September 1963
Glen hadn’t wanted anyone to wear black to his funeral, and although some of the guests on the patio hadn’t gotten the message, most were clad in shades of yellow, red, and gold. Autumn hues. The colors of change. Audrey had chosen a fitted dress of crimson lace that had been one of Glen’s favorites. He had often told her she looked like Scarlett on the day of Ashley Wilkes’s birthday party, only without the guilt, when she wore that red dress.
Audrey moved about the patio now, thanking people for coming, for sharing the day with her, and even for having happy little conversations as they ate catered hors d’oeuvres off china plates. Glen’s two children and their spouses were making the rounds, too, greeting their father’s friends and family. Glen’s sole grandchild, a quiet college student named Roland, was sitting by the pool, talking with Bert about photography.
The afternoon had been a calm, clear one with barely a hint of chill in the breeze; Glen’s favorite kind of day. It was almost as if he’d paid for it and had it waiting for the day his life would be celebrated. The memorial at Hollywood Presbyterian had been attended by hundreds. Glen had lived a life of benevolence, and those who’d been touched by his generosity had turned out in droves to mourn his death and pay their respects. The reception afterward at the house had been a private one, but still attended by more than one hundred people.
Glen had left Audrey quickly, while asleep next to her; one of myriad, end-of-life kindnesses he had been able to show her. Others included having taken care of all the complex arrangements related to death and dying, including the disposition of his estate. Audrey didn’t care that Glen had left the Beverly Hills house to his children. It was only right that they should jointly own the home they had been raised in. Besides, she could not imagine living in the house now that Glen was gone. She still had her bungalow, although her portion of Glen’s estate and her own earnings had made her a wealthy woman.
She was glad that he’d left her the villa in Italy, though. He had bought it as a twentieth-wedding-anniversary gift, and due to his health, they hadn’t been able to visit it yet. Up until a week earlier, they had hoped he would soon feel well enough to travel so that they could have the Italian autumn they’d dreamed about. Glen had even extracted a promise from Audrey that she would go alone if anything should happen. The thought of traveling there solo had at first filled with her sadness, but as she mentally began to prepare to leave the mansion in the days after Glen’s death, she found herself looking more and more forward to discovering all of the villa’s lovely secrets. And perhaps staying there past the autumn. She had more than enough money to live on her own. The bungalow was being rented out by a kind, childless couple in their forties who would take good care of it.
And she’d be relatively close to Lainey in France.
Lainey.
That girl was so like her and Violet. First in her response to the wounding by those she loved most, and then in her spontaneous move to elope. So like them both.
When Violet had called Audrey in tears to tell her Lainey had married Marc Garceau, remarking over and over, “How could Lainey do such a thing?” Audrey had not been able to conceal her amusement.
“How can you laugh at a time like this?” Violet had railed. “She got married! Without telling anyone!”
“So did you!”
There had been a couple seconds of silence.
“But I didn’t marry a Frenchman! Who lives in Paris!”
“You married the man you loved. I am sure Lainey did the same thing.”
“But . . . but she’s so young! How does she know what she wants?”
At this, the smile that had been on Audrey’s face thinned to a thoughtful grin. “How do any of us at that age, Violet?”
On the other end of the phone, Audrey had heard Violet sniffle.
“What am I going to do?” Violet finally said.
“You already know what to do.”
“I do?”
“You and Bert will send a lovely card and wedding gift, and you will welcome your new son-in-law into the family. And then you will let them know you’d love to come see them whenever they are ready for a visit. And then when the invitation comes, you will go, and you will say only how happy you are for them. That is what she wants to hear from you. From all of us. That we love her and trust her. You already know this.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?” Violet had asked, the tiniest undercurrent of contempt in her voice.
Glen had needed her at that moment, and she was glad to tell Violet that she had to hang up. She’d had her own feelings over the news of Lainey’s elopement to wrestle with. Part of her was glad, glad, glad that a married Lainey living in a foreign country was no longer Violet’s responsibility. That seemed childish and ugly and she hadn’t wanted to think about it then. She still didn’t.
Violet appeared now on the patio, a tea towel on her arm as she gathered plates that funeral guests had left behind.
“You don’t have to do that,” Audrey said. “The catering staff will take care of it.”
“I want to do it. I need to feel useful,” Violet answered as she fisted a used napkin in her hand and used it to brush crumbs off a tablecloth.
Audrey half smiled. “I know you do.”
Violet stopped for a moment and looked toward Glen’s grandson and Bert. “Those two have been talking for over an hour.”
“Roland is an aspiring photographer. And he’s a shy person. Having Bert to talk to today has been perfect for him.”
“I suppose he and his parents are moving in here?”
Audrey shrugged. “I don’t really know what the children are going to do with this house.”
“You aren’t sad about having to leave it?”
“This always felt like Glen’s house to me. I was happy here. But it was never my house.”
“So you really are going to the villa alone, then?”
Audrey nodded.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“I still have your hat,” Audrey said.
Violet stiffened. “It’s not mine. It was never mine.” A pained look had crept across Violet’s face.
“Does that mean you don’t want it back?”
Violet shook her head.
“Are you ever going to tell me why you hid it all these years?”
Violet turned to her, her eyes pleading. “Can’t you just get rid of it? Please?”
“Get rid of it? As in ‘throw it away’? You can’t be serious. It’s from Gone With the Wind.”
“Shhh!” Violet said. “I mean I don’t want to see it anymore.”
“Are you giving it to me, then?”
Violet cast a glance toward Bert. “What will you do with it?”
Audrey followed her gaze. “I’ve put it in the bungalow. I have renters there who don’t have a key to the attic. It will be safe there.”
Violet chewed her bottom lip and nodded once.
“Do you really think Bert would care that it was you who took the hat?” Audrey asked. “It was so long ago.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”
Audrey studied her friend for a moment. “I can have it destroyed if that’s really what you want.”
Violet grimaced, as if the image was painful to contemplate. “No,” she murmured.
Several moments of silence hung between them.
Violet breathed in deep and looked out over the landscaped yard, the towering cypress trees, bougainvillaea and stately palms. “Bert’s been invited back to South America to work on a research project on birds that migrate to the Amazon. He’s wanted there by the first of January. He wants us to go. It would be for at least a year.”
Audrey sensed a tugging in her chest, and the faintest pull of regret that she had her own secrets. She closed her eyes for a second against the idea that it could be a very long time before she saw Violet again. “Think you will do it?”
Violet looked down at the crumpled napkin in her hand. “Bert says we should. It’s different now with Lainey married and so far away. Bert says she has her own life to live now and we can’t forget we still have ours, too.”
“He’s right,” Audrey said.
“We’re hoping to see her and Marc before we go. We’ve asked her if they would like to come home to the States for Christmas. We’ll pay for them to come. I don’t know how we will, but we will.”
“So, things are good again between you and Lainey?”
Violet inhaled deeply. “I guess that’s the best word for it. It’s not perfect or wonderful. But it’s good. It’s so expensive to call. So we’ve been writing, and that’s probably best. Writing gives us a chance to see what we’re going to say before we say it. What she wanted to know more than anything was why I wouldn’t tell her who you were.”
“And what did you tell her?” Audrey asked.
Violet locked eyes with Audrey. “I told her the truth. That I didn’t want her to stop needing me because she had you.” Then she laughed as she looked away, off into the trees again. “And here she is, thousands of miles away now, married. She doesn’t need you or me.”
“That’s not exactly true. I know how much a young woman needs a mother.”
But Violet hadn’t seemed to have heard her. When she spoke again, she seemed far away in thought. “Everything is changing, Audrey, and nothing is turning out the way I thought it would.”
“How did you think it would be?”
Violet tossed her gaze back to Bert by the pool and the hopeful young man he was talking to. “I don’t know. I guess I thought I would feel it had all been worth it. But instead I feel like . . .”
Violet paused and Audrey waited expectantly for Violet to finish.
“I feel that everything I’ve ever held close is being torn from me,” Violet finally said. “Like a cage door has opened and all my little birds are flying away on the wind, and everything that matters to me is disappearing.”
For a moment there was only this spoken thought hovering between them. And then Audrey heard someone say her name, and she turned from the heaviness of Violet’s observations. It was the first time that day that she’d felt the full weight of Glen’s absence, and she now embraced the interruption like one seeing an oasis in the desert. She was wanted in the house.
Audrey touched Violet on the shoulder and went inside.