Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [31]
Sally gets up and puts the CLOSED sign in the door and then flips the radio to her favorite country station. A song of lost love fills the room as Sally waltzes across the floor to start wiping down the counters.
“That Teddy Thompson’s got a nice voice,” Sally says.
“That’s not all he’s got,” Gram adds.
“Gram!”
“I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”
“What does that mean?” Alice wants to know.
Angie is laughing and covering Ellie’s ears.
“Means he’s so fine he can break all the rules,” Gram says.
Henry dips his head so low it’s almost in his plate. Alice turns her back on the sight of Gram, Sally, and Angie cracking up over Teddy Thompson and concentrates on composing the perfect bite: hash, egg with some soft yolk, plenty of pepper, and a dab of ketchup. She puts it in her mouth and closes her eyes and tries to let the taste bring her dad into focus inside of her. It doesn’t work, not that she was really expecting it to. Mostly she thinks, not bad, but I wish I’d ordered waffles.
April 10th
Alice arrives home from practice to find Angie on the phone with Matt. Angie gives her a quick smile, then turns her back and closes the kitchen door. Alice walks in anyway.
“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.
Dear Alice,
It was great to get your letter and hear about your running. I’m so proud of you. I want to meet that girl Ginger on your team. And B. D., too.
You asked me to describe Falluja. There’s all the stuff you’ve heard about: the trash, the bombed-out buildings, the piles of white rocks, the dead wires, the burned cars. But there’s so much else that doesn’t make it into the news. There are kids playing soccer. There are goats, and outhouses, and even beds on rooftops. Date palms, and sandcolored buildings, razor wire, fences, blast walls. From rooftops you can see the river snaking through the city and the network of irrigation canals and the desert in the distance. The dust is so fine it coats everything: your hair, your face, your throat, your teeth. The mosques—there are two big ones—are really beautiful—green and cobalt blue domes that you can see from everywhere in the city.
Some of the market places are still thriving and the Andaloos Market, near us, is lively as anything. You can buy everything from sodas to car parts to T-shirts, sandals, scarves, soccer balls, even furniture, all along a crowded street barely wide enough for a HMM WV to pass through.
They sell delicious flatbread that marines call “Muj bread.” It looks like a tortilla. Two bucks for 24 pieces.