Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [59]
“Who cares? That takes guts.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Besides, who says I’m a grown-up?”
Alice looks away.
“It’s just . . .” She can’t continue.
Eddie waits. He’s thinking that ice cream was probably a dumb idea, but what else can you do for a kid?
“The odds aren’t good, are they?” she asks.
He looks out at the lake, considers.
“Probably not for most people. But for your dad . . .”
She tries to hold her voice steady.
“Thanks for not lying to me.”
Alice shivers as a bank of clouds obscures the sun. Uncle Eddie reaches out and puts his hand on the back of her head. Leaves it there for a moment. And finds himself thinking about his father, so much like Matt in so many ways. The way he could be quiet with you, the way it seemed like nothing frightened him, that he knew his measure as a man, as a husband, as a father, the way some men are just solid, without making a big show of it. All the things I’ve been running from, Eddie thinks, like it’s possible to take a pass on facing up to who or what you want to be, or who you are.
“What do you say we take Lakeshore Boulevard all the way to Sodus Point and then head home? You find some mellow tunes. We’ll cruise.”
She turns the radio on; there’s Van Morrison again: “Brown Eyed Girl.”
Do you remember when we used to sing?
“Some smart boy is gonna woo you with that song.”
Sha la la la la la la la la la la te da.
“I doubt it, Uncle Eddie.”
“You wait and see, girl. It’s classic.”
“The song or the tactic?” She wants to know.
“Both.”
Alice pushes open the door of her dad’s workshop. It used to be the garage until Matt went into business for himself. Back then the plan had been to put an addition onto the garage for Matt’s workshop, but he was always too busy to work on his own house. So her mom’s car sits outside in the driveway. A bone of contention with Angie all winter long; but it’s an old bone now so mostly nobody notices it anymore. Except Angie when she’s scraping ice off her windshield.
The garage sits directly behind the house on the skinny part of their oddly shaped lot. Beyond the garage the lot opens up to the garden, the three apple trees, two cherry trees, and Matt’s grape arbor. Matt installed windows along the back and side walls that look out on the garden. He had plans to put in more windows, too. Capture the view! The second-hand woodstove went in his first winter. A necessity. Can’t do much with mittens on, he’d say.
It’s four o’clock. Mom’s still at work. Ellie’s on a play date at Janna’s house. It took Alice an hour to decide to come out here, after Uncle Eddie dropped her off, and another ten minutes outside the door gathering the courage to open it. Now she has to walk in.
The late afternoon sun breaks through the thickening clouds to shine through the back windows; dust motes dance in the weak shafts of light. She breathes in. It smells like wood and turpentine and linseed oil. The workshop is cool and a bit damp; it feels as though the room exhales when she opens the door. She closes her eyes; she can almost picture her dad standing at his workbench, sanding the curve on a new piece of wood to make it look old; she can almost hear the rasp of the sandpaper.
She stands in the middle of the space. Her eyes adjust to the dim light. Aside from the dust, the place is as neat as a pin. Every tool has its place to hang, every kind of nail and screw and fastener has its own jar. She crosses to his big wooden tool chest and opens it. This is the chest he built for the tools that never leave the workshop. His father’s hammer, his grandfather’s awl and plane and C-clamps. The chest is full of ingenious cubbies and sliding doors and drawers opening beneath other drawers. On the inside of the lid there are five photos. Front and center is the four of them the day they brought Ellie home from the hospital. Matt is holding the baby and Mom and Alice are holding on to Matt. The grin on his face is so big it looks like it could lift him off his feet. Then there’s Ellie on her trike, Alice on horseback, a romantic picture