Page 40 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
Gram frowned. “Yes, real magic.”
“Okay, so that means the next time Freddie tries to say something nasty to Violet, I can zip his mouth shut with my mind? Or maybe make him trip and fall…”
“Not necessarily.” Gram smirked, standing up.
“Jas, that’s evil magic. The Earth doesn’t like stuff like that.”
Jasper pouted. “How is it evil if I’m using my magic to helpyou?”
“Violet doesn’t need you to fix her problems, dear.” Gram dusted off her pants. “She just needs you to be a good friend and listener when problems come up, so she doesn’t have to hurt on her own.”
Looking to the side, Jasper considered that for a moment. He nodded. “Okay, I can do that.”
“No violence against Freddie Martin, please,” Gram said, stern. “Promise me?”
“I won’t,” Jasper agreed.
“Good. Finish your sandwiches and then we’ll take a walk out to Pont du Coquelicot.”
At this, both Jasper and Violet turned to each other, grinning. Poppy Bridge was their absolute favorite place in the entire village—a small arched structure made of gray stone, idyllic and serene in a clearing surrounded by a sea of red poppies and wildflowers. It was very deep into the woods, and they were not allowed to walk such a great distance alone. Not at their age.
They both turned their attention to the sandwiches, fruit and tea, bubbling with excitement as they finished their lunch in the golden sunlight.
20
Now
[Janet: I have a fun idea for this year’s holiday party and I couldn’t wait to tell you.]
[Janet: Are you ready? A pool party! A holiday splash!]
Violet stared at her work phone. Another text came in.
[Janet: Reach out to that adorable new boutique hotel downtown on Monday. See what the cost is to privately reserve the indoor pool and some rooms.]
Slowly, Violet placed the phone facedown on the small table beside her. It was best to deal with that later. Or never.
“You’ve been painting? I approve.” Rose examined the colorful canvas on its easel. “Just this one?”
“No, I’m working on a couple others.” Violet turned another page in Ginger’s journal, skimming.
“Like what?”
“Well, I’m starting with acrylic since it’s so versatile, and it’s been years since I painted anything at all. I’m painting Poppy Bridge from memory. Since winter is settling in, I’m positive that it’s all cold and ugly out there now, and I haven’t been since I was a kid. I sketched a portrait of Gram, too, but I haven’t started painting yet. I want to do that one in gouache, but I need to play around with paper types to see which one holds the paint the way that I want.” Violet had another project in mind, but she decided to keep that one to herself.
Rose ran her fingers across the surface of the dry canvas. It was another cloudy, late November day on the back porch and Rose had driven up Friday night to visit for the weekend. Violet sat in one of the large wicker chairs at the end of the enclosed patio space, two cups of hot chocolate set on the small table beside her. The heat of the liquid swirled and danced in the gray light.
“Paper matters?” Rose asked.
“Oh, absolutely. The dispersion of the pigment—even the color of the paint can present differently depending on the content of the paper. I tested out one pad, and it made the black present as blue. Of course it was a cheaper block of paper. So I’m going to need some higher-quality canvases.”
“It sounds tricky,” Rose said. “I was always so impressed with your talent growing up. I remember you saying you wanted to paint a particular person’s portrait, but you were sad that you never had the chance.”
“Huh.” Violet shifted her gaze, intentionally obtuse.
“So you’re not doing a portrait of your shut-in friend? Now that you’re reunited?”
Violet didn’t answer, only picked up her hot cocoa and took a long sip.
