The Qualities of Wood (9 page)

The next morning, Nowell went into his study for a few hours before he left. Vivian was sitting with her coffee when someone knocked on the door.

It was the road crew worker again. He looked at her boldly. ‘We're all set to lay asphalt. I wanted to let you know. I noticed that you didn't go anywhere yesterday, so if you need to get out today, we'll leave a narrow path you can use. Your truck should handle it fine.' He motioned towards the red truck. Emphasized against his tanned face, his teeth were bright white.

Vivian's eyes adjusted to the morning sun; she noticed the direction of his gaze. ‘When do you think you'll finish the road?'

‘We still got a ways to go. The end of summer, I guess.' He pointed with his hat toward the south side of the house. ‘Would it be alright if we used your faucet out here for water? Gonna be hot as hell today.'

Vivian remembered the hook-up under the kitchen window. ‘No problem.'

‘Thanks.' He looked again at her legs then paused on the bottom step of the porch. ‘Will you be going out then?'

‘My husband may leave for a while,' she said, ‘but he'll be back.' The man's bold look disconcerted her. The way he'd monitored her actions yesterday, his notice of the truck and the faucet. It all seemed intrusive.

‘See you around.' His eye teeth caught sunlight like mirrors as he gave her one last thorough look.

Vivian irritably shut the door. She poured the rest of her coffee down the sink, her face burning hot from the encounter.

Katherine had invited her to dinner when she heard that Nowell would be gone. Vivian thought that Nowell might have called her. ‘I'll come and pick you up,' Katherine had said when she called. ‘You don't have to worry about a thing.'

After lunch and a sweaty session in the back bedroom, Nowell left. As promised, the men working on the road stopped to direct him out of the driveway. Vivian watched from the kitchen window as the brake lights of the truck flickered then extinguished; the tires kicked up a haze of dust.

She stayed in most of the afternoon. In Nowell's study, she ran the vacuum cleaner, something she hadn't been able to do since her arrival. He had left everything orderly and neat. On the corner of the desk, clean white paper was stacked next to the computer monitor, but there was nothing on the printer tray.

The antique secretary didn't allow much space to work. Four small drawers with keyholes and little ivory handles were set above the desktop; two of these were partially
obscured by the computer monitor. Vivian touched the smooth handles. They were all locked. The drawer beneath the desktop was locked as well. She could hear its contents shift as she pulled on it. She realized that Nowell must have the key.

There were things that Vivian didn't understand about Nowell, like his craving for privacy and his occasional secrecy. Sometimes his periods of withdrawal were followed by an outpouring of confidence that dazed her. One winter evening, early in their relationship, he had talked to her about his father's death and cried. It was the first time she had felt that they might have a future together. He told her about his fear that he had disappointed his father, and she felt an overwhelming urge to comfort him. At other times, he left a distance between them that howled like wind, an empty chasm she was often too stubborn or too preoccupied to cross. She consoled herself with excuses like
sometimes people have to work things out alone
.

Besides, she had her own secrets. Whenever she began resenting Nowell's guardedness, she thought about how it comforted her to think of her own private self, buffeted and protected and perhaps mostly unknown even to herself. If Nowell were to tell her everything about himself, what would that leave to discover, to talk about?

One weekend he showed up at her dorm room at seven in the morning, and they drove most of the day to a small town in the mountains, to the site of a wine festival he'd heard about on the radio. They washed their feet and jumped into the big vats; fleshy grapes pressed between their toes, staining their feet purple to the ankles. There were baked goods and ham cooked over an open fire, and the fruity wine sticky in their throats. Nowell was the type of person that everyone in a group strained to hear speak. It was
only with Vivian that he was quiet. The more time they spent alone, the more she missed the public side of him, the engaging person he could be in social settings.

She decided to go out and get the mail. The men were working past the house now, but directly in front of the driveway, the road was finished. The fresh asphalt glittered in the afternoon sun, smelling like oil and sweat. Vivian was determined to let the man know that he hadn't bothered her that morning. He was assigned to sign duty again and when he saw Vivian's wave, he raised his hard hat. She got the mail and turned back, feeling his eyes over the tall, wild grass, over the waves of heat rising from the new black road. But she had made her point.

The day was a scorcher, as he had predicted, and Vivian decided to clean herself up before Katherine arrived. In the midst of her shower, the water suddenly turned scalding hot, and she hopped around until she could turn it off. As she reached for a towel, she heard the squeaky sound of a faucet and remembered telling the man that he could use their water. He had ruined her shower.

The road crew had quit for the day. The hot smell of the new asphalt infiltrated the car, but the road was dry and usable. Katherine wore a bright yellow blouse trimmed with white lace. Her house, also yellow, had brick accents and stood at the crest of a circular driveway. Roses bushes framed the cement steps leading to the front door.

‘Max planted those,' Katherine said when she saw Vivian linger. ‘I don't have much of a green thumb.'

In the sunny living room, Max greeted them. Slightly shorter than his wife, he grasped Vivian's hand in both of his, grinning widely. ‘So nice to finally meet you,' he said.

‘Thanks for inviting me,' Vivian replied.

His reddish hair was starting to recede and he had the slight paunch of middle age, but Vivian could envision his younger self in his clear blue eyes and the firm muscles of his arms.

‘Sit down, please,' he said. ‘You too, honey.'

‘Let me show Vivian around the place first,' Katherine said.

There were three bedrooms, each neat and modestly decorated. At the back of the house, the kitchen was large and airy. The rear door led to a screened patio cluttered with greenery. Tall plants in clay pots stood in each corner, and against the house, smaller plants in painted ceramic containers lined two long shelves. Many of the plants were flowering; blooms of purple, pink, and white stood out against the buttercup-yellow paint of the wall.

‘It's like a greenhouse,' Vivian said.

‘This is Max's area. My only contributions are some of those pottery pieces.' She motioned to the shelves. ‘Before that quilting class I told you about, I learned how to make pottery down at the arts and crafts store. I bought my own wheel and a small kiln, but I haven't used them much lately.'

‘You made these? They look professional.'

Katherine waved her hand in modesty. ‘Thanks.'

‘That's something I've always wanted to do,' Vivian said.

‘It's fun, but very tedious. Each step takes a long time. Even the painting—you have to put layer after layer to get it to look right. You think you have enough but when it dries, it looks completely different.' Katherine straightened a green metal chair, pushing it into place under the glass table.

‘You must spend a lot of time out here,' Vivian said. ‘It's so cool and shady.'

‘We like to have our meals out here during the warmer months. Max always wants to barbecue, like most men. I thought we'd eat out here tonight, if you don't mind.'

‘Not at all. I like it out here.'

Max brought out a platter of seasoned chicken and three cold beers, which he placed on blue, fish-shaped coasters. Katherine went into the kitchen, promising to be gone only a few moments.

‘This is a great patio,' Vivian told Max.

He opened the valve on the beige tank underneath the gas barbecue grill and adjusted two knobs. ‘We spend a lot of time out here.' He closed the lid on the grill. ‘We'll just let that heat up.'

Vivian sat at the table. ‘I guess Katherine told you that my husband is helping his mother with a legal situation.'

Max took a drink of beer; the moisture from the outside of the bottle ran down his forearm in a narrow rivulet. ‘I hope it's nothing serious.'

‘Not really. His father's gone, so he helps her out now and then.'

‘He's a good son, then.'

Vivian nodded. ‘We'll have to return the favor one night, have you and Katherine out to the house for dinner.'

‘That would be nice,' Max said. ‘She really liked Mrs Gardiner, tried to visit her every couple of weeks.'

‘I didn't know her well,' Vivian said.

Katherine brought plates, silverware and folded linen napkins and set them on the table. Vivian thought about her mother's insistence on cloth napkins, never paper, even on weeknights. Sometimes, formal rituals were nice; her mother just overdid it.

‘I'll get these, honey,' Max told her.

‘Thanks,' Katherine said. ‘I've just got a few more minutes on the potatoes, then I'll bring everything else out. Are you going to cook that chicken today or what?'

‘Yes, dear.' Max tried to pinch her with the long-handled barbecue tongs, and she laughed and jumped out of the way. He placed the chicken on the grill and poured the juices from the platter over each piece. The meat sizzled and dripped. ‘Katherine sure was shook up over the Brodie girl,' he said, ‘that night she ran into the sheriff at your place.'

‘It was terrible,' Vivian said. ‘Mrs Brodie came out the other day to look at the place where they found her.'

‘She did?'

She nodded. ‘She was very upset, almost fainted.'

‘Kitty's an emotional woman by nature, but this time, she has every right.'

Vivian took a long drink; the beer glided down her throat, slick as oil. ‘Did you go to school with her too?'

‘For one year, but mostly I know her from the store. She's very talkative.'

‘Have you seen her since the accident?'

‘Only once. She brought in some stuff this week.' Max held the tongs aloft like a pointer. ‘Strange, isn't it?'

‘What?'

‘Just the type of accident it was. So senseless.'

She nodded.

He flipped the chicken over, one piece at a time, then sat back down at the table. ‘How are you enjoying it out here otherwise?'

‘It's very relaxing. I don't know if Katherine told you. I've been working on the house, trying to clean it up.'

‘You're going to sell it after a while, right?'

‘With any luck,' she said.

‘You shouldn't have a problem. The population's been growing for some time. With the improvements to the road, there's bound to be even more people moving in. Better access to the bigger towns. Things will be changing around here, that's for sure. We've already had some developers looking around. A guy stopped in my shop a few months ago, talking about an apartment complex or a mini-mall. I told him my place wasn't for sale presently. But between you and me, I have my price, if he comes back.'

Vivian laughed.

He leaned back in his chair. ‘We've always wanted to do some traveling. We stick around here because we know it, and because of family. But I could see myself breaking away some day.' He looked over Vivian's shoulder. ‘We always thought we'd take family trips.'

Katherine came through the door with a bowl of salad and a plate of baked potatoes. ‘Is the chicken ready?' She asked. ‘I just have to grab the bread.'

‘All done,' Max answered.

She brought out a loaf of French bread and two more beers.

‘Sit down, Katherine,' Vivian said. ‘You're making me feel guilty.'

‘I'm done. Don't you worry. I'll make you help with the dishes.'

Max brought the chicken to the table. ‘She'll work you to death, if you don't watch it. A real tyrant.'

‘I shouldn't have opened my mouth,' Vivian teased.

‘Max, you know the rules about company.'

Vivian smiled, watching their playful looks and the way their movements coordinated as though they had dined together a million times.

‘Guess who we ran into at the grocery store last night?' Katherine asked.

‘Who?'

‘Abraham Stokes.'

‘Oh, my neighbor?' Vivian didn't know why, but she was compelled to add: ‘Is that his first name, Abraham?' As if she didn't know.

Katherine sliced a baked potato in half, right through the aluminum foil. ‘Most everybody I know calls him Mr Stokes. Do you know anyone who calls him different, Max?'

‘Mr Garrison calls him Abe. I saw him in there one day when I was buying something for the house.'

‘Mr Garrison is the man who waited on us that day at Clement's Hardware,' Katherine explained to Vivian. ‘He owns the store. His mother was a Clement, but do you think he would call his store Garrison's Hardware? No way!'

‘People have a right to be proud of their heritage,' Max said in a patient tone, as though they'd had the conversation before.

‘What about his heritage on his daddy's side? Didn't the Garrisons ever do anything worthwhile? I guess they didn't own a town.'

‘Do people still care about that stuff?' Vivian asked.

‘You bet they do,' Katherine said. ‘Max thinks it's ridiculous too, but he likes to give me a hard time about it.'

‘You take it so personally,' Max's blue eyes twinkled. ‘You're too passionate, that's your problem. You and your Latino lover music.' He turned to Vivian. ‘I can hear it when she pulls up the driveway.'

Katherine rolled her eyes.

‘Sometimes I think you wish you'd married a Clement,' he said.

‘Sometimes I think
you
wish that,' Katherine said.

‘Not a chance.'

They were quiet for a few moments as they passed dishes.

‘This is great,' Vivian said.

‘Max is a wizard with the barbecue,' Katherine said. ‘He's got most of the domestic talents around here.'

‘That's not true,' he said. ‘You don't like to cook, so you pretend you're not any good at it.'

Vivian laughed. ‘Maybe that's what I do.'

‘More bread?' Max asked.

She shook her head.

‘She eats like a bird,' Katherine said.

‘I do not!'

‘It's nothing to be ashamed of. That's why you're so slim. Wouldn't hurt me to learn by your example. She looks great, doesn't she, Max?'

He nodded. ‘You must work out.'

‘Not really. Most of it is lucky genes. My mother is very thin, always has been.'

‘Both of Vivian's parents are professors at a university,' Katherine told him.

‘What do they teach?' he asked.

‘My father teaches History, and my mother Sociology and sometimes, writing classes. She teaches less than he does, because she's also a writer.'

‘You're just surrounded by creative types, aren't you?' Katherine said.

Vivian shrugged. ‘I guess I am.'

‘It must be so interesting having parents like that,' Max said. ‘My pop never had much to talk about after a day of dry-cleaning, except stories about the customers.'

‘Max learned the business from his dad,' Katherine explained. ‘They ran it together until he retired.' She winked at Vivian. ‘Don't you want to hear what Mr Stokes said about you?'

Vivian looked up from her plate.

‘The poor man was in line at the deli, buying cold cuts and prepared casseroles. People must think you're a bachelor too,' she said to Max, ‘the amount of things we buy there.'

‘What did he say?' Vivian asked.

‘Just that he ran into you that very day, that you were snooping around in the woods.'

‘He said that?'

‘Not in so many words.'

‘Not in
any
words,' Max interjected. ‘He never said snooping.'

‘He implied it. He said he was chopping some wood when he saw you, and that he gave you quite a scare.'

‘That's true,' Vivian admitted. ‘I guess the whole thing with that poor girl had me jittery. For God's sake, he had an ax.'

They all laughed.

‘He's a strange man, that's for sure,' Katherine said. ‘A loner.'

Vivian wiped the corners of her eyes with her napkin. She had laughed a little too hard; she felt loose and warm from the beer.

‘He's been on his own a long time,' Max said. ‘I feel sorry for him.'

‘What about his family?'

‘He's lived in that house his whole life,' Katherine told her. ‘His parents are both gone now and he was an only child. Never married, although he came close once.'

‘You don't know if that story's true,' Max objected.

‘It's true.'

‘Well, what's true is that something happened with him and Ronella Oates. I just don't know if it happened the way people say.'

Vivian leaned forward in her chair. ‘What?'

‘Mr Stokes is in his early forties now,' Katherine said, ‘although he seems older. Not a bad looking man, is he?'

‘I guess not,' Vivian said.

‘So he was in his early thirties and Ronella was a bit younger than him, maybe late twenties, when things started up. His father, Jesper Stokes, was still alive then. People say he had no good feelings whatsoever for Ronella.'

‘Why?'

Katherine leaned in, her green eyes bright. ‘Max and I went to school with her and she was a normal kind of girl. She had gotten married and divorced young, worked down at the bank as a teller. I don't know why the old man didn't like her; maybe he just didn't want his son taken away. If you think the current Mr Stokes is a hermit, you should have seen his father.' Katherine shook her head. ‘He never came out of his house, except for long hunting trips. They have some distant relatives over the state line, and he'd go for weeks at a time during hunting season. People didn't see young Abe Stokes much either, except when his father was out of town. Then he'd turn up at the tavern, or hanging around the hardware store.'

Max got up from the table. ‘Do you need another beer, Vivian?'

‘No, thanks, but I'll take a glass of water.' She turned to Katherine. ‘So what happened with the woman?'

‘I've heard it different ways. Some say there was an awful scene one night, when Jesper Stokes came home after a trip and found her there. Others say nothing happened at all. About the ending, everyone agrees. Ronella moved away one day and didn't tell anybody.'

‘Where did she go?'

‘No one knows. It's a mystery. Her parents still live around here, and two brothers. Nobody's ever heard from her again.'

‘Even now?'

‘Nope.'

Max handed Vivian a glass of water. ‘I thought she called from back east once.'

‘I never heard that,' Katherine said.