Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 68691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Violet nodded. She knew her sons were gone, dispersed to the four corners of the earth.
“I know, you’re still here and they aren’t,” she said. “But one thing I’ve learned is patience. You’ve got to wait, to give them time to process things. I think that’s what I regret the most in life,” she said slowly, reflectively, “because I’ve never had much of an ‘inner voice’ telling me to slow down and think first, you know?” she said gently. “Instead I ran off, blocked every communication from Georg, rebuffed every attempt by him to get in touch with his sons. And I regret being so impulsive, I really do. I wished I’d been more open, maybe waited a while longer before making big decisions.”
I sighed, shaking my head. This woman would never get it.
“Violet, you’re crazy,” I said harshly. “Because I’m the one who’s still here, your sons are ones who’ve run off, haven’t you noticed? I’m waiting, I’m still here in St. Venetia. They’re the ghosts.”
But Violet just tilted her head and looked at me carefully.
“No, honey,” she said. “You’re not waiting. You’re here physically, yes, but emotionally, you’re drawing away, pulling away further with each day. You’re shutting the door slowly, inch by inch, without giving my sons time to process things, to come back to you as whole men.”
And I just snorted then.
“You called me a slut at the Palace,” I lashed out. “You don’t get to tell me anything!”
The comment was childish, neither here nor there, a release of my rage, my sorrow, on an undeserving victim. But the older woman accepted the verbal beating, nodding knowingly.
“I’ve screwed up a lot,” she said softly, “I know I called you names that I never should have, that I belittled you for loving my sons, but I’m trying to make up for that now,” she said. “I was in a bad place during the gala, you have to understand, but all I want is for my boys to be happy. Please consider it Tina, listen to my words.”
I paused, but my anger was like a dense fog surrounding my head, impenetrable, murky, making it impossible to see straight, to look objectively at the situation. After all, I was desperately unhappy, lonely, my body and soul aching for a relationship that no longer existed, which maybe had never existed except in my heart. So I stood up, turning away resolutely, not meeting her eyes.
“Good-bye Violet,” I said stiffly. “If you see Karl, Kato or Kristian, please tell them hello for me.”
And I strode out of the cafe, shoulders rigid, not looking back. Because who knew where the future led? Certainly not I.
TINA
“Mrs. Agnello, it’s wonderful to see you again,” I said to the old lady who let herself into my office. “Please take a seat.”
I smiled warmly at the woman dressed in a floral housedress, a scarf pulled over her greying hair. I’d always liked her despite the fact that we were having some trouble getting her childcare business re-opened.
Because St. Venetia allows people to open childcare businesses in their homes so long as the providers are licensed and the business registered with the state. Mrs. Agnello had been running one in her home, only to be shut down when two parents got into a fistfight on her doorstep, calling 911 and leading to the discovery that she was an unlicensed provider. Who knew what the fight was about? Just kid-crazy parents again, determined to help their child get ahead no matter the cost. But regardless, my client had been forced to shut her doors that very day, her income drying up, she and her disabled husband living off a small emergency loan provided by Roma Outreach.
“Don’t be sorry, love,” she huffed as she seated herself, her plump form warm and motherly. I could see why parents trusted her with their children immediately. “Licenses, schmicenses, I’ll get what I need in good time,” she said with a smile.
I nodded encouragingly, but my heart sank. The licensing process was relatively simple, so long as you were literate. It consisted of fifty multiple choice questions administered on-line, and the questions were pretty straightforward, concerning the basics of child health, safety, and environmental awareness.
But Mrs. Agnello couldn’t read, had dropped out of school in third grade and could barely decipher street signs, much less a multiple-choice test. And so she’d failed the quiz three times already, with little hope of passing in the near future.
“Have you been going to your language classes?” I asked gently. I was hoping that with adult-learner language classes, she’d improve quickly and we’d be that much closer to re-opening her childcare operation.
“Oh yes!” she chortled. “Every day. And honey, can you help me apply for food stamps again this month? My allotment ran out, and you know Mr. Agnello and me, we depend on them.”