‘Beautiful,’ Katherine agreed.
She extended her arm across the table. ‘Nowell gave me a set of perfume and body lotion. Here, smell.’
‘Nice,’ Katherine said.
‘One more to open,’ Dot said.
Vivian could tell that Dot really enjoyed birthdays. While Lonnie and Nowell traded observations about the ball game and Max and Katherine started on their cake, Dot watched Vivian open her gifts with bright eyes.
Running her finger carefully under the tape, Vivian slid a narrow book from the pink wrapping paper that looked like it was left over from a baby shower. On the cover of the book was a reproduction of The Birth of Venus, the red-haired beauty emerging from the luminescent grooved shell. Inside, the blank pages were lined in soft blue. ‘A journal.’ She held the book up for everyone to see. ‘Thank you, it’s great.’
‘Look under the front cover,’ Katherine instructed.
An envelope was taped inside. Inside was a newspaper clipping.
Dot leaned eagerly toward her. ‘What is it?’
‘That’s just the ad for an introductory pottery class,’ Katherine said. ‘It’s in a few weeks, all day on a Saturday. You said you liked the flowerpots I made and well, you can’t do too much in one day, but I figured they’d have us make a vase or something, at least learn the basics. I hope you can go.’
‘What a great gift,’ Vivian said. ‘Thank you! Are you sure you want to take the class again?’
‘I could use a refresher. It’s been a long time, and I still have that kiln wasting away in the garage. When you said you liked those pots, it made me remember what fun it was. I swear, I may be just like a beginner; I don’t remember much.’
‘Thank you, everyone.’ Vivian caught Nowell’s eye across the table. He looked as though he was a million miles away. Probably thinking about his book, she thought.
Katherine sliced the cake and distributed the thick pieces. It tasted faintly of coconut and reminded Vivian of a cookie recipe her mother brought back from Hawaii: coconut and vanilla wafers. Her mother made them almost every week for months. Baking had never been something she enjoyed. She had always orchestrated elaborate, multi-course dinners for the holidays, but she avoided the more mundane and regular forms of cooking. Vivian loved to come home from school and find her mother sitting at the kitchen table with her book, waiting while the cookies baked. The house was warm and smelled of vanilla; traces of flour and sugar lingered in her mother’s hair and eyebrows, sweet reminders of her weakness. Sometimes, she let Vivian sprinkle the transparent curls of coconut over the soft, steaming mounds of dough.
‘Vivian gave us a copy of your book,’ Max said to Nowell. ‘Random Victim, right? I’m waiting for Katherine to finish it.’
‘It’s great so far,’ Katherine said. ‘I’m at the part where the young man who’s building the house is about to meet his girlfriend at the park. I have a feeling he’s not going to make it.’
Nowell smiled. ‘Are you asking me to tell you what happens?’
‘No!’ She laughed, her cheeks ruddy from the wine. ‘I hate that.’
‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it.’
‘Oh, I am. But I have a hard time reading it if Max isn’t home. It’s really creepy; the way that guy watches everybody. I wouldn’t want to meet up with him in a dark alley!’
‘I just started the book, too,’ Dot said. ‘I’ve only read the first two parts, but I agree with you. I haven’t wanted to read it at night either.’ She glanced at Lonnie, whose eyes were on the television at the far end of the room.
‘What makes you think of a character like that?’ Max asked. ‘Is it something you heard about, say, on the news? Or did you think of the idea yourself?’
Nowell took another drink of his wine and searched immediately for the bottle to refill it. ‘It’s hard to say.’
‘The killer, for instance,’ Katherine said. ‘Is he based on someone you know? Not the part about him being a killer, but his personality?’
‘Not really. Maybe he’s an amalgam of many different people, things you pick up on the street.’
‘On the street?’ Max asked.
‘In stores, on the news. People you run into and people you know.’ Nowell looked uncomfortable. He didn’t like discussing his books in detail.
Max and Katherine leaned back in their chairs. ‘What about the victims?’ Max said. ‘Why are they young men?’
Vivian grinned. ‘I thought you hadn’t read it yet.’
‘I looked at the back cover. In books, usually it’s young girls who get stalked like that. It’s different, isn’t it, having men as the victims?’
Nowell shifted in his seat.
‘Not necessarily,’ Katherine said.
Everyone, except for Max, could tell that Nowell didn’t want to talk about it. Max turned to Lonnie. ‘What do you think?’
Lonnie looked over. ‘About what, who gets killed more by stalkers?’
‘In books, yes.’
Nowell asked Vivian where the rest rooms were, and she motioned to a doorway beside the bar.
‘I haven’t read many books lately.’ Lonnie plunged his fork into his second piece of cake. ‘And I don’t think Nowell wants me to read his.’
Nowell stood near his chair, having risen to go to the bathroom. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You never gave me a copy of your book. You gave one to Dot, but not to me.’
‘Dot asked for one. I didn’t think you wanted to read it.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Lonnie asked. ‘I can read, you know.’
Nowell gave him a forced smile and left.
‘Why are you always picking fights with him?’ Dot’s eyes were watery and only traces of her lipstick remained. They had all had a few glasses of wine.
They sat for a moment in awkward silence.
Dot asked Max about the store. He made a few remarks about business then changed the subject to baseball.
Vivian excused herself and went to the bathroom. It was a small room with peach-colored walls. Two black-and-white photographs of cathedrals were centered above the sink. When she came out of the only stall, she heard a jingling sound before Katherine walked into the room.
‘Sorry about Max,’ she said, raising her arm to smooth her hair. The bracelets on her arm jingled again.
Vivian was confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s not the most insightful man. I swear, sometimes you have to hit him upside the head.’
‘There’s no reason to apologize,’ Vivian said. The room seemed abnormally bright after the dimness of the restaurant. ‘Nowell doesn’t like to talk about his writing. Makes him nervous or something. I don’t know why he acts like that.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s mad if people don’t show an interest and he’s uneasy if they do. He never tells me anything about it. If I beg him, he might say something vague, but he’ll never share the process with me. All this time, first with that book and now with this one, and it’s like we’re living separate lives. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, why he won’t talk about it. I should be apologizing to you.’
‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ Katherine said. ‘Calm down, now, really.’
Vivian realized how quickly and fervently she had been speaking. A single, hot tear slid down her cheek before she wiped it away.
Katherine pulled a chair from the corner. ‘Sit here.’
‘I don’t need…’
‘Sit.’
Vivian complied, setting her purse on her lap.
‘Lean over.’ Katherine pushed Vivian’s hair aside and pressed a damp paper towel against the back of her neck. ‘It’s the wine,’ she said, ‘always sneaks up on me too.’
Vivian closed her eyes as the delicious coolness spread from her neck over her breasts and down her abdomen.
‘Could it be something else?’ Katherine asked.
Vivian heard a rustling as she pulled another paper towel from the dispenser. ‘What do you mean?’
/> Katherine dried her neck. ‘Now sit up, slowly. I don’t know. You could be pregnant. I think that makes women emotional.’
Vivian exhaled loudly. ‘No.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I do. I’ve been very careful to avoid it, despite all the pressure from Nowell.’
‘He wants a baby?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘Yes. No. Not right now, that’s all. I don’t understand why it’s so important to him. What’s so great about kids, I’d like to know? Look at you and Max. You’ve got a great life, your own house and business.’
Katherine turned and threw the crumpled paper towel into the trash slot. ‘It’s not by choice.’
‘What?’
She faced Vivian. ‘It’s not by choice we don’t have children.’
‘Oh, Katherine. I’m sorry. You must think…’ Vivian put her face in her hands.
‘Don’t worry. People have different points of view about what they want out of life.’
‘But it’s so insensitive. I had no idea.’
‘I know you didn’t.’ Katherine reached over and squeezed her shoulder. Her bracelets rang like a bell.
‘Nowell’s been acting strange for another reason,’ Vivian said.
Katherine put on lipstick then blotted on a paper towel. ‘I told you, you don’t have to say anything.’
‘It’s something he found out.’ She paused. ‘What do you know about Nowell’s grandfather’s death? Did Mrs Gardiner ever talk about it?’
Katherine sighed. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘You know something,’ Vivian said, her eyes widening.
‘I know what most people know. It was a hunting accident.’
‘But who was hunting with him?’
‘I’m not sure. Friends, I guess.’
‘Like Mr Stokes’s father and grandfather?’
Katherine stopped rummaging through her purse. ‘Yes, like those two.’
‘So you know.’
‘When something is an accident, what do particulars matter? I didn’t want to influence your opinion of Mr Stokes.’
‘But you told me about his love affair with Ronella Oates and about his strange habits.’
‘This is a little different, don’t you think?’
‘Maybe.’ Vivian stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. She retrieved her makeup from her purse. ‘So what happened?’
‘I really don’t know anything,’ Katherine said. ‘They all went hunting and Jesper Stokes accidentally shot Russ, uh, Mr Gardiner. It’s not hard to imagine something like that happening. Either he thought it was a deer or his gun misfired. I’ve always thought hunting was stupid, just men trying to show their superiority over nature. Sure, with a gun. Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it, but like I said, I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.’
‘His name was Russ?’
‘Russell. Betty called him Russ.’
‘How did Grandma Gardiner feel about living next to Mr Stokes and his father all those years, after what happened?’
‘I know she didn’t blame anybody. It was a horrible accident.’
‘She believed that?’
‘Listen, I think I know what you’re hinting at, and I’m telling you, Betty didn’t blame anybody.’
Dot pushed open the door. ‘What’s going on in here?’
‘Just freshening up and gabbing a little,’ Katherine said. ‘We’re on our way out.’
‘Everyone’s getting pretty anxious,’ she said. ‘Nowell has already paid the bill and taken your presents out to the car.’
‘What’s he in such a hurry about?’ Vivian asked, and she gathered her things to leave.
24
The storm that blew in the night of Vivian’s birthday was violent and short-lived. Lightning appeared like cracks in the surface of the glassy, blue-black sky; as the jeep rolled over the slick asphalt of the new main road, electric bolts branched in the distance and seemed to touch ground over the stirring fields. At the horizon, a strip of lighter blue divided land from ominous cloud, providing a glimpse beyond the storm. The rain came in sheets. Fighting bravely against the deluge, the windshield wipers cleared the glass for short moments of sight before the water rushed down, blurring things again.
It had gotten cold. Dot pulled a faded, fringed blanket from the back of the jeep and folded it over their laps. Vivian couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Katherine. It had never occurred to her that she and Max might be unable to have children. She had assumed it was their choice, and she suddenly felt selfish for her own choice. What if I couldn’t, she thought, and fear clenched her heart with its cold fingers. She did want children, but at the present she couldn’t see where they’d fit into their lives. People should have a place for children.
The rain let up as abruptly as it had started; the oily smell of asphalt clung to the underbelly of the jeep. As Lonnie turned into the long driveway that led to the old, white house, Vivian noticed the small ponds that had formed here and there, the big drops still dripping from the porch awning. Above the house, the moon peeked now and then from the black and torrid sky.
It was the last rain they would see for almost two weeks. The short but intense downpour heralded a heat wave, cooled things off one last time before the sun baked the ground dry. In the ‘Nation’ section of The Sentinel, Vivian read about the fires raging through the southern parts of the country, and in the confines of the house they faced their own battles with the heat. Grandma Gardiner had lived for sixty years without central air conditioning, and Vivian didn’t understand how. Nowell still refused to open the windows in his study, which would have allowed a crosscurrent of air during the now infrequent afternoon breezes. The kitchen was the coolest room. As the sun dipped in the afternoons, the back rooms of the house were sweltering. At night, Vivian slept above the covers and they all kept their bedroom doors open, wishful for a gust of air.
But the night of the dinner for Vivian’s twenty-eighth birthday was still cool and breezy after the storm. When they got home, the red light on the answering machine was blinking. Beverly had called to let her sons know that her air conditioner was broken. What was the name of the man who fixed it before, she wanted to know, and did Nowell still have the phone number?
‘I’d better call her,’ Nowell said to no-one in particular.
Lonnie put a bag of popcorn into the microwave and soon the kitchen reeked of its buttery odor.
Dot padded back into the kitchen, having changed into a long pink t-shirt and a striped pair of socks. The socks were thick and reached to mid-calf; one big toe poked through a hole. The shirt stretched to her knees, and the outline of her shorts was visible through the thin material. Vivian had the irritating thought that Dot looked good in anything she threw together. On herself, clothing often felt uncomfortable or ill-fitting, and there was always something to hide: a slightly bloated stomach, the flabby upper sections of her arms.
Lonnie dumped his popcorn into a large bowl, coated it with salt, then followed Dot into the living room. Vivian heard the faint buzzing of the old television as it warmed up.
Nowell had changed clothes too, into the shirt he’d been wearing for several days. He picked up the phone. ‘Hi, Mom. No, we just got back from dinner. The four of us. Vivian’s birthday, right. She’s doing well, but she looks older.’
Vivian rolled her eyes at him then opened the freezer, looking for something to thaw for dinner the next day.
‘Did you get any rain? Yes, only for a few minutes. I know, it really cooled off with the storm.’
From the living room, Vivian heard a woman’s sharp screams. Lonnie loved horror movies; he thought they were funny.
‘You’re kidding, that warm? Do you think it’s the filter again?’
A pool of blood had frozen in the freezer like a reddish-brown pond. Vivian found the steaks that had leaked through a narrow slit in the plastic wrap. She
put them into the sink along with a second package.
‘Mom, that was five years ago. Are you sure you don’t have it in your file cabinet?’
In the living room, violins screeched a tense tempo. Dot said, ‘Why would she go in there?’
Vivian dampened the kitchen sponge with warm water and took it to the freezer. The puddle brightened as it was moistened, its volume augmented by the water. The liquid seeped into corners and traveled fast over the plastic grooves.
‘Isn’t there a folder called Home Repairs? Yeah, I’ll wait. Go ahead.’
Pushing the freezer contents away, Vivian soaked up the red mess. Then she took the darkened sponge to the sink and rinsed it out.
A piercing scream sounded from the living room and bounced off the hard surfaces of the kitchen.
‘What are you doing?’ Nowell asked.
She turned and saw that he was talking to her. ‘Some blood spilled in the freezer.’
‘Blood?’
‘From the meat.’
‘Yeah, Mom, I’m still here. You found it? That sounds familiar.’
Dot groaned in disgust while Lonnie laughed loudly, saying ‘Look at that, look!’
Vivian finished wiping up the mess. When Nowell hung up the phone, she asked him: ‘Were there any messages from earlier today?’
‘No.’
She set the steaks on a plate in the refrigerator.
Nowell reached around her to grab the pitcher of water. ‘Your mom’s been out of town, you know that.’
‘I wasn’t expecting them to call,’ she said.
He put his arm around her shoulders.
‘I wasn’t,’ she said again.
‘My mom said to wish you a happy birthday. She was already in bed. She has a bake sale in the morning.’
‘That’s all right. I already talked to her today when I called to thank her for the night gown.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh, yes, the new night gown. Did you say it was silk?’
‘Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.’
‘Come on now, don’t be coy.’ Nowell nuzzled his face into her hair. ‘Did you have a good birthday? If you don’t like the perfume, you can exchange it.’
The Qualities of Wood Page 22