The Qualities of Wood (21 page)

Vivian patted Dot's back through the sheer, creamy fabric of her blouse. She could see the dark outline of her bra, the bulge at the middle of her back from the fastener. Turning her face toward Dot's ear, she felt the soft tickle of blonde hair against her cheek and smelled the vanilla-clean scent of her shampoo. Vivian leaned in for some time, oblivious to the insistent ticking of the clock above the sink, its black hands pointing stiffly toward the gothic numbers and the rooster at its center arching its back and lifting one clenched claw, ready to scratch.

Vivian's birthday arrived on an overcast, muggy day. Dot had made reservations at an Italian restaurant in town. There would be six of them for dinner: Nowell and Vivian, Lonnie and Dot, Katherine and Max. Vivian's plans for a barbecue had never materialized, but they were all meeting at last.

The air was calm but ponderous with change as they left the house in Lonnie's jeep. Nowell shared the front with Lonnie while Dot and Vivian sat diagonally on the small back seat, their knees pointed toward each other and almost touching.

Leaning over the steering wheel, Lonnie squinted up at the gray sky. ‘Feels like a storm,' he said.

Nowell stared impassively through the window. For the most part, the brothers had avoided each other for several days. Each morning Nowell started early in the study and at night, Lonnie often stayed out late, shooting darts at the local tavern with some of the road crew workers. Some days, he went fishing with them too.

Dot, likewise, ignored Lonnie's comment and stared at the passing scenery. The front of her hair was pulled back into a thick silver barrette, and the flowered sundress she wore was already wrinkling at her lap. She hadn't said anything about Lonnie's recent late-night habits, but Vivian sensed the tension between them. Twice she heard them arguing quietly behind the door of their bedroom.

‘Where did you say this place was, Vivian?' Lonnie directed his question to her, having given up on the other two.

‘Down the street from the Post Office.'

‘I saw that nightgown you got,' Dot said to Vivian. ‘It's nice.'

‘What nightgown?' Nowell twisted around in his seat. He seemed massive in the jeep, his knees pressing against the glove compartment and the top of his head just inches from the roof. Lonnie was equally cramped, having pushed up his seat a little to make more space for Vivian.

‘From your mother,' Vivian told him. ‘She sent me a silk gown and a robe.'

‘Why didn't you show me?' he asked.

‘They just came this afternoon.'

‘She's going to show you later, that's why.' Lonnie nudged Nowell with his elbow.

Nowell rolled his eyes and pushed Lonnie's arm away. Taking this attention as a
cue, Lonnie began telling him about the large carp he'd caught the day before with Jerry and his friends.

‘Do you feel any older?' Dot asked Vivian.

‘No, not really.'

‘Twenty-eight, right?'

‘Yeah.'

She leaned closer. ‘I hope you don't mind that I made these plans. If you and Nowell wanted to do something alone…'

‘No, I'm glad you did.'

‘Katherine recommended the place. Supposedly, it's one of the best restaurants in town. Nowell said you like Italian.'

In the front seat, Lonnie described how Jerry had tripped over the ice chest while reeling in the fish.

‘I love Italian,' Vivian said. ‘Besides, we probably wouldn't have done anything if you hadn't planned it, so thanks. It's nice to dress up, isn't it?'

She nodded. ‘We haven't gone out all together since we've been here.'

They listened for a while to Lonnie, who grew more animated as his story progressed. After a while, Lonnie slowed the jeep on a quiet street at the outskirts of town. ‘Here we are, ladies,' he announced.

The restaurant was like a little house. The wooden shutters were painted white to match the lattice encircling a small front area landscaped with rosebushes and small trees. Strung through the branches and hanging from the awnings, tiny white lights dimly shone in the gray twilight. On the roof, green neon spelled
Silvana's Ristorante
in flowing,
cursive letters.

‘What a cute place,' Dot said. ‘I never noticed it before.'

‘Very nice,' Nowell agreed.

Inside, the place smelled of garlic and bread. The hostess, a fiftyish olive-skinned woman with vivid brown eyes, directed them to a table near a window. The streetlights outside cast a glow over the table and over Max and Katherine, who sat quietly talking.

‘Hello there!' Katherine rose from her seat. She hugged Vivian and Dot and greeted the men.

Vivian introduced Max to everyone and Katherine complimented Dot on her dress.

They seemed to have an entire section of the restaurant to themselves. Only two other tables were occupied and both were at the far side of the restaurant, near the bar. At one, a lone man watched a baseball game on the television perched above the cash register and at the other, an elderly couple sipped at steaming mugs.

They sat down and Katherine handed Vivian a flat, square package. ‘Happy birthday!'

‘Oh, thank you. Thanks, Max. Should I open it now?' She looked over at Dot, who seemed to be in charge of the event.

‘No,' Dot said. ‘Wait until dessert. We've got something for you too.'

‘They've got the game on over there,' Lonnie noticed. Dot shot him a warning glance.

Katherine said, ‘The hostess is Josephina Riley. The restaurant was named after her mother, Silvana.'

‘Sounds like an Italian name,' Vivian said.

‘Yep,' Max said. ‘Cecil Clement brought her over after the war.'

‘She was a nice lady, real friendly,' Katherine said. ‘Passed on now.'

A young man in a crisp white shirt brought them a loaf of bread, cut into thick slices. When he lifted the checkered cloth, sweet-smelling steam rose quickly.

‘Cecil's parents disowned him for marrying Silvie,' Max added.

‘Why?' Dot asked.

‘His parents told him it was shameful to bring a wife home from a war, that he should have remembered why he was there,' Max said. ‘But I think it was her being a foreigner too.'

‘They were well off, heavy into society affairs,' Katherine said. ‘What little society this town had to offer. They were the major funders of the history museum in the community center building, which is also called, by the way, “the cultural center.”'

‘There's a museum here?' Vivian asked.

‘Shocking, isn't it? It's really a shrine to the Clement family. Original documents like land deeds, letters, and building plans are stored there, artifacts like clothing and tools. All of it tells the story of the great William Clement and the building of his town.'

Max poured another glass of red wine. ‘I've been there. I thought it was interesting.'

‘It's not a bad collection for a small town,' Katherine said. ‘Depending on how you like your history told.'

‘So Cecil's parents cut him off, just like that?' Lonnie asked.

‘The only thing they left him was this house, which they'd given as a graduation
present. He and Silvie lived in the back area for a while and set up the restaurant here in the front. The back is now the kitchen. They've added on quite a bit over the years.'

‘Where does he live?' Dot asked.

Katherine set her glass down. ‘Josephina's got him in the nursing home.'

The young-faced waiter returned and took their orders. The food arrived quickly and it was excellent, as good as anything Vivian had in the city. She loved Italian food, the subtle spices and the richness of it, but because she tried to keep her weight down, she didn't eat it often.

After they had finished their entrees and ordered a third bottle of wine, Dot pulled her purse onto her lap and retrieved a long, narrow box from its folds. She placed both presents in front of Vivian. Business had picked up in the restaurant; five tables were now full with recently arrived patrons. As Vivian scanned the room, her eyes fell on the hostess, Josephina. The plump, dark woman carried a brightly lit cake, followed by the waiter and another man. Vivian blushed as they reached the table and sang ‘Happy Birthday to You' in uneven but enthusiastic voices.

Vivian didn't bother to count the candles. She blew them out with two tries and began to pull them from the frosting.

The gift from Dot and Lonnie was a silver bracelet with star-shaped charms. She held it in front of the window, watching the stars reflect the streetlight in rapid flickers of white. ‘I love it,' she said.

‘It fit me, so it should fit you,' Dot said. She fastened the cool metal around Vivian's wrist.

Vivian twisted her arm so that the little stars bounced and sparkled. ‘It's perfect.'

‘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.