Free Leftovers: A Novel by Arthur Wooten Page A

snow.
    •  •  •
     
    And it continued to do so, very heavily, during the drive back to Abbot. The only good thing about Vivian’s tank was its weight. Any other automobile, without snow tires or chains, would have skidded off of Route 1 and become stranded just outside of Boston. But Vivian’s Buick skied smooth and steady back to her house. Snow was drifting from north to south so she was even able to yank open the garage door and get it into the shed and out of the elements.
    As freakish as the late summer’s extreme drought and heat wave was, it didn’t compare to the amount of snow that was dumped on this small New England town. It continued to snow up to and through Thanksgiving.
    That morning Abbot looked like the quintessential picture postcard. Like royal icing used for gingerbread houses, gobs of snow clung to bare tree branches, piled high on windowsills of every building, and even made South Church’s steeple seem that much closer to heaven. And quiet. The blanket of snow created a deafening hush throughout the village.
    As the day began, golden lights twinkled from homes here and there, as curls of smoke drifted up from chimneys into the sky and families began preparing for the day’s celebration.
    Exhausted, Vivian slept late. Normally she would have showered and gotten dressed but she wondered what the point would be. All she had for breakfast was black coffee and just after 11:00 A.M. she turned on the television. She had no interest in watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, but the sound of it felt comforting. With no plans, she stretched out on the sofa, pulled a blanket up over her head and fell asleep.
    Hours later it was the roar of the crowd at the Missouri versus Maryland football game on television that woke Vivian up. Actually hungry, she went into the kitchen and stood in the middle of the room, dazed. In her cupboards were some cleaning items along with baking soda, baking powder and a few dried spices. She opened the refrigerator revealing condiments like ketchup, mustard and relish. A jar of pickles sat in a green sea of mold and a head of lettuce was beginning to decompose in the crisper. On the counter was a set of canisters. She opened each one as if she had no idea what was in them. Flour, sugar, salt and surprisingly, the fourth one had some white rice in it. She threw it into a pot with some water and lit the Wedgewood without any fear at all. In fact, she dared it to blow up.
    Forty-five minutes later the sun was beginning to set while it continued to snow. Vivian sat at her kitchen table looking at the pile of bills as she tried to scrape undercooked stuck rice off of the bottom of the pan. She picked up one envelope, which indicated it was from the electric company and threw it back onto the table. She tried to eat another spoonful of rice and all of a sudden, the lights went out. The power was cut off and the football fans cheering on television dissolved into a moan and then dissipated to nothing.
    Not surprised, not angry, not anything, Vivian just sat there in the dark.
    •  •  •
     
    No more than an hour later and still snowing, Babs carefully drove down Osgood Street with chains attached to the back tires of her car. Stew sat in the passenger’s seat with a tower of Tupperware full of food on his lap.
    “Babs, when’s the last time you saw her?”
    She thought hard. “I don’t remember.”
    “Why did you stop calling?”
    “Stew, I stopped calling because Vivian was never home.”
    “Or she never picked up.”
    As Babs pulled up in front of the house she strained to see out of the snow-covered window. “I don’t see a single light on.”
    “Maybe she went to her mother’s for the holiday?”
    “God help her if she did.”
    Babs got out of the car and slid her way around to Stew’s side as he opened his door. He started to get out and she pushed him back in. “Are you crazy? You’ll do more damage to your foot.” She took the Tupperware