I slept well into the next day, only rising in the afternoon when my stomach finally demanded more food. It was difficult to get up, but I felt guilty and didn’t want my grandmother to have to tend to me further, so I willed myself out of bed and into the kitchen. 

When she saw me, she insisted on making me a late lunch. I tried to object, wanting to do it without help, but there was no fight in me, so I sat and hydrated while she fried up a grilled cheese sandwich.

“This was what your grandfather loved for his hangover,” she said, a tiny smile on her mouth. This was the most entertained I’d seen her in days, and I was at least glad my stupidity had distracted her from the stress for a bit. 

Feeling better with food in my system, I continued working on my revival by taking a long, hot shower. The steam helped the last bit of alcohol escape out through my skin, and after my fingertips turned sufficiently wrinkled, I wrapped myself up in a fluffy, dry robe and joined my grandmother in the den. 

She had started a fire, the wood stove alight and warming the room, making it dry and toasty, and was now working her way through a few chapters of a book; she always read first, then started her cross-stitch in the evenings, even when I was younger. I sat on the floor with my journal, letting the heat from the flames help dry my hair as I drew tall grass blowing in the wind and Jack’s eyes squinting against the sun. 

While drawing, the air between my grandmother and I hung slightly heavier than usual. I knew she was concerned about me but didn’t want to say anything. I thought about apologizing again, or thanking her for the breakfast, something, anything, but it felt like the silence said more in a way. With my mother, I would have only screamed and argued; in the silence I was able to fully feel the guilt of making someone worry.

My grandmother had always been the one to fret over things, too wrapped up with taking care of everyone else to look after herself. She could seem stern sometimes, closed off, like my mother and myself, but there were real emotions behind her hard exterior. My grandmother was only cold because she had a lot of things to deal with and couldn’t let herself get overwhelmed. 

I was cold because if I wasn’t, everyone would see how close to falling apart I was.

And my mother… I still wasn’t sure what made her so stoney, but I hoped it was how she dealt with the guilt and loneliness she put on herself because of her decisions.

Sometimes I wished we could all learn to be a little more warm, like a hangover grilled cheese sandwich, or a hot shower, or wordless company in front of a fire. Instead, we were icey and relentless with each other like the Newport winters. 

It was late when there was a knock on the door. Curious, I thought to go answer it, but I didn’t want to open the door in just a terry cloth robe, so I glanced at my grandmother, who had now switched to her cross-stitch. She set it aside and rose. After I heard her open the door and greet the person, I unfolded myself and stood with my journal tucked under my arm. I followed into the hall, peeking around the doorframe.

“Good evening, Mrs. Holt.” Jack gave my grandmother a warm smile, then glanced over her shoulder. His eyes landed on me as I pried in on their conversation. My face went hot, and I retreated out of sight, only to peek again when he continued speaking. “After yesterday I thought maybe it would be good for Violet to get out of the house with someone for a while. So I thought I’d come by and ask your permission to take your granddaughter out for the night.” 

My grandmother must have seen his wandering gaze, because she followed it back to me, then returned a smirk to Jack. “It’s rather late, Mister De’Morte.” 

“I had something particular in mind, ma’am. It’s not exactly something we can do during daylight hours.” 

The way he phrased his explanation could have been so suggestive, if he hadn’t looked like a naive little boy while saying it. With how innocent he always was, I thought it completely absurd that someone could assume he’d be capable of anything even slightly inappropriate. 

My grandmother insisted on being traditional though. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with Violet being out all night.” 

“I don’t need permission to go out.” It was only after I stomped towards them to object that I saw my grandmother’s coy expression. She was just trying to get a reaction from me, and it worked. I scowled at her before turning to Jack. “Give me a minute.” 

My grandmother allowed him in while I went up to my room to put some proper clothes on. As I got to my dresser, I realized my heart was beating a little more wildly than before. I blamed it on how quickly I had taken the stairs, but the fluttering in my stomach suggested otherwise. 

I tried to settle my nerves. I’d done things with Jack before, nothing about this situation was different. Yet, I found myself picking an outfit deliberately and playing with my hair a while longer than usual, attempting to get it to sit right. 

I grabbed my journal off the end of the bed out of habit, but reconsidered as I held it in my hands. I brought it everywhere; it was my security blanket, often keeping me grounded. Maybe I didn’t need it though, not on this occasion at least. Jack would be with me, maybe that was enough.

I threw the journal into my dresser and closed the drawer, leaving my room.

Not wanting to deal with my grandmother’s smugness, I hurried past her to get my jacket on as quickly as possible.

“Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid?” She managed a single playful quip before I opened the door to usher Jack out. 

“I’ll do my best. Goodnight, Mrs. Holt.” Jack called back to her as I shoved his back, closing the door before he was completely finished with his goodbye. 

We stood on the front step together for a moment, an awkward silence settling between us as I tried to shake off my embarrassment. He didn’t seem to mind that I needed a second, and he waited until I zipped my jacket up and finally found his gaze before speaking.

“Hi.” He was all innocence and smiles. 

I felt the blood rush to my face again, but I hoped the chill of the night made it seem like just a cold flush. “Hey.” 

After another pause made awkward with his wordless content, he stepped forward, nodding his head to the side to beckon me with him.

“Where are we going?” I asked before I even took a step, realizing I had been eager to know since his mention of having something planned. 

He glanced back at me, his lips sliding into a grin that was uncharacteristically mischievous. “I can’t tell you, that would ruin it.” 

“I don’t really like surprises, you know,” I said, though the words were only a bluff to cover my curiosity. 

“I think you’ll like this.” He stopped to let me catch up, then when I did, he took my hand in his like it was nothing. I wasn’t sure if he realized with his perpetual aloofness, but the way he tangled his fingers into mine made the fluttering in my stomach grow far more intense. 

I wondered if he’d take me to his car and drive us into town, but I remembered he said he didn’t have a car, and that would explain too easily how he got to the property every day. Instead, I had to go on wondering about how he just appeared sometimes, as he led me around the house and out onto the property. 

The path he took was the same I led him along days previous, and I figured out where we were going. I kept my mouth shut though, because compared to him, I was beginning to feel I talked too much. As we reached the gate to the garden, Jack stopped and leaned his back against the wrought iron. 

“Close your eyes.” 

I snorted, but when I realized he was being serious, I shook my head.

He frowned. “Don’t you trust me?” His expression dropped as though I’d wounded him. If he was acting, he did a convincing job. 

The guilt made me groan with playful frustration. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him. On the contrary, I knew I trusted him completely. He had figuratively saved me from myself more than once, and quite literally just the day before. That was the problem though. It felt almost like I trusted him too much; I still knew absolutely nothing about him. He was a strange boy with a strange name who answered all my questions with silence.

I couldn’t stand his pouting anymore, so I admitted defeat with a sigh and closed my eyes. With the night creeping up on us quickly and engulfing the last bit of evening light, I couldn’t see much anyway. 

I was pretty sure I sensed him smile again after I complied. He opened the gate, then took my other hand and led me through the garden. I could picture the route he was taking by how he guided me, around the vegetable patch, past the bushes, to the other side of the tall fence full of climbing plants. 

“Ok, sit down,” he said as he stopped me. 

I scoffed. “I’ll get my jeans dirty.” 

He tsked, tongue against teeth. “You’re not trusting me.” 

I rolled my eyes under my closed lids, then did as I was told, letting him hold me steady as I lowered myself down onto my knees. They met something softer than the ground I had expected. I managed to resist the urge to peek, but only a second later, one of my other senses caught something that tested my willpower again.

Violets. I almost didn’t believe it when the fragrance wafted past me, but it was so strong I couldn’t ignore it and I looked before having permission. It was dark but I could still clearly see them all around us, growing in between the dying roots of fellow flowers, fresh and healthy and fragrant. The impossibility of it had me speechless. The only sound I could manage was a gasp.

“You weren’t supposed to look yet,” he scolded as he dropped himself down next to me on the laid out blanket. His tone was convincingly serious, but his gaze was gentle and light-hearted. 

I twisted my head around, inspecting all the violets that hadn’t been there just days before, my mind drawing blanks in shock. I had too many questions, and they all tangled together in my skull. “Why did you…? How did you even…? This doesn’t make any sense.” 

He interrupted my questions with his own. “It was on your list, right?” When I looked at him with confusion, unable to place his meaning past my own bewilderment, he elaborated. “Smell the Newport violets. It was on your list.” 

I stared. “You did this, because of the list in my journal?” 

He shrugged, like it was the simplest thing, like holding the door open or letting someone cut in front of you in line. It wasn’t the simplest thing though. It wasn’t simple at all. These violets defied logic. Wherever they came from, however he had gotten them there… Nothing about it was simple.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” I repeated while shaking my head, stuck in my overwhelming disbelief. 

“Does it have to make sense, Violet? Can’t you just see it as someone doing something for their friend and not question it?” 

There was no frustration or annoyance in his voice, but rather, apprehension. A particular tone that told me if I asked again, he wouldn’t lie anymore. But it also made me feel like maybe I didn’t want to ask again. He knew something I didn’t; that had already been established long ago, but he made me feel like being ignorant was easier. 

If this curiosity was easier than knowing the truth, then what was the truth? 

I sighed, sitting back and drawing my knees up to my chest. I was having trouble ignoring the impossibility of the one violet up in my room, and now he’d presented me with a few dozen more impossibilities. How was I supposed to just be content with his non-answers now? 

When I looked at him, his expression was easy and reassuring, and I couldn’t help the cautious smile easing onto my lips. If he insisted, I’d let it go, just as I’d let go all of my other questions, but only for now. I stored the curiosities in the back of my head for the day I was finally sure I wanted to know the secret he kept from me. 

“This is not something someone does for a friend,” I pointed out, after my frustration settled and the silence between us grew a little more comfortable.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as his grin stretched a fraction. He let my comment sit though, aggravatingly open ended, like usual.