by Ada Winder
“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 t
o 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.”
Heather looked around and Alice could see embarrassment on her face although she wasn’t sure if it was because she had berated her in front of the workers left or because she actually felt guilt over what Alice was saying. Alice doubted it was the latter.
Heather looked away briefly.
“Alice, I’m sorry you feel this way—I’ve always felt that we were friends…”
“No friend of George’s is a friend of mine.”
Alice could not keep the steel out of her voice.
Heather shook her head, confused.
“Alice, I don’t understand what you mean—I knew George, but you and I, we had always been friends. What are you talking about?”
Alice simply repeated the last thing she said.
“No friend of George’s is a friend of mine.”
Heather shook her head, looking utterly baffled.
“Alice, that’s just ridiculous. How old are we? I don’t know what I did to you, but as far as I recall, nothing that could possibly make you so mad at me even after all this time!”
Alice just stared at her.
Heather let out an exasperated breath.
“Look, it’s fine if you don’t ever want to talk to or see me again. And you know what? You’re right. Perhaps I didn’t do enough to maintain our friendship. But what about you? How long are you going to push people away from you? How long do you plan to keep playing the victim? Start taking action yourself? Don’t you see how unreasonable you’re being?”
Heather let out another breath as Alice remained silent.
“I’m really sorry it had to be this way, Alice. Perhaps I was a little selfish in coming here, feeling a connection with you once again since my own husband died just a year ago. Yes, I’ve been a bit lonely and I thought maybe we could be friends again. No matter what you think, you did always cross my mind and I thought we could bridge the past but clearly I was wrong. You haven’t changed, Alice. And I don’t mean that as a compliment.”
Alice just looked at her.
Heather shook her head.
“Withdrawing isn’t always the best course of action, Alice. I hope you learn that someday.”
A tear fell from her eye as she turned to leave.
Alice watched her go.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Summer 1975
Bloomington, Illinois
Alice had trouble making female friends even after college. She found that if they weren’t outright incompatible and she liked them enough to want to be friends with them, she was unable to escalate their relationship beyond a casual acquaintance. It wasn’t that George had forbidden her female friends as well, it was that she didn’t want to be friends with them anymore once they had become acquainted with him; he seemed to charm everyone over to his side. Besides, most women she ran into who were also married seemed content with their circumstances, and that was enough of a difference to discourage her.
Nonetheless, she kept trying.
Miriam was great company, but Miriam was George’s sister, so she tried to make friends with the neighbors, the wives of the neighborhood. They at least would start out with a few things in common. Surely they could talk about things married women talked about. Surely there was one among them who felt the way Alice did.
It was her gardens that got most of the attention for Alice. Although most women in the neighborhood tended gardens themselves, they seemed to be fascinated by Alice’s, her dedication to it, some of the plants she grew.
The conversations were easy at first, casual. About fertilizers, recipes. Then she found herself smiling more, seeing in them what she was—a middle-class wife trying to make the most of her days, her time. She became part of a group that didn’t regularly meet on a certain day every week: they ran into each other in markets, out in the yard, carrying out the wifely and motherly duties that bonded them all. Talked about the little things that made their days.
Then one day, after weeks of building a relationship with them, Alice got an invitation from Helen from a few doors down who had invited some of the wives from their street to lunch.
Alice was delighted, and having left the children to Miriam, headed over to bond further with the women, looking forward to winning people over to her side at last.
Helen greeted her with a beautiful wide smile, her lovely printed dress covered by an apron, her shoulder-length honey-blond hair tucked behind her ears, her brown eyes sparkling.
“Welcome!” she said as she ushered Alice into the receiving room.
Alice saw three other women present, sitting around a table laid out with treats and finger food.
Alice said her greetings, sat down, and prepared to join the conversation.
They chatted and nibbled at the food for a while, talking about their children, husbands, gardens, women’s clubs, when finally Helen mentioned her plans to redecorate her home. The other ladies jumped in, talking about things they planned to change, move around, add.
Alice couldn’t believe how happy they sounded about these small tasks. About everything.
Alice made the mistake of chuckling softly to herself when Joanna mentioned a wonderful painting she had seen and wanted for her living room.
Joanna turned to her, her black, wavy hair swinging.
The other women noticed there was a shift and quieted, turning to look at Alice as well.
Alice could no longer hold back.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” she said. She had smiled as she said the words, but only to deflect attention away from how much she meant them. She had been faintly listening to the insignificant chit-chat while watching Helen shuffle around, getting tea, snacks, water—whatever her guests wanted; the perfect hostess.
“What do you mean, Alice?” Joanna asked, her green eyes searching Alice’s.
Alice wasn’t sure if it was the pressure of her unexpressed feelings, or the way the other women’s eyes lit up—as if anxiously waiting for her to continue as she said the words she was glad she couldn’t take back—that made her blurt out the rest.
“I’m just not happy with this wife thing, this mother thing. It’s not…it’s just not fulfilling for me. I know it’s supposed to be but it’s not. I mean, I don’t exactly know what it is I do want—you know, what will make me happy—but I do know that this…” she looked pointedly around Helen’s immaculately clean receiving room, “isn’t it.”
Alice kicked her pitch up a notch, and faking a lighter, more soothing tone said: “Here you go, dear. How was your day, sweetie? What would you like for dinner, hon? Shall I rub your feet now or later?” Alice went back to her normal tone. “It sickens me really. I think I’ve made a mistake.”
Alice realized she had really erred when she saw the looks on the other women’s faces change. It was as if they looked at each other without real
ly doing so. The light she had initially seen and mistaken for openness and caring had faded to something else—something just as alive, but more muted and unreadable. The light went from the front to the back of their eyes and had a gloating quality about it. A satisfied edge.
“But Alice,” Megan began, putting down her teacup, “surely this is just part of the transition. I mean, you guys have only been married for…what is it again?”
“Three years.”
“Three years. You’re still adjusting I bet. That’s all. Especially with those two babies you’ve got at home…no wonder you’re stressed!” The other women joined in the light, phony laughter. “I had mine three years apart so I had a little more time to adjust.”
The other women nodded, agreeing that they too, had done something differently and were therefore not as harassed as Alice but at the same time, they understood her position.
“Yes, the first few years are usually the most difficult,” Susan agreed. “I had my own doubts at times but I always came back to the realization that with Dan is where I’m supposed to be. That we are to brave this life together him and I; I’m supposed to take care of him.”
“But don’t you ever get bored?” Alice couldn’t help asking.
“Heavens, there’s so much to do! Alice, really, what more could you want? There’s the house to keep, the children to groom and raise, the husband to look after—he’s the one working his butt off for the household, he deserves all the love and support you can give him. I mean, how could you not be busy with all the ironing, sewing, cooking…”
“But that’s not what I mean. Look, I’m just saying my brain gets bored. Don’t you ever feel like…”
“Alice, I don’t know anyone who’s one hundred percent excited every second of their lives. I mean, what do you want to do—walk on the moon?”