to spare myself another lecture on the absurdity of love. “She wouldn’t leave you.”

“But you would.” His voice was quiet. The sound of the lens cover snapping into place made me flinch. “Nashville, Dallas, Auburn… Those are the ones I’ve seen, anyway. Auburn, Violet? Really?”

“They have a strong English department.”

“You can get an English degree anywhere. Tulane and Loyola are right here. Don’t you get some kind of discount since your parents teach?”

“I don’t want to go to Tulane.” I shook my head. “Or Loyola. I don’t want to live here and have my dad on my ass about wasting time on Poe instead of studying theorems or human behavior. He teaches psychology, but he can’t have an adult conversation with any of his children. Why would I choose that?”

“Move out. Get your own place.”

“I plan to.”

“Somewhere else…” he said slowly.

“Yeah.”

“We could get a place.” His voice was calm, but those words sent my heart into overdrive. “Maybe see if Penn wants to go in. There are all kinds of duplexes in Mitchell’s neighborhood, and the rental signs go up every year about a month after the college graduations.”

“How am I supposed to pay rent and go to school? My dad sure as hell won’t pay for me to live with you.”

“He will when you remind him how much you’re saving him by staying here for school.”

“It’s not really about money with him.”

“I think you’re leaving just to spite him.”

“He won’t give a shit once I’m gone. He gets along with Ronnie better now than he ever did when she lived here.”

“Then why?”

“Does it matter why?” I asked. “Really?”

“I guess it doesn’t,” he said. I could hear him moving around, but I stayed rooted under the Christmas tree. “I’ll see you tomorrow at Penn’s.”

“Okay.”

Neither of us said goodbye, and the front door slammed behind him on his way out. I stayed under the tree, thinking of what gifts I had left to buy, Oliver, how long it would take to get responses from the five colleges I’d applied to, Oliver, what time Van would be home… and Oliver.

It always came back to him.

The parlor door opened, and the sound of footsteps and voices mingled down the hall. Miss Verity’s appointment had ended, and she was showing her guest to the door. I didn’t want to look foolish by disengaging myself from a Christmas tree in front of them, so I stayed put and hoped they wouldn’t notice.

They didn’t. The older gentleman walking alongside her had her hand on his arm and his closed over it affectionately. When they reached the door, he leaned down to kiss her cheek at the corner of her mouth. Her hand lifted and settled on the back of his head, fingers buried in his hair.

It was the last thing I’d expected to see. He wasn’t a client. That much was obvious.

She closed the front door behind him a few moments later, turned toward the kitchen, and as she passed, said, “Are you going to help me with these dishes?”

I stood up and followed her through the house. “Who was that?”

“Tank Henry.” The words rolled off her tongue as though it was common knowledge or he were a celebrity. One look at my blank face had her rushing to continue. “He was your grandfather’s dearest childhood friend.”

“Oh.”

“He stops in to check on me whenever he’s in town.”

“Is he married?”

“His wife passed a few years back,” she said.

“Is his name really Tank?”

“No. That was a nickname he picked up in the Navy. His real name’s Theodore.”

“He was very… friendly,” I said.

“We’ve known each other for years. Many, many years…”

I wasn’t in the mood to be alone, so I followed Miss Verity to the family room when we were done and settled in next to her on the couch to watch television. My mind was all over the place, though.

Mom and Dad practically fell through the front door shortly after 11:00. They were obviously tipsy, maybe even drunk, because my dad had his hands all over my mom’s ass. I hadn’t ever been unfortunate enough to witness anything like it before that night. Their bodies were flush against the door, and his mouth lowered to hers. Thankfully, Miss Verity cleared her throat before there was any tongue action.

“Sorry,” my mom said. It took her a moment to register that I was sitting on the sofa, too. “Violet? What are you doing?”

I almost laughed. That’s a question she should’ve asked a million other times, but she’d waited until I was safely tucked under an afghan on the couch with my grandmother watching TV to be concerned.

“Getting my weekly dose of
SVU
,” I answered with a nod at the television.

“Where’s Van?” my father asked.