Violet Hour

by Victoria Benton Frank

Genres: Women's Fiction; Family Life

Synopsis

A heartwarming and empowering novel about thriving after tragedy, from the author of the “enchanting, hilarious, and insightful” (Patti Callahan Henry, New York Times author) My Magnolia Summer.

Violet Adams is the perfect, youngest child in a family of loud, passionate women on Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina. As the sweet, traditional one, she’s always been the steady hand in her family but after a sudden breakup and subsequent tragedy, she doesn’t know who she is anymore.

Aly Knox, Violet’s best friend, is a young influencer still struggling with the loss of her mother and adjusting to joining Violet in Southern living. With her best friend’s help, Violet is determined to break out of her shell—and who she thought she was—no matter what. And what better place to look for success, meaning, and possibly love than the Lowcountry of South Carolina?

Release date: July 29, 2025

Publisher: Gallery Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

Prologue: Violet

PROLOGUE Violet
I was born with salt air in my lungs and pluff mud between my toes. As a girl I wore seaweed in my hair and seashells around my neck. I was raised knowing the tide tables along with my ABCs. I knew not to swim in August or April, because I didn’t want to keep company with the jellyfish, and I understood that oysters were best in the fall. I took my afternoon naps alongside the dunes and learned to walk lightly on the hard-packed sand. My backyard was the ocean, and I would always call it home. Although I am named after a spring flower, I am an island girl.

There is something different about women who were born by the sea, baptized in salt water, and raised by the tides. We were mermaids, adapting to the temperamental whims of storms that brewed beyond the shores. I lived at a different pace than the people on the mainland. We called it “island time.” We moved a little slower and smiled to ourselves at the city people. The thick humid air bound us to a secret only we knew: life was a little sweeter at the beach.

Being born on an island meant you were also in tune with nature. All women are daughters of the moon, but our relationship is strengthened by the ocean. Along with the water, we belong to her phases. I grew up with an appreciation for the cycle of life because I saw it play out so clearly in front of me. I respected the ocean because it deserved and demanded it. I knew there were places that would swallow you whole if you weren’t careful. Riptides took out a few clueless tourists each summer. Us island folk knew better. Oceans are not always joyful; in fact, very quickly the water can turn dark, roll in and roll out to cover and uncover deep secrets. The ocean, if it wanted, could make you lost forever. Reaching up and pulling you into its mouth, never to be seen again. People have gone missing at sea for as long as we have ventured out on her. The ocean is beautiful, but also wild and mercurial. The beach at noon is not the same beach at dusk.

We appreciated the gifts of the ocean and understood how it could also take away.

Anyone born next to the rolling tides of Sullivan’s Island knew a lot about the natural world, especially its weather. Island people know about hurricanes. They will tell you crazy things happen during hurricanes. Tragedies, too. Heart attacks and early births. I had lived through many storms, but as all island women knew, we were always ready for the next one.

Somewhere along the way, though, I had become timid about life’s storms. I had learned to keep my mermaid nature wrapped and hidden. If I had an inner siren, she’d become muzzled in the process of growing up. I’d grown scared, I guess, that if I let my hair out of its tight bun, if I acted on my wild and tempestuous impulses, I would lose control and then be truly lost at sea.

This is the story of how I found myself, out there in the storm, and learned my own true nature.

Chapter One: Violet

CHAPTER ONE Violet
It was a balmy almost afternoon on Sullivan’s Island, and I decided to escape from my desk for once, take my work outside and enjoy the beautiful afternoon. There was a gentle clinking of wind chimes, danced around by a breeze that promised a hotter tomorrow. The bright Lowcountry sun was spilling out through the palmetto fronds, warming my shoulders and bathing me in golden light as I spread out a handmade quilt on the soft grass that surrounded Gran’s garden. It was all lovely, but my mind was on work, on the wedding I had to photograph tomorrow, obsessively going over the checklists that helped me keep track of all the shots I needed to capture between the ceremony and the cocktail hour, memorizing the wedding party names. It was all that planning, those little touches, that had put me in high demand among the brides of Charleston.

Summer was right around the corner, and the wedding season would be coming right along with it. That meant good money for a girl in my line of work, but it also meant a lot of old dreams were about to be right up in my face. For a moment I got distracted by the wind chimes and the heat of the sunshine, allowing myself to slip into the cushions of my imagination and fantasies of another life.

It was comfortable living at my gran’s. I had originally moved in to help her recover from a surgery she’d needed after an accident a little over a year ago, but then my business had started to take off, and it just made sense to stay. She was finally starting to get back to her normal self. I helped with the cleaning, but she’d make us dinner most nights or order takeout. I had some wounds that were slow to heal, too, and things were simple there. It was great to have company, and I could dedicate a lot of time to my photography.

The home I used to live in, back when I thought I was going to live that picket fence life, was currently being rented out. I got good rates for it on Airbnb (Charleston was a hot destination these days), and I was glad to have an excuse not to live in that house all alone.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, taking me out of my head and back into reality. I picked it up, expecting a frantic message from one of the brides who’d contracted me to shoot their upcoming weddings. But it wasn’t that. My chest got tight, then filled with sweet air at the sight of a message from Chris, my boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend, I guessed. Our status was, well, complicated. The family life we’d planned together had been snatched away, but we still owned that house in Byrnes Downs together. For almost a year now, he’s lived in Japan on a job that was meant to last only a few months. We were in touch, though. Part of me thought I should move on to new things, but I liked that easy familiarity and the sense that there was someone out there who cared about me, that we could start up again at any moment and it wouldn’t be starting over from scratch with someone I didn’t know at all.

I tapped open the message.

Hey, I got an alert for funds available in our shared account… do you know what that’s about?

Oh shit. My stomach dropped. I did know what that was about, though I hadn’t planned to tell him about it yet. Or maybe ever?

Though maybe he deserved to know I’d been renting out the house. Squirreling away money for who knew what. My fantasies changed all the time. A Vera Wang gown for a harbor wedding, or a Caribbean elopement?

That’s weird, I typed.

Had I sent the last renters the wrong account number? This wasn’t the kind of mistake I usually made. Had I somehow done it subconsciously—like, accidentally on purpose? I had been really busy. And I’d tried to simplify some of my admin when I was putting in a few security measures—a camera, a lockbox—and maybe I’d mixed a few things up?

I’ll look into it.

For what seemed like a long time he didn’t reply, and then for what seemed like an even longer time those three dots rippled in the gray speech bubble.

Then his response came, and my stomach dropped again.

Violet, I miss home.

My heart started to race. This was not a normal message to get from Chris. Our exchanges these days were almost entirely practicalities about the house—making sure the flood insurance was up to date, that kind of thing. Sometimes he would text to tell me about a strange or cool discovery he’d made. Mostly pictures of food. It hadn’t been romantic in a while.

Everything okay?

We have a lot to talk about. I think I need to come home.

Well, you are overdue for a visit. I’m sure you miss your Bessinger’s Barbeque.

My words were easy breezy, but my fingers trembled as they hammered at my phone.

That’s not all of it, Vi, although I do miss their pulled pork. That’s not what I meant by home, though. I think I miss us.

I stared at the screen on my phone.

I guess on some level I had been longing for a message like this, a direct plea that we go back in time, or forward in time—that we form a real, official couple again and sign up for all the official couple things. But now, clutching my phone, I felt nervous. Maybe I was projecting anyway. Did he mean he missed seeing us regularly so we could all hang out? Or did he mean us, like us sharing a home again, and maybe a bed?

I felt a little foolish. One I miss you and I was imagining the whole domestic world that had almost been ours but had been flung back into orbit. I chewed on a fingernail.

Speaking of nails, I hadn’t gotten a manicure in a hot minute.

My mind whirred with insecurities, little fears—what would he think of me now? I had a lot of lady maintenance to do if he really was coming home.

Somewhere along the line, after my world was turned upside down, I didn’t recognize myself; I didn’t know anymore what I used to know. New corners of my heart had been ripped open, and what had mattered before seemed to hold less space now. I had buried my grief in work. I had become sharp and laser focused on becoming the most successful photographer in Charleston. If my chance of having a more domestic life was taken from me, I figured I’d better commit hard to something else. I shifted, placing myself in the center of my own attention. If my work got good enough, was noticed by someone at New York magazine, say, then maybe I could transition and do some editorial work, or even travel a little. I was a new version of myself, and I was still figuring her out.

How much of the old me was still in there? The one who was a perfectly toned size four? The one who knew exactly where the salad fork went, and how to write the perfect thank-you note? That was the version Chris and I both knew. But I had changed since he’d been gone. My time now was spent in the gym or working on my photography. My weekends weren’t open to days spent on his boat; they were spent at weddings, or in the darkroom, or at my computer editing. When Chris said he missed me, I wondered if he meant the old me.

He didn’t know the Violet I was trying to become, and maybe I didn’t, either.

The door of Gran’s truck slammed and out popped my sister, a blaze of copper red hair floating behind her as she ran toward me.

“Hey, girl, whatcha doin’?” she called out, crossing the yard.

We were so different, my sister and I, though we’d always been close. I was small, and Maggie was on the taller side. I had dark, straight-as-an-arrow hair; hers was wild, curly, and red. Her eyes were green; mine were brown. She was loud and impulsive; I was quieter, more calculating. I liked tradition, and she broke the mold. So dating Chris, who happened to be my sister’s ex-boyfriend, would always make me feel a little naughty, whereas Maggie got a kick out of seeing us together. On some level the fact that Chris and I got together probably let her off the hook. It had been my opinion, and still was, that she was a fool for letting him go, but the pull of New York City made her heart sing louder than he did.

She plopped right down next to me and sent up the perfume of garlic. Maggie—my sister the chef—brought her work with her wherever she went. She stretched out, rolling her pant legs up and leaning back to accept the sun’s kiss. She shook out her hair so that it caught the sunlight, lit her aflame.

“How goes the kitchen?” I asked.

“Oh, you know, another day, another review for the Lantern,” she replied with just a hint of bravado. “Lots of pressure, but I’m whipping out some classics.”

“Like what?” I was still feeling a little unnerved by the Chris thing—my mistake, and his comment—and wanted to be told something good.

“Like a mussels dish in a saffron cream sauce with garlic toast.”

That explained the garlic smell. My mouth watered a little. “Yum. I’m sure that will be a hit.”

“When in doubt, go French to impress,” Maggie replied with a wink.

“You’ve come a long way from the Fire Department Cook-Off.”

She grinned at me. “I had those boys beat when I was in high school.”

“Oh, I know,” I replied, grinning right back. “The article from the newspaper is still framed on Gran’s mantel.”

“As it should be.” Maybe Maggie noticed my grin slipping, because she tilted her head and asked, “What’s up?”

For some reason, I didn’t want to tell her about the text from Chris. I didn’t want to admit to myself, much less to her, the hopes it had kicked up inside me. Instead, I asked, “Do you miss New York City restaurant life any?”

“Sometimes.” My sister shrugged, released a sigh. “But I learned I don’t need to chase destiny up the coast. I have everything I need to achieve my dreams right in my own backyard.”

Maggie ran our family’s restaurant, the Magic Lantern. It was an institution on Sullivan’s Island, right up the road from our childhood home. Our great-grandmother Daisy started the place and handed it down to her daughter, my grandmother Rose, who handed it down to my sister, Magnolia, or Maggie as we all called her.

“You look dark, Violet.” She squinted in my direction, sizing me up, coming to one of those snap big-sister judgments. “You need some playtime.”

“Maggie, my fellow workaholic. You of all people should understand. I have zero free time, except for the next thirty minutes, and I’m actually working. See my pretty planner?” I held up my perfectly color-coded planner, complete with a violet cover and containing a very full to-do list.

“That’s exactly why you need to rekindle some old friendship flames and maybe catch a date? Stop working for a moment.”

I couldn’t help laughing a little at the irony. “You should talk!”

“I know, I know. But Sam is all I need.”

Must be nice, I almost said, but I managed to hold my tongue. Sam was Maggie’s doctor boyfriend of a few years. He was a catch—I knew, because I used to date him. Yes, if you are keeping score, then that’s correct—we kind of swapped boyfriends. Sounds scandalous, I know, but in truth there was no juice in that fruit. He was the kind of catch that didn’t really do anything for me. We were better as friends, and he was just right for Maggie somehow. He was a good southern man from an old Charleston family who had been farmers for about a hundred years on Johns Island, a barrier island off Charleston.

“I have Aly,” I said. Aly was a new friend, but we had become close fast.

“That’s not the same. Speaking of needs,” Maggie said, a twinkle in her eye. “You could use your coat shined.”

“?‘Coat shined,’ good lord, Maggie.” I giggled at our family phrase for, well, you know what. I hadn’t had sex in…

But Maggie, not noticing my embarrassment, forged right on ahead. “Time to dust off one of your Lilly Pulitzer shifts! Maybe wear less black? Jimmy just moved back, you know—he needs a companion. A single girl—I won’t do, shacked up as I am. So maybe y’all will go out?”

Jimmy was our childhood best friend. He was the best dancer, the best dressed, and he had the sweetest heart I’d ever known. He was loyal to a fault and had looked out for my sister and me since our sandbox days. But he had gotten closer to Maggie when they were both living in New York, and I hadn’t seen him in a minute. “I thought Mr. Hollywood was too busy for us. Where is he living?”

“He’s technically a soap opera actor; is that considered Hollywood?”

“How should I know?”

“He’s here for the summer, staying with his aunt on the island. His show doesn’t film in the summer.”

“It’ll be good to have him around again.” I bit my lip, resisting my sister’s suggestions. “I wouldn’t even know where to take Jimmy. Except for wedding venues, that is. I’m so out of it.”

“Vi, your sister is a very important chef in Charleston. Maybe try a new restaurant? You know I love Vern’s. Their chicken is totally Last Supper status.” She made a playful face and said, “Maybe loosen that tight ballerina bun?”

These days, I never had a single hair out of place; it was always the same style. I slicked it back with my wax stick, parted it down the center, and wound the rest of it into a bun so my hair was off my neck. It had become my signature look.

“Yeah, we could do that. I’d like him to get to know Aly, too,” I said noncommittally. “I haven’t been to a restaurant other than the Magic Lantern or a banquet hall in a long time. Maybe the three of us could go out? Or the four of us?”

“Violet, what’s wrong?”

“Well…” It hurt when I swallowed just then, but I figured I should come clean, tell Maggie what was on my mind. My weird little secret, and the emotions coursing through me. “Chris sent me a text today.” For a moment, Maggie didn’t say anything, so I added, “Just house stuff at first, but then he sent an ‘I miss you’ text.”

“Not the ‘I miss you’ text; come on, Violet! Don’t fall for it!” Maggie groaned.

“I’m not falling for anything, Maggie.” My words were tumbling out of my mouth fast and defensive. “But he might be coming home.”

“Yeah, okay. Who cares? Why would he send you that? I thought the romance department was closed with that guy.”

“That guy.” I must have repeated her words a little too sharply, because she flinched at the sound.

“Violet, I love you. I’m not saying this to start a fight; I just think you need to be careful with him. Why would he send you an emotional text out of the blue… It seems fishy.”

“Does it? I mean, we own a house together; it can’t be totally out of the blue…”

“Don’t you dare say you told him you miss him too.” Maggie’s eyebrows were about at her hairline.

“Maggie, I’m not going to pretend like the fire is totally out. I wonder sometimes how things could’ve been if—”

“Stop, I’m not entertaining that, and you shouldn’t either. Have you told Chris about the Airbnb thing yet?” she asked.

My irritation with my sister faded as my guilt welled up. “No, not yet…”

I mean, I should feel guilty. I was lying by omission. I had initially done it just to get a little extra cash for house maintenance and didn’t think Chris needed to know about it, but it proved lucrative, even more so once I moved into Gran’s and could rent out the whole house. Not that I had shared the money with him.

“He’s on the deed!” Maggie said.

“I know I need to tell him. I’m just waiting for the right moment…” I looked at my toes, which, as it happened, could really use a fresh coat of paint.

“You are always waiting for the right moment for everything… but you know when the right moment comes? Never.”

I didn’t have an argument for that.

“So, speaking of the wrong moment, Mom’s coming home soon.”

“Yeah, back from another European adventure.”

“At least we’ll have Jimmy to roll our eyes with. Hopefully this time won’t be so dramatic.”

“It’s Mom we’re talking about here,” I said. “There’s always drama.”

Maggie nodded. Just like that, we were on the same team again.

Our mother was a true handful, to put it midly. After years spent as an aspiring ballerina, she had a warped relationship with food and a tendency toward the operatic. Years ago, when we were small, our father died in a motorcycle accident after a dance with some narcotics. That woman was no stranger to drama.

“Is Gran inside?” Maggie asked me.

“Yeah, she was knitting something in her chair and dozed off. She’s been sleeping for a while now, so we might want to head in.”

“Huh, she okay?” Maggie jumped up and disappeared into the house.

I followed her but stopped at the gallery wall of pictures by the stairs and straightened out the framed image of Grandmother Daisy that was always falling to the left. I tiptoed in to find Gran staring out of the glass door that overlooked the marsh, a wistful look on her face.

“Gran?” I whispered.

“What? Oh!” She collected herself and gave me a glancing smile. “I was just remembering.”

“Something sweet, I hope?”

As she turned to face me, she gave me the once-over. “What’s on your mind, Violet?”

“Nothing.”

“You look like you’re hiding something.”

“I’m not hiding anything…” It was hard to lie when Gran was staring right at me. With a sigh, I admitted, “Chris wants to come home.”

“Oh, lord. How do you feel about it?”

“I mean, I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“And right when Lily is coming home, too.” Gran reached out and cupped the side of my face. “It all happens at once, doesn’t it? You might want to go see Malory over at Stella Nova Salon. I know I always feel better when my hair’s looking good. If Chris is coming home, he needs to see what he’s missing.”

“How do you know I want him to miss me?” I smiled and put a hand on my hip.

“Violet, I’ve known you since before you knew yourself. You’ve been moping around this house, not going on any dates. You two almost made a family together. It makes sense. You have unfinished business. We all know you miss him, even if you are busy with work. Maybe he’s made some mistakes in the past… but so have you, right?” She gave me a warm smile. “Everyone likes second chances!”

It took a special bond to be able to speak like that to each other. I was grateful when she did that, cut right to the chase. She always saw through me anyway, and her saying it out loud gave me permission to feel what I was feeling. The little tug at my heart made me realize I was actually excited to see him, too.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile.

“There you are,” Maggie said, emerging from the next room. “I was looking for you in the other room—Violet said you were in your chair. Keeping secrets, are you?”

“What? No…” Gran glanced from Maggie back to me. “I was just going out, actually. Want me to pick you up something to eat?”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m meeting up with Aly at the Co-op.”

“Then have a shower, Vi,” Maggie said.

“Okay, y’all, I get it. I’m going to see Malory tomorrow; everyone relax.”

“Thank goodness,” Maggie teased. “Did you tell her to caffeinate?”

“I’m sure she knows she has her work cut out for her. It’s been a minute,” I replied, catching my reflection in the mirror. How long had it been, exactly? They had a point. I had stopped caring about my hair; I just tucked it away and went to work. But I had stopped making time for things like hair appointments. I had just been so busy making everyone else look good. All my brides needed to capture perfection, yet a woman’s hair in the South was a very serious matter of pride and, according to my mother, fifty percent of a woman’s looks.

“Gross, Violet!” Gran said, swatting my hand away from my mouth before I had a chance to bite my nails.

“Y’all, I’m going to run over to the Nail Place on Main Street.”

“Yeah, you don’t want Chris seeing you like that,” Gran said.

“You’re gonna need a fresh sharp set, in case you need to scratch his eyes out,” Maggie said. She was smiling again, but I still couldn’t tell if she was joking.