Sea Glass_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [71]
Before Alphonse quit the mill, McDermott asked to “have a word” with Alphonse’s mother. Alphonse stood outside on the porch while they talked, and when he was allowed to come back in, his mother looked at him in a whole new way that made him feel, well, terrific, even if he was a little scared. And that’s when he stopped having to do the floors and the lunch pails and the sheets. Marie-Thérèse would do that now, his mother said, and Augustin would help her. Alphonse had other business to attend to. Alphonse will never forget the look on Marie-Thérèse’s face, and it almost doesn’t matter what happens to him on this job because just that look was worth anything he ever gets asked to do. Sometimes he sticks pieces of cheese or apples or bits of chocolate in his pocket and brings them home to his mother. He never talks to her about what he is doing, though she seems to know, and sometimes she gives him a quick hug when he leaves the house, as if she might not ever see him again, as if he might just take off like Sam Coyne’s father did.
And Alphonse can hardly believe it, but across from him, Ross is opening a box of cupcakes. Alphonse quickly counts how many there are in the box and thinks that if every man, including Mahon, takes only one then he will get the last one, and he has to swallow because they look so good. But then Ross passes the box to McDermott and McDermott does a wonderful thing. He holds the box out to Alphonse. Just then Mahon brakes the truck hard as if he had hit a pole, and before Alphonse can even bite into the chocolate, the back door swings open and he has to put an arm up to shield his eyes from the light.
Vivian
She sets the dog, who is trying to run in midair, onto the parquet floor.
“I took the sheets off, miss, like you said.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ellis.”
“And I put milk and eggs and a nice leg of lamb and a chicken and whatnot in the Frigidaire.”
“Marvelous,” Vivian says.
“Your change is on the counter.”
“Terrific.”
“And Mr. Ellis got the beach wagon all tuned up. He took it to the battery station just this morning.”
“Many thanks,” Vivian says, taking a five-dollar bill from her purse. If she doesn’t tip the woman soon, she’ll have to listen to an entire litany of chores completed.
“Thank you, miss. The water and the electric are up and running.”
Vivian nods and moves into the front room. The ocean is flat and Lido blue, reflecting a cloudless sky.
“So if there’s nothing else . . .”
Vivian turns. “Oh, no, I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”
“I couldn’t help noticing you only have the one trunk this time.”
“Yes.”
“There was eight last time.”
“So there were,” Vivian says. “I don’t need much here, do I?”
“Well, that’s up to you. You’ll be wanting me to do the laundry, I expect.”
“As always.”
“Well, that’s settled, then. Glad you’re back.”
Vivian listens for the click of the latch at the back door. She sighs and unhooks the cape from her daffodil suit. She slips off her shoes and pads to the front door to let Sandy out. After five months in New York, the dog nearly levitates with happiness at being able to walk on a substance that is not concrete — seagulls! crabs! dead fish! paradise! — and something inside Vivian begins to levitate as well. The day is marvelous, the light scintillating and crisp. Tomorrow, perhaps, she will go to work, but not today. Gerald has said that if she writes every day except Sundays, she can just about complete the revision before September — a prediction Vivian thinks is wildly optimistic.
“Strengthen Roger’s character,” Gerald said. “Use fewer stage directions.”
He wanted to go into production by the beginning of December, he said, and Vivian held her breath, astonished at promising so much. Her play, Ticker, about the disintegration of a family after the stock market fiasco, pleased Gerald, but he had reservations. “This doesn’t want to be a tragedy,” he said when he had read the first draft. “It’s neither fish nor fowl right now. There’s a comedy in here trying to get out.”
Vivian had met Gerald at the Plaza Hotel in Havana