“He doesn’t like me,” she said. Because to think anything else was crazy. Violet was a lot of things—smart, sarcastic, uncoordinated, a procrastinator—but crazy wasn’t one of them.
Polly only smirked in response.
“What?” Violet wanted to know what the smirk meant. Especially if Polly was going to say that she was wrong. She wanted to be wrong about Micah’s feelings for her. She wanted to be wrong about that more than anything.
Polly gave her the side-eye. “Now we’re getting close,” she said. “I’ve got to concentrate on where we’re going. These city streets can be confusing.”
Violet slid closer to the passenger-side window and rested her head on the glass, turned cool from the air-conditioning inside the car. Her grandmother wasn’t going to play. She wasn’t going to make another encouraging speech about how Violet was going to be beautiful someday, that men were going to chase her down the street the way they did her mother. She wasn’t going to give her something to look forward to. It was not the time for that, she scolded herself. It was time to see her mother. That’s what she should want more than anything.
“Except,” Polly said.
Violet picked her head up, looked over at Polly’s profile. She loved the word except.
Polly gave her a smile before turning her attention back to navigating. Still, she spoke. “Except I think he does like you. I just don’t think he’s ready for it. Something’s going on with him?”
She wondered if Bess had told Polly about Micah, if she’d believed the worst about him without bothering to get the full story. Of course, no one knew the full story. Except Micah. And Violet.
She nodded her assent but didn’t give any more details. Maybe later she’d tell her grandmother the whole whole story. Maybe Polly would be the first person she’d tell. She was starting to think she’d be the best person to tell. She felt a momentary pang of betrayal at the thought, as though she were cheating on her mother. But hadn’t her mother cheated on her? Wasn’t that why they were going to a jail to visit her?
To Polly’s credit, she didn’t press for more. She just went on. “But he does like you, as much as he can like anyone right now.”
Violet sighed and banged her head on the headrest. “No offense, Polly, but I think you might have this one wrong. He keeps telling me I’m a funny girl. Like, funny odd. That’s hardly the stuff of great romances.”
Polly laughed out loud as she made a left turn, then drove a few more feet, concentrating on the directions with her mouth pinched and her eyes squinted. She made one more turn, and Violet saw that they were entering a parking deck designated for the jail. Her stomach twisted inside her.
Polly drove past several parking spaces that Violet thought looked just fine till she found one she liked and pulled the car in, killing the engine. She turned to Violet. “He calls you funny because he doesn’t know how to describe you. He doesn’t know where to put you, because you’re different from other girls. But once he figures it out . . .” Polly’s voice faded away, and she looked out the driver’s side for a moment. Violet thought she was trying not to cry.
“What happens once he figures it out?” Violet prodded.
She heard Polly sniff. Then she looked back at Violet. “He’ll have a hard time letting go.” Polly opened her door, signaling that the conversation was over, at least for now.
Violet tried to imagine a world where Micah Berg had a hard time letting her go. It was a nice thought, albeit unlikely, a distraction from what she was about to go do. She was glad her grandmother had talked about Micah because it was fun to talk about him. It was fun to get someone else’s opinion about whatever this thing was between them. Whether Polly’s opinion was right or wrong, it was fun to speculate. Mostly the conversation had been good to pass the time as they rode to the jail, helping her forget where they were going, and why.
Violet kept her seat and watched Polly climb out of the car, realizing her grandmother had probably known that, and that was exactly why she had done it. Polly leaned back in the car, a concerned look on her face. “You coming?” she asked.
Violet nodded yes, tugged her own door open, and followed her grandmother’s lead.
Polly
After all the rigmarole of getting into the jail, they were ushered into a small, windowless private room and left to wait. They took seats at the lone table in the room and sat silently. Polly stared straight ahead at a glass wall. She’d seen enough cop shows to know someone likely stood on the other side, observing them, listening, hoping they’d say something incriminating. Polly shifted under the perceived person’s gaze. She didn’t want to say anything to Violet lest she say something wrong. Though the room was cool—she wished she’d thought to bring a sweater for both of them—she felt beads of sweat forming on her skin underneath her clothes.
She glanced at Violet, who gave her a brave smile in return. This is for you, kid, she thought. She didn’t want Violet to feel guilty for wanting to see her mother. But if it’d been up to Polly, she’d have put off seeing Norah indefinitely. She relished the time with Violet, but the thought of seeing Norah rattled her. And she was rattled enough already. The threat of Calvin was plenty to be rattled about. She had thought she saw his truck drive down their street just that morning, but it hadn’t been the right make after all.
Calvin had gone silent recently, and his silence scared her more than his incessant phone calls and texts. She didn’t dare think the silence meant he’d given up. No, the silence meant he was devoting his efforts in a new direction, with the same intended outcome: getting at the money he felt he was entitled to. She’d changed its hiding place again just before they left to come to the jail, as if moving the money around Norah’s house would render it invisible. Mostly she just wanted to do something to make herself feel safe, like she was at least trying to protect herself. Still, she felt Calvin out there somewhere.
The door opened and a man walked in. She’d seen his picture in the news articles about Norah, but they’d not had occasion to meet. It was Norah’s attorney. He thrust his hand at Polly. “I’m Jim Sheridan,” he said. “Norah’s attorney.”
Polly shook his hand. “I’m Polly Ca—” She stopped short of giving her last name, which was Calvin’s last name. She waved her hand in the air like it just plain ole didn’t matter who she was. “I’m Norah’s mother.”
“Good to meet you, Norah’s mother,” the attorney said. He turned to Violet and greeted her with a wide, genuine smile. “Hey, Violet,” he said, and squeezed her shoulder. “You OK?”
Violet nodded even as she looked stricken. “Is my mom coming?” she squeaked out.
“Oh yes. She’s about to come in. Just wanted to go over the ground rules before she does.” He pointed at the glass wall. “This meeting will be monitored, and Norah’s been instructed not to say anything pertaining to the case, as it could be held against her later, and, depending on what you guys say, you could be subpoenaed to testify about this conversation in court if it comes to that.” He clapped his hands together, the loud sound resounding in the small room. “So, what I’m saying is, it’s best if we avoid any and all mention of the case. Use your twenty minutes together to catch up on other things.” He looked from Polly’s face to Violet’s and back again. “Capiche?”