The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender(22)

“How can I refuse such an offer?” Gabe left his tools and lumber scattered across the porch and followed her down the hill. She pretended not to notice as he threw his shirt back on. She wasn’t sure how she felt about how easily his slow ambling gait matched her quick pace.

They made their way quietly through the festivities. The streets were lined with booths offering oversize ears of yellow corn dripping with butter and garlic, Norwegian treats of pannekaken, krumkake, and fattigmann served by the women from the next town over. There were tents of sheer turquoise and white where dark-skinned women danced with scarves, the wooden bangles on their wrists knocking together in tune to their circling hips. The girls from the high school’s Kiwanis Key Club offered face painting for local children, and their mothers sold pies for the benefit of the Veterans Hospital downtown. Musicians played mandolins, accordions, creaky violins, xylophones, clarinets, and sitars from street corners. The poorer families from the other side of the bay sold kittens, chicks, and baby ducks for a nickel.

Gabe waited politely when Viviane stopped to buy a chocolate truffle from one of the booths lining the streets. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the way he looked at her. How he seemed so content just to be in her presence.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Vivi,” he said.

Viviane raised an eyebrow at him. “Vivi? I have a nickname now?”

He smiled, puzzled. “What’s wrong with Vivi?”

“No one calls me Vivi.”

He peered down at her. “Maybe I do.”

She laughed and as she did, she caught sight of the young man standing watching her from across the street. Viviane remembered the slight gap in his smile wistfully, the way one might recall the illustrations in a favorite childhood picture book.

Viviane raised the sweet to her lips, but instead of the sharp tang of dark chocolate and coconut — her favorite — she tasted only her own smile. She glanced absently at Gabe. “I’ll catch ya later.”

She walked away before he could reply.

“Tell me one thing you couldn’t live without.” Jack stepped onto the low cement wall of the reservoir. His reflection in the water seemed pale compared to the brightness of the moon.

“Bathtubs.” Viviane walked neatly beside Jack, her shoes dangling from one hand. The cement felt rough and cool against her feet.

Jack jumped back off the wall. “It would be hard to live without you,” he said, and looked at Viviane in a way that made her realize the seriousness of the conversation.

“You’ve done all right.” Viviane surprised herself by saying this matter-of-factly, without any trace of bitterness on her tongue. She knew that Jack had to leave in order for him to come back. That was just the way things worked.

“Nah. See, ’cause you were always with me.” Jack pointed to his head. “In here.” He pointed to his chest. “And here, of course.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

“Are you cold?” A pale glow from the white house illuminated his face.

Viviane shook her head, happy for the occasional cool gust against her neck and the way it ruffled the garland in her hair.

A song rose into the air; the music surely coming from a radio inside the white house. Jack took Viviane’s shoes from her and set them on the ground. Then he took her hand in his, letting her fingertips rest lightly in his palm. “Remember how to tango?”

Viviane laughed. “I do.”

They danced, and all around them the leaves fell from their branches, some landing in the water to float on the moon’s shimmering silver reflection. Jack looked down at Viviane through the curved arc of their joined arms. “Are you actually letting me lead?”

“Stranger things have happened,” she replied. She was surprised by how much could change in a year, wondered if she felt as foreign in his arms as he did in hers. The music changed over to a slow jazz tune and they stood frozen. After a moment, they pulled apart.

“I have to tell you something,” Jack said while Viviane searched for her shoes.

“What’s that?”

Viviane used Jack’s shoulder for balance. She slipped a shoe on one foot, then the other. He rested his hand on the small of her back, almost timidly. The golden heat of his palm caused a ripple to run up her spine.

Viviane placed her chin on his shoulder. “I think I can handle it,” she said into his ear, hoping she sounded coy.

“I met someone.” And the leaves fell from the trees, landing to float in the calm black waters.

Viviane stood with her chin still resting dumbly on Jack’s shoulder. The music stopped. The moon disappeared from the sky. The couple in the white house had gone to bed, taking the warm light with them. Jack dropped his hand from her back, and all Viviane could think was Where did the moon go?

Jack asked if she wanted to meet her, this someone he had met, and Viviane found herself nodding yes and being led away from the reservoir and back into the midst of the celebration to where a girl stood nervously twisting her copper-colored hair between two fingers. The left ring finger was encircled by a thin gold band, the diamond a tiny pinpoint only noticeable when caught by the light.

As Viviane watched this girl take Jack’s arm, and she saw this girl’s hand meet Jack’s, Viviane was hit by the extraordinary thought that this girl, this Laura Lovelorn — which was, horribly, her name — had bought Jack a birthday present that year, that she had bought him other presents as well: little knickknacks from vacations taken over school holidays, romantic gifts for anniversaries, little tokens of affection for just because. Viviane could see Laura Lovelorn making her way through various department stores and specialty shops, maybe bringing along a friend or two — her future bridesmaids. Viviane could picture the moment Laura found it, this thing, this item that her Jack — because he was no longer Viviane’s Jack but Laura Lovelorn’s Jack — would treasure. Viviane could imagine Laura Lovelorn’s pleasure that she had found her future husband the perfect present, that she knew him that well. Upon imagining all of this, Viviane had the sudden impulse to run, to run until she reached, say, Topeka, Kansas, where she could shed this life and live in quiet refuge as a waitress at a roadside diner. Or something like that.