Had she been too afraid to put anything else on paper?
Whatever her reason, there was nothing more about them, just page after page of mundane entries about her everyday life, including Violet’s mom’s graduation and her move to college, her wedding to her dad, and the birth of Violet herself.
Okay, so it wasn’t all mundane.
There was another section that interested Violet as well—or rather a non-section. A large chunk of Violet’s grandmother’s life that seemed to be missing, when she’d stopped journaling . . . just after Violet’s grandfather had died.
It was nearly a year before she’d journaled again, and when she did it was just a quick entry about a doctor’s appointment she’d had that day. They were all quick and sporadic after that, nothing significant or interesting, until it was more like looking at a calendar than a diary.
As if she’d lost that passion she’d had for documenting her thoughts and emotions and the events that shaped her life.
Violet finally gave up and laid the diary on her nightstand. As she did, her hand brushed the silver turtle Jay had given her. She picked it up, holding it up and inspecting it.
As strange as it seemed, she sometimes missed the intrusive imprint that used to fill her every waking thought. Times like now, when it was quiet. When her mind was restless, flitting from one place to the next.
The imprint had at least given her a place to land.
She turned the silver key at the turtle’s belly and lifted the silver lid, closing her eyes as the first lyrical notes of Moonlight Sonata enveloped her.
And her thoughts, which had been harried, tripping over one another uneasily, settled at last, onto the musical bough of the familiar song.
LOVE IS ALL YOU NEED
“WHAT ABOUT HER?” EVAN ASKED, LIFTING HIS chin toward a girl wearing a sundress and sandals. She looked young, especially in the flowered dress, fifteen at the most. But young had never stopped Colton before. “Colton’d like her, don’t’cha think?”
Bailey touched his arm. “Evan . . .”
He scowled at her hand. “If you don’t like her, just say so,” he snapped. And then, because he recognized how curt he sounded, he softened his tone. “You’re right. She’s not really his type. We’ll keep looking.”
He turned, but not before catching the look that flashed between Bailey and Boxer. A look laced with meaning. He told himself to ignore it . . . to ignore them. But he couldn’t. His temper soured as he got to his feet, reaching for his guitar case. “You’re wrong,” he shouted down at them, not needing to hear either of them say it out loud to know what they meant. “He’ll be fine. He’s a fighter. This is Colton we’re talkin’ about . . . he’s a fighter,” he repeated, but his voice cracked as their doubts started to creep into his conviction. He shook his head, backing away from them, from the uncertainty on their faces.
“Evan,” Bailey said again. She had to struggle to get to her feet, but this time she came after him. She clasped his hands in hers. “You can’t know that for sure.”
He ignored the way her fingers trembled and how skeletal they were, telling himself she was fine, that she wasn’t getting sick again. She had to be okay because he didn’t have anything to give her right now. “He’s family . . .” He’d meant to say more, but he couldn’t. Words were insufficient to describe how he felt about losing another member of their small clan. Losing Butterfly had been hard enough, and he’d barely known her. Colton was another matter altogether.
Boxer stood too, joining them, turning them into an unusual trio as they huddled together near the edge of the park. “You’re right, he is family. But he’s hurt. Bad. We can’t know he’ll make it.”
Evan thought of Colton back at the apartment, unconscious on his mattress. Struggling for each and every breath. Somehow, he’d managed to haul Colton all the way back, even through the narrow sewer drain, where he’d delivered the nearly lifeless boy in a bloodied heap.
None of them had reacted to Colton’s blood the way they had the night at Butterfly’s house. This wasn’t a cause for excitement, for celebration.
This was a time of sorrow.
Yet no one asked who’d done this to their friend—their family member.
And none of them had even mentioned taking him to a hospital where he could get real care from real caregivers.
Instead, they’d rolled up their sleeves and cleaned him up as best they could, mindful of his moaning, and taking it as a sign of his discomfort. They’d given him drugs, not the legal kinds the hospital would provide, but ones that were just as effective for the pain. More so, maybe.
And he’d lain quiet ever since, receiving his doses as regularly as they could manage, with both Boxer and Kisha sacrificing their shares for Colton. Because that’s what family did.
Bailey gave up what she could, but he couldn’t have both of them sick. Not at the same time.
Colton had to make it, Evan told himself. He had to so he could tell him they were good now. That the slate had been wiped clean between them.
And maybe the answer was to find Colton that girl he’d always wanted.
CHAPTER 16
“VIOLET? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” DR. LEE asked, looking around the small parking lot in front of his office.
She was glad he sounded confused; she’d meant to catch him off guard.
“I wanted to talk to you. Alone.” She stepped away from where she’d been waiting for him near his dark sedan—not quite black, but not really blue either. Nondescript. The kind of car you’d have a hard time describing in a pinch.