Saving Alice (31 page)
Physically, she fell apart too. In her thirties, she had gained a hundred pounds over five years. Her personality changed with her growing addictions to a multitude of prescription drugs.
She divorced four times and married five—each husband a product of an affair, resulting in another broken family.
And then … one night after learning of her latest husband’s plans to leave her, she slipped into the bathroom and OD’d on a prescription drug. She died the next day.
I closed the diary, my heart pounding.
What have I done?
I wandered out to the balcony of our summer home in Connecticut and stared at the ocean as the sun slowly set. The horizon mixed a brilliant display of oranges and purples, but to the west, gray clouds threatened. The weather report had called for severe thunderstorms by evening.
I watched the slow-building storm and realized that I’d been in love with Donna from the beginning. I pondered the diaries I’d read, and remembered Donna’s poignant statements to me on the day of our divorce. She knew the truth. She knew I’d been allured by Alice’s exotic lifestyle and wealthy family, and then, after her fatal accident, I’d been blinded by the past. My persistent lack of faith had thrown me into a tailspin and interrupted the true course of my life.
Standing on the balcony, I felt a wave of loneliness. Donna and Alycia were still away, and I hoped they would return before the storm. I couldn’t wait to see them again.
I had what I wanted, didn’t I? Alycia was alive! Donna, the true love of my life, was my wife. I was wealthier than I would have imagined! I was standing at the edge of the beautiful ocean. Everything was perfect now.
And … who was I kidding?
The more I’d read of Donna’s diary, the deeper the truth sank in. I was an imposter. A fake. On top of that, Alycia hadn’t remembered any of our shared events. The ones that seemed so important to me had never happened to this Alycia. My wife and daughter didn’t truly know me, and I didn’t know them. This was not my world.
Sure … I could exist here, living with the kind of affluence I’d always craved, but I’d be living a lie till the day I died. I could never tell them who I really was, and, through no fault of their own, they would always be partial strangers to me. Worse, saving Alice had ruined her soul.
I stared into the water for a while longer. Later, I went downstairs and retrieved a cell phone I’d seen earlier. I navigated through the old phone numbers, found Donna’s, and called her.
She answered cheerfully. “Hi, Stephen, feeling better? Looks like a storm coming in. We’ll be home soon.”
“I miss you,” I said.
“I miss
you
,” she replied.
“Please come home,” I whispered.
“I’ll see you soon,” she said, hanging up.
I went upstairs again and stared at the ominous storm. The rain came so suddenly the beachcombers had to run for cover. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, feeling the rain spatter against my cheek, and the wind rushing in my ears.
God, no matter what, I’ll serve you for the rest of my life. Please forgive me for a lifetime of foolishness
.
Slipping back in, I closed the sliding glass door and paused at the window, waiting for the downstairs door to open. Instead, the phone rang. It was Donna. “Stephen, we got caught in the rainstorm. We’re now sheltered beneath a bank drive-through.”
“I’ll be waiting for you,” I replied.
“I can’t wait to get back, to be with you,” she said, her voice low, as if she didn’t want Alycia to hear. “You made my birthday so special!”
After hanging up, I sank to the floor, as the reality of it fully sunk in. They were strangers to me. And I was a stranger to them.
My
Donna and
my
Alycia were gone … forever.
An hour passed as the storm buffeted our house. I waited for my new family, and despite the raging storm, my eyes closed, and I dozed off….
I
awakened in a dark room, to the scent of musty walls and the sound of a distant car muffler. When I could put it off no longer, I opened my eyes and glimpsed the clock first. 7:41.
There was a thin line of daylight piercing the boundaries of high curtains. I sat up and recognized the feel of the familiar cushions beneath me.
I looked around and took in my surroundings. I was downstairs in my office, sitting on the couch my daughter had sagged by virtue of her youthful energy. I was home in my office on Northview Lane. Above me, the floor boards squeaked. Someone was here. I got up and noticed my clothes. I was fully dressed. Had I slept in my clothes?
Confused, I tried to sort through the strange dream I’d just had. Images of a rushing ocean came to me. A brewing storm had developed on the horizon. Where? Connecticut? Alycia and Donna had been there, and I remembered something about a birthday surprise. More fragments danced through my foggy mind, an entire litany of disjointed memories, as if months had passed, not mere minutes.
The more I struggled to make sense of it, the more images broke through. Donna had divorced me. My father had died and I’d lost everything. Larry had skipped town. Worst of all … my daughter had killed herself. But just before the ocean fragments, I’d had that dream again, like a dream in a dream, the one where I rush across the room, only this time … I’d actually
saved
Alice.
I shook my head, as if to clear it of the vivid mental pictures.
Just a dream,
I thought, and then my entire body shuddered.
Filled with a sudden sense of urgency, I headed out of the room, then paused halfway through the furnace room. Something wasn’t right. The room was filled with Donna’s things. I stared at the boxes, trying to put it together. Had she forgotten to pick them up? Why hadn’t I noticed before?
She hasn’t left yet.
I headed through the door and up the steps. I took them two at a time and bumped my head against the low part of the ceiling, something I hadn’t done in years.
“Ouch!” I yelled, crumpling against the wall, holding my forehead.
“Stephen?” A voice from the living room.
Rubbing my head, seeing stars, I righted myself and took another step. The door opened, flooding the stairway with light.
“Are you okay?”
Still holding my head, I looked up and saw a shadow in the light.
Donna?
I quickly continued climbing the steps. Startled by my exuberance, Donna retreated, her eyes alarmed.
Reaching the top, I stopped at the edge. “You’re here… .”
Her eyes squinted with curiosity. “I haven’t left yet. Are you okay?”
I chuckled breathlessly. “It’s nothing… .”
“Mom?”
Alycia?
I twisted around, and there she was, standing just outside the screen door.
“Are we ever going? I have to meet Denise.”
“Just a minute, honey,” Donna replied softly.
I struggled not to rush across the room and scare
her
to death. Alycia cast me a sad look and headed outside.
Turning to Donna, I took a breath and let it out. She frowned again. “Are you sure you’re okay, Stephen? I was looking at the pictures when I heard you—”
“I remember,” I said softly. “Your favorite isn’t up there anymore.”
“My favorite?”
I nodded. “The French restaurant?”
Donna stared at me in astonishment.
“I remember when we took that picture. We talked until three in the morning. Surely, you remember the waitress, don’t you?”
Donna nodded, her eyes little circles of unbelief. She motioned toward the door. “Alycia’s waiting. I need to get going.”
She moved past me, but I reached out and touched her arm and it felt as if electricity sparked between us. She turned suddenly.
“Don’t leave,” I whispered. “I want you to stay.”
She seemed confused again, as if not sure whether to keep walking or stare at me. She stammered, trying to find her next words. “Oh, Stephen, I can’t…. I mean … we shouldn’t…”
I edged closer, reaching for her left hand. Looking down as I grasped it, she let me hold it for a moment before pulling away. Clearing her throat, she turned on her heels and headed for the door again. And then, as quickly as she got to the doorway, she stopped in her tracks, her face a mixture of defiance and curiosity. “We made a mistake, Stephen—”
“No, we didn’t.”
She frowned.
“From the very beginning it was you, Donna. I was just too foolish to see it. And maybe someday you’ll forgive me. Maybe someday I’ll earn your love again.”
Perhaps I laid it on too thick, but frankly I was so overwhelmed by the sight of her, I couldn’t help myself. But Donna looked absolutely horrified. She shook her head again, “I can’t do this, Stephen, not anymore.” She turned toward the door again. This time, without saying good-bye, she rushed out.
I went to the door and watched her back out of the garage. At the same time, I caught a glimpse of my daughter in the car. The car backed into the street and lingered as Donna switched gears, then traveled several yards. I stepped out on the concrete stoop and waved to a very confused Alycia in the passenger seat.
It was all I could do not to chase them down the street. The car reached the end of our block and then stopped. For a full minute it didn’t move, and I could just imagine the conversation within.
“Are you kidding, Mom?”
And then … the car began backing up. It reversed all the way to the front of our house. Another pause, and then Donna got out of the car, crossed her arms, and just stood there beside the engine hood.
I grinned like a fool. Across the yard, as if traversing years and years of misunderstanding, and mountains of my own foolishness, our eyes met. I took the steps slowly.
With her arms still folded protectively, Donna worked her way around the front of the car, and when she reached the edge of the sidewalk, she smiled the kind of smile that said,
I can’t believe I’m about to do this….
Eventually, Alycia got out of the car. She hugged herself as well, glancing about the neighborhood. Being this vulnerable to the neighbors’ prying eyes must have been sheer torment for my socially conscious daughter.
I met Donna halfway down the sidewalk, and she gazed into my eyes. “Why should I stay?”
“Because you belong with me,” I replied. “And I love you.”
Donna’s eyes narrowed, as if trying to solve a mystery. “You’ve never said that to me before,” she said, and she was right. At least not like that.
The first tear slipped down her cheek. Blushing with embarrassment, Alycia refused to look at me, but I didn’t care. I reached out for her shoulder, and she reluctantly allowed me to touch her. I wasn’t worried. I’d seen this before.
“Dad … please…” she whispered, but her eyes melted.
She paused for a moment, and then, as if she couldn’t wait any longer, she sank into my waiting arms.
“You can’t lose her,”
Donna had once said to me.
And this time, I wouldn’t.
A
lycia came home from college the other day, her boyfriend tagging along. From the looks of things, they seemed pretty serious. I was glad to see that Doug was a clean-cut kid, blond hair, rather good-looking, well-mannered and respectful.
After the introductions, Alycia held out a dried flower. “You’ll never believe where we found it.”
I did my best to act surprised, but I wasn’t. The rose was blue, the color of the sky. I’d heard for years that botanical scientists were close to changing the genetic structure. “I guess they finally did it,” I said, marveling at the beauty. “They’re doing amazing things these days.”
“Nope,” she replied, grinning from ear to ear. “We just happened to find it along the Connecticut coast, hidden among the other wild red roses.”
I grinned back, thinking of all the
Ripley’s Believe It or Not
tales Paul and I had read as kids.
For a split second I actually believed her. I caught my daughter’s eye, and she twinkled at me. “Gotcha, Dad.”
I chuckled. “Got me good.”
“Actually they’re doing surprising things with spray color,” she giggled.
I was tempted to chase her around the house, maybe tickle her to death, but … not in present polite company.
Doug seemed chagrined, if not downright apologetic. “I told her not to do it.”
I only laughed. “Practical jokes are our bread and butter,” I said, and he looked relieved.
Needless to say, the passage of years has yielded some profound changes. Somewhere around the time Alycia became a freshman in high school, Donna and I moved to a new home, a rather modest rancher, northwest of our previous house, roughly five rungs removed from my childhood Uglyville.
Then again, Uglyville doesn’t scare me anymore. Sometimes, in fact, I take the long way home just to drive by my old neighborhood and recall the days when I talked to God in the rabbit fields beyond the Whitaker house. I now look at it with profound nostalgia.
Several days after Donna nearly left me, I’d called my father.
“Busy, Dad?”
“What’s that you say?” he spluttered.
“Mom says you got a new computer.”
“Uh … well … can’t run the blasted thing.”
“That’s what sons are for.”
“Come again?”
On Tuesday, after work, I drove up to Frederick, and within a few hours, got the thing up and running. The old mental tapes were still playing, of course, and it wasn’t easy to be with Dad, but I persevered. Weeks later, I sucked up my pride and invited him over to watch a Vikings game with me on a Sunday. He accepted. During halftime, while my mother and Donna scrapbooked in the dining room, Dad and I tossed a football in the front yard. This time, he lasted more than five minutes. I even had to talk him into quitting for the third quarter.
Two weeks later, I accompanied him to see the “local deity” he’d been avoiding. After he submitted himself to a series of tests, I pretended surprise when the doctors caught my father’s aneurism in time. His opinion of the medical profession softened after that, and it gave us a few more years to watch the Vikings on Sunday afternoons.
“How did you know?” Donna asked me, and I was tempted to explain but didn’t. She wouldn’t have understood. I’m not sure I understand it myself. Even now.
Two years after our close call, I persuaded Donna to return to school. And two years after that, she received her master’s in literature. She then accepted a position as an assistant professor of literature at Northern State College, and she’s never been happier. For her classes,
Mockingbird
is required reading, along with
The Great Gatsby
. Unfortunately, she took to calling me ol’ sport again, not that I mind too much. I tried talking her into dropping
Gatsby
for
Ender’s Game,
with little success. Strangely enough, she saw Paul more than I did, rubbing shoulders with him in the faculty lounge.
As for myself, I got back into the stock market, but took a lesson from my father’s playbook. Instead of trading, I
invested
. This time, a different outlook, a more realistic goal, and starting each day on my knees, made all the difference. Most important, I abandoned the notion that the market could make me whole somehow, and eventually, my father and I repaid the debt we owed to members of our community.
Changing the course of my life wasn’t easy, however, and I would be remiss to suggest such a thing. There were countless temptations to fall into my old habits, and sometimes I did. Fortunately, I was able to correct my course quickly enough. I’d seen the future, after all.
In truth, I suppose we all have second chances if only we’d observe the history of our own lives. Life seems to repeat, and for most of us, I’d venture a guess there’s still time to change what often seems inevitable.
I invited Paul to dinner on a regular basis, and we enjoyed many a lively discussion, made less painful by the solidarity that Donna and I now shared. We also invited Susan over sometimes, and she became one of Donna’s closest friends. Occasionally, much to Susan’s consternation, we extended invitations to other young men—the “clean-cut” variety—to dinner as well. In fact, I was sitting across from the very Mr. Boring who eventually became the love of Susan’s life. A year after their meeting, Donna was the matron of honor and I was a groomsman in a wedding I had once found difficult to imagine.
Sadly, Donna and I were forced to engineer Paul’s intervention for alcoholism, but Paul wasn’t ready to hear of it, and he didn’t speak to us for years after. He eventually lost his job, and I reached out again and convinced him to give therapy a chance.
He did, but it never took. In spite of our best efforts, and a mountain-load of prayers, Paul died at the age of forty from liver failure. Sometimes seeing the future isn’t enough to stop it, and sometimes even second chances aren’t enough. He did “chuck it all” and turn his back on his old ways, however, somewhat late, but then again, in the grand scheme of eternity what is “late”?
I’ve missed him terribly, and I grieve with his mother, but I suppose the prospect of seeing your loved ones again is ultimately what matters.
Donna and I renewed our vows on our twentieth anniversary, in the rose arbor of a botanical garden in Connecticut. She held a spray of blue roses, dyed of course, to match her pale blue dress. Larry was my best man, and Alycia stood proudly next to her mother, who looked absolutely stunning at forty-two.
When we visit New England, as we do nearly every fall, Donna and I stay in a humble cabin a couple of blocks from the ocean. It’s all we can afford, but it’s plenty. We walk the beach at night. Occasionally, the weather is a little brisk, but the colors are stunning, and with my arm around her, I whisper sweet nothings in her ear, and she whispers them back. We’re like new lovers, making up for so many lost years.
In spite of our vacations, I look at Aberdeen differently these days, and I can’t imagine leaving my hometown. It’s become comfortable, like an old blanket or comfortable shoe.
Needless to say, Larry was shocked when I confronted him with his illicit tax avoidance schemes. Due to a generous plea bargain and an agreement to surrender unduly obtained funds, Larry served two months of a six-month sentence. I never told him how I knew, but he wouldn’t have believed me anyway.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” I told him. “We’re partners, remember? For better or worse?”
Finding Jim, now in his late seventies, retired on a farm just outside of Aberdeen, was easy. Persuading him to talk to me wasn’t.
“I don’t want no Whitaker in my house!” he shouted through the screen door, balancing himself on a rickety wooden cane.
I finally prevailed upon his wife to let me in, and Jim cowered in the corner as I explained my intentions. While they lived in rather poor means, I was glad to have the opportunity to change some of that. When I wrote out a check for what he’d lost with my father, plus five percent a year retroactive, Jim’s attitude changed.
“I was wrong about you, kid,” he said to me. “I hope you didn’t take it to heart.”
I patted his shoulder and winked. “I didn’t give it a second thought, Jim.”
“Good,” he nodded, seemingly relieved.
Like I said, nothing came easy for us, including Donna’s spiritual struggles, but, again, I know it’s helped her to have a partner in faith at last. Most important, Donna has truly forgiven me for the years of neglect, which is, perhaps, the greater miracle, and for which I’m most thankful.
I haven’t given my “dream” experience more than casual reflection as the years have passed. I’m not certain what really happened, and how such a thing fits in with God’s universe, but it doesn’t matter.
Sometimes, Donna awakens to find me on my knees beside the bed, tears streaming down my face. Seeing me like this usually moves her to tears as well because she still remembers the old days when praying rarely crossed my mind except in panic circumstances.
In the end, Alycia married her “best friend,” and it was a memorable wedding ceremony. I remember tugging on my ears moments before she said “I do,” and she cast me a knowing squint—recalling an event a few weeks earlier.
We had been sipping ice tea on the back porch. Doug stepped inside the house to retrieve another helping of Donna’s potato salad. I took this opportunity to inform my daughter of what I really thought. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know Doug,” I said. “He’s friendly. Intelligent. Responsible. But…”
Alycia rolled her eyes in anticipation.
“ … his ears are a little big.”
Alycia squirted ice tea through her nose. “They are
not,
Dad! Take it back.”
Donna grinned. “Better take it back. I think she means it.”
“Well … maybe it’s … the contour of his entire face, then…”
“Dad…”
“I’m just glad he’s found someone who loves him—considering the ears and all.”
Alycia put her ice tea on the table. I knew what was coming next. “Take it back.” She rolled up her sleeves, raised her eyebrows, and wiggled her fingers. “I’m much bigger now. I have lo-o-o-ong fingernails, and my vicious temper hasn’t improved much.”
“Good point.”
“Dad?” she said meaningfully, prompting my apology, her fingers still outstretched, poised to pounce. She turned to her mother. “Mom, make him.”
Donna smiled. “Yeah, Stephen, you better say you’re sorry.”
“Mo-o-m! Try to sound convincing!”
“It’s all I can do not to laugh, honey.”
“Mo-om!”
“I’m concerned for your future children,” I continued. “I mean, although we flattened them with a pin, genetically you still have protrusive ears. And with Doug’s big ears, well … I hate to think of it.” I faked a shudder. “My grandchildren’s social lives will border on disaster. You might want to consider home-schooling them. Or … you might consider giving up on having children altogether.”
“Dad…” She flexed her pinchers. “We’re getting our marriage license tomorrow, and there’s nothing you can say to stop me.”
“I’d wear hats to the courthouse,” I suggested. “Otherwise, in the interests of preserving our flat-ear society, they just might deny your application.”
“Last chance, Dad.” She flexed her fingers, long nails poised, within an inch of my nose.
I was undeterred. “In fact, we may be dealing with a birth hazard.”
“Huh?”
“The baby might get stuck … if you know what I mean.”
Alycia grabbed my nose. “Excuse yourself, or lose a part of yourself.”
Donna chuckled, “You’re in for it now, Stephen.”
I frowned thoughtfully, and my words came out sounding like Daffy Duck. “Hmmmm. Maybe I am wrong. I mean … I could give it some further thought, perhaps change my opinion.”
Alycia nodded, pleased with my abdication, and released my nose. “Smart move, Dad—”
I squinted thoughtfully and rubbed my damaged body part. “Then again, maybe it’s the eyes…”
“Dad…” This time she picked up her ice tea as a warning.
“They’re somewhat close together. And that makes his ears—”
She drenched me from hairline to chin. A tickle fight quickly commenced. Even Donna got in on the action—against me. Doug was back by now, and stood smiling in the doorway, but looking just the tiniest bit perplexed. I lost the battle in short order, taking everything back—everything and more. But for years later, whenever we got together as an extended family, I caught my daughter’s eye, and tugged on my ears just to get in the last word.
“Dad…” she’d complain.
“What? They itch.”
A few weeks after our twentieth anniversary, as Donna and I were getting ready for bed, I casually mentioned the diary to Donna. Her face turned pale, but I took her into my arms and nuzzled my face into her neck. “There’s something I’d like to read to you.”
“Alycia!”
Donna chuckled under her breath.
Sitting next to my wife on the bed, I opened her diary—with her permission, of course—and flipped through the pages.
I know we belong together,
she’d written years ago, and I now read it to her.
Donna smiled wistfully, expectantly.
I gazed into the eyes of my beloved wife. “And to think I almost missed out on you.” I took her chin gently in my hand and gave her the most passionate kiss I could manage.
“Wanna fool around?” I whispered.
She smiled dreamily, and I kissed her again. And again…
