Acts of Violet(14)
“Medium unsweetened iced tea, please,” I order and dig into my jeans pockets for money.
“That’ll be two dollars and twenty-two cents.”
I fish out a five-dollar bill and hand it over.
Gabriel comes in as I’m poking a straw through the plastic lid of my beverage. “You have every right to be pissed off.”
He didn’t leave that guy alone in the salon, did he? A rush to the front window reveals Cameron in the same spot by the counter, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other, glancing around. When he catches sight of me, relief flashes on his face only to be replaced with uncertainty.
“Sasha, please.”
I turn and face my husband, take a long sip of tea. It’s strong, bitter.
“I’m sorry I emailed him under your name. Let me explain.” An elderly couple approaches, and we go quiet as they take what feels like a full hour to saunter by. “Can we please go back in? Just give me five minutes.” Whenever Gabriel gives me that beseeching look, his eyebrows triangular in distress, he looks like a little boy suffering. It’s too much.
“Yeah, fine.”
Back in the salon, I grab a windup timer from one of the stations. “Gabriel and I are gonna have that quick chat you’ve been hearing so much about,” I tell Cameron. “I can trust you not to steal anything, right?”
“God, of course.” Horrified at the thought, as if he wouldn’t love a souvenir of my sister, as if he’s any better than the other people who nab framed photos of her when my back is turned (it took less than a year before I switched to color copies and picture frames from Goodwill). “I can even wait outside if you want,” he adds.
“Not necessary, you can just take a seat somewhere.”
I gesture to the chairs by the front door and follow my husband to the supply room.
Once Gabriel closes the door behind us, I take the timer—which I usually use for bleaching and dye processes—and twist it several notches. “You have five minutes. Go.”
A faint ticking echoes between us.
“Didn’t think you’d be quite so literal about it, but okay,” he begins. “First off, I’m sorry for going behind your back like that.”
“Were you snooping on me?”
“No, I was looking for a purchase order and came across Cameron’s emails. The guy’s been through a lot. I thought it would be nice to give him a break.”
“We’ve all been through a lot. And you wouldn’t be the one giving him a break, I would. For years now, what’s the only thing I’ve been asking for? To have nothing to do with my sister. Every time I try to draw a line in the sand, you push me over it. Bad enough I caved on the salon.”
“Which was a smart business decision. Let’s not make me out to be some kind of bully here. When you didn’t want to sell T-shirts or other Violet memorabilia, I gave in on that one—though it might’ve helped us repay that second mortgage. And I’ve always supported your decision to avoid the media.” His jaw twitches, belying the effort it takes to offer this support.
“After how many hours of going back and forth on it?” How he tried to coax me to talk to the press. It would be therapeutic for me, it might get new leads on Violet, it could end up being lucrative for our family—he tackled it from every angle, but I remained firm. There was no way I’d get through an interview without letting a negative sound bite slip, and the last time I did that (I had the nerve to admit I didn’t think my sister possessed any superpowers), our house got egged and the salon was boycotted for a month. “And what about all the stupid vigils I let you drag me to?”
“That’s to protect you. To stop people from gossiping about you.”
“How exactly would participating in this podcast protect me?”
“Maybe it wouldn’t. But you’d get to control the story. Maybe that’s what you need more than protection.” He takes my hands in his and looks into my eyes like he’s searching for something long lost. “If not this, you need something. I get that therapy isn’t your thing. But you’re not eating enough and you’re starting to exercise too much again. And your sleep issues—”
“I’ve been restless. Sometimes it helps me to sleep in other parts of the house.”
“Like the kitchen floor? Whatever it is, I don’t think you’ve ever fully dealt with the Violet situation, and this could be an opportunity. Maybe sharing it with me or your friends is tough because it’s too close, and sharing with a counselor would make you feel self-conscious or scrutinized—”
“But sharing with lord-knows-how-many podcast listeners is gonna be easier?” Even as my eyebrows shoot up, something loosens inside me, like a pebble at the bottom of a rock pile.
“In a weird way, yeah, maybe it will be easier.”
“You’re just saying all this so you can find a way for us to get in on the profits.”
“If money were the only thing I cared about, I would’ve bugged you to do the reality show. Or pursue that book deal.”
I don’t even feel my jaw dropping open, only Gabriel’s fingertip under my chin pushing it closed again.
“Yeah, I know about all of it.” His tone is gentle, resigned. “And I get why you had to hide it from me. It makes me feel shitty that you reached that point. Rather, that I got you to that point. I’m sorry for that.”