Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [52]
“Yes. All right.”
Now that he is at the door Angie finds she doesn’t want him to go. She doesn’t want the next minute and the next to begin.
“Hope is a powerful thing, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
Angie stands at the door watching Sergeant Ames as he walks down the driveway and gets into his army-issue Ford sedan. McMurphy is slumped low in the passenger seat, waiting. She notices that Ames is painfully thin and too pale and that he walks with a limp. What has he survived, she wonders? What have we put this boy through? What does he do to prepare himself to bring this news to grieving families? Is this kind of duty something you choose or something you are assigned to? How in the world does he bear it?
Be strong, she hears Matt saying inside her head. Be strong, Angie.
If he’s still talking to her, if he’s still bossing her around, if he’s still driving her crazy by holding her to a higher standard, even if it’s just inside her own head, then he must still be alive. Matt, she thinks, Matt . . . Be there for me. I need you.
In the sudden quiet after the door closes on Sergeant Ames, Alice sits on the landing and closes her eyes and tries to imagine a rooftop in Falluja.
She’s nine years old the first time she goes on a roofing job with her dad. Her mom is at the library studying for her state licensing exams to be an insurance agent and examiner. Ellie is in day care and Alice is on spring break and therefore at loose ends. So Matt enlists her as his helper.
This all sounds like a good idea when they’re in the kitchen making sandwiches and pouring strong hot tea into Matt’s special work Thermos. Fun project with Dad. Dad and Alice on an outing. No interruptions from baby Ellie.
But then they get to the house in question, with the roof in question, and Alice’s stomach takes a nosedive. The house is high on a hill. On top of that, it’s a tall house. With a tower. There’s an extension ladder and a kind of scaffolding built into the roof. Alice stands at the foot of the extension ladder and looks up. The roof is a million miles above her. And it’s really, really steep. She’s in the midst of changing her mind and coming up with a plan. She could stay in the car, or near the car, she promises not to be any trouble, not to interrupt him or complain about being bored.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“I think I might be afraid of heights.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I didn’t think it would be so high.”
“It’s not that high.”
“It looks high.”
“Let’s go.”
“I could stay in the car, I could—”
“Alice—” he says in that tone. That tone that says there’s no sense arguing, don’t be a wuss, and don’t disappoint me. She hates that tone. More than she hates that roof? It’s a toss-up.
When she starts up the ladder she’s fine, but half way up one of her legs starts to shake. She is not making this up. It’s weird.
Matt is right behind her, his hands gripping the rungs on either side of her.
“It’s okay. You’re not gonna fall.”
“But—”
“I’ve got you. Take a breath. . . .”
She breathes in.
“Don’t hold your breath, Alice. Blow it out.”
“Okay.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a ladder.”
She climbs two more rungs.
“Daddy—”
She can’t move. Her legs are now shaking so badly she can’t trust them to hold her up. Matt puts his palm against her lower back.
“Just breathe. You’re okay.”
She tries that. Her hands are starting to go numb because she’s holding the ladder so tightly. She makes the mistake of looking down.
“Dad! I need to go down. I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t!” I will not cry, I will not cry, she says inside her head.
“You’re safe. I won’t let you fall.”
“I’m so—”
“I know you’re scared. It’s okay to be scared. You just don’t want to give in to it. Don’t let it get bigger than you, Alice. It’s just a feeling.”
She starts to sniffle. She can’t help it.
“Crying is not going to help here.”
“I know.”
“Look up. Four more steps and we’re there. You can do it, Alice, I know you can.”
She takes another step.
“It’s really beautiful up there, Alice. You can see all the way to the lake.