Worth

Chapter 3 (Pt 1)

Sometimes Violet would get stuck staring at Olivia's profile. If anyone was lovely anymore it was her younger sister. Dead on she was a doll, a marionette with plump, apple-blush pink cheeks, but in profile she was lineless, ivory perfection. Violet, in contrast, had their father's features, more angular without being sharp. She had his height too, which Olivia forgave her on account of her getting their mother's curves. Violet's own fair skin had golden undertones and she freckled in the summer whether she stayed in the sun or not.

Viewed from the angle she was, Violet could imagine painting the thick, dark, brushstroke lashes on her sister's doll face. They matched perfectly the ringlets bouncing at her forehead with Olivia's laboured efforts at making Lee's dinner of stuffed bell peppers. Olivia was saddened to hear of Leo's death and asked about a funeral.

"I don't know any of his family and I doubt they know about me. They didn't seem to know Leo, for that matter, unless there was something in it for them.

"The will should make things interesting."

"Ugliness," Violet said, chomping on celery. "I feel sorry for his grandnephew. He's the only one in the bunch who made any effort."

"I wonder if he's cute."

"I wonder what's wrong with you."

"I wonder what Lee will be eating for dinner," Olivia said, exasperated. They both looked at the photo in the recipe book. It bore little resemblance to Olivia's mangled hash.

"I hear booing," Violet said.

"Quick, get the black pepper. I should do something deliberately."

"Okay." But Violet could not find the pepper mill. "Where is it?"

"Smashed it. I had to grind it in the coffee grinder and put it in the salt shaker."

"Where's the salt?"

"That old margarine container."

"Are you sure that's beef?" Olivia made a face. Violet shrugged, "You ought to know, I guess. It's on your forehead."

"Yeck!" Olivia grimaced, wiping at her forehead with the bathroom hand towel she used for dishes.

What couldn't possibly be an overhead humidifier was, in fact, Ed Edmunds and a potential client breathing in steady unison above Violet at her workspace.

"Violet, hon, we do have a shindig booked for the twenty-fourth of August, don't we?" By the way Ed was staring her to stone, she understood she was meant to lie. "Would you check? That's a Friday."

"It's not a hundred percent, but I'm certain we have an evening wedding booked."

Ed relaxed and rubbed a finger under his ever growing nose. The well dressed client seemed impatient and unimpressed. Ed, now with hands in his pockets and the what can you do? expression of car salesman remorse, rocked foot to foot and said, "Tony, I wish there was something I could do for you, but we already have a deposit and my hands are tied."

The client held out a business card with two fingers like a gun cocked at Ed's Adam's apple. "If you can think of a solution, let me know."

"Surely will."

The foot rocking continued until the dissatisfied customer had cleared the halls, then Ed rushed at Violet and squeezed her shoulders excitedly.

"What did you get yourself out of this time?"