Emancipating Alice (13 page)

A few people laughed.

“Also, if you are unable to come to the luncheon please see me before you leave,” Elaine was saying. Drew guessed she just wanted to make sure she was able to give everyone a departing acknowledgment card. Drew looked over at his mother. She was watching Elaine, a slight smile on her face. Drew interpreted her look as pride, love. But he could never mention such a thing to Elaine. He knew Elaine would undoubtedly say something like:
Looking at me with pride? Love? Please Drew, that woman probably just farted and felt relieved.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Alice admired Elaine’s attention to details, her sense of responsibility. She seemed quite meticulous and a little obsessive compulsive—Drew had to balance her out in the planning of the funeral—but Alice supposed they were all things that helped make her a good lawyer. Alice actually had no idea whether she was good or not, but she figured she had to be. She knew enough about her daughter to know she was not one to settle for anything sub-par.

Alice allowed Drew to go up to the podium first, taking Elaine’s place.

Drew smiled at the crowd and took a deep breath. Then he looked at his son who was sitting near her, and winked, before turning his attention back to the crowd.

“Like my son mentioned briefly earlier, my dad was a pretty sporty, athletic guy. He always took the time to have fun with us, whether it was just watching a show with us and making corny jokes, or taking us to the park, or sledding, or playing baseball. He made sure we had a memorable childhood, one that was filled with good memories of growing up with him, one filled with love. We knew he loved us, and it helped us feel secure, which is very important to a child—to feel like someone’s always there for you, ready to help you out whenever you need it, or just spend time with you. Make you feel important. My sister mentioned an unfortunate Halloween incident with a homemade costume, but I would like to tell you this—as soon as he saw I wasn’t happy with it, particularly at the way Elaine was splitting her sides laughing at it, he changed it, improvising something else. He made me feel better, more comfortable. He was sensitive to our needs…unlike
some
people.” He looked at Elaine with playfully accusing eyes.

“I had a great dad, and it made me want to be the same with my own kid. I know how important it is to have that kind of relationship, how much it makes life a little bit easier when you know you’re not alone. Even now, I know I’m not alone, and I’m not just talking about having my son or my other family members. He’s still with me—he made sure of it—in all those wonderful memories we created together.”

Drew looked over in the direction of the crematorium, then around the air on top of him.

“I too would like to thank you, dad. For everything.”

When Drew left, old Mrs. Richards from a few houses down from Alice went up.

“George was a good guy, a kind guy. Why, he once helped me with a flat tire; I thought that was very nice of him. He was going to work and noticed me looking at the darned thing. Got all dirty, had to change and everything. Was late for work. He also helped me paint the garage once, although he did all the work.” She adjusted her thick glasses, smiling in a way that made her look demented. Along with her mother-of-pearl hair with hints of blue in stiff curls, she looked rather frightening in general. She turned toward Alice. “Alice, you sure raised you a good boy.”

Alice groaned inwardly. Although she appreciated Mrs. Richard’s kind words, she was fully aware her memory was quite off. Clearly she was mistaking George for Drew; in fact, Alice would not be surprised if the incidents she mentioned actually happened with someone else and neither George nor Drew was involved. Perhaps it was Mrs. Richards’ own son that had helped her. Nevertheless, Alice nodded and smiled in appreciation. Mrs. Richards slowly made her way back to her seat.

George’s old coworkers soon followed, each going up and saying a few words. They talked about his integrity, his dedication and hard work. His work ethic. They also painted the picture of him as a friendly, social, funny guy. One who took care to acknowledge all those around him, one who never hesitated to befriend anyone. It all sounded familiar to Alice.

When they were done, Alice saw Mark get up and head toward the designated speaking spot. She perked up—eager to hear from him again.

Before the ceremony had begun, she’d had a brief encounter with him. She had just finished talking to Reverend Brown and was about to go to her seat to wait out the arrival of the majority of the rest of the expected guests when she was intercepted by a velvety voice.

“Hi, Alice.”

She turned to see the kind, smiling face of an older gentleman. She figured he was a friend of George’s from one of his jobs.

“I’m not sure if you remember me from college,” he had said, “but I used to hang out with George.” He held out his hand to her. “Mark Smith.”

Mark Smith
. Yes, she remembered him although he looked like a whole different person now, but that was the magic of thirty years she supposed. Mark was the black-haired, blue-eyed, smoother, yet more callous guy of the group if she remembered correctly. He bedded many girls for kicks. Made them cry for kicks. Humiliated them whenever and however he could for kicks.

Perhaps it was not just the aging process that made him look different, his dark hair now salt and pepper, his once lean body fuller, a grey mustache, wrinkles around his beautiful eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t just that his body was softer;
he
seemed softer as well, his eyes kinder, more now like the ocean than a sapphire. He seemed more mellow overall. She did not feel an urge to slap him when she looked at him; instead, she wanted to hug him. And so she did.

“Oh, Mark—hello. I’m glad you could make it. And yes, I do remember you—thanks for coming.”

“Of course I would,” he said. “I hope you’re taking care of yourself.” Then he headed to his seat.

Alice also remembered that his name was in the Thomas Gibson Projects file. She wondered if the other name she recognized from the file, Robert Cavelli, was going to show up too. Later, she saw him amongst the attendees—he had snuck in late. Unlike Mark, Robert looked very much like his wolf-like, lean younger self, despite the grey to his hair. He was with a too-young-looking blonde with ample bosom, big hair and too much make-up. Alice was amazed at how much some people changed, and how much some stayed the same.

Mark straightened his jacket and looked around at the crowd he was about to address, meeting everyone’s eyes.

“Hi, everyone, I’m Mark. I knew George from back in college. We used to hang out all the time—me, George, Rob over there, and Sam over there. We had a lot of fun together, and I’m not gonna lie—we tried to corrupt him a little, get him to do some things. But he didn’t want to do anything to hurt his chances with Alice. I must say, he loved her a lot.” He looked directly at Alice then. “Alice, you have my utmost respect for making him love you like he did. I admit—we called him a punk, teased him about it a lot, but he pretty much stood his ground, and guess what—in the end, I admired him for it. He was pretty loyal to you. We weren’t surprised at all when he proposed to you and you guys planned to get married; it seemed natural that you would. I only hope he made you as happy as you deserved, for you sure made him happy. So I’d like to thank you, Alice, for giving him a good life. I know you didn’t exactly care too much for us back then, and frankly, I don’t blame you, but we actually did like you. I’m truly sorry for your loss and I hope you’re able to bounce back from this; we’d hate to lose that brilliant smile of yours.”

He smiled at her, one that seemed to suggest that had this been some other occasion in some other circumstance many years ago, it would have been a more open, inviting smile. Or was it all in her mind?

Alice found herself smiling back. She felt warmed by his comments, surprised and delighted at his kind words, a way she had not felt in a long time.

Mark headed back into the crowd and Robert hopped up in his place. Alice’s shoulders slumped.

The difference between them was like night and day. Mark was smooth, soft-spoken, polished; had kind, focused eyes, a genuine smile. Robert’s movements were quick, restless. Somewhat jerky.

“Well, um, George was a good man and friend and all that. I used to talk to him about my problems and adventures with girls and stuff. He was a good listener, even if he wasn’t the greatest at advice. Wait, it’s Mark who wasn’t good at it; George was actually pretty good, pretty smart about things. He helped me get a lot of girls. Too bad he’s gone.”

Alice hoped her disdain wasn’t showing on her face. Robert had always been rather inarticulate to say the least, and again, she was surprised at how much like his younger self he still was. She watched him slobber over the bimbo he’d brought with him as soon as he got back to his place.

Alice looked around to see if anyone else was going up. Then she saw Abigail stand.

Alice felt her shoulders slump again although she tried not to let her annoyance show.

Abigail smiled nervously when she went to the designated spot.

“Well, I’ve known George probably longer than everyone here.”

Alice felt like punching her then, and she was surprised that her gut reaction to Abby was still so strong. She just hoped that no one saw the irritation in her face. But knowing her luck, someone probably looked at her to see her reaction right at that second. She listened to Abigail’s voice continue.

“George and I went to the same high school, and even though I didn’t really know him then—just recognized his face—I certainly wish I had. I was a little bit of a snob back in high school, I’ll admit, and George and others like him were not people I would associate with in any shape or form; I hung out with people like me, people from the same class financially. But in college, I ended up having to leave my comfort zone and was forced to meet and befriend other types of people. George was one of those people. I came to know George as a person, and I found out that he was very kind person, thoughtful, and as a result of the great friend he turned out to be, he ended up becoming one of my best friends in college.” She looked at Alice. “At times I even found myself somewhat envious of Alice because I knew what a great guy he was. She was lucky to have him as her friend, her boyfriend. Anyone with a guy like George, is lucky. Of course I found my own prince eventually, but I still appreciate the friend he was to me when I was crying over all the frogs.” She turned in the direction of the crematorium. “Thanks for your friendship, George.” Then she turned back to Alice. “And thanks for being so understanding of our friendship, Alice.”

Abigail smiled at her. Alice hoped her returning smile came out right.

When Abigail went back to her seat and no one else stepped forward, Alice got up and, staying right where she was, thanked everyone for coming, saying she would see them at the house. She sat down as Elaine went back to the designated speaking spot and looked around, her eyes briefly stopping at the black man and his mother, perhaps hoping they would jump up to say something, but they sat silently with no indication that they had parting words.

Alice found herself breathing a deep sigh of relief.

At that point, Elaine decided to remind them all of the luncheon taking place—the food, the location, the purpose.

As people started to get ready to leave for the luncheon or their own homes, Alice saw Abigail heading toward her.

She tried to put on a friendly face.

Abigail’s face was serious, her eyes misty. If Alice was able to see the scene outside of herself, she was pretty sure she would have been fooled into thinking Abigail was the grieving widow—she appeared more distraught than even all the other family members.

“Hi, Alice.”

Abigail reached out for her hand and Alice resisted the urge to put hers behind her back to reject the familiar touch. She briefly shook her hand.

“I know this is a difficult time,” Abigail continued, “and you might find this a strange request, but I would like to keep some of his ashes if I may.”

Alice was stunned. After a few moments, she managed to say: “I hope you understand, Abigail, but I am feeling rather selfish of these last pieces of him.” She attempted an apologetic smile. “Besides, the children might want some. Perhaps you’d like a photo instead? I can see if there’s one available.”

Alice had no intention of giving anything of George’s to Abigail.

Abigail smiled, her eyes wet.

“I’d appreciate that.”

And Alice almost felt sorry for her.

Alice wanted George all to herself; needed him all to herself. She didn’t even want to share him with the children.

How dare Abigail even ask such a thing? Clearly, she too had not changed a bit.

As the crowd thinned out, she saw one face she had not seen for the duration of the ceremony headed toward her. Alice did not know how Heather had found out about the whole thing although she could make some guesses. And although aware that Heather was also a friend of George’s, it did not cross her mind that she might show up. She had actually completely forgotten about her.

Heather clasped Alice’s hands in hers when she reached her and Alice had to resist a recoil reaction once more. She was again surprised that after all this time her resentment had not abated. She felt herself getting a bit angry, as if it was just yesterday that Heather had betrayed her.

But Heather was smiling at her with sympathetic eyes, her face soft with warmth and familiarity.

“Hi, Alice. It’s been a while.”

Alice moved her hands away and tried to smile.

“Why, yes, yes it has.”

She wasn’t sure what else to say but she didn’t have to wait long for Heather to say more.

“I know we haven’t kept in touch like maybe we should have, but you understand why I had to come of course?”

Alice knew she managed a smile this time.

“Perfectly. After all, you knew us both; of course you’d come to pay your respects, and at the same time, say hi to an old friend…”

“Well, yes but I really wanted to catch up with you. Alice, I don’t know what happened between us but you’ve always been dear to me. I’ve always wondered how you were doing, what you were up to…”

“Oh, that’s nice. But ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’ right? Isn’t that how the saying goes? I’m sure you intended to call me up sometime, stop by. That perhaps you prayed for me, thought about me. But I’m not sure what good any of that did either of us—what good is all that attention at a distance? What good is any of it if the other person doesn’t know? What good is saying you care when I can’t tell if you do? What good is waiting until practically the last minute to say anything? I don’t want to be like George is right now before I’m within the same space as people who supposedly care again.”