The Qualities of Wood. Mary White Vensel

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      ‘Not yet, but there has to be some.’ He paused. ‘I had to run a twelve-foot extension cord from the kitchen for my computer. No outlets. My grandfather added this back room much later. I guess he didn’t want electricity in there. Or it was an oversight.’

      Vivian looked again towards the trees. ‘You have a good view of the forest from here.’

      Nowell laughed and reached for her.

      ‘What’s funny?’

      ‘I never thought of it as a forest.’

      ‘What is it, then?’

      Small wrinkles radiated from the corners of his eyes. He kissed her forehead, ran his fingers through her long brown hair. ‘I guess you’re right. I just think of forests as being vast, you know, near mountain ranges. Not a small parcel beside some meager hill in the flatlands.’

      ‘I still don’t see why it’s so funny.’

      ‘It sounded wild and dangerous the way you said it: the forest.’

      Two quick whistles sounded behind the trees, startling them apart.

      ‘What was that?’ Vivian asked.

      ‘Probably a bird.’ He coaxed her toward him and held her back against his chest, his chin resting on top of her head as he leaned against the house. ‘How was the office party?’ he asked.

      ‘The usual, only me this time. They had a cake and bought me a pair of overalls.’

      ‘Overalls?’

      ‘For living out here,’ she said. ‘A joke.’ She relaxed a little more into Nowell. ‘I worked there seven years. I can’t believe it.’

      Nowell squeezed her waist. ‘But you didn’t care much for that job, did you? I mean, you weren’t solving the world’s problems or anything.’

      ‘I won’t miss it,’ Vivian agreed. ‘But who says water management isn’t important?’

      ‘You weren’t managing the water, just the paperwork.’

      ‘Right,’ Vivian said.

      Nowell shifted his weight but she stayed against him. ‘I think I’ll get the book done out here,’ he said. ‘Do you think you can stand it for a year?’

      ‘Of course,’ she said.

      The sun was completely gone now, the sky a darkening blue above the leaves, dotted with stars just blinking to life. In the cooling air, Vivian smelled the trees, like pine furniture polish but sweeter, and from somewhere, the faint scent of smoke. A small white light appeared amidst the trees.

      ‘Someone’s back there,’ she said.

      She followed Nowell’s eyes as they picked up the white dot. It quickly turned into three more.

      ‘It’s probably that sheriff,’ he said.

      ‘What sheriff?’

      ‘From town. I thought they were finished when I left to pick you up. They’re looking for something.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘He didn’t say.’

      ‘Isn’t that part of your grandmother’s land?’

      ‘Yes. That’s why he told me, I guess.’ Nowell broke away from her. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe someone reported an injured deer or something. Let’s get your bag out of the truck.’

      Vivian watched the lights a moment more. As Nowell tugged her toward the house, she glanced back over her shoulder beyond the high, swaying grass, which was quickly becoming invisible, still whispering in the wind and crackling again under her feet.

      2

      In the kitchen, Vivian opened and shut cupboards. Almost everything in the house had belonged to Nowell’s grandmother. In one drawer, crocheted potholders, in another, faded telephone books. Here and there she saw something of theirs – a block of knives, Nowell’s favorite coffee mug – and felt an odd kinship with the items. Their things stood out from the rest, their familiarity like a signal. Most of their belongings were still in a storage place outside of the city.

      ‘Where are the glasses?’ she asked.

      Nowell pointed to a pantry door near the entrance to the hallway.

      Strange place to put glasses, she thought. She would rearrange things in the morning.

      ‘You’re having beer?’ he asked.

      There were three cans of beer in the refrigerator and she had set two of them on the table. Between them, steam rose from the bowl of pasta. Nowell went back to the oven for the bread.

      ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Do you want one?’

      He nodded without looking at her.

      Vivian’s chair cushion made a shhh sound when she sat. The backs of her thighs pinched as they stuck fast to the vinyl.

      Nowell scooped noodles onto her plate. ‘They have a great deli and bakery at the grocery store in town,’ he said.

      ‘Doesn’t Lonnie like to cook anymore?’

      ‘Sure. He cleaned that barbecue off and grilled steaks one night. He also made apple cobbler in a clay bowl. Right in the ground, on hot coals. We ate the whole thing.’

      Vivian looked around the pale yellow kitchen. The curtains were a darker shade, embroidered with daisies. Mustard-colored specks in the countertop almost matched the dark yellow of the patterned tile. When she had peeked in from the back window, all of the yellow in the room seemed strange and overdone. Sitting inside gave a different impression; the warm hue was soothing.

      ‘No dishwasher?’ she asked.

      ‘No, we’ve been roughing it.’

      She remembered helping her mother with the dishes after a big, elaborate dinner, standing side to side, arms submerged in warm water. Vivian always rinsed. When she fell behind, her mother floated her hands in the soapy water and stared out the window until Vivian caught up. It felt good, like they were on the same team.

      Nowell rose from the table and came back with a plastic tub of butter. She had a sip of beer and studied him. His hair had grown too long and he needed to shave the back of his neck. She thought maybe he had gained a few pounds. The older women who worked at the water management agency told Vivian that once you get married, men have no reason to keep themselves in good shape. They warned her about feeding him too much. But Nowell was tall and slender and had remained so, despite his sedentary job. Youth, the women told her. Just wait until you hit thirty.

      ‘How are your parents?’ he asked.

      ‘They’re fine. I think four weeks is beyond my СКАЧАТЬ