37. Alice
Chapter thirty-seven
Alice
A lice rolled past the house and around the corner. Just a quick detour past her old elementary school. Not because she was scared to go home or anything. For the nostalgia. She could snap a selfie in front of the playground to send to Ollie later.
Five or six selfies. But only because the sun was drifting in and out of the clouds, and the wind kept whipping her hood over one eye. Not because if she delayed, Mom’s car might be out of the driveway, and then, shucks, she’d have to skip the home visit and drop in at the diner instead. Mom couldn’t get mad or make a scene at work.
Alice sat in a swaying swing with its narrow rubber saddle and its freezing chains. A few swipes called up her chat with Henry and Jay; she scrolled up to Henry’s morning greeting.
Mother and I are adventuring through the wedding photos and reminiscing as we await our first home health candidate. I haven’t seen her eyes so bright in days. The two of you are, on that day and every day, the loveliest of visions. Good morning, my dearests.
He had the best relationship with his mom. They had so many things in common, so many ways to connect. A spike drove into her ribs, and she twisted away, but envy didn’t unclench like a knotted muscle. And who was she to complain anyway—Jay didn’t have a relationship with his mom at all, and no hope of creating one now, but she could still fix hers.
Silly to drive an hour out and an hour back for fifteen minutes of talk during Mom’s break. Ten years was a lot of catching up to fit into fifteen minutes. She forced herself back into the car, the sedan’s door sticking in the cold, and returned to the house at a crawl. Little old ladies drove faster than she did. She drifted to the curb beside a graying snowbank, threw the car in Park, and cut the engine.
Across the street, her childhood home sat as it always had, a three-bedroom starter ranch in a long line of the same. The gutters sagged a little more. Patchy snow on the roof meant the heat was escaping unevenly. Could be fallen insulation. Drive hadn’t been scraped clean—Mom’s car had left icy ruts up toward the garage, and the pickup Alice had taught Ollie to drive in sat on the far side in a shawl of smooth snow that had melted and refrozen who knew how many times. Probably been sitting there since Ollie went to college.
She closed her eyes and blew out a breath. Without the heater on, the chill was seeping into the car. “Not gonna get any easier.”
Her hands weren’t so sure they wanted to let go of the steering wheel. Her wedding ring gleamed. Awkwardly twisting in the tight space, she yanked the ring free and jammed it into her pants pocket under her coat. Less to explain that way. At least not right away. Maybe if no shouting matches erupted.
Pulling her mittens on, she stepped out. The car door creaked; she had to shove against the wind to close it. Big gusts today. The front curtains hung closed, so at least Dad wouldn’t be sitting by the window watching her pick her way across the crusty ice and snow. He’d probably tell her she should’ve brought snow boots—being away so long, she must’ve forgotten what home was like.
If she went in expecting shit, that was what she’d get. But fuck, a good attitude danced impossibly far away when her stomach churned like a magma chamber preparing for a seismic event. Hope was paper thin and too easily shredded; she couldn’t risk it.
She skirted the front, following the tire tracks up the driveway to the side door. No sense walking straight into the living room and a fight. The storm door opened at her tug. She didn’t carry her key anymore—too much weight—but it still nestled in her jewelry box with all the other little things she rarely looked at but couldn’t leave behind.
If Mom was in the kitchen, she’d hear a knock.
Alice rapped her knuckles above the doorknob. Her mitten muffled the sound to three dull thuds. She repeated them.
Her head swam, heavy and heating with a sudden fever. Blood rushed past her ears. Ollie would want her to do this. Ollie would not want her to jackrabbit back to the car and point it east and keep going. Henry and Jay would—well, she hadn’t given them a chance to advise her, so it didn’t really matter now, because she’d already gone and done it. But Henry hadn’t been thrilled about her encouraging Jay to attend lunch at his brother’s, and his tolerance for people—family or not—verbally abusing them was just about nil, so. He would have suggested a plan. He would have suggested she call. Meet on neutral ground. He would’ve had lots to say if she’d spoken up instead of trying to streamline and smooth over any complications that didn’t involve his mom’s health right now. She hadn’t lied last night on their call, but she hadn’t shared the whole truth, either—
A hand twitched the curtain in the half-window at the top of the door, and suddenly the shunk of the deadbolt unlocking rattled her bones. The door swung wide open— Were you raised in a barn? You’re letting the heat out— and Mom stared out with a hand over her mouth. Tears spilled out of her eyes. “Alice?”
“Hi, Mom.” Her whisper sounded just as grainy. She couldn’t have called; she couldn’t have guaranteed until right this second that she’d actually show up for this. “I, uh, I was in the neighborhood?”
Mom stepped forward and practically fell on top of her, binding her arms around Alice so tight she couldn’t even get her own arms up for a hug. Hot breath puffed against her neck, down into the collar of her coat. Mom sobbed silently, shaking but noiseless; she’d gotten real good at that.
Alice stood still as a statue, caught on the threshold. Her body had no idea what to do with this, and her brain wasn’t much better. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Mom.”
She bit her tongue on We’ll figure it out . Mom’s hair had gone grayer, peeking out at the roots, but otherwise not much had changed in the last decade.
“Oh, come in, honey.” Backing up, Mom tugged her forward. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes with a finger underneath each. “I wasn’t expecting you. Sit, sit.” She pushed Alice toward the table and snagged a tissue, blowing her nose and hitting the trash under the sink. “How long can you stay? Do you want coffee? A snack?”
Cupboards opened and shut, Mom keeping busy, setting out mugs before Alice had even answered.
“Nothing, thanks. I can stay a little while. It’s—I’m—” She shoved her hood down and unzipped the coat despite the shivers quaking under her skin. “There’s a work thing in Sioux Falls. I thought it would be nice to see you.”
Nice was an exaggeration, but Mom smiled and stopped hustling around and loading the counter with boxes of snack cakes. “It’s good to see you too, honey. Let’s keep things down; your dad’s sleeping, and I hate to wake him. It’s the only peace he gets from the pain.”
A nauseating mix of relief and apprehension gurgled in her throat. Dad being asleep meant no confrontation, but it also meant tiptoeing around like any noise could wake him. A stray phone call or a rattling truck outside could ruin an afternoon in seconds. Every period of calm was temporary. Uneasiness was just the default setting.
“What about a sweater?” Mom rubbed Alice’s back as she passed, sliding out a chair with cushioned pads at the ends of the legs so it made no noise across the linoleum. “You girls must have some in your bedroom. I haven’t changed a thing in there; your sister visits sometimes.”
Her gut braced for battle. Just a statement, not a dig. Just a statement—
“Not so much now, she’s so busy learning to be a doctor. I never would’ve thought—well.” Mom perched on the edge of a chair and patted the table. “But sit, sit. Do you two talk much? You were so close as girls.”
Close because they’d been clinging to each other for survival. The best they could hope for was not being noticed, not earning a lecture about how they just needed to understand, or be kind, or stop being selfish, or step up and pull their weight—Alice slung her coat over the chair and sat. “We keep in touch. Thank you for sending her the photos for my birthday.”
Telling Mom she talked to Ollie almost weekly would feel like twisting the knife. Counting their text chain, she spoke with Ollie a good hundred times for every one time she called and wished Mom a merry Christmas or a happy birthday. Even more often lately, keeping Ollie and Nat updated about Henry’s mom.
“Oh, did you like them? Did they get there in time? I had so much fun looking for just the right shots.” Leaning back, Mom glanced into the dining room. “I hope I sent some good ones.”
The old photo albums sat open on the table, heaped beside a miniature Christmas tree. The colorful lights glowed blue and green and pinkish-red, coiling around a handful of ornaments. The baby’s first Christmas globes, the wallet-size school pictures of Alice and Ollie, the Santa and Mrs. Claus they’d gotten as a tree topper the year Ollie had tried to place the star and it smashed on the floor instead.
“They were great, Mom. She and my—she and Jay, my—”
“It’s wonderful that you’re dating.” Mom clasped Alice’s hand in both of hers. Her eyes were watering again. She and Ollie had the same eyes, a lighter brown than Jay’s but equally soft and deep. “You missed out on so much of that in high school, looking after your sister. Jay must be special if you’ve introduced him to her.”
“He is, yeah. He’s—” Nope, not ready to go there yet. Her ring burned a hole through her dress jeans, the pristine ones she’d brought for wearing under coveralls on the factory floor. Felt like it was leaving a brand against her thigh right this second, a tiny circlet of liar, liar for denying her husbands. “He’s great. And you made great choices.”
Her brain was as broken as the manufacturer’s machinery had been until this morning. Maybe a hard reset would throw out a word other than great . She pointed vaguely through the arch into the dining room. “Two trees this year?”
“Oh, no, no big tree, not this year.” Mom’s smile faded into the brittle one she used to tell all the nosy Nellies at the grocery store that their family was doing just fine. “Too much of a hassle. Your dad says it takes up too much room, makes it hard to get around. So I just have the little one in there.”
The tightness in Alice’s cheeks meant her own smile had grown into the same stretched politeness. This was not the moment to shout about how people were allowed to take up room in their own home. How it was Mom’s house too, and if she wanted a big tree, she should stand up and fucking do it. “You must have a lot of ornaments left over.”
Mom’s shoulders relaxed. “I do, so many, my goodness. It’s a mess downstairs. I couldn’t stop myself once I got started going through the boxes.”
“We put up a tree, but it’s not personalized yet. Themed ornaments until we get some of our own.” And now she’d confirmed, if Mom didn’t already know from Ollie, that she was living with someone. She curled her hand and scratched furrows into her jeans.
Henry had called their decorations this year a starting point, something they would make their own in the years to come. The years to come part made her chest ache, a strange yearning for a thing she hadn’t known she’d wanted. The house mostly bowed to Henry’s aesthetic, but then he was the only one who’d really made a home before. She and Jay had cruised through on post-college thrift-store chic, never adding anything that couldn’t be abandoned. Henry had cultivated a gorgeous home. But she and Jay should be expanding their presence in it, not just in their special bedroom shrine.
“Could I see—”
“Oh, you should take them back with you!” Mom’s whisper crackled; her eyes sparkled. She tugged at Alice’s arm as she pushed her chair back. “Let’s go look.”
Downstairs would be farther from the threat of waking Dad. She got up from the kitchen table. “Just a few, though. They have to fit in my carry-on bag.”
“Don’t be such a worrier. C’mon, now.” Mom opened the door to the basement and flipped the light switch, leading the way down the stairs. “Oh, I’m so excited. Neither of you girls has started a home yet. These can be your first pieces.”
The Christmas totes filled the space between the rec room couch and the little TV. Alice sank into her end of the couch. The other was Ollie’s; they’d spent hours down here doing homework and arguing over the remote and trying to make the TV just loud enough to drown out the angry voices upstairs without attracting attention.
“Do you remember this one?” Mom passed her an ornament, and that started a story about Ollie and the infamous cinnamon gummy bear, and pretty soon they were both laughing so hard their sides protested.
Two familiar felted Advent calendars unrolled like ancient scrolls, soft beneath Alice’s fingers. Mom had sewed them special for her girls, the little pockets reused year after year for tiny treasures. Marking the days had made the wait bearable, turned Christmas into something they could see and count. Hopefully Henry’s activities were doing the same for Jay. He hadn’t said last night what the day’s adventure had been, and she’d forgotten to ask. Henry had done so much work to show them how much he cared. It wasn’t fair the way his plans had gotten spoiled.
The ornaments went back and forth, from hand to hand, and Alice amassed a small collection of keepsakes. The little sled with its red runners and real rope for hanging matched the one she’d used as a kid. Mom and Dad—Santa, technically—had wrapped the ornament version for under the tree and sent her running out to the garage in footie pj’s to find the real thing with its shiny bow. The glossy dark bay horse with a white blaze had come from her aunt and uncle along with the promise of a summer on the ranch.
Digging in a tote, she gingerly lifted a handmade ornament. She didn’t remember making it, or being in the photo, but she’d hung it on the tree every year without fail. Popsicle sticks formed a backing and a frame, and red construction paper with gobs of dried glue showing through the silver glitter and white cotton balls formed the background. But at the center rested a photo of Alice and Ollie—Ollie’s first Christmas, the two of them in front of the tree. Three-year-old Alice sat so carefully, her big eyes looking straight at the camera, her baby sister cradled in her arms. Underneath, in her fat-marker preschool scrawl, she’d written Big Sister .
She added that one to the favorites pile. Mom came up with a little shoebox for her to carry them in. If they didn’t fit in her bag, she could always jettison a sweater or two.
“Ughhh.” Mom scraped the bottom of a plastic tote and stretched on her way up, resting a hand against her back. “Oh my goodness, it’s after four. I’ll have to get ready for work soon. Late shift tonight. Don’t get old, honey.”
“I’ll do my best.” The rec room was even more of a disaster area than when they’d started. But she’d smiled with her mom more than she could remember since sixth grade. Scooching over, pushing the unchosen ornaments aside, she reached for a hug. “This was fun. Thanks for going through these with me.”
This time her body recalled how hugs worked. She cozied into Mom’s embrace and squeezed gently, in case Mom really had tweaked her back from bending over the totes. She was bigger than Mom, had been probably since she was fourteen. Nothing could reset the clock to before Dad’s accident and make her feel like Mom’s little girl again. But she could try being friends.
I’m glad I didn’t drive past without stopping seemed like the wrong thing to say. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, Allie.” Kisses dotted her cheek, with a big smacking kiss on her temple the last. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
“Lori!”
Where’s Ollie? She clutched Mom, her fingers digging in without asking her. Christ, Ollie was safe, halfway across the country, a grownup, and so was she. She should’ve left sooner. But she’d finally connected with Mom, adult to adult. Shit, shit, shit .
“Lori!” Dad bellowed from the top of the stairs, a shadow moving in the light. “Are you down there dragging up more junk? Whose coat is this in the kitchen?”
Hands shaking, Mom pushed back and tucked Alice’s hair behind her ears, both sides. “I’m sorry, honey,” she whispered. “I should’ve kept a better eye on the time.”
“You shouldn’t have to be sorry.” The magma splashed, fiery and flowing into her bloodstream. Alice folded the box of ornaments under her arm and headed for the stairs. “It’s my coat, Dad. Alice. I came home.”