LITMIR.BIZ

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blew across the porch. She had noticed, in some peripheral zone of her brain, storm clouds forming. ‘I wonder what happened to her,’ Vivian said.

      ‘I don’t know,’ Nowell said. ‘I really don’t.’ He shook his head, looking down at the weathered yellow floor. Vivian realized that he was more affected by the sheriff’s visit than she had thought.

      ‘It’s going to rain,’ she said. ‘My elbow hurts.’

      ‘We should close the windows,’ Nowell said. He walked down the hallway.

      She went to the back door, rubbing her elbow and watching the flurry of weather outside. The night had come alive; the sky was brooding and thickly dark. A strong wind pushed the trees crazily into each other and lifted leaves and papers into tiny, racing cyclones. Vivian thought about the girl they had found and tried to picture her splayed across a wide, flat rock. The sheriff told Nowell she was seventeen years old. Vivian wondered how long she was there before the sheriff came, what she’d been wearing. She thought about their neighbor to the east, Mr Stokes, marching over the land like he owned it. The way he looked at her had been strange, judgmental.

      Nowell returned to the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. ‘They’re all closed now,’ he said. ‘It’s really something out there.’

      On cue, a crack of thunder echoed through the yellow kitchen. They both jumped.

      Nowell asked, ‘Do you need ice for your elbow?’ He nestled behind her, wrapped his arm across her collarbone.

      She felt a familiar tingle. ‘So you did hear me,’ she said.

      When the weather was wet and cool, the joints in Vivian’s knees and elbows were prone to soreness. An ingrown barometer, they alerted her with more accuracy than the weather forecast in the newspaper. When she was young, her mother called it growing pains and was uncharacteristically patient with her when it happened. Now that Vivian was an adult, she wasn’t sure what caused it. Surely, she was finished growing.

      That poor woman, Katherine had called the dead girl’s mother. Vivian remembered being seventeen; she and her own mother had rarely seen eye-to-eye. High school changed Vivian, gave her a flavor of independence. By her third year, she was staying out every weekend, often missing her curfew or disregarding it altogether. She argued with her mother constantly, even threatened to move away.

      Nowell had gone into the living room, a small, blue-carpeted area next to the kitchen. Seldom used, the room was cramped with furniture and dimly lit. A brick fireplace took up most of one wall, on its mantle sat a porcelain owl with wide, black eyes. As Vivian entered, lightning brightened the room, throwing stark shadows against the walls. A clap of thunder followed, echoing in the chimney. Rain pelted the windows; fat drops slid down the glass. She sat next to Nowell on the sofa, pulling her knees up to her chest. He was watching a nature program. On the screen, two female tigers squared off against each other, their backs and ears raised. She thought about Katherine’s tattoo and suppressed a grin.

      ‘Let’s go into town tomorrow morning,’ she said.

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I want to sign up for the newspaper. Maybe we could have breakfast while we’re down there.’

      ‘Why don’t you just call the newspaper office?’

      ‘I want to buy one for tomorrow, see if there’s anything on that girl. We could see a movie afterwards, and…’

      ‘I can’t,’ Nowell said. ‘I’m not at a good stopping point.’

      She sighed. ‘I’ll go by myself then. I guess I have to drive that truck sometime.’

      The tigers were in a group of five now. Two of them had young to look after. The cubs rolled around on the dirt, smacking each other with their large paws.

      ‘How’s the book coming?’ she asked.

      ‘Good,’ he said.

      ‘How far have you gotten?’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘How many chapters?’

      ‘About nine I guess.’

      On the television screen, the cubs frolicked in the grass. ‘Is it going to be like the other book?’ she asked.

      ‘I hope not.’

      ‘I mean, the same kind. A mystery.’

      ‘Yes.’

      She put her legs down and leaned over, pressing her hand on Nowell’s chest. ‘Come on, tell me something about it.’

      ‘You know I don’t like to. It’s not complete, not even the idea of it. Right now, it’s all stored in my mind, in some sort of inexplicable order.’

      ‘I don’t get it.’

      ‘You don’t have to get it.’

      She sat upright. ‘I guess that’s just one more thing we can’t talk about tonight. Can’t talk about the sheriff, can’t talk about your book.’

      A vulture watched the group of cubs as they dove in and out of the tall meadow grass.

      ‘I talked to my mom today,’ Nowell said. ‘They’re trying to reduce her pension.’

      ‘Who?’ Vivian asked.

      ‘My dad’s old company. They’re saying something about a time limit or something. She’s really upset about it.’

      ‘I thought pensions were forever.’

      ‘There’s a new 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

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