Saving Alice (9 page)
“That ditzy chick?” Alycia objected. “No way. Mom is royal, and graceful, and … demure!”
“You mean finicky.”
“Da-a-d!” She frowned, and then grinned. “Mom can’t be that finicky. She married
you,
didn’t she?”
That did it. I chased her around the room before catching her and tossing her on the couch, subjecting her to a full minute of unrelenting tickling. She squealed like Daffy Duck, “You’re dethpicable, Dad, dethpicable!”
By the time I was done, we both had tears of exhaustion running down our faces.
“Are those days gone forever?” I now whispered into the gloomy silence.
Slivers of moonlight, reflected from the snow, slipped between the cracks of the curtain, the fabric moving from the breezy heat vent just beneath the front windows. The living room hummed and rattled with the sound of our twenty-year-old furnace.
It reminded me of our summers in Uglyville. Since we couldn’t afford air-conditioning, my mother accumulated old fans instead, most of them purchased from garage sales, a few from the thrift store. Eventually every room contained at least three fans, creating a kind of inner windstorm, so noisy that Dad had to take his business calls outside. I remember him stretching the phone cord out the side door, shouting over his shoulder, “I can’t hear over those idiotic fans!”
At one o’clock in the morning, I was still awake when Donna wandered out of the bedroom heading to the main bathroom. Wearing a terry cloth robe, she hesitated in the hallway as if peering out into the shadowy room. When I twitched, she spoke softly. “You’re home.”
I pulled the lever on the recliner and leaned forward. Across the room, her dark blond hair seemed to glow in the light from the hallway in spite of the premature strands of gray hair she no longer tried to hide.
“Been home for a while,” I said pleasantly, then added, “I’m really sorry I forgot the party.”
Her face was partially hidden in the shadows, so I couldn’t tell if she was looking at me or beyond me.
“Shall I sleep downstairs again?” I asked, hoping to sound conciliatory. “Or perhaps—”
“Wouldn’t that be best?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she had already slipped into the bathroom. I sighed. At least we were talking. Swallowing my nerves, I pushed out of the chair. The space across the room seemed endless, but I was compelled to make some kind of bridge, a down payment on the reconciliation I hoped would emerge after a few days.
When she opened the door, I was standing in the hallway. She was tightening her robe when I reached for her, intending to hug her, nothing more, but she moved away from me, backing up. She crossed her arms defensively, visibly shaken, her eyes wounded. I felt the blood drain from my face, and her own cheeks turned crimson red.
“My emotions are written on my face,”
she’d often lamented. Donna couldn’t so much as feel mild disappointment without clearly signaling it. We stood there for an awkward moment, regarding each other. Nervously, she looked down, then brushed at her hair, pushing the strands behind her ears, a gesture which I knew betrayed her lack of composure.
“You just … scared me, Stephen. I didn’t expect to find you here.”
She gestured apologetically to the light switch, and I stepped back. When she flicked the bathroom light off, I stepped back further, allowing her to pass, hoping for further conversation. But she headed down the hall and closed the bedroom door without so much as saying good night.
T
he next morning I awakened to the sound of rushing water. At first I didn’t recognize it, since both Alycia and Donna usually slept in on Saturdays. Pulling myself up to a sitting position, I glimpsed the clock above my desk. 6:21.
I wondered if Alycia had planned a day with her friends and was showering early in preparation.
But the mall isn’t open at this hour
. Besides, getting out of bed was normally a three-snooze-alarm affair for my morning-averse daughter. The last time I’d awakened her this early, she’d stared up at me in delusional wonder before tugging the covers over her head.
Slipping into my ratty blue robe, I made my way upstairs to the kitchen, boiled water in the microwave, and spooned myself a cup of instant coffee. In the back room I heard thuds emanating from our bedroom. Apparently, Donna was also up.
Strange
.
I was still puzzling over this when Alycia emerged from the bathroom in her own bathrobe, her hair wet and stringy. She stepped gingerly into the kitchen, head bowed, her face half covered in dark dampness.
“You’re up early, kiddo,” I said to her back as she walked to the fridge. “Going somewhere?”
I waited, expecting nothing more than,
Do you have to control every detail of my life?
Instead she shrugged, opened the door, and leaned in. Pushing the wet strands from her eyes, she considered the refrigerator contents while I pretended interest in the bottom of my coffee cup.
She shut the door without removing anything. When she headed back, she lingered by the table, again pushing her hair away from her eyes. I looked up to see her staring down at me.
“What is it, Alley Cat?” I asked, forcing a nervous smile.
Her head dropped slightly, causing the hair to crowd around her soft pink cheeks like a closing curtain. She sniffed softly, then whispered, “I’m sorry, Dad … about the other night.”
I was taken aback. She’d said,
“This one stays up there,”
and I couldn’t remember the last time she’d apologized.
“I’m sorry too, Alycia,” I said.
She took another quick sniff and hesitated, atypically unsure of herself. After another moment, her eyes glistened, and she breathed out a sigh.
“Want to do something today?” I asked, wincing at the absurdity of my suggestion. She hadn’t wanted to be seen outside the house with me in months.
She looked sheepish. “I can’t do it anymore, Dad. Okay? Nothing personal? And not to be rude, but I just … can’t.” The last word came out scratchy and pinched. I opened my mouth to speak, but she seemed so troubled I thought better of it. She bit her bottom lip, paused for a moment, and then proceeded to descend the stairs, not in her old hopping fashion, but ploddingly, one slow step at a time.
I continued drinking my coffee, trying to piece together the mystery of what had just happened. Five minutes later, I glimpsed movement beyond the sheer window curtains and heard the soft thud of the
Aberdeen News
hitting our sidewalk. After a squeal of frenetic pedaling, I heard another distant thud at the neighbor’s house.
I went to the front door, descended the coarse steps in my bare feet, and snatched the paper. Heading back, clutching the paper under my arm, I heard the putter of a car engine. Peeking around the corner of our house, I noticed the garage door raised a foot from the ground. Beneath it, a soft curl of smoke sputtered into the cold morning air.
Stepping gingerly, I went to the side door and opened it. I pushed the opener mounted on the wall, and the door slipped down. I pushed it again and the door began to rise until fully open. Staring into Donna’s minivan, I made out the shadowy outlines of boxes and suitcases. My entire body went numb with the realization.
I was still standing on the sidewalk, between the garage and the house, when Donna came out, carrying an armful of dresses. Her blond hair was tied back in a kerchief. When she saw me, she stopped in her tracks.
Our eyes met, and I read the flicker of guilt behind her eyes. She seemed to steel herself before continuing past me into the garage.
“You’re up early,” I said, at a loss for anything significant to say. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No, Stephen,” she replied curtly, shoving the box on top of another and slamming the door shut.
“Are you going somewhere…” I started. “Vacation or …”
“A well-deserved vacation,” she answered. Her chest heaved slightly as she took a slow, deep breath.
“Do you want to talk—”
“No,” she said, walking past me. Her voice seemed stronger, as if she was gathering her courage. She poked a thumb toward the front. “There’s more…”
She took a few indecisive steps, then whirled around. Her eyes flashed with anger. “I want a divorce, Stephen.”
The first utterance of those words brought a deep chill to my bones. Even in the worst of our years together, she’d never used the D word, not even in anger.
Heading back in, she gave me no time to reply. I followed her, my formerly cold feet now numb. Further discussion outside would be broadcast to the neighbors.
Entering the house, I saw Donna turn the corner quickly, heading back to the bedroom. I stood just inside the doorway and waited for her to emerge. When she did, she was carrying a cardboard box.
I stepped aside, hoping to appear reasonable. “Can we talk about this?”
She bit her lip again, but shook her head. “No, Stephen. I’m done talking.”
“Is this about your party?”
Seemingly confused, Donna set the box down, and folded her arms over her blouse. Her voice contained an incredulous whisper. “Do you think I’d actually leave you just because you forgot my birthday?”
“I’m really sorry, Donna.”
Her face flushed red. “Are you
really,
Stephen?”
“Yes.”
“No, Stephen.
I’m
the one who’s sorry,” she said. “For you, ‘sorry’ is just a word, but for me it means something.”
Her eyes were filling with tears, and her breath was coming in heaves. “I wasn’t going to do this…”
I lowered my voice to a whisper, hoping she’d do the same. “We don’t have to, Donna. We can talk later if you want.”
Ignoring me, she took a deep, heart-wrenching breath. When she blinked, the tears finally streaked down her face. “You know what I’m most sorry for?”
I tried to breathe.
“I’m sorry I ruined your life. I’m sorry I was such a poor replacement for the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Donna, that’s not—”
“Please, Stephen.” She exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry I wasted so many years believing in
us
.” She said “us” as if it was a four-letter word.
I stood there, waiting for her to finish.
“And I’m sorry we wasted a decade, Stephen.”
“We had Alycia,” I whispered lamely, and I was foolishly tempted to remind her of the good times, something our counselor had once advised us to keep in mind.
Donna’s eyes darted to the basement door. Finally, she lowered her voice. “And look what we’ve done to her.”
Dropping to her heels, she picked up the box and pushed out through the door, then propped it open with her leg, letting the box rest on her bended knee. She nodded toward the kitchen. “I’m leaving the papers on the table.”
I glanced toward the kitchen and saw the documents. She must have put them there when I’d slipped outside to get the paper.
“It’s pretty simple,” she said. “I don’t want the savings. But I get sole custody of Alycia.”
I felt like she’d physically slapped me. How did we get to this so quickly?
“Shouldn’t we consider … a temporary separation?”
She shook her head. “What’s the point, Stephen?”
“Then take the house, Donna. I’ll leave instead. You and Alycia belong—”
“No,” she said, looking about the living room. “I can’t deal with the memories. This was more your house than mine. All I want is my daughter.”
“But what about joint—”
“Don’t even go there, Stephen.”
“But—”
“She needs stability.”
The knot in my gut twisted further. The thought of losing Alycia completely struck terror to my heart. I’d always harbored the hope that Alycia and I would get back on an even keel, but if she didn’t live here, what were our chances? It was an irrational fear, but I wasn’t thinking clearly at this point. One minute Donna and I are married, the next minute we’re negotiating visiting rights.
“It’s only for a while,” she continued. “Till Alycia can find her way … half a year, a year.”
A year?
“Just give me two hours a week.”
“That’s two hours more than you’re doing now.” Her eyes blazed. “Stephen, please. You’re always at the office, and when you’re not, you’re with your friends. Don’t torture her. And don’t you dare get her hopes up again. If you care for her at all, you’ll leave her alone for a while. She’s more fragile than you think.”
“Two hours,” I repeated weakly, but Donna had lifted the box and was already pushing through the screen door. Over her shoulder, she called back. “I have a few more things, and then we’ll be gone.”
I heard the creak of a door, and Alycia appeared from the downstairs, still looking awkward and sheepish, and carrying a single backpack. Her hair remained damp, and she was wearing white slacks and a brown sweater, considerably more drab than her normal attire.
“Can I help you, honey?”
“I’ll get the rest later,” she said without meeting my gaze. She headed outside.
Donna returned and handed me a piece of paper. “Here’s where we’ll be staying.”
It was the address and phone number for Sally, her best friend, who lived in a tiny apartment two blocks from the library.
“I need a moment with Alycia,” I said, faltering.
Donna glared at me.
“Please, Donna.”
“No more promises, Stephen.”
Without agreeing, I headed outside again, my pulse pounding. In the garage, I knocked on the passenger window. Alycia looked up at me through the window, then rolled it down. Her eyes were red, her face pale.
“I’m really sorry, honey,” I said.
“That’s okay, Dad.”
“I want to pick you up this Friday night for dinner,” I said, crouching down. “We can go to one of those fancy places you like. We need to talk about this.”
Alycia frowned. “You’re kidding. Friday night?”
“Uh … okay … how ’bout Saturday? Saturday morning. Brunch.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m not waiting all day for you to show up.”
“I’ll be there.”
“You won’t show…”
“I promise, Alycia.”
“Take an aspirin, Dad. It’ll pass.”
“I
promise
.”
“No, Dad. I promise
you
. I won’t be there. And I happen to keep my promises.”
“Ten o’clock,” I said firmly, and my insides were shaking.
Alycia’s eyes filled with tears. “Please, Dad. Just leave me alone.” And with that she rolled up her window. She turned forward, dismissing me, wiping her eyes. I stood there longer, staring at her, wishing for her to roll the window down again, but she refused to acknowledge me. I even reached up and touched the window, remembering a time when she would have matched my fingers with her own.
I’m making a fool of myself,
I realized. I kissed my finger and touched the window again, but Alycia only closed her eyes and leaned back.
When I entered the house again, I suddenly realized how frantic I felt. I heard Donna rummaging around in the bedroom. I stared down at my trembling hands.
I’ve finally lost everything—my wife, my little girl….
I couldn’t let Donna see me like this. I headed straight downstairs, feeling dizzy, gripping the railing. When I reached my office, I closed the door and leaned against it, trying to compose my emotions. I noticed the clock. 7:31.
Pushing off from the door, I sat on the couch, and lowered my head to my hands. I hadn’t truly prayed in years, but the words seemed to materialize out of thin air.
Lord, don’t take them away from me. Please give me a second chance….
My forehead felt hot, but the rest of my body shivered. The vibration of the terror, the panic, was beginning to fill every part of my body. I was puzzled by it. I took several deep breaths until slowly the emotional turmoil began to subside, and then suddenly the strangest sensation fell over me. The room began spinning, I felt suddenly exhausted, and everything went black.
I “awakened” seconds later and shook my head quickly, marveling at the disturbing effects of stress. I rose to my feet, steadying myself. My insides still churned, but the overwhelming panic had left me.
I peered at the clock again. 7:41. A question flickered across my mind, but I dismissed it. Taking one last deep breath, I twisted the knob on the door and headed back upstairs. Ducking my head at the last minute to avoid the low spot in the ceiling, I grabbed the doorknob to the kitchen, then hesitated before going through. Surely they were gone by now.
When I walked into the kitchen and peeked around the corner, Donna was standing in the hallway looking at the pictures on the wall.
“I thought you’d left,” I whispered.
Donna sighed. “Poor Alycia’s still in the car waiting for me.”
She was evidently calmer now. While Donna’s anger had always been quick to fire, it was just as quick to diminish. Arms again folded across her chest defensively, she appraised the photos as if she would never see them again. Her expression turned wistful. “My favorite isn’t even up here anymore.”
Approaching the wall, I followed her gaze.
“I took it down years ago,” Donna said, turning to me. “Remember?”
I squinted at the wall, then remembered how, following an argument, Donna had removed a picture, but I couldn’t place it now.
“You don’t, do you?” she said now.
“No,” I admitted, wishing I could have said yes.
Another sigh escaped her, and she shook her head mournfully. “It seems you’ve forgotten everything.”
Turning from me, she appraised the entire wall again, like a final good-bye, then turned back with a piercing gaze. I simply stood there, waiting for her to speak.