Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [106]
“I’m sorry.”
And without another word she heads for home.
She walks through the yard and it’s eerie the way no one seems to notice her and no one says anything, like she’s invisible. She steps into the workshop, where she realizes she is really angry at Uncle Eddie or whoever the hell it was who messed with her stuff and changed everything around in here without even asking her.
But this could be a good place to test out the invisibility shield. There’s a knot of guys from Matt’s baseball team sitting on or leaning on her dad’s workbench, drinking beer and laughing. She punts a “hey, how you doin’?” right back at them as she circles the table loaded with liquor. Could she grab something? Where would she put it? No pockets in this dress, and the bottles are mostly jumbo size, too big to hide. Then she sees two possibilities: a small squarish bottle of Southern Comfort and a skinny, dark brown brandy bottle.
She lifts her dad’s jacket off its peg on the wall and on her way out the door, grabs both bottles, one for each pocket.
In the house she nabs Uncle Eddie’s car keys from the bowl in the foyer and before anyone can say one, two, three, she’s out the front door. Uncle Eddie has thoughtfully parked his car down the street a ways, to leave room for all of the guests’ cars. She slides in behind the wheel, adjusts the seat, rearview and side mirrors, just like he taught her, starts the engine, and she’s off. She doesn’t look back.
She pulls up in front of Henry’s house and leans on the horn.
When he comes to the door she can see he’s so mad he’s about to brush her off, but then the fact of the car, the pure physical presence of the car, with Alice behind the wheel, pulls him right out to the curb.
“Get in,” she tells him, without looking at him.
“Are you crazy?”
“I’ll let you drive it.”
“Your uncle’s gonna kill you.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.”
“Alice, I don’t know how you think you can just come over here and . . .”
“Get in. Or I’m going without you. And you know that’s not a good idea.”
Furious, he gets into the car. Puts his seat belt on. Refuses to look at her.
“Relax. We’re just going down to the lake.”
“And you’ve driven what? Twice in your life?”
“Four lessons from the master. Think of this as practice.”
“You’re in no condition to . . .”
She pulls out, the big sedan purring quietly. There’s a hush inside the car as they glide along East Oak Street.
“Look in my jacket.”
He grabs the jacket; the liquor bottles clank together.
“Jesus Christ, Alice!”
“I could have taken anything I wanted. If I had pockets big enough.”
“Driving. Plus alcohol. Does this sound like a good idea to you?”
“Don’t be a priss.”
“I don’t want to be a statistic, if you don’t mind.”
“So what, you want to go to your room or something?”
“What are you talking about? With you?”
“Yeah, with me.”
“Right now?”
She takes her eyes off the road and looks at him.
“Watch what you’re doing!”
Eyes front.
She drives like a little old grandmother all the way out to the lake, speedometer hovering right around thirty-five. She can tell it’s driving Henry crazy, but he’s still too mad to say anything. She heads straight to the parking lot for the town beach and pulls into the last possible spot, car pointed toward the water, next to a huge willow tree, relatively secluded, nice view.
“This is where kids come to make out,” Henry ventures, and a blush instantly suffuses his face.
“So I hear.”
Alice pulls out both bottles, opens them.
“You ever had this kind before?” she asks.
“A taste. Maybe.”
She tries the brandy and nearly gags.
“That’s disgusting!”
Then she tries the Southern Comfort. The cloying sweetness helps the alcohol slide down a little easier.
“This one’s not so bad.”
She passes it to Henry.
“Alice, what do you think you’re doing?”
She takes another taste.
“Not thinking for five minutes.”
He grabs the bottle.
“Is that what you were doing with John Kimball? Not thinking?”
“Definitely not thinking.”
“Longer than five minutes.”
“One kiss.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
“I don’t get you, Alice.”