The Painted Table(67)

Jack wanders into the living room and pulls cords to open the heavy, rose-colored draperies along the wall of windows. In several places the aging peau de soie fabric hangs fragmented by vertical splits.

“Wow,” he says. “What a beautiful view down in the valley.” Saffee stands close to him. It is beautiful. But she doesn’t miss it. The dirty windows are stuck with tape residue, but Jack doesn’t seem to notice.

Poor Daddy.

She remembers to add, Poor Mother.

The double doors to the dining room behind them are closed. Let them be. She has told him about the table, that should be enough. He doesn’t have to know that being in the house with this element of her mother’s aberrations is making her heart race.

The only item in the living room is the piano. “It’s always been considered April’s,” she tells Jack.

“You girls shoulda taken accordeen lessons instead of piano,” Nels had said to Saffee when he gave her the house key. “An accordeen, now, you can take that around with you easy. What am I s’posed to do with April’s piano? Can’t send it to her.” There has been no word from April for several months.

Saffee pulls Jack toward the hallway. “This was Daddy’s den,” she says, opening more drapes. She doesn’t mention that for years it was here her father slept. It was not to spite her mother, Saffee has come to realize; it was one of the sacrifices he had made for her.

The master bedroom is empty except for a bedside table. “Maybe this would be handy in our bedroom?” Jack asks.

“No,” she says quickly, “they’ll probably come back for it. It matches their bedroom set.”

They cross the hall to the bedroom she had shared with April. She surveys the white twin beds and the bureau that once had been a dining room piece, until Joann saw its bedroom possibilities.

“I guess we don’t need more old furniture,” he says, “but maybe we could find a place for the matching lamps.” To be reasonable, she agrees.

Saffee slides open the closet door and finds two cardboard cartons. One is labeled “Saffee,” the other “April.” Uncovering the first, she sees school mementos. She shows Jack her senior picture in her high school yearbook.

“Why the solemn face?”

She mugs a frown. “I’m a sober person, you know that.”

Saffee suggests they put both boxes into the pickup; she’ll sort through hers at home and save April’s. Home! She already calls their duplex home. The word has taken on a new, positive meaning.

Minutes later, as they venture to the basement, Jack stops. “Is this where God spoke to you?” On their honeymoon trip she told him about God’s promise, Your life will be different.

“No,” she says, wrapping her arm around his, “that was when I was younger, in the house on Second Street.” She grins. “And now I know He had you in my mind, way back then.” He grins back.

In the first room below, a row of high, glass-block windows gives filtered light. “We called this room the family room,” Saffee says. “But I can’t remember one time when all the family was together here.”

“Was it the TV room?” Jack asks.

“Mom, who’s Elvis Presley? Everyone at school is talking about him. I think he’s on TV.”

“Don’t worry about it. With a name like that, he’ll never amount to anything. And, no, we don’t need a TV.”

“No,” she says.

In the unfinished half of the basement, the Maytag wringer washer still stands near the laundry tubs. One of the lines sags, supporting the weight of a full bag of clothespins.

In Nels’s workshop, Jack picks up pieces of lumber. “Think he’d mind?” he asks. “Never know when a man needs some wood.”

She is amused and tells him to take all he wants. You never know what will interest a man. Jack sets aside a few two-by-fours and miscellaneous pieces of plywood and looks pleased. He sees a wooden box on a shelf, lifts it down, and slides off the lid. “This would be just the thing for small tools,” he says. “Looks like some old documents inside.”

“Take it,” she says. “Daddy said anything we want is ours.”

In a far corner he sees a child’s high chair and asks if they should put it in the truck.

“You’ve got to be kidding. What for?”

“Suit yourself,” he says. She can see that he was teasing her.

They carry up the wood and the box and put them in the pickup. Maybe they can leave now, without either of them seeing the Norway table. If she can avoid it today, chances are she will never have to see it again.

“We should shut all the curtains like we found them,” Saffee says. “Will you check the rooms down the hall, Jack? I’ll do the living room.” It is a mistake.