Chapter 83 Vivian
Vivian
Three Months After the Fire
“Good morning,” Michael says, arriving at the store as promised. He hands Vivian a coffee, that day’s New York Times crossword puzzle, and a stack of papers. “I had a friend do these CAD drawings of the new space. And the crossword, well, that speaks for itself.”
She flips through the papers, ignoring the puzzle. “These are incredible, Michael.” She peers more closely at them. “Wait, are those the actual pieces of furniture from this shop?”
“Yes, as you may remember, I took photos the last time I was here, and they were able to import them.”
“Are those the actual dimensions? The correct ones?”
“Yes.”
She waves the tape measure in her hand. “So you’re saying I don’t need to go around and measure every single piece to figure out what will and won’t fit at the new space?”
“You do not.”
“Thank you. Truly.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he says, and then he turns away, as if her compliment has embarrassed him.
She’s finding she likes his little quirks.
She likes spending time with him. She likes the way he cares for her; today, her coffee has the usual splash of milk, but he brought an additional sugar packet on the side, in case she needed a little boost. And then there are the crossword puzzles he brings, ever since he learned they could help with her TBI recovery.
She looks through the drawings, still amazed. “You saved me at least a day of work, if not two, given my brain these days. Now I’ll have time to do this crossword, I suppose.”
“That was my intent,” he jokes.
She’s trying to reconcile Michael the Knox member with Michael the person.
They are the same—and they are different.
Last week, to her surprise, he offered to do a geomantic divination reading on her behalf.
She humored him, asked what she thought was an insignificant question—or at least a foregone conclusion, since she’d already signed the lease: Is the new store space a good one?
As he began casting the chart, he became animated, his eyes bright.
“So you really buy into this geomancy thing,” she remarked, and then immediately regretted it when she saw the light snuff out from his eyes like an eclipse.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally responding, “Don’t you believe there’s more in the world than what we can see?”
“I don’t know. You mean, like magic?”
“Magic, mood, aura, energy—whatever you want to call it. Don’t you feel it, sometimes? Whatever ‘it’ is?”
“Do you?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He looked at her intensely, and she could feel it then: the possibility, like a gift whose contents you don’t ever unwrap.
“I suppose I’d like to believe.”
“Then do,” he simply replied, and continued with his reading. The answer he delivered was anything but trivial; it was thoughtful and nuanced. And remarkably astute.
Though “belief” is a pill she’s still working on swallowing, she will admit a begrudging respect for the ancient practice of geomancy. (And yes, the space is a very good one.)
Michael now taps at the CAD drawings in her hands. “The only pieces I didn’t take pictures of were the furniture items in the back of the store,” he says. “The ones covered in moving blankets and Bubble Wrap. I wasn’t sure if those were coming or going to the new space.”
Vivian sighs. “Right. I need to figure that out. Those are awaiting refinishing. They’re mostly coming, unfortunately, and very delayed. My go-to antique restorer passed away during Covid, and I haven’t found his replacement yet. I got a little waylaid in the past few months.”
“Understandable.”
“Actually,” she says, cocking her head, “some of those items belong to you, or rather, the Knox.”
“Oh? Let’s take a look, shall we?”
As they unwrap the cloths, their fingers accidentally brush. “Sorry,” Michael says.
“Don’t be.” And then she adds, slyly, “I rather liked it.”
He pauses to look at her. “As did I.”
They continue to work, a silence encompassing them. But it’s a comfortable quiet.
They uncover a nineteenth-century painted Italian chest and a French antique tub chair, both of which are Knox items, and an eighteenth-century rococo giltwood stool, which belongs to a wealthy friend of Vivian’s mother.
Then, a random Ming dynasty porcelain vase.
Christ. Vivian can’t seem to shake this era.
Michael studies the vase, running his fingers over the blue poppy flower design.
“I used opium during my geomantic readings at the Knox, to open my mind,” he suddenly admits.
“It was in our charter, what tradition dictated. But—that reading I did for you, about your new store space—that was the first time I realized I don’t need it to honor the practice.
” He gives her an almost enigmatic smile. “Thank you.”
She returns his smile, feeling let in on the secret. She likes this—feeling a connection to this man.
“Are you planning to still do readings for them?” she asks, as casually as she can.
“I don’t know,” he concedes. “I’m assuming what you are really asking is what I am planning to do in terms of my allegiance to the Knox.
It’s complicated. As you are aware, I descend from a long line of members.
” He pauses, looking somewhat abashed. “I feel rather silly saying that, since you descend from a long line of ancestors.”
“It’s okay,” she says. She wants him to continue. “So?”
“So, I don’t know.” He shrugs, looking uncharacteristically flummoxed.
She nods; she understands how one’s upbringing can mold you, how even after you’ve long sprung from the cast, you still feel the phantom shape of the plaster. Given all that’s happened with the Knox, this is new territory. He—and perhaps she—will have to sort it out.
As they start undressing the last piece of furniture, labeled “cabinet” on the white masking tape, Michael asks, “Are you still seeing Peter?”
“No. He’s asked if he can see me when he returns from Milan, but I don’t want to.”
The truth of it hits her as it’s leaving her mouth. She doesn’t want to see him, she realizes.
Michael’s cocoa-brown eyes meet hers, and a warmth flushes through her. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.
As they pull off the blanket, she’s momentarily stunned. It’s not a cabinet but rather a secretary. From the nineteenth century, and from the Knox.
“Oh! I’d forgotten about this piece,” he remarks.
“I don’t remember this,” she says, shaking her head.
“Your assistant was here the day we brought it in. What was her name?”
“Riley. She doesn’t work here anymore. Not since Covid, when she moved back to New Jersey. She never told me about it. I…” Vivian’s voice trails off. She runs her fingers along the top of the secretary. It has one of those drop-down lids, which she pulls down now.
It’s nearly identical to the one she searched through in the Knox, when Michael caught her. Now, he gives her a questioning look, one eyebrow peaked like a mountaintop.
“I…There could be something here. Something…about my family,” she says breathlessly.
She quickly pops out the dovetail drawer to the left, and Michael follows her lead, removing the one to the right.
She runs her fingers along the wood adjacent to the column, looking for the same notch she’d previously found, but there is none.
He does the same, running his fingers on the opposite side.
“It’s here,” he says, sounding excited.
She checks where he’s pointing. “You’re right! We just need a pin.”
“It’s a shame you’re not wearing a hairpin today,” Michael teases. He looks around. “Here, we can use this paper clip.” He undoes the paper clip from the CAD drawings and extends the clip, so it has a long tentacle. “You do the honors.”
She inserts the clip into the notch, and it clicks into place, ejecting the column. She grasps the edge, pulling it out. It’s a deep wooden document folder, and she holds her breath as she peers inside.
“It’s empty,” she says, disappointment lacing her words. She turns it to show him as her shoulders collapse.
He takes the holder from her and turns it upside down, as if that will magically make something appear.
“Wait. Look here. I think this slides up.” He’s pulling on the back edge of the holder, and as the wood shifts, it reveals a false bottom. He takes a quick look inside and hands the holder back to her.
“Is there something in it?” she asks.
“See for yourself.”
She slips her fingers into the small false space, and they hit something paperlike. Very, very carefully, she tugs it out. It’s a scroll. Her heart quickening, she places the scroll onto the flat surface of the secretary.
Michael holds on to one end, while Vivian unrolls the other.
It’s the schedule of beneficiaries.