in the dorm were trying to grow pot plants in their closets, people put up with his lectures. He held consultations about drooping leaves and root rot and helped rig grow lights. Although he himself never grew anything more contraband than marigolds, he never turned anyone in.
He must have had girlfriends, although Vivy couldn’t remember any. Light, meek girls, proto-Cecilias, might well have padded around after him and discussed the depletion of the water table, but Vivy’s days had been a raucous haze of rum and drugs and Sam, and David had hardly made a dent in her consciousness. When Nancy proposed that David Moore should join Natural High, Vivy had said, “Who?”
So now, trying to imagine life at home with David and Cecilia, all Vivy could envision was long, quiet, extremely polite evenings. The Moores weren’t fighters, she was sure. David’s hands, presently plunged in the rinse water, lacked the spiny nerves required to pick up a plate and fire it across a room. And if he and Cecilia weren’t fighters, they weren’t likely to be much as lovers. They were so careful all the time. When somebody at Life Ties told a joke, David would smile and Cecilia make a little snick snick snick sound, like scissors cutting through chintz. Vivy could imagine their lovemaking as if she had a ringside seat—neat covers, considerate division of labor. No more than fifteen minutes, beginning to end, with both parties springing to their feet as soon as they were finished. She envisioned David’s scramble to wash his hands.
“Ick,” she said, imagining Cecilia handing David the hand towel. Would she make artless, calibrated comments about Sam Jilet, as if he were a lump of gold she’d just stumbled over? For the first time—she was out of practice herself—Vivy wondered exactly why Cecilia had played her violin for Sam, and she wondered if David had heard about the concert. Vivy and David, the excluded spouses, had been pushed into their own, special partnership, and she wondered whether David knew that.
“They say the heat’s going to break soon,” he said, running fresh rinse water and tucking the sponge up behind the faucet.
“Good. Laszlo and Annie are whining so much that I made them sleep out on the porch last night.” She handed him a towel to fold. “How are you and Cecilia holding up?”
“She likes hot weather. So do my tomatoes. The ones on my porch are already knee high. The ones in my community plot are taller than that. I water them every night.” He smiled, encouraging her to congratulate him on his tall tomatoes.
“So you leave poor Cecilia all alone?”
“I don’t think she minds.”
“I’d be careful. This is how thrillers all start—the young missus by herself in the early evening, unbuttoning her blouse in front of the window to get a breeze. Startled when a drifter comes to the door.”
He laughed, then leaned on the freezer lid to latch it tight. “Cecilia hasn’t told me about any drifters. There was a kid selling candy bars for a school trip. You want one? She bought six.”
“There you go. A younger man.”
Vivy paused, then said, “Sam came to see her the other day. I was a little startled to hear about it.”
“She told me. He ran the new design to the copy shop for her. She was glad for the help.”
“He heard her play her violin. Sam said she sounded like a professional. He couldn’t believe you hadn’t told us what an artist we have in our midst.”
“She wanted to play with an orchestra once. I don’t think she wants to anymore.”
“Sam’s all set to get her back on the road to stardom.”
“You make him sound like he has a crush on her.”
“He does.”
“The fellow’s got good taste.” David turned to the mother and toddler who were approaching the counter. The boy, a shy child, twisted around his mother while she coaxed him into pointing at the flavor he wanted. In all, the transaction took close to five minutes, a track and a half of tootly Indian whistle and drums. By the time David had counted out change and rinsed the ice cream scoop, Vivy could see he had forgotten all about his wife, in whom he had untroubled faith. Many spouses at Life Ties wandered from their marriages specifically to jolt their partners out of such confidence, which was indistinguishable from complacency.
He reached into the freezer case to wrestle the empty Maple Walnut carton out, and Vivy said, “I’ll get you another gallon from the back.”
He shook his head. “All gone. Didn’t you see Nancy’s memo on this? The last two shipments of walnuts were bad, so we need to find a new supplier.”
“How hard can it be to grow nuts?”
“Harder than you think, actually, especially if you want to stay away from sprays. I did a study in graduate school on borers,” David said.
“You should send a copy to that orchard in Mineville. Maybe they’ll take you on.”
“What are you talking about?”
David’s broad, mild face was curious, and Vivy briefly wondered what exactly filled up his brain. The fertile valley that held El Campo and Mineville and a handful of other towns was only sixty miles wide from the foothills to Sacramento, and didn’t exactly bubble over with news. After reading the twelve-page Valley-Herald, Vivy felt as if she could recite every church’s upcoming call for renewal, every diner that needed a fry cook. She said, “There’s a spread up in Mineville that’s looking for somebody to re-do its walnut orchards. Replant, prune, I don’t know what all. Part-time. Pretty much a David Moore job, if you ask me.”
“Nice of you to say, but David Moore has a job.”
“Not one he did studies on.”
“Thanks all the same.” Wiping the clean countertop, his smile took on the crimp it bore whenever anyone presented him with a new idea.
“It’s part-time. You wouldn’t have to leave Natural High. And you’d get to do what you like for twenty hours a week.”
“I like what I do now.”
“Okay. You’d get to do what you love.”
“You have quite a way of seeing things,” David said, bearing down so hard she could see the soft muscles in his back shift from side to side. “I don’t think everything in the world has to be a big quest. I like my life already. I don’t have to change things.”
“I just thought you should know what your options are.”
“I’m not looking for options,” he said. “I have commitments.”
“A commitment doesn’t have to mean you’re locked in place. Just ask Sam and Cecilia.” When David raised his startled gaze, she said, “Sorry. That was supposed to be a joke.”
“It’s kind of a compliment. Not many people would cast me as part of a romantic triangle.”
He was right about that. Even though Vivy’s frustration with him had momentarily ebbed, there was no overlooking his thinning hair, doughy waist, his nose as pudgy as a baby’s fist. She said, “I know I sounded catty, but I was actually trying to help.”
When he grinned
