Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [45]
“You following the Red Wings as usual this year, John?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’d love to go to the opening game.”
“I’ll talk to my father, Mrs. Minty. We’ll make a date.”
“That would be lovely. Tell him I expect the full treatment: beer, peanuts, hot dogs.”
“Will do.”
“The Boxford High game next week. Is that a home game, John?”
“Sure is.”
“See you there. Weather permitting.”
Mrs. Minty heads off, with a jaunty little wave, her square purse hanging over one arm, one hand firmly on her rolling basket. She doesn’t move quickly, but she’s determined. She also, Alice notices, isn’t looking down at her feet and the sidewalk, but instead, is looking up at the trees and the birds and the houses, and whatever else there is to see on her six-block walk home.
Alice is watching Mrs. Minty and trying to take in the fact that she lost her son, that she even had a son, and that he was just her age. Alice has never known anyone who died before except for her grandparents and her great aunt Charlotte. Even though she didn’t know him, even though he died before she was even born, suddenly this boy, Peter, who played shortstop, is as real as real can be.
As real as John Kimball, who has materialized in front of her, and not only that, has decided to sit down on the bench beside her and offer her a Devil Dog.
“No, thanks.”
“You’re not one of these crazy girls who doesn’t eat, are you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I just heard, I couldn’t help hearing, about Mrs. Minty’s son, Peter, and . . .”
“Yeah.”
It’s really strange, or maybe not so strange, that they just sit there for a minute, thinking about Peter, not saying anything else for a while. Normally this would make Alice squirm and fret: Should I be saying something? Like what? Should he be saying something? But she is not thinking any of these things; she is not, in fact, worrying. This is hard to believe given that it is John Kimball sitting beside her and the last time she saw him she had dog shit all over her shoes. Hard to imagine that that ghastly experience might have been an icebreaker.
“He was only fifteen,” Alice ventures.
“Yeah.”
“You ever know anyone who died?”
John looks down at the ground.
“My mother.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“No, I mean, I’m really—”
“Thanks. It’s okay.”
He opens the package of Devil Dogs.
“I think about it all the time,” Alice says.
“What?”
“Dying.”
“Really?”
If there were a red light in her brain, it would be flashing. Crazy outcast girl talking to the most popular boy in school. And the topic she chooses: dying. Not a good idea! Cease and desist!
“Why?” he asks, like he really wants to know.
“My dad’s in Iraq.”
Why is she telling him this? It’s not like they’re friends, it’s not like they know each other at all, really; it’s not like this is the person she would choose to confide anything in, about anyone, ever. Ever!
“I didn’t know.”
There’s a big pause here and she expects him to push off and head down the street just like everybody else does whenever the war comes up.
“Is he doing okay?”
She looks at him. He is so not what she thought he was, at least in this moment, that she has to get a visual on him to place herself back in reality.
“From everything I read I don’t know how he could possibly be all right,” Alice answers.
“I don’t follow it as much as I should.”
“No, I know, most people—”
“Which kind of makes me a really big jerk, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I don’t know what to say about your dad.”
“I know. Nobody does.”
“But I wish I could say everything is gonna be all right.”
She turns and looks at him again. He has a Devil Dog crumb stuck to his lip. She takes a breath. She tests the waters of this moment with this boy. Could this possibly be real? And before she has a chance to think, to stop herself, she reaches out and brushes the crumb off his upper lip. He pulls away from her, possibly just a startle reflex, possibly total aversion, she notices, as she curls her hands into fists and shoves them under her thighs. Just like Henry, she thinks.
“Hey, Alice!” Ellie yells.