Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The Pontiac was all rounded curves and silver accents, the paint in as pristine a condition as the engine thanks to Violet’s regular detailing, a skill she’d learned from Barbara Hartman, the owner of the diner across the street who worked as a mechanic during the war and helped Violet land on her feet after her parents’ death.
Barb brought the sisters meals every day for almost a year before Violet finally found her rhythm as both older sister and stand-in mother, ready to dip and sell tapers at Grey’s.
These days, Violet still brought Barb a monthly candle—the color and intention directed by Violet’s tarot cards.
Violet sat in the car, her stomach in knots as the door to Grey’s Gifts burst open and Tillie ran toward the Pontiac, her long brown hair flying loose behind her.
Her yellow blouse was tucked into a pair of dark blue pedal pushers.
The cuffed hem of her pants fell just above the calf, and the fabric clung tightly to the curves of her legs.
Though her mother preferred Tillie wear skirts when working the shop—an argument Violet had overheard more than once—Tillie made it clear if her mother wanted her to continue working in the shop, she’d choose what she wore, and Violet loved her for it.
Of course, Violet loved Tillie for a lot more than her fashion choices.
She turned off the engine and pulled her bag from the passenger seat before getting out of the car.
Tillie grabbed her hand in a friendly gesture that was “just the way of young women,” and it took everything in Violet not to pull her closer, to press her forehead to Tillie’s forehead and her lips to Tillie’s lips.
Violet knew she had no reason to fear her sister, but she wished their conversation had gone differently. That Regina had been thrilled to have Tillie moving in with them, that she’d given Violet the perfect opening to tell her the truth.
“How did it go?” Tillie asked.
“I told her you were bringing a few boxes today—that your parents were helping drop off the rest of your things tomorrow,” Violet said.
Tillie bounced on her toes. “It’s really happening.”
“It is.” Violet wanted nothing more than joy in that moment, but her voice came out strained.
The spring in Tillie’s step slowed as she searched Violet’s face. “But?”
Violet sighed, looked both ways down Main Street, and said, “Why don’t we go somewhere quiet to talk.”
The diner was all black-and-white checkered floors and bright red seats.
The counter wrapped around the left side of the room with jukeboxes every few stools, and Elvis Presley crooned from the speakers.
A few familiar faces glanced their way as the bell rang overhead.
By this time in the afternoon, the lunch rush was long gone and only people like Violet and Tillie, who worked along Main Street, or the occasional housewife sneaking in an afternoon treat, stopped in.
Barb raised a hand from behind the bar. Violet and Tillie waved before heading to their usual booth at the back.
Thanks to the way the building angled, the table was almost out of sight from the rest of the room.
After Tillie took a seat, Violet slid in across from her, wishing she could nestle in beside Tillie without raising any eyebrows. She tugged the scarf around her hair free, pulled off her sunglasses, and carefully tucked both into her handbag.
When she looked up, Tillie had her hands pressed against the table. “Did you …” But before she could ask the question, Barb approached.
“My favorite customers,” Barb said with a warm smile. “What’ll you be having?”
“Just milkshakes today,” Tillie answered.
Barb nodded as she tucked the order pad into her apron and said, “Your mother told me you’re moving into Honeysuckle House.
” Barb’s husband had died a few years after the war, and she’d never remarried.
Most people commented on what a shame it was they hadn’t had children before he passed, but Barb only ever nodded and smiled.
Violet had seen the way she’d watched her and Tillie over the years, always giving them this particular booth, once adorning it with a vase of purple flowers and a knowing smile.
Still, Violet felt heat rush to her cheeks as she glanced around the diner. “It’s a big house.”
At the same time, Tillie said, “I’ve been wanting to move out of my parents’ for a while now.”
All three women laughed softly.
“Nothing wrong with having a roommate,” Barb said with a twinkle in her eye, and for the first time that afternoon, Violet let herself feel the excitement of what they were doing.
Soon, Tillie and Violet would be living under the same roof.
They shared a look that sent heat clear down to Violet’s toes.
Barb gave a throaty laugh then said, “I’ll get those milkshakes for you.”
As she walked away, Tillie and Violet held each other’s gaze a few moments longer until Tillie leaned in and whispered, “We’re finally doing it.”
After this, they’d fill Violet’s car with as many of Tillie’s boxes as they could, then they’d be living under the same roof.
With Regina.
Violet’s stomach dropped as she looked away from Tillie. The possibility in the air fizzled out, and Violet’s smile slipped away. She loved her sister. She wanted more than anything to be able to bare her heart to her, but Regina had left little space for it that afternoon.
“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Tillie asked.
Before Violet could answer, Barb returned with their milkshakes and a plate of fries. “On the house,” she said, that same conspiratorial warmth in her eyes. Though Violet returned her smile, she’d lost her appetite.
Once she was gone, Tillie leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “Vi?”
Violet picked up a French fry, then set it back in the basket. She tapped her fingers against the table and avoided Tillie’s eyes and took a long sip of her milkshake that tasted more like sawdust than strawberry.
“We’re in this together.” The softness of Tillie’s voice burned right through to Violet’s heart.
Violet sucked in a breath and tilted her head back, trying not to cry. Things hadn’t gone at all how she’d hoped, and she still couldn’t shake the disappointment she’d seen in her sister’s eyes.
Tillie reached across the space between them, took a quick glance around the diner, and ultimately set her hand next to Violet’s instead of on top of it.
Despite the inches of distance, Violet felt the comfort and strength in the touch she didn’t—couldn’t—receive in the warmth radiating from Tillie’s skin.
She looked up at Tillie through watery eyes.
“I tried,” Violet said. “But it wasn’t the right time. She didn’t like the idea of you moving in at all.”
Tillie tapped the side of Violet’s hand with her pinkie. “Sounds like you didn’t let that stop you.”
“Of course I didn’t,” Violet said.
“I’m proud of you.”
Violet bit her lip to keep her tears from falling.
“Your mom would be, too,” Tillie said.
Violet let out a small sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and a whimper.
Helen Caldwell had seen the way Violet looked at Tillie back when they were teenagers, and though she’d warned Violet to keep it secret, she never pushed her to stop.
In fact, it had been her mother who had mentioned the idea of roommates all those years ago.
That had been before the accident, before Violet took over caring for her sister and their home and their livelihood.
“I’ll tell Regina soon,” Violet whispered. “I promise we won’t have to pretend forever.”
Tillie leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “So, you told her I’m moving into one of the spare bedrooms?”
A flush bloomed in Violet’s cheeks, and she ducked her head with a smile that had her right incisor digging into her lip.
“Do you really think she bought it?” Tillie asked.
Violet almost hadn’t believed her sister’s response.
She’d been so certain she and Tillie had been obvious about their feelings in front of Regina—the way they’d danced around the living room, sat long into the night curled up on the couch drinking cocktails, walked hand in hand down to sit with the bees.
Violet thought Regina not only saw the love between her and Tillie but accepted it.
But her sister only ever had eyes for their magic.
Maybe that was Violet’s fault, the way she’d poured so much time and willpower into keeping their candle business alive.
“She thought I was suggesting we turn our home into a boarding house for single women,” Violet said.
Tillie clapped a hand over her mouth as she stifled a laugh. “I don’t hate the idea,” she whispered. “You and me creating a home for women like us.”
They’d talked about other women around them, looked for signs they weren’t alone, and though Burdock Creek was a quiet place, safe from the sort of hatred she knew plagued towns across the country, they still worried.
“Let’s start with our future,” Violet said.
Tillie sighed. “It’s probably for the best you didn’t tell Regina. Until we know it’s safe.”
“It’s safe,” Violet said. “Regina loves me. She wants me to be happy just as much as I want that for her.”
Tillie made a thoughtful noise then popped a French fry into her mouth. Violet stirred her milkshake. She’d watched Tillie try to warm up to her sister, but Tillie was lucky to even get a smile out of Regina. Violet knew this, but still she hoped things would change.
“Did you at least give her the cards?” Tillie asked.
Violet shook her head as she pulled a wooden box containing a deck of tarot cards out of her large handbag—one of her mother’s old purses that Regina had tried more than once to convince Violet to give up in favor of the smaller bags that were in style now.
Tillie had hand-painted the cards, complete with illustrations from the Caldwell sisters’ home—bees, flowers, vines, and even Honeysuckle House itself.
She’d made a deck for both Violet and Regina, something the sisters could share and a sign of what both Violet and Tillie hoped would become a new family dynamic.
Violet had considered lighting a candle to ensure the cards would do just that, but she wanted her sister’s love and acceptance without any magic pulling it out of her.
Violet handed the box over to Tillie. “I think they’ll be better coming from you,” Violet said.
She hoped it was true.