Read Farewell, Dorothy Parker for Free Online Page B

people she called by their real first names were her parents, Neil and Ivy. But, of course, that was to avoid referring to them as Mom and Dad.
    Her therapist had explained that it was Delaney’s way of distancing herself from emotional attachments. There was simply too much pain for the child to deal with. Violet was instructed not to press the issue—the girl would eventually come around on her own. So when Delaney started calling her
Aunt
V, instead of simply V, Violet was thrilled. Even an inch of progress felt like cause for celebration.
    “You okay?” Violet asked.
    “Better than you,” Delaney said. “You look like crap, Aunt V.”
    “Good to see you, too. Buckle, please.”
    Before Violet could put the car in gear and go, Sandra scurried out the door, yelling, “Wait! Wait!” Violet gritted her teeth and watched as the short, bosomy woman ran toward them. The wind, Violet noticed, was no match for Sandra’s Aqua Net, as her brittle, wheat-colored hair remained stationary.
    “Just go,” Delaney said.
    “I can’t.”
    “Shit,” the girl whispered.
    Sandra tapped on Delaney’s window and pantomimed rolling it down.
    Delaney pressed the button to open her window. “Are you lassoing something?” she asked her grandmother.
    “What?”
    Violet jabbed her niece with her elbow. “How are you, Sandra?” she said.
    Sandra ignored her question. “I’ve had enough of your sass today, young lady,” she said to Delaney.
    “Let me move back home with Aunt V and I’ll take my sass with me.”
    Sandra folded her arms. “She has a piano lesson at eleven tomorrow.”
    “Her piano lessons are on Thursday,” Violet said.
    “We changed her schedule.”
    “Why?” Violet asked, irritated. A Sunday-morning lesson would cut into their time together.
    Sandra tsked. “Just make sure she’s there on time.”
    Violet rolled her eyes. When had she ever been irresponsible about getting Delaney anyplace on time? “Of course,” she said.
    “The piano teacher hates when she’s late.”
    “Don’t worry,” Violet said, her jaw tensing. “She won’t be late.”
    “I’m not supposed to worry!” the older woman said to the heavens, and then addressed her granddaughter. “Did you pack your digoxin?”
    “Duh.”
    “Don’t forget to take it with dinner.”
    “I won’t.”
    “Remind her,” Sandra said to Violet.
    “I will,” Violet said.
    “Promise?”
    Violet gripped the steering wheel so tightly she felt like she could yank it from the car. She wasn’t going to play this game—the game where Sandra is the only one responsible enough to care about Delaney’s welfare.
    “Chill out, Butch,” Delaney said.
    Sandra ignored the insulting nickname. “Promise me,” she repeated to Violet, making it sound more like a command than a request.
    Shove it up your sass, Violet thought.
I’m
the one who slept on the recliner in her hospital room for four straight days when we didn’t know if she would make it.
I’m
the one who took her to three different pediatric cardiologists to find the best person to treat her.
I’m
the one who worked with a therapist to help coax her back into the world, inch by excruciating inch, when she wanted to curl up and die with grief. So don’t make me
promise
to give her the goddamned medicine she needs for her poor broken heart.
    “See you tomorrow,” Violet said, hoping Sandra would back off from the car so she could pull away.
    Delaney saw something that made her sink in her seat. “God, let’s
go.
”
    Violet looked toward the house to see what her niece was reacting to, and there stood Malcolm, smiling broadly enough to flash his newly bleached teeth against a glowing artificial complexion. God, he was an idiot, but so happy and guileless Violet couldn’t help but have a soft spot for him.
    “Wait a minute,” he shouted, taking a careful step forward.
    “What’s on his feet?” Violet asked. He was shuffling forward in what looked like paper slippers.
    “He