“Vivien,” he said, the syllables of her name tumbling from his throat.
And just like that, she was in his arms and he was kissing her again, and to her surprise, Vivien was happy to have it, his mouth on hers and his rough hands already unbuttoning her coat and then her white blouse beneath. The kettle whistled, and Vivien reached over and turned off the stove.
“You have a bedroom here?” Sebastian was whispering.
“I do,” she said, taking his hand and leading him toward it.
Later, they lay naked beneath her crisp white sheets. Vivien had never seen a man so hairy, the curly black hair covering his stomach and chest. Although he had arrived freshly shaved, already she saw the blue-black beginnings of hair on his cheeks and chin. The strangeness of him delighted her. She told him this, and he laughed.
“Vivien, Vivien,” he said. “How I love your name in my mouth.”
“You haven’t asked about Denver,” she said, watching the slant of the light through the blinds. Afternoon had arrived, she realized.
“I don’t need to ask,” Sebastian said. “If you had found him, I would not be here naked in your bed.”
“I think . . .” Vivien began, but she couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Vivien,” Sebastian said. “Do you know this little bird that sings? A little yellow bird?”
“Canary?”
“Yes. Ca-na-ry,” he said carefully. “Your name in my mouth is a canary. You in my arms makes my heart sing like a canary. You are my little bird.”
“A poet, you,” Vivien said, turning her head so he did not see the tears that had unexpectedly come to her eyes.
“Birdy,” Sebastian whispered, taking her chin in his hand and turning her face toward him. He placed his lips on hers. “Birdy,” he whispered again.
For two days, Vivien tended to Lotte and her family. She washed their clothes and swept the floors. She opened the windows to let fresh air in. She made a tamale pie and a chicken pot pie and put them in the refrigerator so that there would be dinner for them during the week. The ways to help the grieving, Vivien thought as she hung the wet laundry on the clothesline outside the kitchen, were similar to helping the sick. Except mourners did not show any immediate signs of recovery.
Lotte stayed in bed most of the time, either sleeping or pretending to sleep, Vivien wasn’t sure which. She left her tea and toast on the night table and placed a vase of golden poppies beside it.
“Lotte?” she said late Sunday afternoon.
When Lotte didn’t answer, Vivien continued. “I’m going back to town now, darling.”
Still no response.
“Lotte, you have to try. If not for Robert, then for the boys.”
Vivien waited, but Lotte remained still, her face turned away.
“In time,” Vivien said softly as she bent to kiss her friend on the head. “In time.”
The ride back to town with Sebastian was quiet, Vivien lost in her thoughts. She looked out the window at the sky darkening, and tried to imagine her future. Would she go back to her routine of weekly trips to the library scouring the newspapers for amnesiacs? Although Sebastian had offered her nothing, she wondered if she might make a life with him. For the first time since the earthquake, she felt a glimmer of possibility. Vivien snuck a glance at Sebastian as he drove, a cheroot between his lips, his face lined and brown from the sun.
“Next week?” he said. “I pick you up again on Saturday?”
Vivien kept her eyes on him. “Why don’t you come Friday night?”
“And stay overnight?” he asked, surprised.
“And stay overnight,” Vivien said.
On Monday morning Vivien was awakened by the sound of soft knocking on her door. She slipped on her lavender robe and hurried, barefoot, down the stairs. Opening the door, she found the young woman from the other evening stood there.
“You again,” Vivien said, frowning.
“I apologize for my sudden departure,” the girl said. “My emotions got the best of me.”
“I haven’t even had my morning coffee yet,” Vivien said.
“Should I come back then?” the girl said. She wore a green coat with a red fox collar. The animal’s head and amber eyes unnerved Vivien.
“No, no. Come in.” She opened the door wider so the girl could enter. “Would you like to join me?”
The girl turned, her eyes narrowing.
“Are you making espresso?” she asked.
“Goodness, no,” Vivien said, trying to act nonchalant despite the question. She had not made espresso since David taught her to use that complicated machine of his.
The girl began to slowly remove the bobby pins that held her small green hat in place, her eyes never leaving Vivien as she did. The hat was the type that hugged the top of the head, with a stiff short veil on the front. Sequins sparkled from the veil in the early morning light.