Vivian’s mother once spent a month interviewing descendants of coal mine strikers and researching black lung. She was gone the entire month of August that year; Vivian was sixteen.
Vivian and her father had always gotten along in a quiet, comfortable way. They talked about worldly things such as baseball or foreign affairs, or local things: their cranky next-door neighbor, what to have for dinner, the items Vivian’s class was including in their time capsule. Or they were quiet together, watching television or sitting with their books or magazines, sharing tidbits from their reading now and then as Vivian imagined he and her mother did. Her father was an equalizing force to her mother’s high-strung ways, a ground to absorb the shocks of her irregularities. Vivian relied on his steadiness. Because her mother often had evening classes or was working on a book, Vivian and her father became fast-food connoisseurs, sometimes eating out every night of the week.
As a young man, her father had been straight and lean, with a full head of dark hair and muscular legs. Vivian saw a high school picture. His hair had thinned on top, but he still combed it straight back. The points over his temples receded further each year, making his face larger. At the time her mother left for the book on black lung, he had recently quit walking the two miles to the university as had been his custom in the warmer months. The lack of exercise and unhealthy diet had taken their toll; at forty, her father seemed in some ways like a much older man.
That summer she was sixteen, Vivian enjoyed the great freedoms that her mother’s trip afforded. Her father was teaching a summer class three afternoons a week, and her curfew had recently been adjusted by one hour. She half-heartedly looked for a summer job. She had one interview at a convenience store, but her mother wouldn’t allow her to work past nine o’clock.
Vivian’s best girlfriend at the time didn’t have a job either. Linda lived in a large, two-story house with a tennis court and pool in the back. Vivian spent most of her days there, watching television or laying out on lawn chairs, hoping to catch a glimpse of the two good-looking brothers who lived next door. She and Linda played tennis sometimes, but Linda was bored with the sport. And there were parties on the weekends, and hanging out at the mall. Linda had her driver’s license and a brand new convertible. They drove everywhere, showing off around town.
At home, Vivian and her father passed each other like two lodgers in a hotel. She often stayed for dinner at Linda’s and sometimes, she’d notice his failed attempts at cooking dumped into the trashcan, or the cardboard and paper remnants from whatever place he had stopped for a burger or burrito. A few times they went to their old favorite restaurants, but they brought their meals home. Vivian suddenly felt awkward eating in public with her father. Besides, she didn’t want to miss any calls.
When she was home, she spent most of her time in her bedroom, talking on the telephone or listening to the radio. Her father sometimes checked on her before he went to bed, and Vivian would let him know if she’d be home for dinner the next day, or whether she’d be sleeping over at Linda’s.
After a couple of weeks of this schedule, her father knocked on her door one night.
She was talking on the telephone as usual.
He opened the door slowly and peered in. ‘Can you hang up the phone? I want to ask you something.’
Vivian’s eyes rolled back in her head, almost before she could stop them, but she ended the call. Her father stepped inside, leaving his hand on the doorknob. He cleared his throat. ‘Would you like to go to a movie on Saturday, a matinee? They’re showing that new one, about the alien.’
‘Linda said that movie was stupid,’ she said.
‘Or another movie. Your choice.’
‘What time?’
‘In the afternoon. I told your grandparents that we’d come over for dinner afterwards.’
‘This Saturday?’
‘Yes, this Saturday.’
She pushed herself up. ‘I can’t. I already have plans to spend the night at Linda’s.’
She watched the transformation in his face. The corner of his mouth twitched and his jaw went rigid.
‘You’ll have to change your plans,’ he said. ‘I’ve already told them, and we’re going.’
‘But…’
‘Listen, Vivie. You’ve had your run of the place for these two weeks. You know as well as I do that your mother wouldn’t let you spend every weekend at your friend’s house.’
‘Yes, she would.’
‘Well, I won’t,’ he said. ‘I’ve asked you for one day.’
‘But we’re doing something special that night.’
His tone was flat. ‘Reschedule your plans for the following weekend.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You have to.’
When Vivian realized he wouldn’t budge, she got angry. There was a big party Saturday night, and she wasn’t going to miss it. ‘I’ll try, Dad, but I don’t know if Linda can find someone else…’
‘Vivie,’ he interrupted. ‘You will be here all day Saturday and you will have dinner at your grandparents’ and stay here that night. I don’t want to hear another word.’ He turned his back and walked out.
Vivian furiously dialled Linda’s number, and what they planned was this: Vivian would go along with the movie and dinner at her grandparents’. Grandma and Grandpa Shatlee would start settling into their armchairs around seven, and her father would be ready to come home. She’d tell him she was tired and go to bed. Linda took advantage of the situation to break her own parents’ rules. She’d tell them that she had decided to stay home and would go to bed early like Vivian. Then, both of them could sneak out, attend the party, and stay out as long as they liked.
The plan was doomed from the start, although they were foiled in a way that neither of them had considered: Linda’s older sister.
The party was one of those crazy, grand events of youth to be recalled countless times later, almost mythologized. Among the monumental things that happened were Linda skinning her knees in the middle of the street after leaving a message in lipstick on someone’s truck and Vivian dancing on top of the covered Jacuzzi in the backyard until the wooden cover splintered, cutting her ankle. They had no idea older kids would be there. By the time Linda’s sister reported to her parents (who immediately phoned Vivian’s father), Vivian and Linda were intoxicated, injured, and generally, having a great time.
When they brought Vivian home, her father was waiting for her. There was a quiet chill in the air, like before a storm. He opened the screen door and she walked under his outstretched arm into the house as he exchanged a few words with Linda’s parents. He didn’t yell at her, only asked if she needed any help, then he followed her to her room and lingered in the doorway. His face drooped in soft folds. ‘Who do you think you are, treating me like this?’ he asked.
She sat on the bed and looked up at him. She’d never heard his voice so sad.
‘Vivie, I thought we had an understanding, a trust. A way of treating each other.’ Slowly, he turned and walked away.
He never told her mother about the incident, and they never spoke of it again. Later, Vivian bragged to her friends that she’d suffered no ill consequences, unlike Linda, who lost her driving privileges for one month. But something had changed; a transition that started quite naturally in her relationship with her father had gone off course somehow, and Vivian felt the gap with every low-lidded look from him, with every strained silence. Who was she, to treat him like that? In those brief moments, the question surfaced and she pushed it out of her mind. Who was she becoming? He’d never given her any reason to lie.
The memory of sneaking out for the great party came to her unexpectedly, during the late afternoon of the day following the impromptu barbecue, when she pulled back the curtain divider and found Nowell’s study empty. A thought came quickly: Has he snuck out?
They were alone in the house. Lonnie had taken Dot to the spot where he fished with the other men. Vivian glanced at the clock that morning when she heard the smooth hum of Lonnie’s jeep: seven a.m. After the evening of drinking, even Nowell ignored his regimented schedule and slept until after nine, but as always, Lonnie proved himself impervious to lack of sleep.
Vivian had spent most of the morning out in the yard, clearing the debris that seemed to accumulate daily and poking around in the shed, taking inventory. Aside from the tools they had used the day before, there was a push mower, two rakes, some sort of canvas sack, five metal stakes, a proliferation of spiders. Perhaps an entire colony, she thought. Having the house and the land to look after was proving to be a bigger burden than she’d anticipated. She wanted to have a yard sale soon, so she’d been trying to keep the grounds presentable. She didn’t want anyone thinking they were low-class squatters, Mrs Gardiner’s ignorant relations from the city.
After she had lunch, she unraveled the hose at the side of the house, hooked it up to the faucet under the kitchen window and filled a large pot with soapy water. Under the bright sun, she carefully washed the old red truck. She worked hard, without pause, until her sandals were soaked through and traces of soap and water darkened her t-shirt. A tattered towel made four uneven rags, and she blackened them scrubbing the hubcaps and underside of the truck. After she had hosed the soap from every surface, she stood back and surveyed her work. The red paint looked sleek and new with the coating of water; the chrome glared in the sunlight. As the water evaporated, Vivian noticed streaks of light-colored dirt. She washed these sections again, rinsing again with water from the hose. After a few trips back to touch up areas, she decided that the job was good enough. She dried the still-wet surfaces than gathered the soggy towels into her arms.
The muscles in her shoulders and the backs of her thighs were sore, but she found the physical labor invigorating. It was a completely different type of work than, for instance, her job at the water management agency. Sitting at a desk gave her aches and pains, but they were of a stiff, fatiguing variety. After a day of work on the house, sorting and clearing things, cleaning and reaching into corners and high up to shelves, her body felt warm and pliant. The blood raced through her limbs.
Vivian glanced at the kitchen clock, a round-faced model with a picture of a rooster, as she took the towels to the washer and drier. Her focused attention to the yard and the truck had taken most of the afternoon and dinnertime was nearing.
She took a quick shower and put on a clean pair of shorts and a t-shirt from one of her parents’ vacations. The house was quiet. She could hear the whooshing sound of the breeze through the trees and the soft hum of the refrigerator. Nowell had gone into his study after his late breakfast, and she hadn’t seen him since. She knew he must be hungry; there weren’t any dishes in the kitchen to indicate that he’d eaten. She stood at the divider to his room, called his name several times, and slowly pulled back the curtain.
The room looked the same as always, neat and shady. On the computer screen, the word processing program was open; at the top of an otherwise blank page, two words were centered: Chapter Thirteen. The curtain billowed with the breeze, and a stack of blank paper next to the printer ruffled and settled. She pulled back the curtain and saw that the window was open about six inches. There was an opening in the screen, where someone could push two fingers through.
A flash of red caught her eye like a stop sign. Someone was moving behind the trees. Had Nowell worn a red shirt that morning? Where could he have gone? She let the curtain fall. If he had left through the front door while she was washing the truck, she would have seen him. Should she check the other rooms? Did he climb out the window?
A car pulled into the driveway; tires crunched on the dirt. Vivian peeked behind the curtain again. It was Nowell, out in the woods. He had cleared the line of trees and strode rapidly towards the house. Out front, a car door slammed. She turned quickly and knocked two books onto the floor. The deep tones of Lonnie’s laugh echoed on the porch; his keys jingled. Quickly replacing the books on the desk, she bolted across the room. As the screen door creaked, she raced down the hall. Lonnie’s voice reverberated in the kitchen as she leaped into her bedroom. ‘Hello!’
‘I’ll be right out,’ she called. She draped a towel around her shoulders. Her wet hair had left a v-shaped damp spot between her shoulder blades. She walked towards the window, listening for sounds from the study. She couldn’t hear anything.
When she entered the kitchen, Dot was unpacking the cooler they had taken, and Lonnie was washing his hands at the sink. ‘How was your drive?’ she asked.
Dot looked up, her face brightening. ‘It was great. Can you tell I got some sun?’
‘Looks good,’ Vivian said. ‘You’d better put some aloe on your shoulders, though.’
Dot pressed a finger into the flesh of her shoulder, and watched as the white impression faded quickly to pinkish-red. ‘You’re right,’ she said.
Lonnie’s rough hands strangled a dish towel then left it in a clump on the counter. ‘Where’s Number One?’
‘Still working, I guess.’ Vivian glanced towards the study and watched as Dot took two beer cans from the cooler and carried them to the refrigerator. ‘I guess you weren’t too thirsty for beer after last night,’ she said.
Dot wrinkled her nose. ‘I couldn’t even finish one. You know, I think I had five or six at the barbecue. And that was after our morning festivities.’
‘How do you feel today?’ Vivian asked.
‘A little tired.’
‘You didn’t seem tired to me.’ Lonnie winked one of his red-rimmed eyes.
‘Oh, please.’ Dot pushed his chest.
He staggered back. ‘I feel great.’
‘Not even a little tired, Lonnie?’ Vivian asked.
‘Who’s tired?’ They all turned as Nowell emerged from behind the curtain divider.
‘Vivian was saying that you were,’ Lonnie said.
‘No way.’ He pounded his chest with his fists.
Dot lifted the cooler and took it outside to dump the ice.
Nowell asked: ‘Did you show Dot that place where the road curves, past those rocks?’
Lonnie nodded. ‘We drove about forty miles past the fishing spot, past the state line. We had fried fish for lunch at a shack down by the river, some old-timer with his own little place. Unbelievable.’
‘How did your writing go today?’ Vivian asked Nowell. Her blood was pumping; she felt like her chest was expanding.
‘I finished a chapter and started a new one.’ His face was lined with perspiration.
‘Great,’ she said.
Lonnie pushed Nowell as he walked by and Nowell lunged toward him.
Dot came back into the kitchen, her arms damp after hosing off the cooler. ‘No wrestling in the house,’ she said. ‘You animals take it outside.’
Vivian looked at Nowell, wondering where he’d been. Had he really climbed out the window? Was there any other explanation? For weeks he had claimed to be working in his private room, separated from her and all outside activity by a ridiculous makeshift wall, and now she had to wonder what he’d really been doing. Was he trying to get away from her? Where did he go?
She shut the cupboard loudly. If Nowell could sneak around, so could she. Mr Stokes had said that he’d be gone for a few days, so there was no chance of running into him back there. There had to be some reason why Nowell had gone into the woods. Mr Stokes had seen Lonnie in the woods, two nights before, when he invited him on the fishing trip. She wondered if Lonnie and Nowell had some special place, some clearing where they cooked-out before she arrived. Maybe she could find it, figure out what drew them there.
She knew that everyone was tired, whether they wanted to admit it or not, and while she had felt sluggish earlier, she was now strangely rejuvenated by her plans, excited in the same way as when she and Linda secretly plotted to attend that party. She waited anxiously for them to sleep.