The Qualities of Wood

by Mary Vensel White

  Mrs Brodie laughed. Her dark blonde hair bounced on her shoulders.

  Katherine stepped forward. ‘Why don’t you come out to the house for dinner sometime, Kitty?’

  Releasing Max’s hand, Mrs Brodie turned toward her. ‘Thank you, Katherine. That’d be nice.’

  Vivian was going to say something about the barbecue she’d been trying to organize, but she changed her mind.

  Mrs Brodie walked around the yard, spending several minutes at the makeshift clothesline strung between the two trees.

  Katherine and Max paid for the tool belt, the vase, and a knife set. ‘Wish we could help you more,’ Max said.

  Vivian shook her head. ‘I’m just glad you found a few things you wanted.’

  ‘I’d like to take that bookshelf and put it in the garage,’ Katherine said, ‘for all the pottery we’ll be making.’ She turned to Vivian. ‘Let me know if it doesn’t sell.’

  As Katherine and Max walked to their car, Mrs Brodie approached the table. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Gardiner?’

  ‘Yes?’

  Mrs Brodie looked tired. Her lips were two blurred stripes of red, like an equal sign. ‘That afternoon I stopped by, you had the most beautiful blue suit in the kitchen there. I don’t suppose it’s for sale?’

  Vivian walked around the table. ‘It was out here somewhere.’

  They looked for a few moments through the rack of clothing. Vivian stole glances at Mrs Brodie as they searched. Perspiration beaded at her temples and her jacket was wrinkled at the elbows. Vivian asked Lonnie if he recalled the suit, and he said he’d sold it the day before.

  ‘Oh,’ Mrs Brodie said. ‘That’s too bad. You see, I have a friend and the suit seemed like his size. I only saw it for a moment, but I thought of it when I saw that you were selling things.’

  ‘I’m sorry it’s gone, then,’ Vivian said.

  Lonnie stood nearby, his feet spread broadly on the grass. A steel socket wrench dangled from his hand.

  ‘Maybe I’ll look around some more,’ Mrs Brodie said. ‘That was a nice suit.’

  ‘Would you like something to drink?’ Vivian asked.

  She laughed. ‘You’re just like her, like Betty Gardiner. Always offering something to drink on a hot day, something to snack on. I only met her a few times, of course, but that’s what she did.’

  ‘Katherine says the same thing about her.’

  ‘Does she?’

  They turned as Dot pulled the faded red truck into the crowded driveway, then backed up and parked alongside the mailbox. Vivian’s reservations had been unwarranted: Dot maneuvered the truck like a pro, looking completely at home and in control in its tall, cavernous cab.

  29

  In the morning, Dot left as planned. Lonnie was lonely and withdrawn in the following days, and the house seemed quieter without his loud, jovial voice.

  The yard sale had been a great success. Most of the larger items and a good deal of the appliances and smaller things had been sold. They moved everything else back into the attic. After some time, Vivian would go through the things again but she needed a break from the mound of someone else’s belongings.

  She spent most of the week preparing to paint. She hadn’t planned on starting so soon, but it seemed like the next logical step. Throughout the house, she taped over doorframes and removed light fixtures. In the spare bedroom, she spread newspapers over the carpet and covered the windows. She would start in there.

  At Clement’s Hardware in town, she spent the better part of an afternoon purchasing supplies. The owner, Mr Garrison, took her through the entire painting process, helping her choose spackle, drop cloths, sandpaper, putty knives, brushes and rollers, and the ivory paint she planned to use on the interior walls. She had given up any fleeting thought of staying on at the house. She’d paint in neutral tones that a prospective buyer would appreciate. It would take time. They were still using most of the rooms in the house, but as soon as Lonnie and Dot left, she and Nowell could move into their bedroom while the master bedroom was painted. Then, she could transfer the remaining things from the living room into the spare room after it was painted. In this way, she could slowly get to every room.

  The house was eerily sparse. All of the wall hangings had been taken down for the sale, and big gaps remained where furniture had been. She planned to have Nowell move the couch from the study into the living room after she painted, but for the time being, they brought in extra pillows in and watched television from the floor.

  Lonnie was gone much of the time that week. He slept in late, drove off shortly after lunch, and was usually still gone when they went to bed. One evening he brought videos from the rental store in town and the three of them sprawled on the floor, eating popcorn. All evening, Lonnie had a nervous energy and shifted frequently, first putting his feet straight out and propping himself up on his elbow, then sitting up, then lying back down again.

  Vivian grew wary around him. His silences were intense and brooding, and she imagined him lurking around corners. Even in the afternoons when she was certain that he was gone, when she knew that he was sitting in a fishing boat or on a bar stool with his new friends, even then, she felt his nervous presence in the house, his raw incompleteness without Dot.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation they’d had about Sherman. Mr Stokes had practically confirmed that something had been going on between Sherman and Mrs Brodie, and Lonnie seemed to suspect his father of more than just clandestine meetings with Grandma Gardiner. During those two days at the house, when Lonnie had followed his father, perhaps he saw evidence of the relationship.

  Vivian kept going back to something he said, something that had struck her quite differently at the time than when she thought of it later, remembering his tone: I didn’t force my mom to stand up for herself. I stood by and let her fall. At the moments he spoke of Beverly and her self-deception, of her helplessness and the sense of hopelessness that left her weak and exposed, at those moments he sounded embittered, angry. His comments about Dot’s past were similarly peculiar and disjointed. He expressed concern for her at the same time he seemed offended by her fragility.

  And then Mrs Brodie came sniffing around the yard sale for Sherman’s suit, and seemed so disappointed to hear that it had been sold. Vivian couldn’t help but think that she wanted something of his as a memento.

  They planned to go to the festival on Friday evening. There would be a live band, food from local restaurants, and fireworks after dark. The days were growing shorter; there was less time after dinner before the sun began its descent to orange behind the trees. Lonnie had been hesitant to go, but Nowell convinced him.

  On Friday morning, Vivian was in the shower when Nowell called to her through the bathroom door. For some time, she’d been standing under the stream of water, letting its slippery tentacles slide down her body to the drain.

  He opened the door and she felt a rush of cooler air. She had a phone call, he said. When he was working, he usually ignored the phone. She realized that Lonnie must have answered it and relayed the message to him. Whoever it was must have been waiting for several minutes already.

  She wrapped a towel around her head and slid into her bathrobe. In the kitchen, the telephone receiver was perched on the counter. She picked it up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mrs Gardiner? Vivian?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s Kitty Brodie. Sorry to bother you. Your husband didn’t wake you, did he?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Water dripped from Vivian’s temple onto her cheek. The telephone receiver stuck to her ear. She found a corner of the towel and dried her face.

  ‘I have a favor to ask you,’ Mrs Brodie said. ‘I’ve been going through Chanelle’s things. It’s not a pleasant experience, as I’m sure you can imagine. I mean, after clearing out Betty’s house. It’s a tiring job.’

  ‘If you need help…’

  ‘No, no. That’s not it at all.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It’s just that I’m missing something of h
ers, something important. Chanelle’s favorite necklace. It was gold with a little charm, a giraffe. She really loved it. She wore it all the time.’ She paused. ‘She collected giraffe things. She’s got stuffed animals and books, and a little glass one with marbles for eyes.’

  Vivian didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Giraffes got their long necks by reaching for leaves in the trees, did you know that? That’s what Chanelle liked about them. She couldn’t believe that something could change so much, just by trying.’

  ‘So the necklace is missing?’ Vivian asked.

  ‘I’ve looked everywhere. The police didn’t find it. I’ve asked Sheriff Townsend to look again, but he says that they combed the area already. And he says that you’ve been bothered enough.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Maybe that’s true, but I’d really like to look around one last time if you don’t mind. I’m sure it has to be out there somewhere. I wanted to look for it the other day, but I was so out of sorts. I hoped that it would show up in her things. I’ve looked, but it’s not here.’

  ‘Mrs Brodie, that’s fine. You can come over any time. It’s no problem. In fact, I’ll help you look, if you want.’

  ‘What about today?’

  Vivian glanced at the kitchen clock, at the lifted, curled claw of the rooster. ‘Sure, whenever.’

  ‘You’ve been so nice about all of this, really. I have an appointment, but I’d like to stop by about four-thirty.’

  ‘Oh, we’re going into town for the festival,’ Vivian said. ‘I think we’re leaving around then. What about tomorrow? We should be here all day.’

  ‘I was hoping to look today.’ Mrs Brodie’s voice faded.

  Vivian pressed the receiver against her ear, listening to the silence. ‘You can still come today,’ she said after a moment. ‘It’s just that no one will be here. But if you want to come anyway, that’s fine.’

  ‘Are you sure? I’ll only be a while. The sheriff showed me where they found her. I thought I’d just look around there.’

  ‘No problem. Just park in the driveway behind our truck. We’ll probably take the other car, the jeep, into town.’

  ‘This is very nice of you, Vivian. You must think I’m a little strange.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head at the incomprehensibility of Mrs Brodie’s loss, which occurred to her again as a churning feeling of dropping, deep in her stomach. ‘This necklace means a lot to you.’

  ‘It does, it really does.’

  At the moment Vivian hung up the phone, Lonnie walked into the kitchen and Nowell pushed through the curtain. ‘That was Mrs Brodie,’ she said. ‘She wants to stop by this afternoon while we’re gone.’

  Both stopped in their tracks. ‘Why?’ Lonnie asked.

  ‘Her daughter had a necklace and she can’t find it. She thinks it might be in the woods. I guess she wore it all the time.’

  ‘Wouldn’t the police have found it?’ Nowell asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Probably. Maybe it’ll make her feel better to look herself.’

  Lonnie took the cup he was holding to the sink and turned the water on. It came out fast, splashing onto the counter. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She’s going to be poking around back there, when we’re not here?’ He dried his hands on the towel then tossed it carelessly toward the counter. It hit the edge and fell to the floor. ‘Damn!’ He seemed agitated.

  ‘What time is she coming?’ Nowell asked.

  ‘Four-thirty,’ she said. ‘We’re still leaving around four, right?’

  ‘We could wait for her,’ Lonnie said.

  ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘It’s not like she’s going to rob us or something. She’ll come out, look around for a while, then leave. What’s with you, anyway?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Lonnie’s voice was tense. ‘She’ll be on our property, that’s all. What if something happens to her?’

  ‘Like what?’ Nowell took an apple from the bowl on the table.

  ‘She could fall and break her leg,’ Lonnie said.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Vivian said. ‘I’m going to the festival at four o’clock. I feel sorry for her, but what can we do? I’ve been looking forward to tonight. It’s probably the one and only event that will happen in this town for several years. The band is starting at five, and I want to be there. Now, is anybody going with me or do I have to go by myself?’

  Nowell raised his eyebrows, looking first at Lonnie then back to Vivian.

  ‘I never said I didn’t want to go,’ Lonnie said. ‘Can’t she come another day?’

  ‘She wants to come today.’

  ‘We’ll just make sure we lock everything up,’ Nowell said.

  Lonnie seemed satisfied with this; he nodded his head and slowly walked back outside.

  Vivian went back to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her skin was smooth and unblemished and her eyebrows were perfectly symmetrical and full. Nice eyebrows. She turned her face from side to side, noticing the flat mole in the middle of her right cheek, the faint hair, like a small v in front of each ear. She had her father’s eyes, brown and deep, and her mother’s high forehead. She had been known for her attention to detail at her job at the water management agency. She showed up, she listened, she did her work on time. Extremely competent, her boss had written on her last performance review. There’s potential, she thought. A chance. Something Chanelle Brodie would never get. She took a dry washcloth and in rapid movements, wiped the remaining steam from the corners of the mirror. Her arm clenched and unclenched as she scrubbed in a circular motion. Suddenly, she wanted to see everything.

  30

  Later that afternoon, Lonnie slowed the jeep when traffic grew thick on the main artery into town. Across from the recently assembled carnival area, a lot was partitioned into parking. The rest of the festival was five blocks away in the older, central part of town. Crowds circulated between the two locations and Nowell, Lonnie and Vivian fell quickly into the steady stream of people. Downtown, the streets were blocked off. In the plaza next to the statue of William Clement, a platform was raised and a band went through their warm-ups. A stocky man with a long, brown-gray ponytail thumped his fingers against a large microphone then pressed his mouth against it. ‘Testing,’ he said, ‘testing.’ Faces turned toward the stage in anticipation.

  They walked down the main street. Near the plaza, food and beverage booths huddled together. Nowell suggested they walk to the end then come back and buy something for dinner. They saw booths with beaded jewelry, hand-woven baskets and preserves from a local orchard. An elderly couple operated an old-fashioned taffy-pulling machine; its silver limbs turned smoothly as the gooey pink candy stretched then fell between them. Local businesses had tables for distributing coupons and free samples and several people, mostly women, were roaming the street in nineteenth-century attire.

  The band started their show with a slow-paced folk tune. Blankets and towels were spread around. People sat and reclined on them, some feasting from ice chests packed with food and cold drinks. Lonnie bought three large cups of beer. They didn’t have anything to sit on, so Nowell found a spot of grass further back, across the street in front of the library. From there, they couldn’t see much of the band through the crowd, but they could hear the music, which had picked up in tempo. The crowd merged and separated, veered and straightened before them.

  Nearby, a group of teenagers sat in a circle. The two girls wore tight denim shorts and skimpy tank tops. Their abdomens were flat and hard; one had a silver hoop through a piercing in her belly button. With them were three boys, all with short, messy hair. Two wore oversized shorts and baggy t-shirts and the third was shirtless, reclining on the grass while the girl with the piercing held a cigarette to his mouth. Another boy leaned his white-blonde head over and whispered something, and they all looked at someone in the crowd and laughed. Each had the glowing expectancy of youth, the chained energy of something about
to happen. If Dot was right, inside each was the spark of some special talent. But as they sat on the grass, pushing and pawing each other not unlike a litter of kittens, they seemed to form a single, meaningful mass. Later, Vivian thought, they would drink too much and wander through the surrounding streets, which would be strangely lit and seem foreign for the night. She wondered if they were the same kids who cruised in their cars, the ones that Katherine said acted like they owned the place. Vivian remembered that feeling of control. These young people owned the approaching night and the invigorating feeling of being together, out on their own. She imagined Chanelle Brodie in their company.

  From a vendor at the corner, Lonnie bought a pizza in a soggy box. The crowd grew larger as they ate. Vivian had two substantial pieces and finished her beer quickly. Lonnie went for refills and when he handed her the second, sloshing cup, which looked even bigger than the last, she silently admonished herself to drink more slowly.

  Lonnie hadn’t given himself the same warning. Within minutes, he was up again, asking if they wanted another. They both declined but Nowell was ready for a third when Lonnie went back for his fourth. When the band was on a break, Vivian headed to the bathrooms then came back.

  The beer had relaxed Lonnie somewhat, loosened his tongue. He told Vivian he had beaten Nowell at darts the night before. Nowell ignored the bait; he stared at the crowd and picked at his food. And when Lonnie suggested they stand closer to the band, Vivian jumped up eagerly.

  ‘Come on, Number One.’ Lonnie extended his hand. ‘The action’s over there.’

  Vivian’s head swam as they maneuvered through the crowd. The second beer, which she had drunk slowly but nevertheless finished, had her head swimming. The band played an old favorite, a song about a woman leaving a man. Swaying to the music, Vivian and Lonnie sung the lyrics in wavering, unpolished voices. Colored streaks came out in the evening sky, like water that had soaked through paper. Nowell stood behind them, half-heartedly nodding his head to the rhythm and smiling unconvincingly whenever Vivian turned to check on him.