The Qualities of Wood (13 page)

‘He always talks about school like it wasn't very important to him.'

‘What about that great job he had a couple of years ago? Was that important? He got fired for not showing up. All he had to do was make a simple phone call. What about that apartment that my aunt cosigned for him to get, in the building her friend owned? Remember?'

She nodded.

‘He had the money for the rent, Viv, I know he did. Like I said, he's always shooting himself in the foot. I just don't understand him.'

‘Maybe he's grown up since then.'

‘I hope so.' He reached over and turned off the lamp on his nightstand.

They lay for a few moments in the dark, then Nowell shifted his position and soon after that, Vivian listened as his breathing slowed.

Silently, she got out of bed, pulled on her shorts and stepped into the hallway. The door to the spare room was closed and no light came from underneath. She followed the glow from the kitchen, running her fingers along the wall. When she turned the corner, she was startled to see Lonnie sitting at the kitchen table.

‘You're still up?' she said.

He looked at her. ‘What? Oh, yeah.'

‘I just need some water.' She went to get a glass from the cupboard.

‘Dot likes you,' Lonnie said.

Vivian shut the water off and turned around. ‘I like her too.'

‘That's good. The women in a family should get along, don't you think?'

‘I guess so.'

‘Dot's a great girl. I want things to be easier for her now.'

‘We're really happy for you, Lonnie. Really.'

He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. ‘This is a great house. We never came here much when my grandma was alive. I don't know why.'

‘It's a long drive.'

‘No, it's not. My dad didn't want to come. I never understood it.'

It was cold in the kitchen, and Vivian crossed her arms. ‘He kept busy with work, didn't he?'

‘She was our grandma and we hardly knew her.'

‘Are you sure he didn't come here much?'

Lonnie shook his head. ‘I remember being here maybe three times. One time he yelled at me after I stayed out all day. There was a boy who lived around here, or he was visiting his grandparents or something. We didn't realize how long we were gone until the sun started to go down.'

‘Did you get lost?'

‘No. Who told you that?'

‘I'm just asking. I've been back there a couple of times. You wouldn't think you could get lost so easily, but once you're beyond the trees it gets confusing.'

‘Not for me.'

Vivian wondered which story was true, Lonnie's or Nowell's.

Lonnie finished his beer, tilted it upright and let the last foamy drops fall into his mouth. He brought the bottle towards Vivian, waited while she opened the cabinet underneath the sink, and then he dropped it into the plastic trash container underneath.
When he stood up, he stayed close to her. ‘Listen, Vivian, I haven't seen you since that weekend at my mom's.'

‘Lonnie, it's not…'

‘And I know you were mad at me then.' Vivian could smell him, the leathery, saltiness of his skin, the beer on his breath.

‘But I'm not anymore. Forget it, Lonnie, really.' She stepped around him.

He chuckled. ‘I don't really remember what happened.'

Of course you don't, she thought. ‘It was nothing,' she said. ‘I'm going back to bed. Nowell's probably wondering where I am.' She closed the front door, locked the dead bolt.

‘Vivian?'

‘What?'

He ran his hand over his short, stubbly hair, and it made a scratchy sound. ‘I always thought you were great, I just wanted to tell you that.'

‘Thanks,' she said, her face flushing. ‘Goodnight, Lonnie.' As she walked down the dark hallway, Vivian realized that having Lonnie around could get very irritating, especially if he drank every night. She didn't like the edge in his voice, his directness, his lack of respect for personal space.

As quietly as she could, she opened the door to their bedroom and exhaled with relief when Nowell remained motionless on the bed. She let her shorts fall around her ankles and slowly got into bed.

In the morning, Vivian woke with a headache and an uneasy feeling. She wondered if it would be awkward to see Lonnie after their exchange. Then she remembered that Nowell and Lonnie had left early for fishing. From a corner of her mind, a hazy image surfaced, Nowell leaning over to kiss her forehead.

She got up and padded on bare feet to the kitchen. The house was already warm, the sun bright in the golden room. The screen door suddenly opened and Dot came in. Her hair was more red than blonde in the morning light, and she had pulled it back into a ponytail that teased the nape of her neck.

‘That truck is huge!' she said. ‘I was curious, you know, so I borrowed your key and climbed inside. How in the world do you drive it?'

‘With a cushion,' Vivian said.

Dot laughed. ‘It's like that movie where the woman shrunk and everything was huge, a ten-foot toothbrush and spoon.'

Vivian walked to the sink and set down her glass from the night before. ‘Once I'm in, I like being up so high.'

‘There are some things men shouldn't shop for alone, you know?'

‘Furniture,' Vivian said.

‘Clothes,' Dot added.

‘Groceries,' she said. ‘Before I got here, Nowell bought everything from the deli. No regard for a budget.'

Dot hung the truck keys on the hook by the door. ‘Lonnie does most of our shopping and cooking.'

‘Really?'

She nodded. ‘He likes to cook. Does it by instinct, without recipes. I can cook anything with clear instructions on the box, but Lonnie, he's the pinch-of-this, drop-of-this type. It's a luxury for men, you know? They never feel like they
have
to cook. More of a hobby. I guarantee you, if Lonnie knew he
had
to make dinner every night, he'd get tired of it real soon.'

‘Nowell told me about a pie that he made.'

‘Fruit cobbler, in a clay cooking bowl. It's really good.'

‘Well,' Vivian said, stretching, ‘he can cook every night while you're here if he wants to.'

Dot waved her finger. ‘Be careful what you ask for.'

Vivian thought Dot looked pretty. Her skin was smooth and creamy, her green eyes glossy and bright. What she saw in Lonnie was a mystery.

Dot leaned against the sink. ‘My mother used to say that every man has a desire to spread his seed around, and a wife's job is to stick close to him, you know, trying to catch most of it.'

Vivian blinked. It was as if she had read her thoughts about Lonnie. ‘What?'

‘Oh, yeah,' she said. ‘My mom has many wise sayings. About the place for women, you know, what they should or shouldn't do. For a long time, I thought there were meetings to discuss the rules, like witches at night, gathering to go over all their potions. Then I realized her ways of teaching were quieter.'

‘Have you ever felt that you're turning into your mother?' Vivian asked. ‘I mean, in small ways?'

Dot nodded emphatically. ‘My mom used to say ‘hold your horses,' and ‘get the lead out,' and I say both of those all the time.'

‘Mine makes faces,' Vivian said, ‘to show her approval or disapproval. She'll lift her eyebrows, or move her mouth to the side, like this.'

‘I've seen you do that,' Dot laughed. ‘I think you were better off than me. I could've ignored my mother if she was only making faces. I moved in with a roommate after high school and we had a huge fight. I think she just didn't want me to go, but she gave me all kinds of crazy reasons, you know? She told me that having two grown women in a household wasn't natural, that it would never work out.'

‘I've heard that,' Vivian said.

‘It's sad, isn't it, that we're raised to be suspicious of each other? I asked her why and she said something about only one hen ruling the roost. She didn't trust other women, you know? I guess she figured they were running around too, trying to catch her man's seed. I told her that she and I had been living together for years, so what was the difference? She said, “I said grown women.” I was only eighteen, you know.'

‘Does she still live in the same house?'

‘Yes.' Dot looked away. ‘She's very sick, so I don't know how much longer she'll be able to stay there.'

‘I'm sorry.' Vivian wanted to say something else but Dot had moved to the door and was peering outside. ‘Was she happy about Lonnie?' she asked instead.

‘Oh, sure,' Dot said. ‘That's all she ever wanted for me.'

‘Mine didn't want me to get married,' Vivian said. ‘She's waiting for me to find my calling in life. My parents are both professors at a university, so education is a big deal with them.'

‘Not with my mom,' Dot said. ‘She never mentioned college, not once. All I could think about was turning eighteen so I could get the hell out of there.'

‘It's so important then, the freedom.'

‘Still is to me.'

‘You're right,' Vivian said. ‘It is. I remember that every time I speak to my mother and I feel like I'm twelve again.'

‘Want something to eat?' Dot asked.

Vivian made a face and waved her hand.

Dot put the kettle on the stove and lit the burner.

‘You grew up with just your mother, then?' Vivian asked.

‘Pretty much. I had a father but he left when I was ten, found another woman or got sick of us, I don't know. At different times, my mom would give different reasons why he was gone.'

‘You never saw him again?'

‘Nope.'

‘I'm sorry,' Vivian said.

‘Don't be, really. I remember him a little, but we never spent time together or anything, you know? In my mind, he's a lump on the sofa, grunting every now and then, or a door slammed late at night.'

Vivian couldn't help but wonder if Dot had made a good choice. Lonnie was nearing thirty – they all were – but it seemed he'd never grow up.

‘I have a confession to make,' Dot said.

Vivian looked up, a dull throb behind her eyes. Dot wore a red tank top and denim overalls cut into shorts. Although she had matched Vivian beer for beer the night before, her face was bright and rested. Vivian wished that she could look good as effortlessly as Dot seemed to. ‘What?' she asked.

Dot sighed. ‘I hate that wallpaper in the hallway, really hate it. I know I just got here and it's none of my business, but were you planning on keeping it?

Vivian glanced toward the hall. ‘I'm not sure I ever noticed it.' She got up and they both walked to the hallway. After a few moments of looking, Vivian said, ‘It's hideous.'

The wallpaper had a cream-colored background, with wide gold stripes. Every fifth stripe was actually an ornate carousel horse on a pole, suspended at varying levels along the length of both walls. The horses had leering facial expressions and the overall effect, when standing at the end of the hall and looking down, was of driving at high speed past some sort of demented carnival.

Vivian's head was pulsing now; her throat was dry. ‘Let's tear it down,' she said. ‘First, I need an aspirin.'

‘I'll make you my favorite hangover fix – Brains and Sugar,' Dot said.

‘That doesn't sound good,' Vivian said.

They went back to the kitchen and Vivian laid her head on the table, her face against the cool surface. Dot rummaged around. She opened the fridge; she ran the blender. Soon, she placed a glass of something orange in front of Vivian.

‘It looks okay,' Vivian said. She noticed that Dot had one too.

‘Bottoms up,' Dot said.

‘I need an aspirin.'

‘It's in there!' she said with great cheer.

It was cold and thick and very, very sweet. Vivian finished in two long gulps.

‘Now I'll tell you how to make it,' Dot said. ‘Orange juice, one aspirin, one egg – that's the brains – a quarter cup of sugar…'

‘A quarter cup!'

‘…one tablespoon of pancake mix. You know, to bind it.' Dot paused and drank hers all at once.

Vivian's stomach felt warm and settled.

‘Oh,' Dot said. ‘I forgot the most important ingredient. Quarter cup of vodka.'

That would explain the warmth, Vivian thought. But she actually felt better. ‘Hey, I want to show you something,' she said. ‘Wait here.' She climbed up to the attic, brought down the black garment bag and spread it over the table. ‘It's a suit.'

‘Whose is it?' Dot asked.

‘Good question.' She unzipped the back and pulled the garment out. Pressed and clean, the suit was navy blue with pinstripes.

‘Nice,' Dot said.

‘Nowell says his grandmother never went up into the attic, but I found clothing in a dresser up there, clean and folded like someone just used it. And now this suit. Their grandfather's been dead since Sherman was a teenager, so it's definitely not his. It's too modern.'

‘Maybe Grandma Gardiner had a late-life romance,' Dot said. ‘She was out here by herself all those years, you know?'

‘I never thought of that.'

‘Did you ever meet her?' Dot asked.

‘Twice,' Vivian said.

‘What was she like?'

‘Like any old woman.' Vivian searched through the suit, poking her fingers into the pockets. ‘She was quiet. My friend Katherine knew her.' In the breast pocket, she felt something square and thin. ‘I guess I won't have to ask Katherine about Grandma Gardiner's secret lovers,' she said after a moment.

‘Why, what's that?'

She held out the small stack of business cards and Dot leaned over to see. The name of Nowell's father's repair business was embossed across the top in bold green letters and in the lower right corner: Sherman Gardiner, Partner.

‘So it was Lonnie's dad's suit. I wonder why he'd leave it here.'

Vivian felt the fabric. ‘I don't know.'

‘It's been here a long time,' Dot said. ‘How long ago did he die?'

‘Over six years.'

They were both still leaning over the suit, staring at the business cards, fingering the smooth texture of the jacket, when a soft knock on the door startled them both. Vivian dropped the jacket and it slid onto the floor. Dot cursed and then immediately covered her mouth with her hand.

A few feet back from the screen stood a woman in a bright orange outfit, with a yellow scarf tied around her neck. Vivian quickly recognized Mrs Brodie. She looked much better than the last time Vivian had seen her. Her golden hair was perfectly styled and green, glittery eye shadow radiated above her eyes. Her lips were two stripes of moistened pink.

‘Mrs Brodie,' Vivian said. ‘Please come in.'

‘Thank you.' Her hand was already on the lever of the screen door. She stepped in and closed the door quietly. Her perfume was sharp and fruity. ‘Thank you, Mrs Gardiner.'

‘Please, call me Vivian.' Remembering Katherine's joke, she added, ‘Mrs Gardiner makes me think of my mother-in-law.'

Mrs Brodie smiled tightly. ‘It reminds me of Betty Gardiner.'

‘This is my sister-in-law,' Vivian said. ‘Dot.'

Her eyes widened and her hand went up to her yellow scarf. ‘Lonnie's wife?' she asked.

Dot stepped forward. ‘Well, yes. You must be Katherine,' Dot said.

‘This is Mrs Brodie,' Vivian said. ‘She's thinking of Katherine Wilton,' she explained. ‘They haven't met yet.'

‘Oh yes, Katherine.' Mrs Brodie exhaled loudly. ‘Please, call me Kitty, both of you.'

‘Would you like a glass of tea?'

‘No, thank you.' She shifted her purse, a square-shaped bag with tortoise-shell handles, to her other hand. ‘I really just wanted to stop by and apologize for the other day.'

‘That's not…' Vivian started to say, but Mrs Brodie waved her off.

‘I was very upset, but you didn't need a hysterical woman passing out in your yard.'

Vivian remembered her moans,
my poor baby
, and the way she crumbled when she saw Vivian come out of the woods.

‘I don't know what to say, Mrs, uh, Kitty. It's certainly understandable. I'm so sorry, we're all so sorry for your loss.'

Mrs Brodie's hands gripped then released the handle of her purse. ‘The thing is,' she said, ‘the thing is, you looked like her, like my Chanelle. And when I saw you come out of the trees, it spooked me. I thought for sure it was her, I really did, for a minute. I've been a little crazy lately, not sleeping well, and I guess my imagination took over. For a split second, that first second when I thought you were my Chanelle, I thought everything was a big, horrible mistake. But then it came back, the memory, and it all happened so quickly, in that split second.' Her eyes were watery.

Vivian pulled a tissue from a box on the counter and handed it to her.

‘Thank you.' She pressed the tissue to the edges of her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. ‘You have hair like hers, long and dark. Beautiful hair. Chanelle's father
was part Indian, but I never told her. I didn't know how she'd feel about it. I keep remembering lots of things like that, things I didn't tell her.'

‘If there's anything we can do…'

Mrs Brodie nodded. ‘Thank you. I don't know what you've heard, but she was a good girl, my Chanelle. All kids run around a little, don't they? I know I did, and there's nothing wrong with having some fun. But she was smart and so pretty. I had dreams for her, hopes and plans.'

Dot looked steadily at Mrs Brodie. ‘You must miss her very much.'

‘Yes, I do. We were very close.' Mrs Brodie dabbed at her nose with the tissue. ‘She depended on me, asked my advice on clothes and things. It was more of a friendship, really, than a mother-daughter relationship.' Mrs Brodie opened her purse, dropped the wadded tissue inside then closed it with a decisive snap. ‘That's all I wanted to say. I'll leave you alone now.'

‘Are you sure you won't stay?' Vivian asked. ‘Have some tea?'