Читать книгу The Qualities of Wood - Mary White Vensel - Страница 7

In the kitchen, Vivian opened and shut cupboards. Almost everything in the house had belonged to Nowell’s grandmother. In one drawer, crocheted potholders, in another, faded telephone books. Here and there she saw something of theirs – a block of knives, Nowell’s favorite coffee mug – and felt an odd kinship with the items. Their things stood out from the rest, their familiarity like a signal. Most of their belongings were still in a storage place outside of the city.

‘Where are the glasses?’ she asked.

Nowell pointed to a pantry door near the entrance to the hallway.

Strange place to put glasses, she thought. She would rearrange things in the morning.

‘You’re having beer?’ he asked.

There were three cans of beer in the refrigerator and she had set two of them on the table. Between them, steam rose from the bowl of pasta. Nowell went back to the oven for the bread.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Do you want one?’

He nodded without looking at her.

Vivian’s chair cushion made a shhh sound when she sat. The backs of her thighs pinched as they stuck fast to the vinyl.

Nowell scooped noodles onto her plate. ‘They have a great deli and bakery at the grocery store in town,’ he said.

‘Doesn’t Lonnie like to cook anymore?’

‘Sure. He cleaned that barbecue off and grilled steaks one night. He also made apple cobbler in a clay bowl. Right in the ground, on hot coals. We ate the whole thing.’

Vivian looked around the pale yellow kitchen. The curtains were a darker shade, embroidered with daisies. Mustard-colored specks in the countertop almost matched the dark yellow of the patterned tile. When she had peeked in from the back window, all of the yellow in the room seemed strange and overdone. Sitting inside gave a different impression; the warm hue was soothing.

‘No dishwasher?’ she asked.

‘No, we’ve been roughing it.’

She remembered helping her mother with the dishes after a big, elaborate dinner, standing side to side, arms submerged in warm water. Vivian always rinsed. When she fell behind, her mother floated her hands in the soapy water and stared out the window until Vivian caught up. It felt good, like they were on the same team.

Nowell rose from the table and came back with a plastic tub of butter. She had a sip of beer and studied him. His hair had grown too long and he needed to shave the back of his neck. She thought maybe he had gained a few pounds. The older women who worked at the water management agency told Vivian that once you get married, men have no reason to keep themselves in good shape. They warned her about feeding him too much. But Nowell was tall and slender and had remained so, despite his sedentary job. Youth, the women told her. Just wait until you hit thirty.

‘How are your parents?’ he asked.

‘They’re fine. I think four weeks is beyond my threshold.’

‘Pretty tough going back?’

‘They haven’t changed.’

‘Did your mom have one of her formal dinners for you last night?’ He smiled. ‘I like the way she folds the napkins and puts place cards on the table.’

‘You wouldn’t like it so much if you grew up with that stuff. All that ceremony. And it’s more than just holidays. It was just the three of us this time.’

It had probably been Nowell’s lack of formality that had attracted Vivian to him in the first place. They met in a large Geology class in college: a hundred students enclosed in a theater-like lecture hall. Nowell arrived late, then ducked along the back row to avoid the professor’s gaze. As he slid into his seat, he grinned at her and she noticed his brown eyes, the playful cocking of his eyebrows. Later, they were assigned to a laboratory group together. He was impossible to resist – handsome in the dark way that she liked, smart, confident. Nowell told her later that he’d thought she was funny and independent.

Even back then he knew he wanted to be a writer. He took literature and history classes and published short stories in the undergraduate literary journal. Vivian didn’t settle on the focus of her own studies until her third year, when Nowell helped her decide on a Business major. She took the job at the WMA while still in school and just stayed on after graduation.

Nowell tore off a piece of bread with his teeth. ‘Did you get the whole deposit back from the apartment?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I also have my last paycheck, with the vacation time I didn’t use. And since I stayed the extra month, they said they’d forward my bonus.’

‘Good, we’ll need every bit. No paychecks for a whole year…’

‘But we’ve planned for this,’ she reminded him. ‘We’ve got the money from your first book.’

‘That’s not much.’

‘And the money your grandmother left, and the savings. As long as nothing unexpected happens.’

Nowell looked up from his food. ‘Did your parents drive you to the airport?’

She shook her head. ‘Dad had an early class, so it was just my mom, harassing me all the way.’

‘She thinks you should have kept your job since mine’s so lucrative.’

‘No. She still believes I’ve missed my calling in life, that I’ve overlooked some hidden talent.’

‘She thinks I’m holding you back.’

‘From what?’

‘From something that isn’t me,’ Nowell said.

‘I told her the move isn’t just for you. If I can get this house cleaned up,’ she motioned with her hand, ‘and it looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me, then we can make a little for us when your mom sells it.’

‘She sent some money,’ Nowell said. ‘My mom. She said buy supplies, paint, cleaning stuff, whatever. Keep the receipts.’

‘Do you really think the place will sell?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It seems so out of the way.’

‘Lots of people want to live in the country.’ Underneath the table, he surrounded her feet with his larger ones. ‘Besides, you haven’t seen the town yet. It has modern conveniences.’

‘Do they have a movie theater?’

‘I think they do,’ he said.

‘It’s probably a drive-in.’ She rose and took her plate to the sink.

Nowell came up behind her. ‘A drive-in might be fun.’ He kissed her just behind the ear, dropped his hands to her waist. His breath was warm. ‘We could take our new truck and break it in.’

‘Your new truck,’ she said. ‘I don’t think my feet will reach the pedals. I’ll have to get those stilts that handicapped people use.’

He slid his hands upward from her stomach and she stepped back, forcing him to move away.

‘Let me rinse these dishes,’ she said, ‘so there won’t be ants or mice or whatever lives out here. I’ll be there in a minute.’

‘Deal.’ He grabbed his beer from the table and leaned his head back, swallowing the last of it.

‘Will you start unpacking my suitcase?’ she asked.

He tossed the empty can into the trash and walked down the hallway.

Vivian hid a smile, imagining his reaction. She had purchased new lingerie, an emerald satin chemise and shorts, and packed it at the top of her bag for him to find. She hurried to clear the table.

Her attraction to Nowell was reliably strong, especially after a month’s absence. There was something so comforting about the feel of his arms, something still so exciting about their legs entwined, her long hair spilling around them. She lost herself during their intimacies.

Afterwards, they turned down the quilt and lay on the bed backwards, looking out at the moon. The carved headboard blocked part of the window, which was wide and low like the one in Nowell’s study. The moon, almost a full circle, sat in perfect view over the trees. There were so many more stars in the country, Vivian thought. The night was lit up by them.

The bedroom had been his grandmother’s. It was small and exactly square, just wide enough for the bed and two wooden nightstands. Each table held a lamp shaped like a lighthouse, white with black details, the light beaming from the top. On the far wall hung an oil painting, a picture of a house and the surrounding field but the colors were strange: orange grass, green sky, a pink, tilted roof.

Nowell lay still, the sheet draped over his mid-section like a loincloth.

‘You’re quiet,’ Vivian said.

He brought his arm around to rest heavily on her stomach. ‘I guess you haven’t changed your mind about things.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because of what you said just now, at the end. And you’re drinking beer.’

Vivian tensed. ‘It’s not even the right timing. Besides, you promised you wouldn’t bring this up for a while.’ She swung her legs around and sat on the edge of the bed, then leaned over and picked up the green chemise.

‘I know. Sorry. Come on, don’t be mad.’

‘You’re always thinking about having a baby,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it enough for now that I’m here?’

‘I just don’t see why, I mean, I thought we agreed to talk about it.’

‘I’m not having this conversation again.’ She found her shorts underneath the pillow at her feet and pulled them on. ‘I’ve had a long day traveling. I want to wash my face, and I might drink that last beer before I brush my teeth.’ She added this last part to annoy him.

It worked. ‘I have a lot on my mind too,’ Nowell said. ‘Just forget it.’ He turned his back to her and pulled up the sheet. He left the blanket bunched at his feet. A ceiling fan whirred overhead, stirring the warm air into feathery layers of discontent.

Vivian walked down the hall and looked into the other rooms, flipping lights on and off. There were two bedrooms across the hall. In one, a small white dresser sat opposite a double bed. The other was filled with boxes.

In the kitchen, she opened the last can of beer and took a long drink. A narrow, circular staircase jutted through the ceiling in the far corner of the room. An odd entry to the attic, the room with the triangular windows.

She had to step down when she walked into Nowell’s study because it was built lower to accommodate the slope of the land. Feeling along the wall for a light switch, she remembered that Nowell had said there was no electricity. She let her hand drop. Moonlight reflected from shiny surfaces and her eyes began to focus in the darkness. To her left, a narrow, cluttered bookshelf extended to the ceiling. To her right, a brown leather couch took up most of the wall. Against the window was the antique secretary. Vivian noticed the thick electrical cord that ran down the center of the room and into the kitchen. A metal floor lamp sat beside the desk, connected to the cord. She didn’t turn it on.

She looked at the backyard, the expanse of grass that stretched to the thick line of trees, now silver in the moonlight. She thought about the bouncing lights they’d seen and wondered how much of the land belonged to them, at least for a time.

The paper tray of Nowell’s printer extended over the side of the desk. A stack of freshly printed sheets was in the wire holder. She picked up one page and squinted to read it in the dim light.

She was young and fast, a girl who knew too much and would soon understand why this was dangerous. She walked with purpose, swinging her lush hips and her long silky hair, as she glanced back over her shoulder at him, beckoning. He was unaffected at first, watching her this way, but his interest grew and he determined to see her. He waited, for days it seemed, always looking for her at the usual time, at the usual place, but for days and days she didn’t come. He grew restless, angry. She was the kind of girl who didn’t keep people waiting for long, and now here he was, waiting like a fool.

Vivian placed the paper back with the others in the tray. Nowell liked to give her portions of his writing in his own good time, like gifts meted out to an impatient child. His first book was a murder mystery and from the looks of it, this new one was too. It seemed strange that a sensitive, easy-going person like Nowell would write about deranged people and horrific events but it was imagination, which could come up with just about anything, she supposed.

Why couldn’t he be content with just her, at least until they could get back to the city? Their life wasn’t suited for a family right now, she thought. There was no room.

In the kitchen, she poured the last of the beer down the sink. With the yellow-patterned tile under her bare feet and only the thin layer of green satin against her skin, she was getting cold. She turned off the light and felt her way along the wall to the bedroom. In the morning, she would take a better look around.