Something From Nothing

This is not a quick-fix type of story, but if you are willing to stick around, I'll try to make it worth your while! I appreciate all comments and ratings!

******

The touch of her brother's hand on hers caused Violet to jerk her arm violently. She'd spaced out again. This time, her daydreaming had revealed itself in the way she toyed with the plastic wrapper of the headache medicine she had taken a few minutes ago, the scratching sound apparently disturbing the others in the small office. Looking down at the offending wrapper and then into James's face to meet his weak smile, she relayed the message

Got it, sorry.

She adjusted her weight in the stiff wooden chair, uncrossing and then recrossing her legs in an effort to encourage circulation.

How long have I been sitting here?

Violet glanced at the clock on the wall.

3:30pm? But we arrived at 11:00am!

As if sensing her train of thought, her brother raised his voice when he said, "Well, thank you very much, Mr. Camp, my family and I are very grateful to you for having taken such good care of my mother's affairs. Please send any remaining forms to my house, and I will see that we both sign them." Standing up, shaking the old lawyer's hand, and offering his free arm to his sister, James concluded, "We will see you at the funeral on Wednesday."

Violet, after saying her goodbyes as well and receiving a scratchy kiss on her cheek from the old family friend, accepted her brother's arm and let him lead her from the office, grateful to be moving after hours of paper-signing and listening to her mother's life in terms of money. They exited the office in silence, the very image of grieving siblings.

Grieving orphans,

Violet thought, realizing the fact for the first time. "You okay, Vi?" came the concerned voiced of her big brother.

Knowing better than to assume she could pass off the cloud that had inevitably crossed her face to someone who knew her so well, she sighed, and responded, "We're orphans, James." He squeezed her hand as it rested on his arm, showing that he understood, but knowing that any reply would be empty or incorrect.

Another wonderful feature of my amazing brother,

she thought, smiling inwardly for the first time in the past four days,

he always knew when to shut up.

They left the old brick building occupied by R. W. Camp & Associates and made their way to Violet's car with the cold wind whipping around them. James opened the passenger door for her and she regretfully sat down, wishing they were close enough to walk home, while at the same time exhausted and freezing. As James pulled out into traffic, she noticed the troubled look on his face and decided to return the favor.

"You okay?

"Oh, yeah. I just want things to go her way," was the reply.

Her way. Mom's way.

Violet nodded even though James was not looking at her, and settled back in the seat. "I have the wake all covered, as far as the caterer and seating go. And Aunt Cathy said she wouldn't mind if we showed home movies, as long as we leave out any with her in them," Violet paused to huff a small laugh before continuing, "she said she doesn't want anyone to see her old hair styles. Oh, and some of the girls from work pitched in and got a really wonderful tea set for me for my last birthday, so I'll have that set up. Overall, I think that part of the day will at least go well."

James, who had rediscovered smiling days ago, replied, "Thanks, Vi, I've had enough of Uncle Marty when it comes to the service, I really appreciate all that you've done." This time, it was Violet's turn to shut up, patting his arm and letting them fall back into a comfortable silence. Uncle Marty, their mother's only brother, had been fighting James on every point of the service, down to which flowers would be on the coffin to who would speak first. James tried to explain that their mother had had all of the speakers arranged in advanced, and it didn't take a genius to see that Uncle Marty was angry to have not been asked. James agreed to let him speak, but not first, his mother specifically asked him to welcome her loved ones, and so the bickering had begun.

As James drove easily down the backroads of their town, Violet allowed herself to become lost in her thoughts once again, not caring whether they were thoughts of work or what needed to be done in her small home, just as long as they were not thoughts of the funeral, her mother, her father, or even herself. Minutes passed before James spoke again.

"Cindy and Alfred are driving in for the funeral, and some of mom's college friends too."

"Good, good...I bet Cindy's huge. How far along is she now?"

"I think about seven months, right?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"And I spoke with Dave Macklin, he's flying in from Houston."

Violet did not hide the twinge of disdain in her voice, "Oh really?"

James briefly pursed his lips. "Don't be like that, Violet," he said evenly, "Dave wasn't just Dad's friend, he was Mom's too."

"I know, but he was a lousy friend to both of them," was her short reply.

James, either lacking a response or choosing not to give it, sighed. Violet watched his eyes scan the lanes in front of them, as if a sign saying, "This way to change the subject" would pop up out of the bushes. After more minutes of silence, this time not so comfortable, James brightened, saying, "Oh! And Will Truit happens to be in the city on business, and said he would clear a couple days to come into town."

Violet rolled her eyes at the window. "George William Truit the third," she drawled, mimicking a stuffy British accent quite unlike that of Will Truit. "He hasn't been in town for five days together since you two graduated high school, he hasn't seen Mom in years."

"He saw her three Christmases ago when you were abroad, Little Miss," came James's curt reply, "he was my best friend in school and has remained a close friend to me ever since." James paused, tightening his fingers on the steering wheel before adding, "Sam and I are making him the godfather."

Violet, already incensed that James would call her "Little Miss," a cruel pet name he only used when he wanted to call her something far worse, turned to glare at her brother. "What? I thought her brother Glen was going to be the godfather!"

"No, Glen and Sam got into a huge fight last month, so she doesn't want him to be the godfather anymore. She and Will get along great, so she asked him, and he accepted. I didn't even know until a couple weeks ago."

Violet stared open-mouthed at James.

Great

, she fumed,

now I have to share my darling nephew with a total ass like Will Truit.

Glancing at her, James softened his tone, saying, "Give Will a chance, Violet. He's grown up into a really great man. I know-I know he didn't treat your friend all-too-greatly..."

Violet straightened her back, "Emily. And no, he did not. He dumped her a week after her sister died without any other reason than he liked some other girl, when really he just didn't want to deal with damaged goods." Violet shook her head as if Will were there to see her anger. "She already felt alone and then he went and just left her."

"Vi..." James began, but she didn't let him continue.

"He's an asshole."

Taking a deep breath, James, with even more softness in his voice, pleaded, "that was over ten years ago, and he was a junior in high school. Some people just can't deal with stuff like that at an early age, and Will's not had it so easy himself, if you'd care to talk to him sometimes..." The look on Violet's face was a resounding,

I'll pass,

so James tried another route, "Besides, you're not even friends with Emily anymore, right? She stole your boyfriend, didn't she?"

Violet clenched her teeth. "That's not the point."

The car came to a halt outside of Violet's small cottage. She looked at the pale green paint and the butter yellow shutters as if they were beckoning her inside.

Sleep.

James, not yet getting out of the car, disturbed Violet's reverie, taking her hand in his. "I'll pick you up at nine o'clock on Wednesday, okay? If you want to come over for dinner tonight or anytime tomorrow, just call, I'll even come and get you."

Right. Wednesday.

Unable to stay angry with those deep brown puppy eyes, Violet hugged her brother for the first time that day and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, James, but I think I just want to be alone for a while." He smiled and kissed her forehead before opening his door and coming around to open Violet's. He handed her the keys to her car before giving her a proper hug and trudging off through the mushy, half-melted snow towards his own car.

Violet waved him off before turning and slowly walking up the path to her front door. She carefully opened her mid-height wrought-iron gate, not wanting the squeak to make too horrible a sound, before shuffling to her door, kicking away as much mud and mush as she could from her precious cobblestone path. In her mind she thought of all the indulgent, pitiful things she would do tomorrow, from watching her mother's favorite romantic comedy, to spending half the day in her bathrobe. Violet didn't care. She had all day Wednesday to play the strong survivor, for a little while she was going to wallow in it.

*******

Violet wasn't sure how long she had been awake, but part of her thought she never fell asleep.

Wednesday. It's today.

Eventually, she glanced at her alarm clock, surprised it was half past six and not half past three.

No point in lying here.

She threw off the covers and headed for the bathroom, flicking on the light with a cringe. Once her eyes adjusted, she cringed again.

I look like a nightmare.

Her dark brown hair looked black and practically stood on end, the effect of wallowing in her grief all day, and even though she had restrained most of her tears, her eyes looked puffy and red. She rubbed her hands over her face, running her fingers through her hair before adjusting her twisted pajama top.

Shower. Breakfast. Hair. Make-up.

Shower. Breakfast. Hair. Make-up.

Repeating the mantra in her mind, Violet made her way into the shower after brushing her teeth and digging out a fresh towel. The hot water ran over her small frame and she had a wonderful, forget-where-I-am feeling that almost lasted a full five seconds.

Shower. Breakfast. Hair. Make-up.

Groggily, she washed her hair and then herself, shaving her legs and underarms.

Stepping out of the bathtub, she regarded herself in the waist-high mirror. Her eyes seemed more alert and her hair was at least tame, despite dripping with water.

Much better.

Toweling off, she looked over the rest of her body, taking in her waist and the flare of her hips, how her breasts seemed a touch smaller, but more shapely. Curious, she dug out her scale from under the sink and stepped on. When the numbers flashed up, she couldn't help a snort of bitter laughter.

Sure, now I can lose five pounds, but God forbid I want to shape up during bathing suit weather.

Violet wrapped the towel around her hair and slipped into her robe, beginning to feel the cold, and padded into the kitchen to start the coffee.

******

At exactly nine o'clock Violet emerged from her house wearing her warm green coat over her new black dress, clutching a pair of black heels in her hand, and gingerly picked her way down the path, making sure to avoid some of the more visible patches of ice. James, looking for all the word like a chauffeur, stood holding the back door of his car open for her as she plopped inside.

As they drove into town, Violet let Sam engage her in small talk, mostly about the baby and doctor's appointments, while mentally Violet was attempting to steel herself against the day's events.

I'm going to my mother's funeral. I've known this day would come for some time now. Avoid Uncle Marty. Don't cry during the service. Cry in private at the wake. Keep Aunt Cathy out of the living room in case she sees the home movies. Do not thump Dave Macklin on the head.

"Vi?" He brother's voice floated from the front seat. "We're here."

******

Violet opened the door, walked through, shut it, and pressed her back against it as if she were afraid of being followed by the problems in progress downstairs.

Typical,

she thought,

the service was great but the wake is a shit storm.

Having successfully made it through the service, Violet entered her mother's house and her childhood home, for the first time in a week, to find that the caterer had only just arrived, her Uncle Marty was already drunk, and her Aunt Cathy was crying in the living room. To make matters worse, the first person to notice her late arrival was none other than Dave Macklin, who, once he tried to hug her, got a very stiff hand shake and a very sharp glare before she ran to the kitchen to sort things out.

That was an hour ago.

As soon as one issue had been handled, another would arise, or a family friend would accost her with memories of her mother for long enough time to let something else go wrong, and at the first chance of escape, she took it, fleeing upstairs to her old room, now a small library. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb, rubbing the little marks her glasses had left. Kicking off the heels she had changed into once inside, she slumped against the door, wondering if she had time to cry. As the first tear began sliding down her face, she realized life wasn't going to give her a choice.

"May I?"

Violet gasped, looking up into a pair of dark green eyes.

I know that voice, but I don't know that face.

His face had filled out, his dark hair shorter now, no longer the heart-throb wavy locks she had found too pretty to be called handsome. As she stared at him he pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his black suit and dabbed at the tears on her face.

"I- I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were in here," she stammered, turning to leave, not sure if he intended to stand so closely. As she reached to grab the doorknob, he intercepted, gently taking her hand and leading her to one of the reading chairs.

He must have been sitting in this one,

she thought, noticing the way the high-backed chair would have blocked even someone of his height from being seen from the door.

"Have a seat, Violet," his crisp accent floating over her with nothing but kindness and warmth. She noticed that he had left the handkerchief in her hand, so she busied herself with dabbing her eyes, nervous that her make-up had smudged, waiting for him to leave. Instead, he sunk into the chair next to her and picked up a glass from the table in front of him.

Violet watched him sip the drink, smelling the brandy, remembering her father with a slight smile. Once it was clear he was not leaving, Violet sighed, and decided she had better say something.

"Congratulations on your godfatherhood," she said, trying to keep her voice light.

Tipping his class towards her he replied, "Cheers." After another sip he offered the glass to her, but she shook her head.

"Not a drinker, Violet?" he asked with a wink, "I know it's been a while, but surely you're twenty-one by now."

His face may be older, but that smile is just as annoying.

"You know I'm twenty-seven, Will." For the first time since she first looked up, she made eye-contact with him. Of course he knew. She had the same birthday as his mother, minus thirty years. "And I just don't drink brandy."

"I'd be happy to get you something else, I hate to drink alone." Violent thought about sending him down for a drink in order to get rid of him, but decided against it.

He'd only track me down. I just want him to go away. For good.

"No thanks, I'd hate to make you inconvenience yourself, George."

Even though she wasn't looking at him, she heard him stiffen in the leather chair.

"What's that about,

Violet

?" He asked.

"Oh please, I may not have seen you for ten years, but I remember the last time I saw you."

"So you're still caught up in all that? Jesus, that was ages ago!"

"It doesn't matter. I remember--I remember the things you said. That you had no regrets about your behavior toward Emily."

"Emily? This is about Emily?"

What?

"What? What did you think it was about?"

"The last time I saw you, you don't remember?"

The last time I saw you.

It was a week after Will and James had graduated high school. Violet had been a Sophomore, and she could not have been happier that Will was going back to England to study business. Ever since the events with Emily last year, she had done her best to show Will that she thought he was a bastard. The graduation party was almost over and Will was getting ready to drive home, when he got into a fight with Violet, the way they usually did, something starting from nothing. He said horrible things, and then she said horrible things. Then he...

"You tried to kiss me?" The memory seeped into her brain as she stared out the tall window across the room, as if the scene were playing against the gray winter sky.

"Yes. And

you

slapped me." He paused, taking another swift drink. "As for that other business, with Emily, I have no excuses, at least none that you'll give consequence to, so why don't we just leave it in the past with the assurance that I've outgrown those flaws."

"I'm sure," Violet muttered, with more than a twinge of sarcasm.

He managed a small smile before sipping the drink and setting it down. "So how's your love life?"

Violet gave a short laugh.

That's it Will, ask me about my love life at my mother's funeral. Ignore the big stuff, go for the easy. You're so changed.

Before she made a cruel response, she decided anything would be better than talking about the big stuff. "Same."

Will leaned back in the chair with a smirk. "Same as in, shagging men worthless and leaving in the night?"

Violet sighed again, shaking her head to herself.

Don't give in to him.

"Same as in, uneventful."

When he didn't respond with a snarky quip, Violet look over at him. Will had settled in his chair and was staring at her with the smallest tilt to his head.

He may be a bastard, but he can fill a suit. Why is he staring at me. Is he--is he picturing me "shagging?"

"What?" Her voice held a bit more maliciousness in it than she wished to give away.

Maintaining his gaze, he replied, "I am sorry about your mum, Vi."

Her mouth fell open the tiniest bit as she stared at his blankly. A muscle in his jaw twitched while his green eyes remained steady, and she was confused why she couldn't just talk to him like any of the other guests that had said similar words to her minutes ago.

She knew why. He reminded her of old times. High school, Mom's healthy days, when she had regained control over her life after the sudden passing of her husband.

Will was there.

"I--I--thank you," she eventually responded, dropping her eyes to the ground.

Don't cry, Violet. Don't you dare cry in front of him.

Standing up, she began to move towards the door. "I should really be heading back downstairs, the kitchen is probably on fire by now."

Before she could move two steps, he was there, blocking the way. She stared determinedly into his chest.

Don't look at him, Violet. Don't cry. God, he smells like...a forest.

He slowly lifted his hand, letting her see it move towards her before sliding a finger under her chin and lifting it up. Her eyes dropped to the side, a rogue tear threatening to slip away, before her whole body tensed as his voice, so much closer now, came out in a slow whisper.