Saving Alice (20 page)
“Get your mom,” I said, smiling.
“Huh?”
“This surprise is for her too.”
She looked at me carefully, trying to read my expression.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s fine.”
She jumped out of the car and scampered up the sidewalk. I should have known what she was presuming, but my ever-present mental myopia had reached groundbreaking levels.
Minutes later, Donna came wandering down without Alycia.
She stopped and stared at my car. I smiled broadly.
“Hop in,” I exclaimed through the open window.
She recovered from the shock. “Alycia said you wanted to see—”
“I want to show you something. Where’s Alycia?”
“I told her to wait a sec.” Donna crouched beside the door. “Stephen—”
“C’mon,” I said, trying to infuse the moment with the sheer blaze of my own excitement. “Just hop in.”
After giving me another scrutinizing gaze, Donna turned and waved toward the second-floor window. I reached over and opened the door from the inside.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Donna said, pushing the front seat forward and squeezing into the backseat. “If you have something important to discuss, you should say it in private.”
I rubbed my hands together like a little kid. “You’re going to love this.”
She sighed.
When Alycia jumped in, I pulled away from the curb and headed to the house where the Realtor would be waiting.
Donna tried again. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” I replied cheerily.
“Chill, Mom,” Alycia said, twisting in her seat to face her mother. “Don’t you like surprises?”
I smiled into the rearview window. Donna was a wreck. A pathetic smile was superimposed over an expression of dread.
Of course she doesn’t like surprises,
I thought.
“Did you eat, Mom?”
Donna didn’t answer. She sat there with her hand frozen to the armrest. She hadn’t even buckled in. In spite of all this—
hello-o-o, big red truck!
—I was still oblivious. “Obliviosity is a guy thing,” Alycia once told me. “And since you’re technically a guy, you’re clue-challenged.”
I didn’t know which insult to address first. “Technically a guy?”
“Yeah … all guys over thirty are morphing into geezer.”
When we reached the neighborhood, Alycia’s excitement peaked. She became an absolute flutterbug. I parked across from the tri-level and, without further tantalization, poked a proud thumb toward the house. “Thar she blows.”
Peering out my window, Alycia leaned forward as I leaned back. “What kind of ship is that?”
“It’s a houseboat,” I said. “With the kind of floor plan your mother has always admired. Remember? Anyway … it set sale three weeks ago.”
I smiled into the rearview mirror again. Donna’s face was aghast. “It’s big,” Alycia announced. “Much bigger than ours—er … uh … the old one.”
I suppressed a proud smile. It wasn’t that big, but compared to Sally’s apartment and my house, it was a Beverly Hills mansion.
Alycia couldn’t stop staring. I could only imagine what she was thinking. Her friends might actually visit her here.
“Wow, Dad,” she said, her voice hushed to a solemn whisper. “You must be rich.”
Beaming, I opened my door and smiled back at Donna. “Let’s take a look.”
She glanced away, reaching for her own door. Her persistent reluctance was beginning to puzzle me. She got out, and Alycia followed suit. Like a happy family, the three of us crossed the street. I introduced them to the Realtor, and Ned Glazer shook Donna’s hand, and winked at Alycia. “You’re going to love your new room.”
Donna tugged on my jacket at the precise moment Ned and Alycia walked in the front door. Her words came out in a desperate whisper, “Tell me now, Stephen. What’re you doing? No more beating around the bush, okay?”
I shrugged proudly. “It’s for you and Alycia.”
Her eyes flickered. “Me and Alycia? The
two
of us?”
“The two of you,” I repeated. “And maybe—”
Donna locked eyes with me. “Maybe what?”
I hesitated.
“Did you explain this to Alycia?”
I shrugged no, and Donna shook her head in disbelief. Alycia burst out of the house. She jumped down the front cement steps and grabbed her mother’s arm. “You’ve got to see the fireplace!”
“Alycia—”
“C’mon!” Alycia said, pulling her mother up the steps. Donna’s eyes briefly lingered on mine as she allowed herself to be dragged into the house.
I was still standing on the porch, poised to enter with Donna’s words echoing in my mind, when Alycia poked her head out. “Dad, my stuff would disappear into that room. I’ve got to get more stuff!”
“Bummer,” I replied.
Stepping over the threshold, I saw Donna at the back window, in the dining room, staring out into the yard full of mature trees. Apparently, Alycia, caught up in the excitement of the moment, had already scampered off.
I walked up to my wife. “You’ve never had a real dining room, Donna.”
She hugged herself, as if the temperature had suddenly dropped.
“And I know how you love maples.”
She let out a small sigh, staring out at the beautifully landscaped backyard. “What are you doing, Stephen?”
“This is for you,” I said.
“Can we go now?” She turned to me, her eyes glistening. At that precise moment, Alycia came running up the steps from downstairs. “So, Dad, which one’s your office?”
Donna’s gaze drilled a hole into my face.
Get it now?
I was too stunned to speak. Alycia assumed I planned to move in with them immediately, but I couldn’t say, “Maybe someday.” Not with Donna glaring at me. She waited for me to respond, and when I didn’t, she forged ahead. “Your father wouldn’t be living here, honey.”
The words dissipated into the sudden silence. Alycia stood frozen. Her gaze flickered from Donna to me, then back to Donna again, then back to me as if waiting for a full rebuttal.
I tried to rescue the moment by reinserting enthusiasm into my voice. “I’m buying this for you and your mother.”
Alycia’s response was immediate, her next words clipped and angry. “No, Dad. You’re not.” She stormed across the living room to the entryway and slammed the door behind her.
I stood there dumbfounded.
“Next time talk to me first,” Donna whispered.
Oblivious to the drama, Ned walked into the living room. “S’what do you think?”
My brain was buzzing. “I need a moment with my … uh … with Donna, Ned.”
“No problem,” he said, his smile unfazed. He excused himself to the next room.
I lowered my voice to a whisper and tried to explain. Donna listened, and now that we’d weathered Alycia’s explosion, her manner was softer. “This isn’t for you to decide anymore, Stephen. We’re separated, remember?”
“But
you
would own it. I’d pay the mortgage. I know you’ve always loved this part of town.”
She shook her head. “But I can’t accept this from you.”
Exasperated, I pulled out my checkbook. “Then accept this on Alycia’s behalf, and you can live anywhere you want.” I scribbled out a check and extended it to her. “I made some money recently, and since we’re still married, half is yours. You can do what you want with it.”
I expected Donna to be impressed, to suddenly look at me with new eyes. And in the back of my mind, I actually thought the money would change everything.
Instead, she reached for it, scrutinizing my writing. Our eyes met and I realized what she was thinking:
You’re trading again
.
With a regretful expression, she began tearing it up into tiny pieces. “I never wanted your money, Stephen. And I never wanted a fancy house. I followed you to Aberdeen with no complaints, didn’t I?”
“Donna—”
“Stephen … please.” She paused, biting her lip. She handed me the check pieces, and her voice wavered. “I’ll try to smooth things over with Alycia. Give me a few minutes.”
Moments after Donna walked out the front door, Ned walked into the room once again, this time rubbing his hands together. He seemed puzzled with Donna’s absence. “She’s out looking at the yard?”
I pulled Ned into the kitchen just in case Donna came in again. I spoke barely above a whisper. “We’ll take it.”
“Wonderful choice!” he exclaimed. “Congratulations!”
Confused and embarrassed, I drove them home. I attempted conversation, but neither seemed interested. When I dropped them off, Donna got out first—“Bye, Stephen”—and headed up the sidewalk.
Alycia sat stock-still, looking forward. “Man, I had my mouth shaped for that room.”
I turned to her, “Are you kidding?”
She shrugged and still wouldn’t look at me.
“We could still talk to your mo—”
“Dad?”
“What?”
“Mom would say ‘no’ regardless.”
She leaned over with her balloon cheek.
I kissed it.
“I have to go.” She pushed the door open, but I gently reached for her coat. She turned back with a question in her eyes. “So … will I see you again, Dad?”
“Try to get rid of me.”
“I like the sound of that,” she said.
I playfully punched her shoulder, and she punched me back. Her smile a bit wobbly, she jumped out of the car, turned around halfway up the sidewalk, waved again, then headed into the building.
Her step had lost its jauntiness, and I berated myself for being so dense. I needed to give Donna time and not jump the gun.
M
y daughter and I were finding each other again. What we once had now seemed within reach again, and I was determined not to blow it. Lost in my own little fantasy world of hopes and dreams, and hoping to impress my family, I’d all but forgotten the reality of the divorce filing.
On Monday the finalized documents arrived. Our court date had been set for two weeks from today. As I thumbed through each sheet and evaluated the mind-numbing legalese, it slowly sank in: Our marriage was almost over.
At work, Larry and I barely spoke anymore, not because of any personal issues but because he rarely emerged from his office. Lately I had become little more than his secretary, clearing his office of Styrofoam cups, plastic plates, half-eaten donuts, and broken pretzels, dusting the flat surfaces, filing and mailing documents. Although I purchased the junk food, from the amount I discarded, he didn’t seem to have his old appetite.
The IRS notices also increased, but as usual I simply passed them on to Larry. “Business must be picking up,” I remarked. “Information requests?”
“They can’t even keep up with their own Tax Court decisions,” he mumbled.
At Joe’s, Susan was now sitting with Paul and me on a regular basis unless there were new guys in the arena of play. In that case, she sat at the bar with an empty buffer seat between her and anyone else, flirting with foolish abandon.
We tortured her with our pestering glances until she made
leave- me-alone
faces in return. One night, when the pickings were slim, she hung out at our table, and she and Paul initiated a “top-this” version of Whose Father Is Worse?
My heart wasn’t in it, but Paul hit his stride immediately, dredging up story after story of his alcoholic father, joking casually as if growing up hadn’t been such a painful experience. Susan did the same, regaling us with tales of her father’s philandering. When my turn came, I tried to decline, but they would hear nothing of it. After further coercion, I reluctantly rehashed my Uglyville story.
“Not even close,” Susan remarked with playful disdain. “So what? You were poor. We were all poor.”
Paul agreed. “Doesn’t even register on the universally accepted scale of family dysfunction.”
“There’s a scale?” Susan asked, amused.
“There is now,” Paul insisted, eyes glazed over. “I just made it up.”
Out of friendly regard—present company excepted—they granted me a distant third place, which I accepted with a shrug. After all, compared to their fathers, my father was a saint.
I considered their stories and remembered Dad’s recent call,
“Let’s hang out!”
And I now regretted not giving him a chance, despite the old resentments which hovered just below the surface.
Maybe some- day,
I thought.
Unfortunately, when Susan told Paul six drinks in the space of one hour was plenty, he stormed out, leaving a bad taste to an overall fun evening.
The next Saturday, Alycia came out to the car and plopped into her place. “What’s on the agenda?”
“Let’s go to the mall,” I suggested. “Buy you some new shoes or something.”
She gave me her best eyelash flutter. “New shoes?”
I nodded eagerly. “I’ve got money burning a hole in my pocket. The question is: Are you feeling dangerous? We’re talking mall expo- sure here.” I opened my eyes ghoulishly wide, then narrowed them in a feeble attempt to appear humorously frightening.
She pursed her lips. “I don’t even care about that anymore, Dad.”
“Since when?”
“Popularity isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
I resisted the impulse to raise my eyebrows again. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She frowned:
What planet are you from?
“Just something I’m required to say.”
“Anyway, if you have to buy me shoes, fine.”
“Me pleasure, me lady. Allow me the honor of transporting you aboard me carriage.”
“Technically, it’s a horseless carriage,” she said.
“Technically, it’s a Mustang,” I argued. “So that makes it…” I pondered this for a second, then declared, “…a carriageless
horse
.”
She giggled. “You’re getting good at this talking stuff.”
“I should be. I’ve been practicing longer than you.”
As we drove to the mall, I could sense something building within her. While we hadn’t yet discussed anything delicate, I knew we were overdue for an honest heart-to-heart talk about the impending divorce. I could only hope she’d still be speaking to me afterward.
When we arrived at the mall, I parked as close to the entrance as I could. Getting out, we headed across the parking lot, and although I was tempted to walk a few paces behind her, Alycia refused my magnanimous gesture, so we wandered in side by side, unprotected and vulnerable to observation. I grinned. Maybe she was actually proud to be seen with me. At the very least, being seen with my daughter filled
me
with pride.
In Fannie’s Footwear, she tried on several pairs of shoes, until she eventually unearthed a few possibilities. She even considered a few of my own lame suggestions until she saw the price. “Too expensive, Dad.”
“Since when?”
“Du-uh.”
“C’mon, the fire is spreading beyond the pocket. My whole leg is starting to burn.”
“I’m not walking into the apartment with those shoes,” she said with a sharp look.
Of course.
“Just buy me another milkshake,” she added.
“That won’t even touch the fire.”
“Then buy Mom a ring. A real one this time.”
Our eyes met and she apologized immediately. “Sorry, Dad. That was low.”
“S’okay.” I shrugged, knowing her humorous jab was Alycia’s way of getting the ball rolling for the discussion that was sure to follow.
Alycia finally settled on some ridiculously cheap shoes, although not half bad in style.
“You have your mother’s good fashion sense,” I told her.
“Mmm-hmmm,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure how to take that.”
“I meant it well,” I said.
“I’m being annoying, huh?” she said as we finally walked out of the mall, shoe box in a stylish plastic bag.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Is that your favorite expression?”
I shrugged off her pretense, but in the car, she nodded thought- fully. “Okay, let’s talk, Dad.”
I blew out a quick
oh boy
. But inwardly I was relieved.
“Called your bluff, eh?” she noted perkily.
“You’re not allowed to use ‘eh’ unless you’re from New England.”
“They say it in Ohio,” she protested. “And Canada. It’s working its way across the country. ‘Eh’ is in.” She smiled knowingly at me.
“What?”
“Nice deflection, Dad. Now, about that talk. Did you mean it, and what’s off limits? Let’s talk boundaries, ground rules, and penal- ties for infractions.”
I sighed with a surrendering chuckle.
She laced her fingers and turned them inside out, cracking them. “I’ll go easy on you.”
“Please do.” I cleared my throat, and she sniffed slightly, glancing out her side of the window as if what was to follow would be too painful for eye contact. “So … I take it you and Mom aren’t getting back together?”
I hesitated. Whatever I said would find its way back to Donna in some form or another. “Your mother is determined to proceed,” I said.
Alycia’s eyes flickered on mine, seemingly surprised by my lack of hedging. “And you’re not?”
I paused again.
Alycia’s eyes widened. “Don’t you miss her?”
“Of course I do.”
Alycia came uncorked. “Then talk to her!”
I let out a breath. “Alycia, marriage wasn’t easy for your mother and me. We tried hard to make it work.”
“So … try harder next time,” she replied. “It’s mostly your fault, you know.”
I nodded.
“So talk to her.”
I took another deep breath and let it out softly. “Talking isn’t a cure-all. It’s just a start. You have to be able to agree.”
Alycia bit her lip. “I can’t believe I’m giving my dad marital advice.” She fixed me with another
no-fudging
stare. “Do you love Mom?”
“Yes, of course.”
Her eyes scrutinized mine, and she seemed to wilt a little. “Talk to her, Dad.”
I put the car into drive, and we drove a few blocks in silence. I could sense her continuing inner debate. She wasn’t finished with me yet. She turned, commanding full eye contact. “Next topic.”
I braced myself, grimacing humorously.
“Are you still in love with Alice?”
I blew out another breath. This honesty stuff was getting close to the edge. I wondered if I shouldn’t plead the fifth or something.
“Cuz everyone says you are.”
I hesitated.
“You can handle it, Dad. You just say the first thing that comes to mind and let me separate the chaff from the wheat.”
“I
was
in love with Alice,” I replied. “But she’s gone, and we moved on.”
“Did you really?”
“Alycia…”
“Are you in love with Mom?”
“I love your mother very much.”
“Not the same thing, Dad.”
I cleared my throat. “Your mother was my best friend. And we should have had a wonderful marriage, but I made a few mistakes—”
Alycia gave her head a quick dismissive shake. “Back up. Your
friend
?” She shook her head again. “Guys are
so
oblivious.” She paused as if gathering steam. “You remind me of Fred, Dad.”
I resisted the inclination to smile. Fred had been Alycia’s pet turtle in the second grade. “This should be good.”
“Do you remember how I kept putting him in mud, he’d get stuck, and I had to pull him out?”
I winced. “Ouch.”
“You’re just like Fred,” Alycia announced. “And you need to get
un
stuck. Someone needs to pull you out.”
“And that would be whom?”
She made a triumphant face. “Moi.”
When we pulled up in front of the apartments, we sat there for a moment. Alycia looked at me again, and I must have looked deathly worried because she broke into a grin. “Cheer up. You can’t get rid of me that easy.” She jumped out and closed the door. I lowered the window and she leaned in. “Next week, Bat Dad?”
“Same Bat channel.”
“Same Bat time?”
“Same Bat car.”
Stepping back, she looked my car over. “Not the right color, but close enough!”
We shared a laugh, and all seemed forgiven. Then the mood changed again, and she paused reflectively, staring down at my floor mats. “Can I say one more thing?”
I smiled, and could see her face growing pink from the cold. “You can always say one more thing.”
“Okay,” she agreed, her words creating puffs of moisture. “You don’t have to buy me expensive stuff, okay?”
I shrugged. “Resistance is futile.”
She flashed me a defiant smile. It seemed the perfect good-bye, but neither of us budged. The earlier conversation seemed unfinished, and both of us sensed it.
“I never wanted to hurt your mother, honey.”
“I know, Dad,” she replied, unflinching.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” I continued, hoping she’d understand. “But you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Her eyes blinked, and I wondered if I’d blown it again. While I’d been trying to temper our “Alice” comments, I’d just devalued her mother again.
“What I meant was—”
“I get it, Dad.” She sniffed softly, then tapped the edge of the car door. “I appreciate it. And even though you’re a loon, I still love you, okay?”
“I love you too, honey.”
She gave my car a final tap—“
Talk
to her!”—then skipped up the sidewalk as if she were eight, not thirteen, then suddenly came rushing back. I stepped on the brake and lowered the window again.
“Almost forgot! Mom and I are going to Brookings next Saturday. Remember Madison?”
I nodded, although the name seemed only remotely familiar.
“First grade, Dad.”
“Okay,” I replied.
She snorted. “Anyway, you have the week off, so plan it wisely!”
And then she was gone. I drove home exhausted. I’d endured the Verbal Inquisition of Alycia Whitaker and lived to tell about it.
