The Qualities of Wood. Mary White Vensel

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СКАЧАТЬ tax law. She told me all about it, but I couldn’t follow half of it, the rules and regulations. That place has turned very corporate since Dad died. I can’t believe his old partner would do this to her.’

      ‘What’s she going to do?’

      Nowell shrugged. ‘She’s worried about losing that money. She’s never had a real job.’

      ‘How much is it?’

      ‘Not much, but she depends on it.’

      ‘She has savings and the house, the money from your grandma…’

      Nowell leaned forward. ‘But it’s regular income and she’s entitled to it. She got a lawyer, an old friend of my dad’s.’

      Nowell kept in very close contact with his mother, and it had taken some time for Vivian to get used to it. Communication between herself and her own parents was more sporadic and less involved. She spoke to her mother every other week, about mundane things – jobs, illnesses, the weather. And her mother talked about her work. She taught Sociology courses at the university and was usually working on another book.

      Vivian’s father didn’t like the telephone. Normally, all she could get out of him was a general statement about what he was doing before he passed the receiver on. In person, he could be quite animated about his work. He was a good listener and never gave advice.

      But Beverly Gardiner unburdened all of her problems onto her sons. Nowell helped her decide on appliances, insurance and doctors, and he worried about every problem with her house or car. At first, Vivian thought him kind and responsible for assuming some of his father’s responsibilities but recently, she’d witnessed the unnecessary worry Beverly caused. The pension issue, like many others, would probably end up being nothing.

      After a long commercial break, the vulture carried off a tiger cub that had fallen sick and died.

      ‘That’s disgusting,’ Vivian said. ‘Is he going to eat it?’

      Nowell chuckled, pulling her next to him with his long arm. ‘It’s the way of nature.’ Then he coaxed her onto his lap so that they faced each other.

      After a moment he asked, ‘What’s all that stuff out in the garbage?’

      ‘Assorted junk. A whole box of plastic silverware and plates, sewing stuff, stacks of paperbacks.’

      ‘You could take the books to a used book store.’

      ‘They’re romance novels,’ she said, leaning in. ‘I figured you’d think the world is better off without them.’

      Nowell gripped her hips. ‘Because of poverty, I’ve had to reconsider my high ideals.’

      ‘We’re not in poverty.’

      ‘Okay. Without means.’

      ‘You’re right, I could have traded them for something to read.’ She shrugged. ‘They’re all wet now.’

      ‘What else have you uncovered?’ he asked.

      ‘Nothing exciting. Mostly clothes, junk. I really haven’t gotten much done yet.’

      ‘There’s no rush. You deserve a break.’

      ‘So do you, so how about that movie tomorrow?’

      He shook his head. ‘I told you. I can’t.’

      ‘It’s only one day.’ She moved back to her spot next to him on the couch.

      ‘Viv, please. I’m trying to do something here, for both of us. I have a hard enough time staying focused. Random Victim did pretty well, but I’ve got to produce something else. Besides, Dani wants me to start doing some promotion in the fall for Random Victim, getting ready for the new book.’

      Dani was Nowell’s agent. She had a husky voice and like a used car salesman, was overly and suspiciously friendly.

      The rain had let up; occasional drops splashed against the windows and the wind was calmer.

      ‘Let’s plan a day off soon,’ she said, ‘you and me. We’ll pack a picnic lunch and go for a long walk.’

      ‘Maybe next week,’ he said.

      The remaining tigers were enjoying the spring sunshine. They were leaner now, learning to hunt. In the high grass, they crouched and chased each other around.

      Maybe the girl was taking a walk when it happened, Vivian suddenly thought. Sometimes it’s nice to be alone, only your thoughts for company and no one telling you what you should be doing. Maybe someone saw the girl, someone with bad motives and a sudden opportunity. But the sheriff had said that it looked like an accident. Maybe someone was with her and the other person ran off afterwards. But people don’t normally run away from accidents, she thought, unless they’re guilty in some way. She squeezed her elbow, trying to rub away the insistent throb.

      ‘I’ll get you that ice,’ Nowell said, and he went out to the kitchen.

      7

      The storm had pushed soggy leaves against the house and left a puddle directly below the porch steps. Broken branches lay scattered about, their leaves still green and beneath the bark, clean white fiber gleamed. Vivian kicked off her shoes, the damp grass cool between her toes as she gathered the debris. In the shed next to the well, amidst rusty gardening tools and bags of old potting soil, she found a straw broom. She swept the porch and gathered everything into a black garbage bag. By mid-morning, the grass dried into scented vapors and the dirt driveway lightened, strip by strip, as the sun moved higher over the trees.

      Nowell was in his airless study, hidden behind the curtain like a sick ward. Vivian’s mind had started to believe that the divider was solid and soundproof; it gave the illusion of complete separation. Nowell’s touch on the keyboard was light. She seldom heard any sounds from the room. If she strained, sometimes she could make out a soft, steady tapping, like raindrops on a distant roof. Most of the time, she forgot he was in the house.

      She telephoned her parents but reached their answering machine, her mother’s staid, succinct recording. Then she went to the study.

      ‘Nowell? Can I come in?’

      ‘Hey, Viv,’ he called back.

      She pulled aside the curtain, an old sheet with delicate baby blue stripes, and stepped down. ‘It’s so stuffy in here,’ she said without thinking.

      This was a continual disagreement between them, at their apartment and now here, at Grandma Gardiner’s house. Nowell kept windows sealed; Vivian liked to air things out, even in the winter.

      ‘It’s cold in the morning,’ Nowell said. ‘There’s no sun back here. I wish you’d leave the windows alone.’

      ‘I opened them in the afternoon, when it was warm.’

      He raised his eyebrows.

      ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘It’s your room.’ She perched on the edge of his desk. ‘I’m going to head into town now. I’m going to the СКАЧАТЬ