Page 20 of The Missing Pages

“We’re so sorry about Hugo,” member after member expressed to her at the Owl, each of them relaying their condolences. She had anticipated this when Jenny and Sylvia convinced her to come out with them, but none of it softened the awkwardness or the pain.

“We loved him like a brother,” one of them confided.

“There wasn’t a greater guy in the world,” another one said.

By the time the second keg was opened, Violet could no longer count how many boys had lifted their red Solo cups and toasted their beer to her dead boyfriend. She wanted to leave.

“Come on,” Jenny said, when she told her she was leaving to go back to the dorm. “It’s just getting fun.”

Nothing about the evening had been fun for Violet. From the moment she stepped into the Georgian house, with its pomp and circumstance, its patrician details, the memories she had of being there with Hugo overtook everything else in her mind.

“I’ll go back with you,” Sylvia offered. “I get it. This must be super hard.”

Violet went upstairs to get both their coats.

“Hey.” Theo stood at the top of the upper landing. “I was hoping you’d come.”

“Yeah, I really didn’t think I was up to it yet, but Jenny kind of put her foot down about me being such a buzzkill.”

“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.