The Qualities of Wood (20 page)

‘Me too,' Dot agreed. ‘I need to get rid of this gum. I've had it for hours.' She
stood up quickly and extended her hand.

Vivian groaned as she pulled her up; their hands were warm and moist and they both laughed afterwards, rubbing their palms against their clothing.

Dot positioned herself mid-way down the staircase, and Vivian passed the box of baby things to her through the opening. ‘Let's bring down that box of men's clothes, too,' she said. ‘We can sell those.'

The screen door slammed and Lonnie said, ‘What are you doing?'

‘We're bringing down some stuff from the attic,' Dot told him. ‘Getting ready for the yard sale, you know?' She whispered something that Vivian couldn't hear.

‘Let me bring down those boxes for you, Vivian,' he called up.

‘Just one more,' she said, leaning over the staircase. ‘You're taller though. Why don't you just catch it?'

Dot was standing on one of the bottom steps and Lonnie's arm reached through the railing, stroking her knee.

‘Ready,' Lonnie said.

Vivian sat at the edge of the opening and lowered the box between her legs. She felt a slight pressure and suddenly, she was left holding the empty cardboard container. The box had burst open on the bottom, spilling its contents over the stairs and onto the kitchen floor below.

Lonnie laughed and pulled the empty box from her hands. Vivian stepped down the ladder, closing the hatch door over her head. As she reached the kitchen floor, Lonnie picked up one of the short-sleeved, collared shirts that had fallen from the box. ‘Where did you get this?' he asked.

Vivian looked over. ‘In the attic.'

Dot came down the hallway and opened her mouth when she saw the clothing scattered over the stairs and the floor.

‘Where in the attic?'

‘Why?'

‘What's going on?' Dot asked.

‘Look, honey.' Lonnie held the shirt towards her. ‘This was my dad's.' There was something tense and uncontrollable about his voice.

Dot took the shirt. ‘It's nice.'

‘Of course it's nice,' Lonnie said, rising to his feet. ‘His Number One son bought it for him.' He grabbed it from her. ‘Hey, Nowell.'

Dot looked over and Vivian shrugged. They began to pick up the spilled clothing.

‘Nowell?' Lonnie called again, watching the curtain divider.

‘What?'

Lonnie pulled back the curtain and walked in. ‘Do you remember this shirt?'

Nowell squinted up at his brother like a mole surprised in his tunnel. The room was dark as always, lit only by the small desk lamp at his side. ‘You said it was Dad's?'

‘Yeah. Do you remember it?'

He reached up and touched the shirt, which Lonnie held out, gripped in his fist. ‘Not really. It looks familiar, I guess.'

‘Father's Day,' Lonnie said. ‘A couple of years before he died. I was living at home, just before I moved into that house out by the cannery. I was really broke, between jobs and I still owed bills from the last apartment. You were away at school, remember?'

Nowell shook his head.

‘And I called you and asked if we could split the cost of a present for Father's Day. I said that I would pay you back later since I was so strapped.'

‘None of this sounds…'

‘…and you said don't worry about it, that you weren't going to buy a present because you'd only been working that part-time job at school. You said that you didn't have any money either, that he'd understand.'

Nowell's face was guarded.

‘And then you came home that weekend and brought him this lousy shirt, and he thought it was the greatest one he'd ever seen. And there I was, looking like a jerk. His Number One son brought him a gift all the way from college and me, a loser with no place of his own, showed up with a card.'

‘I have no idea what you're talking about,' Nowell said. ‘And stop waving it in front of my face.'

Lonnie let out a forced laugh and flung the shirt over his shoulder. ‘You know what, Number One? I believe you. I'm sure you don't remember anything about it. Another day of normal operations for you.'

‘If that happened, and I really doubt it, then I'm sure it was a misunderstanding. Maybe I meant the shirt to be from both of us.'

‘You acted like I never called you. You said that you thought we'd agreed to do our own thing.'

Nowell leaned back in his chair, his eyes flashing fire. ‘So you're accusing me of what? Of making you look cheap? Of buying a shirt behind your back?'

‘It was always that way with you. I don't think you knew it yourself, the things you did to me.'

‘Give it a rest, Lonnie. Maybe I don't remember that particular Father's Day, but why are your memories always different from everybody else's? Every holiday or family function another time when you were the victim, everybody out to get you. Like most of your memories, you've changed this one.'

‘I remember everything.'

Nowell crossed his arms. ‘You remember things in your own way. Maybe there was some sort of mix-up over Dad's gift, but you remember it as some scheme to discredit you. I'm sure I had other things on my mind back then, like studying for exams and writing papers.'

‘I had other things on my mind, too,' Lonnie said. ‘But I remember that when I first called, I suggested a shirt or a tie. He'd been traveling more for the business, do you remember that?'

‘Lonnie, just drop it.'

‘He bought a couple of suits and I figured he could use some ties, but you said Dad didn't need clothes.'

‘How would I know what he wanted? I never told you that.'

‘I thought you didn't remember.'

Nowell turned back towards his computer. ‘I have work to do,' he said evenly.

Vivian and Dot had finished packing the box and had carried it between them into the spare room. Afterwards, they listened to the argument from the hallway. When Lonnie pulled the room divider back into place, they emerged.

‘Hey, Dot, what's to eat around here?' Lonnie's face was flushed and glowing. He seemed jubilant, almost happy.

‘Can't you wait for dinner?' she asked. ‘We thought we'd order pizza tonight, maybe in an hour or so.'

Nowell came into the kitchen. His face was drawn and pale. ‘Might as well order it now. I'm not going to get any more work done.'

Vivian couldn't remember the last time they'd all stood in the kitchen at the same time, especially the two men, whose tall, rugged bodies made it seem crowded and airless.

‘Well, ladies,' Lonnie said. ‘The king has spoken.'

Nowell whirled around to face Lonnie. ‘What's your problem?'

‘I know you remember that shirt, that's all.'

‘I thought that conversation was over.'

Lonnie reached for the baseball cap hanging on the hook near the door and plopped it on his head. His eyes had a wild, watery look. From another hook, he took his car keys. ‘Maybe I'll go for a drive while you think about it,' he said. ‘After all this time, you still haven't figured things out.'

‘What things? Things according to Lonnie? You're right, I'll never figure that out.'

‘It was different with us and you know it. You had your special place and you made sure I never came close.'

‘I don't know what you're…'

‘Goddammit, yes you do!' Lonnie's voice resonated through the yellow kitchen,
echoing over the smooth surfaces and drowning out the ticking of the rooster clock.

‘All right, Lonnie,' Dot said softly.

‘I can't believe after all this time, you're still living in your little fantasy world,' he shouted. ‘Sure, he thought about you early on. Such an achiever, always bringing home good news, with your Little League championship and your science award.'

‘That was in the fourth grade!' Nowell's voice was incredulous.

‘But then he wasn't thinking about anyone, was he? You, off at college, pretending that things were still the same. The great father-son relationship. You made it all up. Don't you see that now? You made it up, and while you were away living your dream life, things at home were falling apart. Mom lost all that weight and you never noticed.'

Vivian and Dot lingered nervously at the edge of the kitchen, exchanging helpless glances.

‘At least he could depend on me not to screw up,' Nowell said. ‘You have no idea what it was like, going to bat against him for you, for you! You can't manage the simplest thing, can't keep your life together for one month without one of us having to bail you out. And it was usually me, wasn't it? Why was that, Lonnie? If you and Mom were so close – she still calls you her
baby
– if you're so close, then why was it always me?'

‘Who asked you?' Lonnie bellowed and before their astonished eyes, the keys flew out of his hand towards Nowell's head. Barely missing, they crashed into the wall next to the window and slid into the sink.

By the time they looked back, Lonnie was gone. The screen door jerked back and
forth as it slowly closed.

‘He's lucky he missed that window,' Nowell barked. He took his own keys from the counter and strode through the door. In a moment, they heard the truck's engine, the tires slipping then taking hold on the dirt driveway.

They went to the door to watch Nowell leave. Vivian looked over and noticed that Dot was near crying. Teardrops crowded her eyes, threatening to spill. ‘Sit down,' she told her.

Dot pulled a chair from underneath the table and sat down. When she reached up to wipe her eyes, her hands were shaky. ‘His temper is so sudden, you know? I never know when it's coming, or what causes it.'

‘I think that's how tempers work,' Vivian sat down across from her and handed her a tissue.

Dot dabbed at the corners of her green eyes, which seemed paler, more yellowish than usual. ‘I used to think it was just another aspect of passion,' she said. ‘You know, deep feelings. We've only had a few really horrible fights, but they always end with Lonnie losing his temper, throwing or breaking something.'

Vivian looked at her with concern.

‘Oh, he's never touched me,' she said. ‘And I don't believe he ever would.'

‘But he threw those keys right at Nowell.'

She wiped her eyes again, leaving a smear of mascara underneath one eye. ‘I don't think he meant to, you know? He loves Nowell and he loves me, and when he gets angry like that, it's not the person he's mad at, it's the situation and his own feelings. All that rage at himself and there's nowhere to direct it.'

‘I'm glad he missed,' Vivian said.

Dot reached over and grabbed her wrist. ‘He feels awful about it, I know he does.' Tears flowed freely now down her cheeks, ending at the corners of her mouth. ‘Please don't be angry with him, Vivian.'

She covered Dot's hand with her own.

‘I'm starting to think that it's weakness more than passion, you know, his temper. I have to admit something to you and it might sound strange.' She peered into Vivian's face. ‘The first couple of times he lost his temper, I found it, I don't know, exciting. Sure, I was angry and one time he broke our television remote and I was mad about that. But it was passion, you know? Here he was, big and crazed, crashing around our apartment and at the same time I was frightened, I was excited by it.'

‘But it's so childish.'

She shrugged. ‘There's no restraint and in a way, it's refreshing. Haven't you ever tried to make Nowell mad, maybe during a time when he hasn't been paying enough attention? Haven't you ever said something to pick a fight? Maybe you don't know at the time that you're doing it, but you make him angry so you can see his feelings.'

‘I don't know,' Vivian said.

‘There are things about Lonnie that I didn't know when I married him. I'm not ashamed to admit it. There's a whole other person, the hidden, small one that only comes out during moments like that. I keep discovering new things about him.' After a moment, she asked: ‘Do you know what Lonnie's real name is?'

‘Leonard.'

‘He hates it.'

‘I always wanted to be a Lisa, or Michelle,' Vivian said. ‘One of those names that everybody has.'

Dot shook her head. ‘No, Lonnie
really
hates his name. He made me swear never to call him by it, even as a joke.'

‘That's silly.'

‘We might think so, but this is what I'm telling you.' Dot's voice was emphatic. ‘For some reason, he's very disturbed by it, you know? The mention of it makes him feel foolish, or small, or helpless. Knowing these things about another person makes them very special to you.'

‘Or very irritating,' Vivian said, removing her hand from Dot's. ‘Aren't there more important things to worry about?'

‘Maybe. I don't accept everything without question. There are things I don't like, things that make me uncomfortable.'

The kitchen had grown shady as the sun moved over the house, and Vivian had a hard time focusing her eyes. The air was still and cool.

Dot cleared her throat. ‘Lonnie told me once that he and his friends used to shoot at cats with their BB guns. He said that a couple of times, they actually killed one and dragged it around on their bicycles.'

‘Boys do that kind of stuff all the time,' Vivian said, although the thought actually appalled her.

‘But I can't help wondering
how
someone could do that. It's one thing to hear stories about boys who are cruel to animals, but to imagine the details, you know? Tying the poor thing with string, making sure it's tight. How could someone do that? How
could someone walk away from something like that? Wouldn't it make them hard, at least some part of them?'

‘I don't know,' Vivian said.

Dot's cheeks were soaked with fresh tears. Vivian reached over and pulled Dot's shoulder and she came quickly, resting her head on Vivian's shoulder. ‘I don't know what I'm talking about, or why I'm crying,' she said. ‘I just hate when he gets like that.'