Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [97]
Alice leans in and speaks to him. He tries to tell her that he’s sorry but can’t find his voice. She places baby Inga in his arms. He has to unclasp his hands to take the baby; he has to pay attention to keep from jostling her or dropping her. He has never held a baby before; he must be doing this all wrong. Alice has one hand on Inga’s back and one hand on Henry’s arm. They are knee to knee and he is holding the baby, he is actually holding the baby, without disaster. When Henry dares to look up at Alice he is met by her bruised eyes. She is saving me, he thinks. I should be helping her and she is saving me.
“Inga likes it when you sing to her.”
Does she remember, he wonders? Did she hear him that night when he thought she was asleep?
Alice leans in close to him: “What were you doing up there? Did you put something in the coffin?”
“A baseball. And a picture of you and me when we were six and you were wearing that bathing suit you like so much.”
“I didn’t bring anything with me. No one told me.”
In a panic she tries to think what she has with her that she can put inside the coffin. But she doesn’t carry a purse, or a wallet. She needs time to think about this, to plan. She has no coins in her pocket to weight his eyes, she has no picture to slip into his hands, or a stone from Small Point, or an old, handmade iron hinge, or a roofing shingle, or a drawing of the garden.
“We could go back and get something for you. If you know what you want,” Henry offers.
Baby Inga starts to cry. Mrs. Piantowski picks her up and she quiets immediately.
“See you tomorrow,” she says, and carries baby Inga away.
Alice turns to Mr. and Mrs. Grover.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” Mrs. Grover smiles at her.
Two hours later, when everyone has finally left, Angie returns to the coffin. Alice and Ellie kneel on either side of her. They are exhausted and yet it feels like they are living outside of time now, with the minutes speeding up and slowing down, with wanting it to be over, and wishing it would never end.
“Can we see him again tomorrow?” Alice asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’ll seal the coffin tonight.”
“I wish—”
“I know.”
Ellie puts a book of drawings next to Matt’s body.
“Why can’t I see him one more time?”
“Alice—”
“Why? What difference does it make? I’ll ask Ms. Mahoney. You won’t have to do anything.”
Angie touches Matt’s face.
“I’m not ready, Mom.”
“No one’s ready.”
“I’ll never be ready.”
Ms. Mahoney steps up to them. She doesn’t have to say a word. It’s late and everyone is waiting for Alice and her family to leave.
“We just need another minute.”
Ms. Mahoney is looking at Angie. She is not so nice now. Maybe she’s tired, too. But this is just a job to her, Alice realizes; she’s ready to kick off her heels and take a bath and be done with the Bliss family for the night.
An old man in a dark suit flips on the overhead lights.
“Could you please . . . ?”
He stands at the light switch, his arms crossed over his stomach. The glare of the lights is cruel. Her father looks less and less like himself and more and more like something that no longer belongs to this world.
In the harsh light Alice can see that the chintzy velvet that surrounds the coffin is attached with Velcro. A stage set, that’s all it is. Why do they do it like this? It’s supposed to mean something, but does it?
She has packets of marigold and zinnia seeds in one hand, and Matt’s father’s hammer in the other. How weird is that, she thinks. A hammer in a place like this. She places them in the coffin, the hammer by his side where he can reach it, the seeds in his breast pocket. What had seemed so important a few hours ago, now she wonders what difference it will make. Is it all superstition; is it all just piling up little moments, little stacks of memories against the devastation of the future? As though she will somehow feel better next month when she remembers, at least I put Grampa’s hammer in the coffin? The hammer and the buttons on his uniform will last longer than his clothes or his body