Alice Bliss (11 page)

“Is it Dad? Can I talk to him?”

Angie waves her away and closes the door behind her. So Alice stands just outside the closed kitchen door, furious. She can occasionally hear her dad’s voice, but very few words. She waits a minute until her mom is distracted again and pushes the door open a crack. Now she can hear the excitement in his voice.

“C’mon, honey. It’s what we’ve trained for.”

“You promised me, Matt—”

“It’s the army, remember? They make the decisions.”

“This is what you
wanted.
Admit it.”

“Angie . . .”

There’s a pause.

“How are the kids?”

“They’re fine.”

“Are you getting my checks okay?”

“Two so far.”

“I know they’re slow, but that’s pretty good. It means we’re in the system. Are you getting my letters?”

“They take about ten days.”

“But they’re getting there?”

“Yeah. They’re great, Matt.”

“Write me. Write me more. You don’t know what a letter means.”

“I will.”

“I wrote to both girls today. Tell them, okay?”

“I will.”

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Matt, this is so hard.”

“I know. I know it is.”

“I wish you could call more.”

“Me, too. But we’re moving around so much right now.”

“Come home to me.”

“You know I will.”

“Stay safe.”

“I love you, Angie. I love you.”

 

Alice lets the door close completely. She can hear Angie hanging up the receiver and then crossing to the sink where she turns on the tap.

Alice retreats to the hall table where, breaking with tradition, she picks up the letter addressed to her and tears it open, not waiting for Angie or Ellie, not waiting for anyone.

 

There is no practice today. B.D. is sick or something. Alice feels lost.

Drifting past the high school playing fields, headed for the cutthrough to the elementary school, Alice crosses the track, starts up the hill and steps in dog poop. Shit! All these people who walk their dogs here; they know the leash laws! They know that kids use these paths. Idiots! She’s stumbling around trying to wipe the crap off in the grass, and looks up to see John Kimball laughing at her. The cutest guy in school who has never so much as glanced her way ever, not even once, not that she cares; now he takes a moment from doing something spectacular on the baseball field, now he decides to stop and look at her.

“Asshole!” she shouts. Which only makes him laugh louder. “Asshole!” she shouts again and to her amazement, he drops his mitt and heads over to her.

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

“Go away.”

“Listen—”

“You’re just making it worse.”

“No, that was stupid. I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what? You’re so full of shit.”

“You’re crying.”

“No, I’m not!”

“I didn’t know you could cry and be mad at the same time.”

“You don’t know much, do you?”

“Okay, okay,” he says, and starts backing off, still looking at her.

She looks down and can’t believe her sneaker. This must’ve been some really big dog.

“Alice, right?” He calls out to her.

“What?”

“Your name’s Alice, right?”

She looks past John and sees Stephie and Jeremy Baskin holding hands, standing with a bunch of kids, and realizes they’ve been watching and of course they’re laughing. They’re all laughing at crazy Alice Bliss.

Fuck you
, Alice thinks, as she heads blindly toward the path through the woods. She’s stumbling around like an idiot and tripping over rocks and careening into branches, which are lashing her face. Is that blood? Is her face scratched? Oh, who
cares
, she just wants to get this shit off her sneaker; she’s madly scraping away on rocks, on roots, in the leaves and pine needles, and good god—it’s almost coming up over her socks! when Henry appears.

“Alice, what are you doing here?”

Why does he sound so mad, she wonders as she grabs the sweatshirt she’s got tied around her waist. She can’t believe she is wiping her face and blowing her nose on her favorite sweatshirt.

“I thought you had track.”

She rolls up the sweatshirt and stuffs it in her backpack.

“It was canceled.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What difference does it make?”

“What difference does it make?! I’ve been leaving band practice early every day for three weeks to pick up Ellie. Not that you’ve noticed! Not that you care! Not that you’ve ever even bothered to say thank you!”

“I didn’t—”

“What is that
smell?
”

She looks at her shoe.

“Oh, my God, that’s gross.”

And he turns and heads back to school.

“Where are you going?”

“Maybe if I make it through a whole rehearsal once or twice Mr. Brooks won’t drop me from band and take away my clarinet solo.”

“Why are you so mad at me?”

“Jeez, Alice! You are not the only person on the planet!”

 

Well, I know that, Alice thinks, as she watches Henry hurry away from her. She looks at his thin back and narrow shoulders and lowslung pants and too heavy backpack, filled with homework he will actually complete, and those awful black lace-up shoes he wears just to be different. She looks at his shaggy thick hair and his beloved Red Sox hat that his brother gave him. She tries to remember the last time Henry was this mad at her and thinks it might have been her birthday party when she turned seven. The two of them spent weeks planning that party, they even had a theme, the Wizard of Oz, and his mom baked one of her amazing cakes that had the characters all over the top of it, and Henry dressed up as the Cowardly Lion. And then Alice forgot about Henry completely in her excitement over all the other little girls in their Dorothy dresses.

 

She’s late picking up Ellie, even later than she thought. The teacher who got stuck waiting—looks like Mrs. Comstock—glares at Alice as she gets into her car. The school is locked up, Ellie is sitting on the front steps all alone, and it’s clear she’s been crying, but she’s done with that now. Now she’s steaming mad. She walks right up to Alice, right up close, and takes a big breath to start yelling at her, when she smells the poop and nearly gags.

This is too much, Ellie thinks, this is insult and injury and grievous and if she were not eight years old she would figure out some way to sue her sister for damages. No, she would figure out how to divorce her sister. She would figure out how to become not-sisters. Un-sisters. Unrelated.

“First you’re late! Really late. Later than ever. So late I didn’t think you were coming. And now . . . and now—”

Alice looks at her shoes.

“I hate you Alice, I really hate you.”

Ellie takes another step back, farther away from the smell.

“Where’s Henry?”

“Band practice.”

“I am
not
going to walk home with you.”

“But—”

“You can walk on the other side of the street. Or you could hide in the woods ’til it’s so dark that no one will see you. And
smell
you!”

“Ellie—”

“Do
not
! Do not even
try
to speak to me!”

Ellie turns and walks off, heading for home. She is walking fast, as fast as an eight-year-old can walk. Her head is down and she’s swinging her arms, sort of like Mom on a power walk. She’s like a little engine. Running on mad.

And she’s wearing a hat, Alice notices, even though it’s not that cold. A hat that completely covers her hair.

“Hey! How’d everybody like your new haircut?” Alice shouts across the street.

“What do you care?”

“I bet Mrs. Baker likes it.”

“Yeah.”

“Janna?”

“Pretty much.”

“The other kids?”

Ellie is twisting the middle button on her hand-me-down plaid spring coat.

“Luke Piacci?”

The button pops off in her hand.

“Is that why you’re wearing that hat?”

Ellie gulps in one of those horrible sobs where it sounds like she’s choking and wailing at the same time.

“Can I come over there?” Alice asks.

“No!”

“
I
like it,” Alice offers.

“No you don’t. And neither does Gram or Mom or—”

“I bet Mrs. Grover likes it.”

“What about Daddy?” Ellie asks through a fresh burst of tears.

“Daddy’s gonna love it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“You know what Daddy would say?”

“What?”

“Take off that silly hat and quit worrying about what other people think.”

They cross Belknap Road with slightly less distance between them and turn down Baird Road.

“Hey, you want to bake a cake? After I throw these stupid sneakers in the trash?”

“He said I look like an elf.”

“Who?”

“Luke Piacci.”

“Maybe that was a compliment.”

“An
elf.
”

“Well, you’re a very, very cute elf, Ellie.”

“Shut up!”

They turn into their driveway. Alice carefully keeps to her own side of the drive.

“Could we make a lemon cake?” Ellie asks.

“Sure.”

“Caramel frosting?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay!” Ellie shouts, pulling her hat off and skipping along the last twenty yards of their driveway, past Matt’s grape arbor and apple trees. A wash of sunlight spills over the trees and dapples her shining cap of hair.

“Okay.”

They get through the weekend somehow. Alice didn’t even tell her mom the truth about her sneaks. She just threw them away wrapped up in dozens of Wegman’s bags. She paid Ellie two bucks to keep her mouth shut and told her mom she lost them.

Which made her mom really mad.

“I just bought those sneakers!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not paying attention, Alice!”

“I’m—”

“How many pairs of sneakers do I have to buy, anyway? In a lifetime of being your mom . . . ? And when are you going to at least
wash
that stupid shirt?!”

So all day Saturday it’s mad Mom and a trip to the hated mall and the dreaded shoe store
and
the eyeglasses store to pick up Ellie’s new glasses. A compromise pair, yes, but still way too big for Ellie’s little face. She loves them.

Now it’s Sunday afternoon and everybody is in a bad mood as they play catch up with chores. Alice is stuck in the basement with a mountain of laundry while Ellie is upstairs “dusting” and Angie is what, doing the taxes? Never a good day. Then the washing machine blows a gasket or a hose and floods the basement. Now they’ve got wet laundry, puddles of water, and that nasty damp basement smell. Nobody wants to pile this stinking, dripping laundry into the car and schlep to the Laundromat. So Angie’s terrible mood gets worse. Chores and broken appliances and they can’t afford a new washer right now, goddamnit! Which is when Alice calls Uncle Eddie.

“Here comes Uncle Eddie!” Ellie shouts.

Angie can barely contain a groan.

Alice loves Uncle Eddie. Everybody else thinks he’s a fuckup.

Eddie was brilliant in school when he bothered to attend, especially math and physics. Could have done anything, won scholarships, the whole nine yards. Instead he got fat and runs a garage. Uncle Eddie can fix anything. It really burns everybody that he does well in his sideline business, too, buying high-end cars at auction for a client base that stretches across the country. Just how much does it bug Angie to see fat Eddie drive up in a vintage Mercedes he’s scored for one of his rich clients, smoking a big cigar, with cash in his pockets. Eddie loves cash.

All the pretty girls like Eddie. Even fat he’s really handsome, with lashes so dark and thick it looks like he’s wearing eyeliner. He’s had scores of girlfriends. Angie doesn’t like them coming over to the house anymore. What used to be fun and flashy and definitely out of the ordinary is now relegated to the despised favorite phrase of all boring adultdom: “not appropriate.”

Uncle Eddie also likes to disappear every few months for a week or so. Nobody knows where he goes. On a drunk, chasing a girl, proving he’s still free and unattached and unencumbered. Or maybe he’s just tracking down a vintage car he’s heard about through the grapevine.