In the week that Brody had lived with Violet in the giant house, he'd learned many things. He'd learned, because he'd asked, that she was the mastermind behind VB Back to Basics, a product line on the mainland that was composed of affordable, dependable products that achieved things in ingenious, wonderfully simple ways. Wonderful inventions, he thought now, and still chuckled when he remembered how she'd simply blinked at him, a bit of color rising in her cheeks when he'd told her that these days he bought nothing but Back to Basics when it came to home appliances. He'd embarrassed her, and it was oddly…satisfying.
He'd also learned that the room she slept in every night was not, as he'd assumed, actually the one she referred to as her room. No, her bedroom was up in one of the house's towers. She'd moved down temporarily to see to him should he need help in the night. She'd done it without a word, without a thought, and that too had satisfied him. Whether she acknowledged it or not, the girl had a heart, and it was that heart that had her taking in a stranger and caring for him for all these days.
Brody was also starting to learn the fine art of making Violet blush. Smooth lines wouldn't work, not with her, or long, steady looks. No, the lines amused her, and the looks put her back up. But it was straight truth that often had color rushing into her cheeks before she turned away. If he called her beautiful, she stuttered. If he called her brilliant, she avoided his eyes and changed the subject. It was, in his mind, fascinating.
She drank her tea, every day, at precisely nine in the morning, one thirty in the afternoon, and seven o'clock at night, until it came so that he could set his watch by her. And often she carried another cup upstairs with her late at night, where he'd hear her working on some other invention, the sounds echoing through the drafty house.
That was something else he'd noticed. She was always, no matter how hot the fire burned or how hard the sun beat down, so cold. Not freezing, but cool enough that it had him wondering. He found himself wanting to bundle her up in the blankets she'd piled on him that first night, to hold her until that smooth skin warmed. But to give in to that urge would be to put her shields up right away. The wall she always had between them was hard and thick, and he was still learning how to chip away at it. And every time he managed to put a dent in it, she was on the other side, doing her best to hammer the dent back out again.
Because his wounds had been healing quite well, the strength returning to his body, he was up and walking around now, though he still tired easily. Because he still felt guilty for leaving her to do everything for so long, he made a point of waking early and sweeping or dusting, writing down a list of minor repairs that the house needed. She'd done a great deal of work on it herself, which had been apparent from the beginning. But still, it was a huge house for one person, and she couldn't be expected to care for it all by herself.
With a pair of the pants Violet had dug out for him tugged on as an afterthought, Brody walked barefoot out the front door, forgetting, as he usually did, to throw a shirt on. The sun shined down on skin already tanned from years of sailing and manual labor, and the wind ruffled hair that was accustomed to being blown about by the breeze.
It was a lonely place, no question, but peaceful all the same. He walked along the coast for a bit, lost in his own thoughts. He only stopped when he felt grass beneath his feet, and realized abruptly that he'd reached the forest portion of the little island, the tall trees looming in front of him.
That's where Violet was now, he knew, as she'd left him a note on the door for when he'd woken up that morning. The note had said only: 'I'm in the woods for a bit. Do as you please, but stay out of the top floor and the towers. Don't follow me.' That had been hours ago, since he'd risen at dawn and found the letter. God knew she always managed to wake up before him, no matter how early he rose.
He hesitated for a bit, checking the watch he'd borrowed, and saw that it was just past noon. She'd been gone for over six hours. That, in his opinion, was far longer than 'a bit.' His brain automatically envisioned the worst possible scenarios. Maybe she'd gotten lost, or been bit by some poisonous animal. Perhaps she'd fallen off the cliffs she'd told him were on the other side of the island, or had gotten hurt in some way.
With a murmured oath, he jogged back to the house, stretching out muscles that had long been dormant. Not stopping to think about the fact that he had no idea where he was going, he slipped on a battered pair of sneakers, stuck his arms through a button up shirt that he never thought to button. In a few minutes he was jogging out again, searching along the back of the house until he found what looked to be like a well-trodden path in the grass.
Offering up a prayer that he wouldn't embarrass himself by getting lost in the woods, he took the first step into the trees, and almost immediately had to adjust his eyes as the bright sun was blocked out by the canopy of trees. But there was definitely a path here, the grass worn thin where feet had trod over it countless times. Moving carefully over the hilly, rocky terrain, he kept his eye out for Violet or-God help him-carnivorous creatures. He really, really should have asked Violet what lived on the island.
It took him half an hour to realize that the woods were pretty much one gradual incline, and this time the curses he let loose weren't murmured, but growled out as his breath began to come heavier. But damn it, it was too late to turn back now, and he'd be damned if he'd admit, even to himself, that he wasn't quite strong enough yet to handle a few hills.
Taking a moment to catch his breath-he was suddenly feeling the heat of the sun even through the cool canopy-He glared at the path, imagined Violet walking this distance easily. She could probably walk this damned thing in her sleep. Shaking his head, he pushed off a tree and began trudging forward once more, shirking off his shirt again and tucking it into his back pocket as sweat began to pour down his back.
It took him a moment to realize that the trees were thinning out. By the time it occurred to him that the sun was shining, the grass had given way to hard, gray rock, and he stepped out onto what he quickly discovered were the sheer cliffs of Baudelaire Island.
They were…magnificent wasn't good enough, not nearly good enough. The sea stretched out for miles, so blue you couldn't tell where the sky stopped and the water began. The sun sent the water sparkling, and in the distance a gull let out its call, swooping low over the water before shooting up into the sky again.
His breath heavy, he stepped out into the sun, narrowed his eyes when he saw something on one of the taller cliffs. Walking forward, he made the short trip up the cliff, and his narrowed eyes widened when he saw that what he had seen was in reality three stone crosses, seeming almost to grow up out of the stone. The first cross had the name 'Klaus Baudelaire' carved into it, the second 'Sunny Baudelaire'. And the third cross, separated from the first two by about half a foot of space, read simply 'Quigley'. There were circlets of fresh braided flowers hung atop each one, a sign of mourning and remembrance that Brody knew could've come only from Violet.
No, he thought, she wasn't heartless, not at all. He thought of the cat who was forever winding around his feet, the one she called Quigley, and of the way she avoided any questions he asked her that dealt with family. This memorial, this secluded little cemetery, told him so much more than her words ever could have.
"What are you doing here?" It was those particular words of hers that had him jolting, turning to his right. She was standing there, between the cliffs and the trees, her hands in her pockets, her hair blowing a bit in the breeze as she stared at him. The look in her eyes said, quite clearly, that he had crossed some line of hers and that he was anything but welcome here.
Instead of acting guilty, as he knew he probably should have, he gestured to the crosses, watched her gaze snap to them for an instant before they darted away. "Who are they, Vi?" He asked softly, keeping his eyes locked on her, and watched her pull the wall up between them once again.
"Them? They're nothing but dust now. You shouldn't be here." She wanted him gone, away from this place. The cliffs were hers, had always been hers. And now here he was, trespassing on what was, to her, sacred ground.
She watched his face harden, and when she thought-hoped-he would turn away, instead he stepped towards her, his own hands sliding into his pockets as hers had.
"Don't change the subject. You made those crosses for them. They mattered. Don't make it sound like they don't." He said, and his tone made her feel ashamed. Because it did, her temper rose to cover the hurt, and her eyes frosted.
"Of course they mattered. I loved them. But they're none of your concern." She said, and when she would have turned away from him, he stepped forward again, grabbed her arm, heat and cold, and had her gaze snapping back to his.
"You matter. You're my concern, damn it. Tell me who they were. Just give me that." How could she say no, she wondered dimly, when those eyes of his, those stormy gray eyes, seemed to be able to see right down to her soul? For her own self preservation, she pulled away from him, reclaiming some sense of control as she stared through him, towards where she knew the crosses stood, symbols of people who were no longer anything but memories.
"They were mine. Klaus was thirteen, Sunny was three. I was the oldest, so I was supposed to look out for them. And Quigley…Quigley might have been my husband. They were all claimed by the sea. They died while I lived. They were mine, and I couldn't protect them. I was supposed to protect them. You shouldn't concern yourself with someone who couldn't do even that."
She turned away from him then, and he let her go, watching as she disappeared into the woods. And it was a long while before he too started back, discovering the downhill journey to be much easier. But his mind was on nothing but the three lonely crosses on the lonely cliffs of Baudelaire Island.
She'd told him, as he'd wanted her to. But the answer…The answer wasn't as easy to deal with as he'd hoped.