Alice Bliss (10 page)

“You’re making a mess.”

“I am not.”

“I spent days organizing these photos.”

“Days?”

“Any order I had managed to—”

“I’ll put it all back.”

“The way it was?”

“Yeah. Exactly the way it was.”

Just go away, Alice thinks. I was perfectly fine before you walked in here. Angie opens her mouth to say something else, thinks better of it, and turns on her heel and leaves.

Now Alice is thinking maybe it
is
a dumb photo. Now she’s thinking about how she’s not pretty and how that’s probably evident in this photo. It’s probably been evident forever, even in her baby pictures. Now she’s thinking about this crap when before she was just looking for a photo where she and her dad were having fun and goofing around and it didn’t have anything to do with being pretty.

This is why girls hate their mothers, Alice thinks, as she finds the photo.

They’re in the garden, standing in the middle of their pumpkin patch. Dad is holding a pitchfork; Alice is holding a shovel. There are two bushel baskets tipped over like cornucopia, full of corn and peppers and zucchini and gourds and tomatoes. They’re wearing matching Red Wings T-shirts and baseball hats, and they’re both trying—and failing—to look serious.

There’s another one and another one—a little series of shots she hadn’t remembered. Uncle Eddie caught them laughing and making faces and pretending their biggest pumpkin was too heavy to lift.

She rifles through the box to find the negatives, pockets them, and puts the originals back exactly where she found them. She’s going to send her dad the whole series.

She raids the change jar before hopping on her bike to go to the drugstore at the Four Corners to make copies. On her way out the door she tells Ellie she’ll be back in half an hour max and then they can seal up the box and take it to the post office.

“Get some batteries,” Ellie yells after her. “They all need double As!”

Alice pops back inside.

“Mom! I’m taking five dollars to get Dad batteries!”

And she’s out, she’s on her bike. Only now does she realize how cold it still is. There’s a misting kind of rain and the roads are all slushy. She’s gonna get soaked if she rides in the street. She veers off onto the sidewalk, which is marginally better but at least she won’t get sprayed by the passing cars. She pedals past Mrs. Piantowski’s and Mrs. Minty’s and then there’s Gram’s restaurant, with people waiting outside even in this weather. Happens every Saturday and Sunday, people queuing up around the block.

At the drugstore she marches up to the very tall, very skinny high school boy manning the photo machine, explains what she wants, begs him to make her photos right now, this very minute,
it’s urgent
, and then heads off to find batteries.

True to his word, Steven—she reads his badge—has her photos ready. While checking out, she looks at her dad’s watch. Eleven o’clock. They’ll just make it.

Outside Henry is standing next to her bike.

“Hey, Alice.”

“Hi, Henry.”

“You want to go sit at the counter at your Gram’s and have breakfast or something?”

“I can’t, Henry. I have to get to the post office before it closes.”

“After the post office, then.”

“I have to ask my mom.”

“I’ll meet you at the post office. She’ll probably say yes, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I gotta go.”

“Post office! High noon!” He shouts after her.

At home, Ellie and Angie have the box all ready. Alice tucks the photos into an envelope and slips in the letter she’s been writing her dad all week during boring classes at school. It’s a dumb letter, she knows that, a rambling, dull letter. She read the guidelines from the army: your soldier wants to hear the news from home. But there is no news in Belknap, there’s just the weather and school and Mom and Ellie and Gram and Uncle Eddie and running and not being able to sleep and missing him and wishing . . . But you are strongly advised to keep any and all worries to yourself. All the sleepless nights, and, let’s face it, the fights with Mom, all the real stuff, you’re supposed to leave that out.

Ellie hugs the box after they seal it up and plants a big kiss right on Dad’s name.

They rush into jackets and boots and head to the post office. As if what they’re all feeling right now will reach him, as if the hustle and the bustle will somehow cross the miles.

They stop at Gram’s, where she has very carefully packed up a loaf of Matt’s favorite harvest bread made with pumpkin and walnuts. She has followed the army guidelines to the letter and has real hopes this bread will make it and still taste good by the time it gets there.

Slipping inside the post office at a whisper before twelve, they’re giddy because they’ve made it in time. The two boxes go on the scale: they fill out the customs forms and pay the postman. But then there’s the walk from the counter to the door, with the postman following behind to lock up. Just those few yards and the air starts to go out of the balloon. Outside, Angie pulls her coat around her as though she could hug away the loneliness, and reaches out to take Ellie’s hand.

“Let’s go to Gram’s for lunch.”

“I meant to ask if I could go to Gram’s with Henry.”

“That’s fine. Ellie and I can have a booth all to ourselves, right sweetheart?”

Alice takes a look at her mother standing on the steps of the post office squinting into the rain. She wants to say, I see it; I notice all the things we are not saying, all the moments we are silently agreeing to ignore. It’s like a shadow that follows them and falls between them; this other life full of other feelings, this yawning emptiness where her father belongs.

And then Henry is there, materializing out of thin air, twirling Ellie off her feet and singing something right into her ear that makes her laugh out loud.

“Don’t tell,” he whispers.

“I won’t,” she grins back at him.

They walk to Gram’s and for some strange reason it’s pretty quiet. The line out the door is gone. Ellie and Angie sit at a booth while Henry and Alice settle in at the counter.

Sally, who is trying yet another shade of strawberry blonde, comes over to pour coffee as Gram sticks her head out from the kitchen to say hi.

“Hi, Gram!”

Ellie rushes her for a hug.

“I’ll join you for a cup of coffee as soon as I can.”

Gram gives Alice a kiss and says to both of them: “If you want to help me clean up, breakfast’s on me.”

“But I wanted to . . .” Henry begins.

He gets off the stool and whispers to Gram: “I invited Alice, Mrs. Bird.”

“Really.”

“I’ve got snow shoveling money.”

“You’re too young to date.”

“This is not a date. And her mother’s right there.”

“Don’t go getting any ideas.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Not in front of you and Sally and Ellie and her mother I wouldn’t.”

“I could still use your help with sweeping and washing the floors and the final round of pots and pans. For that you get the employee discount.”

“Deal.”

“This is not a date, Henry.”

“Absolutely not, Mrs. Bird.”

Henry slides back onto his stool next to Alice.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he says. “I’m having the lumberjack special.”

“You are not! You can’t possibly eat all that.”

“Wanna bet? Are you actually drinking coffee?”

“With a lot of milk and sugar. Wanna try it?”

She pushes the mug toward him. He sips. Considers. Hates it.

Sally sits down next to them to take their orders, leans into Henry, with a lot of cleavage, and enjoys his blush.

“You should’ve seen it in here an hour ago. All morning! A madhouse! We’re out of every kind of bread except white and English muffins. No more eggs Benedict, no more Canadian bacon.”

“You got the lumberjack special?” Henry asks, looking anywhere but at Sally.

“Bacon or sausage?”

“Bacon.”

“How do you want your eggs?”

“Over easy.”

“Pancakes or French toast?”

“Get the French toast,” Alice says.

“French toast, please.”

“Is this a date?” Sally wants to know.

“What?” Alice asks.

“Your Gram’s all worried this could be a date or something and you’re too young.”

“It’s not a date,” they both say simultaneously, and perhaps too loudly.

“Alice helps me with math all the time. I just wanted to do something nice for her.”

“Awwww. . . . The usual for you, Alice?”

“I want my dad’s usual.”

“Corned beef hash comin’ up.”

There’s an awkward pause as Sally shouts their order into the kitchen. Alice glances up into the long mirror over the counter and catches a glimpse of Ellie snuggled up close to Angie. Angie is stroking Ellie’s hair, lost in thought.

“You can’t do anything around here without everybody trying to . . .”

“I think it’s really nice, Henry.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“But let’s not get weird, okay?”

“No, no, no. Of course.”

“Like you’re acting nervous and stuff. And you should quit it.”

“Okay.”

He looks at her. He looks away.

“Listen . . .” and he trails off, uncertain how to proceed.

“What?”

“You know how there’s the dance coming up in May?”

“Henry!”

“What?”

“Okay. Wait a minute. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. Is there somebody you want to ask?”

“Duh, Alice.”

“Julie? Julie Watson?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Her sidekick, Abby?”

“You, Alice. I want to ask you.”

“Henry!”

“What’s so wrong with that?”

“We’re like almost related.”

“We are not!”

“Okay, but—”

“I even asked my mom to teach me how to dance.”

“You want to dance with me?”

“Yes.”

“I think the dances your mom knows how to dance may not be relevant in this case.”

“Well, there’s all the stuff about how to hold your partner for a slow dance, and not looking at your feet, and apologizing if you step on her feet, and offering to get punch.”

“Manners.”

“Dance manners. Yeah.”

Alice puts more sugar in her coffee.

“You are full of surprises, Henry.”

“Somebody else already asked you.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“Are you saying no?”

“No, I’m not saying no, I’m just saying . . .”

Their food arrives.

“If it’s no, tell me quick. I can’t stand long drawn out no’s.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes. It’ll be fun.”

“Really.”

“Yeah!”

“You honestly think so.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Have you ever had one minute of fun in that gym before?”

“No, but—”

“Maybe if it was just you and me, Henry, it might be fun. But our classmates will be there. Remember them?”

“I don’t care about them.”

“Do we have to get dressed up?”

“Yes! That’s part of the fun.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Is that yes?”

“Yes.”

“And we’ll get dressed up and everything.”

“And we’ll send my dad a picture.”

“My mom even said she’d drive us.”

“Let’s walk like we always do.”

“Really?”

“Don’t you think that would be kind of cool at night?”

“Will your mom let you?”

“Probably. Can I have a bite of your French toast?”

“Sure.”

“Gram makes the best French toast in the world.”

He passes her the plate.

“We could get Uncle Eddie to pick us up. In one of his retro cars.”

“That would be awesome. Maybe a convertible. Maybe he’d wear a chauffeur’s hat and be the first car idling at the door when everybody comes out.”

“Yeah. Maybe he would.”

Henry, relieved, tucks into his food. Gram comes out and sits down in the booth with Angie and Ellie. Sally joins them. Alice is looking at everything. Henry with egg yolk on his upper lip, Gram tired and asking Ellie to rub her shoulders, Sally looking a little haggard, like she’s got a headache, maybe left over from Friday night, maybe from more trouble with one of her boys, Angie stretched out with her head resting against the back of the booth, Ellie kneeling behind Gram working on her shoulders with her little hands.

Sally gets up and puts the CLOSED sign in the door and then flips the radio to her favorite country station. A song of lost love fills the room as Sally waltzes across the floor to start wiping down the counters.

“That Teddy Thompson’s got a nice voice,” Sally says.

“That’s not all he’s got,” Gram adds.

“Gram!”

“I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”

“What does
that
mean?” Alice wants to know.

Angie is laughing and covering Ellie’s ears.

“Means he’s so fine he can break
all
the rules,” Gram says.

Henry dips his head so low it’s almost in his plate. Alice turns her back on the sight of Gram, Sally, and Angie cracking up over Teddy Thompson and concentrates on composing the perfect bite: hash, egg with some soft yolk, plenty of pepper, and a dab of ketchup. She puts it in her mouth and closes her eyes and tries to let the taste bring her dad into focus inside of her. It doesn’t work, not that she was really expecting it to. Mostly she thinks, not bad, but I wish I’d ordered waffles.

Alice arrives home from practice to find Angie on the phone with Matt. Angie gives her a quick smile, then turns her back and closes the kitchen door. Alice walks in anyway.