Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [2]
So Alice and Ellie and Matt are the ones to snap beans, make tomato sauce and tomato juice and salsa, grape jelly and grape juice. Matt wants to plant three more apple trees in the side yard where Angie would like to have a nice patio. Two more cherry trees, too, right next to his grape arbor. Apple butter, he tells her, apple pies, cherry pies. Angie rolls her eyes and says: “Matt Bliss, you did not marry a farm girl.” He laughs and picks her up and kisses her. Times like this the two of them head off for a “nap” hand in hand. Eventually figuring out just what this euphemism means makes Alice a little queasy. Here it is, right in front of her face, the power of opposites to attract.
Angie would love to stay in a nice hotel; Matt likes to camp. Angie is upwardly mobile, a striver if ever there was one; Matt likes things just the way they are. Angie thinks they’re living in a starter house; Matt thinks they’re home. Angie likes French perfume; Matt likes to get his hands dirty. The fact that Angie might like those workman’s hands on her perfumed skin is a thought Alice vigorously chases from her mind.
The army reserve was a bone of contention, too. Angie all hung up on what’s fair, why should Matt have to do it, what about his own family. Matt talking about doing what’s right, not letting somebody else do what he should do: serving his country, an example to his girls. Finally they agree to disagree and Angie seems reconciled to it, even seems to enjoy the additional income, the occasional dinner in a nice restaurant, all dolled up in a new dress and high heels. And, oh, there’s that perfume again, Matt’s laughter, Angie’s surrender, and another closed door.
But now, with the war dragging on and on, Matt’s unit has been called up. He’s heading to Fort Dix. Until recently reservists got six months of specialized instruction. Now they are fast-tracking volunteers through six weeks of supposedly high-quality, hurry up, move’em out training.
The weeks prior to his leaving are an insane rush. Angie and Matt talk late into the night, every night, sitting at the kitchen table. They argue, Angie tries not to cry again, they pore over health insurance, Matt’s will and living will, the power of attorney forms. They try to anticipate what Angie will be facing in the coming months.
They are running out of time. They all know it. It’s in the air they breathe.
Alice is so tired her eyes are burning but she can’t sleep. As long as her father is still awake and still in the house and still talking or drinking coffee, Alice wants to be near him. So she sits in the dark at the foot of the stairs and listens.
“Why are you insisting—?” Angie’s voice pops up a register when she’s upset.
“You know why.”
“Tell me why the United States Army is more important than your own family.”
“It’s not an either or equation, Angie.”
“You like this. You’re actually excited.”
“I like the work, I like my crew, I like the challenge, the chance to—”
“But leaving us, Matt—”
“You know I don’t want to leave you.”
“They’ll throw you right in the middle of—”
“I’m going where I’m needed.”
“I need you. Doesn’t that count anymore?”
“Of course it does.”
“I never imagined—never—that you would do something like this. You were going to play baseball for god’s sake. Baseball! How did we get from baseball to—”
“Angie, it’s not just about you and me.”
“Okay, so you’re the selfless hero and I’m the selfish wife. You think I want this role? I didn’t sign up for this. This was not part of the plan.”
“I know.”
“I hate this, I really hate this.”
“Sweetheart . . .” Alice can hear the ache in his voice.
“I want . . .” Angie’s voice breaks.
“I don’t want to be one of those guys who gets old and says, I wish I had done this, I wish I had done that.”
“Oh, Matt . . .”
“I want to contribute, and I don’t think we should just send our kids to this war.”