“You’re anything but, Vi.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Hugo was the one that was good at making sure everyone had a good time. Not me.” She smiled weakly.
“Well, that’s hardly your job.” He noticed that her hands were empty. “Do you want me to get you a drink or something?”
She knew Theo was just being kind, but all she wanted was to get back to her room and go to bed. “I guess I’m just in the mood for an early night. It’s been kind of a long week.”
“I get it.” He walked with her toward the coat room.
“I’m here if you ever want to talk. I miss him too. He was like a second brother to me, and I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Thanks,” she said as she rummaged through the pile of coats until she found hers and Sylvia’s.
“It’s hard to talk about. You know. I was there when it happened, and it keeps playing back over and over in my head.”
“I can’t imagine, Vi. It’s just awful.”
“Uh-huh. It is.”
She slid her coat on, holding Sylvia’s over her arm. “I really appreciate you caring. I do. But I’m trying really hard to keep it together. And if I talk about it anymore, I’m going to start bawling in front of you and I really want to spare you that.”
“Got it. But at least let me walk you and Syl back to the dorm. It’s late and it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.” He paused. “It’s what Hugo would have done.”
Violet smiled. “Thanks.”
The three of them left the party, and Violet felt the weight of missing Hugo shift inside her. She hated every minute she’d spent at the Owl. She still missed her boyfriend terribly and wished she could take a magic pill to erase those permanent memories she had of him just before he jumped off the gorge.
But she had to start opening her eyes to that small group of people around her that still wanted to help her keep his spirit alive.
Theo waited until they safely reached the door of Lowell House.
“Thanks,” Violet said.
“See you guys around.” He waved, before heading back toward the party.
Violet held the door open for Sylvia and stole one last look at the night’s dark sky. It was hard not to notice just how white the moon was that evening. Something inside her softened at the sight of it. Maybe Hugo was really there with her. She liked to imagine him as a ray of light beaming down, protecting her and making her feel less alone.
“No one believes in ghosts or spirits until they lose someone they love,” Madeline had once said, referring to how Eleanor Widener supposedly liked to sit in the Memorial Room on occasion and feel the presence of Harry. “We crave the supernatural when the unfathomable happens.”
Violet could never have understood that yearning a year ago, but now she understood it all too well. That desire to feel connected—even in death—to the ones you love was extraordinarily powerful. Madeline had said it best when she described Eleanor’s mission to create Harry’s library.
Hope was the antidote of despair.
CHAPTER TWENTY
LYNNEWOODHALL WAS ABUZZ WITH ACTIVITY AS MYparents and my trip to Europe approached. My mother had two additional servants assisting Amalie in packing her trunks. Gown after gown was brought out for inspection, then encased in special paper to prevent creasing. Jewels were laid out for approval. I heard my mother inform my father that she would be taking along her precious strand of wild pearls, which were insured for over $200,000.
He had not protested my mother’s bringing them. He was as proud as she was of her beautiful adornments. She wore them like an empress. Their value was unrivaled by anything most of her social peers could afford.
“The insurance company says they will be insured only if you’re wearing them,” my father cautioned. “They’re stipulating they must be on you at all times.”
“Even when I’m sleeping, George?” My mother was clearly amused.
“I’ll be protecting you from thieves. So I suppose you can take them off then, my darling.”
“That is a relief,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Pearls until bedtime it will be.”
I smiled as they both became excited for the trip in their own way. My father spent most of his afternoons in his study in the weeks before, writing telegrams to his numerous businessassociates with instructions on all the matters they needed to attend to while he was abroad. My mother met with the decorator who was helping her with the furniture and tapestry purchasing for the house my parents were building in Newport, Rhode Island. Mother had already named it Miramar, which in Spanish meant “to look over the sea.”
