Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [17]
“I think you’re gonna live.”
“Is it broken?”
“Not a chance.”
“You sure?”
“Split your lip, though.”
“Really?”
“And you’ve got a little gash on your chin.”
Alice slips off Ellie’s jacket and turns it inside out so she can’t see the blood. She grabs a paper towel and wipes Ellie’s blood from her cheek and chin.
“You’re a mess, Alice.”
“Thanks a lot.”
She tosses her own jacket on top of Ellie’s.
“Give me your mittens, too. I’ll get them soaking downstairs.”
“Will you make dinner?”
“As soon as I put our jackets in the wash. I’m gonna give you some ice for your lip, okay?”
She hands Ellie an ice cube wrapped in a dishcloth.
“Hold that right on your lip. Don’t press. I’ll be right back.”
Alice runs down the basement stairs, turns on the washer, and fills up the sink to soak Ellie’s mittens. She’s secretly glad to have stuff to do. She charges back up the stairs and checks out the fridge.
“You good with grilled cheese and tomato soup?”
“Again?”
Alice gives her a look.
“Get your book and read in here to keep me company, okay?”
“Should I call Mom?”
“No, let’s surprise her.”
“I could make her a tray.”
“Good idea.”
While Alice makes grilled cheese sandwiches, the slow, slow, slow way her dad makes them, Ellie gets the tray off the hall table. She finds a cloth napkin to make a little placemat, then sets the tray with the nice china from the china cabinet.
“I need a flower and a vase.”
“You could draw one.”
“And then can I stir the soup?”
“Yup.”
“And pour the milk?”
“It’s really heavy, Ellie.”
“I can do it.”
Alice pulls the stool over so Ellie can stir the soup. She sets the table for the two of them.
“The tray looks nice.”
“You think Mom will like it?” Ellie asks.
“Yup.”
“I want ice cream for dessert.”
“Okay.”
“Neapolitan.”
“We’ll see what we’ve got.”
Alice pours soup into bowls and cuts the sandwiches in triangles the way Ellie likes them, while Ellie pours the milk.
“I want to carry the tray.”
“How about if you carry the plate and I’ll carry the tray with the soup.”
“I won’t spill.”
“It’s even hard for me not to spill.”
“Okay.”
Upstairs, neither one of them has a hand free to knock on the door to the bedroom. Ellie gives three little kicks with her foot.
“Mom?”
The room is dark. Angie has kicked off her heels and is lying on top of the bed with a cold cloth over her eyes.
“Mom?”
“Not now.”
“We brought you some dinner.”
“I’m really not hungry.”
“On a tray.”
Angie opens her eyes and sits up in bed. She reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp. Alice sets the tray on her lap. Ellie sets the pink scallop-edged plate with the grilled cheese sandwich in the exact center of the tray.
“I split my lip on the ice,” Ellie says.
“We just went for a little walk.”
“My nose was bleeding, too. I bled all over Alice.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got our jackets in the wash already.”
“Alice carried me all the way home and fixed me up and made dinner. I helped. I drew you a flower because we didn’t have one to put on your tray.”
Angie reaches out to touch Ellie’s lip. She wants to say thank you but she’s not sure she can trust herself to say anything at all.
After dinner, after washing the dishes and locking up the house, Alice climbs upstairs to find that Ellie has fallen asleep with her clothes on right on top of the covers. Ellie should have had a bath, Alice realizes, but it’s too late now. She pulls off Ellie’s shoes and socks and sweater and manages to slide her under the covers. How can she sleep through all that? Her lip is swelling and her chin has a dark bruise.
Alice sits down at her desk by the window and realizes that none of her homework is done and she is too tired to read about the Revolutionary War now. She looks across the backyard to her dad’s workshop sitting squat and dark in the moonlight. That is absolutely too sad to dwell on, so she opens the window and sticks her head out, craning her neck to see Henry’s house down the block, but his window is dark, too. She looks at her dad’s watch and rights it on her wrist so she can read the dial: ten o’clock.