Of course, it came back to bite me when I got too sick to work. By then, I’d chosen my path. There was no one to sit at a lonely old man’s bedside and hold his hand and keep him company. I’d pushed everyone out of my life except for work colleagues, and if you can’t work, you don’t even have those.
I sent you on this long, crazy chase so you might remember me a bit more fondly over time. I’ve arranged this “scavenger hunt” in the hope that you will reconcile with Jonathan and at least part as friends. It was my fault that the two of you did not end up together ten years ago; the least I can do is bring you together upon my death.
You’ve probably wondered at the poetry, too. I remember my sweet Violet loved poetry once upon a time. It was a form of expression for someone who had a hard time expressing herself. I hope you enjoyed the pieces I picked. They spoke to me, and I thought the themes of love and loss were appropriate to how I felt, too. Perhaps you got your inability to express yourself from dear old dad, eh?
Please tell Jonathan that I stole the stele deliberately to force his hand. It’s being held in a safety-deposit box at the Detroit Credit Union under your name and your date of birth is the passcode. I trashed my journals when I found out I was sick. Even this old bastard can keep a few secrets.
Most of all, I wanted you to know that even though I was a terrible and absent father, I still loved you with all the capacity of my small, selfish heart and I’m so proud of you.
Your father, Dr. Phineas DeWitt
Tears blurred Violet’s eyes. I still loved you with all the capacity of my small, selfish heart and I’m so proud of you. How many times had she wanted her father to say that to her as a young girl? And yet, if he’d approached her as an adult, she’d have turned away from him with scorn, her heart hardened by disappointment. She carefully refolded the letter, tears flowing down her cheeks. Then, she held it out to Jonathan so he could read it. He did, utterly silent as he paged through it, eyes scanning the words written in a shaky hand. She swiped at her tears with irritation, but they kept coming.
She was feeling so many things at this moment: sadness for her father, who’d died lonely and cut off, knowing that the choices he’d made in his relationships had condemned him; self-pity that she’d lost her father; helpless frustration at knowing her father’s motives behind the choices that had screwed with her life. And a sad, sweet ache for the fact that she’d never gotten to tell her father that she’d always loved him, too, even if he disappointed her.
Most of all, she wept for the realization that she could have become her father.
She’d failed at relationship after relationship, not willing to open herself up to get hurt. Before Jonathan had pushed his way back into her life, she’d been alone, with friends at work but spending most weekends by herself and passing time by devoting herself to work. Just like her father.
Jonathan refolded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope. His gaze went to her. “Are you all right, Violet?”
She trembled, holding back her sobs. “I just . . . I was turning into him, you know? I’ve been holding on to grudges for so long that I refused to see him when he was sick. I almost pushed you away, too. And there would have been no letter after the fact to let you know that I still loved you, because it would have been too late.” Her entire body quaked with suppressed sobs. “I wish I could have talked to him one more time.”
Jonathan pulled her against him and held her while she cried, his hands soothing down her shoulders. “He understood, Violet. Your father knew you, and he knew you were hurt. I think that’s why he sent you on this crazy letter hunt. That was the only way to break down your barriers. For what it’s worth, I’m glad things turned out the way they did.”
Her fingers plucked at the sleeve of his jacket as she sniffed. “Because we ended up together?”
“Because we ended up together,” he agreed. “Everything else was worth it. All the heartaches, the misery, the lonely nights. If we could change anything, I still wouldn’t, because it’s allowed us to be here together, today.”
She clung to him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Violet gave another watery sniff. “Did you open your envelope yet?”
“Not yet.” With his arms still around her, he tore the seal with his fingers and shook out his letter.
A piece of yellowed notebook paper, folded into one of the intricate designs that Violet had learned in high school, fell onto the grass. It was sealed with a tiny Santorini postage stamp and said TO JONATHAN—URGENT!!! on the front cover.
Violet gasped at the sight of it. “That . . . that was my letter. About the baby.”
“Still sealed,” Jonathan said, the ache in his voice. His arms tightened around her. “Part of me wants to hate your father for that.”
“And part of you feels sorry for him. I know,” she murmured. She felt the same. “But we’re together now.”
He nodded.
“I guess we should go get your stele.”
“Since I can’t break it over anyone’s head at the moment? Yes, I suppose we should.”
Violet gave a shaky giggle at the mental image. “You wouldn’t do that anyhow.”
“Wouldn’t I?” He pulled her away from his chest and gave her a serious look. “Violet, you realize you’re everything to me, right? Nothing in this world matters to me more than you do. Nothing at all. I’d break every stele from here to the Smithsonian if it would make you happy.”
“That would not make me happy,” Violet said. “But it’s sweet of you to offer.”
“Then what would make you happy, Violet?”
She looked up at him, into his handsome, worried face. Worried for her. And she felt such an outpouring of love for this fierce, intense man. “I just want to be in your life. In every part of your life. Forever.” She placed her cheek on his shoulder. “I have to warn you, I’m probably going to be an extremely clingy girlfriend.”
“The thought of you being extremely clingy makes me extremely happy,” Jonathan said. “Cling all you like. As for the rest of my life, it means nothing to me if you’re not there at my side.”
Violet sighed with utter contentment. She liked hearing that.
Jonathan kissed her temple, and then murmured, “Speaking of, what are you doing next Thursday? I’d like for you to fly with me to New York.”
“Oh?”
“I have some friends I want you to meet.”
—
That Thursday, Violet dashed out of Jonathan Lyons Middle School with the final bell. She swung her purse over her shoulder and rushed out the door with the students, as giddy and excited as they were to be out of class after a long day.
Parked in front of the school was a familiar form in a casual jacket and T-shirt, leaning against a shiny red Lyons roadster. Jonathan smiled at Violet as she rushed out the door and gave her a kiss as she came to his side. “Ready, love?”
“Ready.”
He opened the car door for her, and she slipped inside the passenger seat. A moment later, they were blazing away from the school, heading toward a private airport where Jonathan’s favorite turboprop Socata waited.
They flew into New York City just as the sun was setting, and Violet stifled a few yawns as Jonathan ushered her into a sedan and urged the driver toward an unfamiliar address.
When the driver parked on the street outside of a club, Violet gave Jonathan a curious look. This was the club he’d had “business” at before when he’d made her wait in the limo. Odd that they should come here again. She wasn’t appropriately attired, either. She’d worn her normal schoolteacher clothing—a pencil skirt and a high-necked blouse with long sleeves. “I’m not dressed for a night on the town, Jonathan.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her, moving to her side and sliding a possessive arm around her waist. “That’s not our final destination.”
Puzzled, Violet kept her thoughts to herself as Jonathan ushered her inside and through the club, then down a back hallway. There was a bodyguard in the hall, standing in front of a door, and Violet almost missed the bizarre hand gesture Jonathan gave him. The man grunted and moved aside, and Jonathan turned to look at her. “Promise me you’ll share this with no one?”
“I promise,” she told him, now more curious than tired.
He took her hand and kissed the back of it. Then, lacing his fingers with hers, he took the lead and descended the flight of stairs into the cellar of the club. Violet smelled cigars and heard the soft murmur of voices as the door closed behind them.
“Boys,” Jonathan announced as he stepped down the stairs and into the room. “I’ve brought someone with me tonight.”
Five sets of eyes stared at her in open surprise as Violet entered the basement room with Jonathan. There was a large card table in the center, and five men sat around it, with one empty chair on the far end, no doubt waiting for Jonathan. Drinks and cards were scattered, and a cloud of cigar smoke hung in the air.
“Hi,” Violet said, looking at Jonathan curiously.
“I’ve brought Violet to meet my brothers,” Jonathan said, a proud look on his face as he tugged Violet forward.
“Brothers?” she asked, curious. Jonathan didn’t have any brothers, did he? She thought he’d had an older brother once, but he’d long since passed away. She gazed at the faces around the table and was surprised to see Cade Archer sitting amongst the men, a knowing grin on his face.
“Oh, shit,” said a man with a goatee. “Here we go again.”