Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [86]
“The usual.”
Alice turns toward the house.
“You coming in, or what?”
“My parents might be worried.”
“Okay.”
“But I left a note.”
“So they’re fine, then.”
She starts across the lawn.
“Alice—”
When she turns to look at him, the rising sun catches her square in the jaw and she steps back as though it is a physical blow. And now the birds. As he tries to find words, as he tries to find what to think and what to say he can suddenly hear the birds, dozens of them in the apple trees, dozens more in the lilacs.
“C’mon. Let’s go,” she says.
He follows her across the lawn and toward the house, like a guilty party, like a hungry man, like a frightened boy, and he is full of words and feelings and confusion and a rumbling belly and somewhere important something hurts and aches and he can’t tell if he is aching for Alice or if he breathed in her grief with the smell of her shampoo.
Henry pauses at the kitchen door. Alice is already pouring juice into jelly jars. When he steps into the kitchen it is unnaturally quiet, as though the house itself is holding its breath. And he suddenly knows that the millions of changes no one wants and no one can prevent, the avalanche of change falling down on Alice and her family, is just beginning.
She hands him his glass of juice as her mother steps into the kitchen.
“Right on time,” she says, looking at the clock.
“I was just leaving,” Henry says, and makes his escape out the door. He turns to wave at Alice, walking backward, waving at her through the doorway. He wants to make her smile somehow; but she seems lost to him, so he doesn’t even dare flash a goofy grin. She raises a hand to him, like a salute, and inside his head he thinks, be strong, Alice, just as inside her head, she hears her father’s voice: courage, Alice, courage.
May 6th
Within twenty-four hours every neighbor has brought a casserole or a cake or a plateful of cookies. Mrs. Grover arrives with stacks of paper plates and cups, plastic forks and spoons, and a fresh apron. She has quietly installed herself in the kitchen to take care of the food and the family.
Gram has left the restaurant in Sally’s hands. Sally, Ginny, and Dave have rearranged their schedules to be there for the duration, as everyone is calling this.
Gram and Uncle Eddie have made all the necessary calls to friends and family. Uncle Eddie is shuttling back and forth between their house and his garage, trying to keep a lid on things. He’s installed coolers on the back porch crammed with ice and soda and beer.
Sergeant Ames has called to tell them Matt’s body will be arriving stateside, with a military escort, in two days. Do they want to meet the body in Delaware? Do they want to view the body before the autopsy? Which will take two more days. At which point Matt will be placed in a coffin in his military dress uniform, unless they choose cremation. Have they chosen the coffin? Do they want to accompany the body home along with the military escort? Commercial or military plane? Do they want an honor guard at the burial?
Angie doesn’t want an autopsy; she won’t even allow the word to be spoken in front of Alice and Ellie, but of course, they’ve both heard it. Angie and Sergeant Ames have been around the block several times on this issue. Angie is furious and adamant and she’s even called her senator’s office to ask for help. When the senator herself calls back, Angie has a wild moment of hope, but all of the senator’s sympathy and gratitude cannot change army policy.
The funeral director, lugging two sample cases, is knocking on the door with his own long list of impossible questions and impossible choices to be made. Only it’s not a he, it’s a she. It’s a beautiful young blonde with a soft voice and soft hands and just why is it so unsettling to think of this lovely young woman dealing with the dead? How can she do it, Alice wonders? And Angie is thinking, isn’t it just like Matt to have a beautiful girl taking care of him, even now.
Allison Mahoney, of Mahoney and Sons, suggests that they sit at the dining room table to go over things.