Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [53]
“Really?”
“You’re gonna love it.”
And another step and another and now there’s a new problem, how do you step out onto the roof? That is the scariest step of all.
“Don’t think about it. Just reach for the scaffolding and hold on to that.”
She closes her eyes.
“You can do it, Alice.”
“Are you sure?” she says in a very small voice.
His lips are right next to her ear so she can feel the warmth of his breath as he says: “I’m totally sure. I’m so sure I’ll bet you a dollar.”
“Dad?”
“Don’t think. Just go.”
She reaches one hand out and grabs the scaffolding and steps off the top rung of the ladder and onto the roof.
“Now what?” She can feel the breath catch in her throat.
“You see where it looks like a bench? Just step on the braces—there are two—that’s all you need to do—and sit right there on the bench.”
Her hands are hot and sweaty and slippery and she thinks that sharp tang in the air is her own scared sweat.
“You can do it.”
She wants to close her eyes. She wants to be back on the ground. She wants to be home alone. She wants to be anywhere rather than here.
“Two steps. That’s all.”
She puts her left hand against the roof shingles, as if that could help.
“You’ve got it.”
And she does have it. Two steps and she reaches the bench built into the scaffolding. She sits and grips the edge with both hands. Her stomach is roiling but she is determined not to throw up. When she finally looks up after what feels like a hundred years, her father is grinning at her. He’s looking at her like she just hit a home run, which she has never done in her life.
“Way to go, champ.”
She tries to smile and feels the bile rise in her throat again. She closes her eyes, her knuckles white.
“Look around,” he tells her.
She can’t take her eyes off his face. Keeping her eyes glued to her father is what will keep her from falling off this roof.
“I can’t.”
“Okay. But you’re missing the best part.”
She closes her eyes, and she can feel her heart pounding and hear her breath rasping in her ears.
“Breathe, Alice. . . . Breathe deep. And then open your eyes and look. Just do it.”
They’re above the trees; they’re above the power lines; they’re above everything. She can see the sun shining on the lake and big, puffy cumulus clouds hanging in the sky. She can see more blue sky than she can see from her house or her yard or her street. She can see the curve of the beach at Loudon Pond Park and the old-fashioned bathhouses still closed up for the winter. She lets out a breath and realizes she’s been holding her breath for what seems like forever. She dares to turn her head to see where her dad is and Matt Bliss is walking all over the roof like it is a flat surface just above the ground. He looks like he’s walking around his own kitchen. She watches him, amazed.
“You’ll get the hang of it.”
I don’t think so, she wants to tell him, but still isn’t sure she can safely open her mouth.
“When you’re ready, you can start handing me shingles. You see the box? To your left?”
She nods.
“Just one at a time, kiddo.”
“If I were a boy, would I be better at this?”
“How many boys do you know who are brave enough to climb up here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Henry?”
“He’s afraid of heights.”
“See?”
“Do you wish you’d had a boy instead of me?”
“Never.”
“Do you wish I was good at baseball?”
“Yes!”
“Me, too!”
“Okay. You can start with the shingles.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Already?”
“Now’s a good time.”
She cautiously reaches for the shingles and just as cautiously reaches out and hands them, one at a time, as he needs them, to her father. At first this takes every ounce of concentration she has, all she can do is look at the roof, and the box and the shingles and his reaching hand. Just as she starts to get used to it, Matt finishes a section. And then he wants her to move to another section of scaffolding and another makeshift bench and another box of shingles. At first these moves reignite the terror inside of her, but by the fourth or fifth time, she’s found her roof legs and she is—cautiously—moving a little more freely. And she’s able to look