The Second Wave

by Jean Copeland

  Alice joined her brother-in-law, who was watching TV in the family room adjacent to the kitchen. He had on some Investigation Discovery program about murderous spouses.

  “You’re not getting any ideas, I hope,” she said as she plopped on the couch.

  Dave laughed. “Me? I’m learning what to watch out for from Mary Ellen.”

  “Don’t worry about my sister,” Alice said. “If she was going to kill you, she would’ve done it years ago.”

  “Quite true,” Dave said. “Lord knows I’ve given her plenty of reasons.”

  Mary Ellen shuffled in with a tray of coffee mugs. “So if you decide to move back here, Dave and I have plenty of room until you find a place of your own.”

  “I don’t know about that, Mare. It’s a big decision.” Alice sipped her coffee. “Maureen is up there.”

  “Her grave is up there, Alice. Her spirit goes wherever you go.”

  Alice glared at her sister. “I see you’re still attending those hokey crossing-over seminars.”

  “I took one class on reincarnation and soul travel three years ago, and you still won’t let me live it down. You should try not to be so analytical about everything.”

  “I’m an insurance actuary,” Alice said, arching an eyebrow. “We’re trained to be analytical.”

  Mary Ellen waved off her reply. “You’re retired, and your family is here in Connecticut.”

  “All my friends are up in Boston.”

  “You have friends here, too, namely me. And what about Leslie? She needs you now.”

  “We’re not close like we used to be. Besides, she has a very devoted family. Her ex-husband even comes to visit her.”

  “Now that’s dedication,” Dave said as he flipped through the channels.

  “It’s hard not to love Leslie.” Alice cringed, hoping they hadn’t interpreted that in the way she’d meant it.

  “Apparently,” he said.

  “You know you’d do the same thing for Mary Ellen if you guys called it quits.”

  “Only if his second wife, Sophia Vergara, allowed it,” Mary Ellen added and blew him a kiss.

  “Well, I wouldn’t blame Dave for obeying her,” Alice said.

  Dave raised his coffee mug in agreement.

  “Please think about it,” Mary Ellen said, still smiling at her husband. “I hate the idea of you alone in that big house.”

  Alice sipped her coffee, staring blankly at the television. The house had become too big. And empty. Living there alone, she found it almost impossible not to obsess about Maureen—so much of her style was in the decor of each room, so much of her heart everywhere else.

  “Promise me you’ll seriously consider it?” Mary Ellen said. “I’d love to have my big sister close by again.”

  Alice reached over and slapped her sister’s knee. “I promise.”

  *

  By nine thirty, Alice was exhausted. She’d dozed off on the couch earlier, despite the blaring volume of the television. She finally went upstairs, crawled into bed in Dave and Mary Ellen’s guest room, and put on her reading glasses. Was it too late to message Rebecca to check on Leslie? Was that too suspicious? Whatever. If she didn’t pick up her cell phone and send the message, sleep would evade her well into the wee hours. Within five minutes she received a reply from Rebecca.

  She’s doing good, vitals are strong. Dr is still confident she’s going to come out of it.

  Rebecca ended her message with little prayer hands and heart emojis, and Alice replied.

  Great news!!!! Mind if I come by tomorrow?

  Please do. Don’t even have to ask!!!

  Alice smiled at her phone and sent Rebecca back a heart emoji. She placed the phone on the nightstand, switched off the light, and lay with her hands folded across her chest. As she waited for sleep, she watched the room transition from complete darkness into twilight as the moon filtered in through the blinds. If Leslie did wake up tomorrow, what would she say to her? Would she be happy to see her or bitter over their estrangement? Her stomach twisted at the thought of watching Leslie open her welcoming eyes only to find them cold and vacant. How could she bear it if she asked her to leave?

  Why was she allowing those thoughts to contaminate her mind? Now she would never get to sleep. She flipped on her side into the fetal position and wandered back to Bill and Leslie’s Memorial Day picnic.

  May 1977

  Alice was delighted to be celebrating with Leslie and her family. Sitting in an Adirondack chair, her eyes shaded by a hat and sunglasses, she watched Leslie’s kids toss a Nerf football back and forth. They were striking renditions of their mother. Alice studied their sweaty faces and lean bodies, carefully matching angles of smiles, slopes of noses, and the hand-tic of Billy to the similar aspects of their mother.

  When Leslie came outside carrying a tray of hamburger patties for Bill to grill, Alice marveled at how nice her legs looked in shorts. She had always hated hers, so skinny and white.

  Alice stood up. “Leslie, let me help you with something.”

  “You’re a guest. Stay there and relax.”

  “You say that every time I come over. I’m starting to feel like a bad relation.”

  Leslie flashed that dimpled smile. “Don’t be a goof. Bill and I have this down to a science.”

  Although they weren’t even touching, for some reason, Alice flinched at her proximity to him. “I insist,” she said, suddenly restless. “I want to get out of the sun for a bit anyway.”

  Inside the house, Alice stood foolishly by the counter as Leslie scurried about packing a wicker tray full of mustard, ketchup, and relish. “Let me do something.”

  “Alice, I didn’t invite you here to put you to work.”

  “Helping you set the table is hardly slave labor.” She moved near Leslie, and the scent of her musky perfume mixed with the smell of skin on a hot day stirred something in her.

  Leslie stopped for a moment and regarded her with sincerity. “Alice, you’ve been such a help, such a friend to me at work these last eight months, that I could never repay the favor.”

  “Nor should you feel like you have to. It’s my job to properly train new hires. Plus you’re my friend. I want to see you do well.”

  “Well, how lucky am I?” Leslie resumed scurrying around the kitchen.

  “You have to stop acting like I saved you from a burning building,” Alice said coolly, but secretly, she adored the role of heroine rescuing the lady in distress.

  “I’m sorry for being so nerdy, but it’s felt really good having a job again.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t tell Bill or the kids, but I like having time away from my household duties.”

  Alice widened her eyes. “How do you live with yourself?”

  “You’re so fresh,” Leslie said with a chuckle. In her flurry of activity, she bumped into Alice’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Alice said softly.

  Leslie’s big eyes sparkled at Alice. “Here, since you’re so eager for a job, you can carry this out.” She thrust the tray of utensils into her belly.

  Alice faced her with a serious look. “Boy, it didn’t take you long to start ordering me around. I thought I was a guest.”

  Startled, Leslie reached for the tray. “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted—”

  “I’m teasing.” Alice held firm.

  “Oh, you,” Leslie yelped and lightly slapped her arm. “Just for that, you can stay and help me wash the dishes later.”

  She carried the condiments down the back steps to the picnic table, practically giddy at the thought of spending the night washing dishes side by side with Leslie.

  “Ah, I see she got you, too,” Bill joked from his post at the grill. He jerked his head toward the kids. “The only ones who ever get away with anything around here.”

  Something about his jovial voice and genuine eyes made Alice want to smash him in the forehead with his spatula.

  “It’s your job to cook it and
their job to eat it.” She winced at the sound of herself making small talk, never one for manufactured chitchat, but it was a necessary evil. For some reason, she felt so uncomfortable around him.

  “You bet it is,” he said. “They’re bottomless pits. Leslie’s paycheck goes mostly toward keeping the fridge stocked. Say, how about you? Burger? Dog? Both?”

  Leslie stuck her head out the door. “Alice, would you mind bringing out one more thing for me? Then we can all sit down and eat.”

  “A dog, Bill,” Alice said and flew up the stairs and into the kitchen. Leslie was all business at this point, but her intensity only made her more fascinating.

  “Okay, you can take the napkins and condiments, and I’ll bring out the pitcher of lemonade and glasses,” she said, mostly to herself.

  Alice watched Leslie whirl around the kitchen, fastidiously orchestrating every cookout detail with the exactness of a tornado. “Les, it was really nice of you to invite me.”

  “It was nice of you to join us. My brother and his family usually come for Memorial Day, but they’re away in Baltimore this weekend. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to spend it alone. You know you’re welcome here any holiday you don’t have plans.”

  “I’ve already spent Christmas, New Year’s, and Easter Sunday with your family. I’m sure Bill must be getting tired of having to feed stragglers every holiday.”

  “Nonsense. You’re not a straggler. You’re my friend.”

  Alice didn’t know if it was the end of the sliced onion on the counter or Leslie’s wholesome sincerity that brought a tear to her eye.

  “Besides, he’s had his share of bachelor friends over for holidays, too. In fact, one’s coming later, Frank. He’s an electrician working with him on the subdivision.”

  “Yeah?” Alice said, feigning interest.

  “Bill will kill me if he knows I told you, but we kind of thought you and Frank might hit it off.”

  A wave of dread hit her. “Oh, Leslie, another fix-up?”

  “No, no,” Leslie waved her hands for emphasis. “He didn’t have plans this weekend and neither did you. You’re both single, attractive people. There might be a spark. I hope you’re not upset with me.”

  “No, I’m not upset.” Alice fumbled for words as she processed her muddled thoughts and feelings. In the past, she would have been excited at the prospect of meeting an eligible man, but now, she had an unsettling feeling about it, almost as if she didn’t want Leslie to want her with someone else. “I just, well, if I had known this was a fix-up, I would’ve dolled myself up more.”

  “Don’t think of it like that. It’s a family barbecue. And you already look like an absolute doll.”

  Alice took off her sun hat and attempted to fluff her flattened hair. “My, but you are the diplomat. Don’t blame me if Frank takes one look at me and books out through the woods.”

  “If he does, it’ll be his loss.”

  “Mommy.” Little Rebecca burst in through the door. “Daddy said hurry up. The meat is gonna burn.”

  “Okay, honey, we’re coming.”

  Rebecca pulled on Alice’s arm. “Alice, sit next to me, not Billy.”

  Alice looked down at Rebecca with a smile. “Groovy,” she said dryly. “You can protect me from Frank.”

  Leslie rolled her eyes at Alice as they headed out with the rest of the picnic wares.

  *

  On Tuesday morning, Alice stirred from bed feeling out of sorts. She’d had a fitful night sleep reliving images from Sunday’s picnic. Leslie’s husband was a handsome, affable man. Why did he irk her? And then the dream about Leslie—being close to her, touching her face, brushing her cheek against hers. Surely that must be because they’d become such close friends. Things sometimes got all muddled up in dreams anyhow.

  Her disquietude vanished when she met Leslie in the lunchroom for ten-thirty coffee break. Her sunburned skin stretched into her broadest smile.

  “So, did you enjoy yourself Sunday?” Leslie asked.

  “I had a wonderful time,” Alice said. “You have such a charming family.”

  “I’ve been blessed with good kids. I’m not just saying that because they’re mine. For ten- and seven-year-olds, they’re no trouble at all. They actually listen to us. And they just idolize their father.”

  Alice suddenly felt so envious of those kids. How could they not possibly idolize a mother who so clearly adored them?

  “Have you heard from Frank?” Leslie said as she dunked a Lorna Doone cookie in her coffee.

  “No.” Alice began to fidget in her chair. “That’s okay. He’s not really my type anyway.”

  “That’s too bad. He’s so nice. And handsome.”

  “I don’t care for the ponytail.”

  “I think it’s kind of cute. He’s a musician, too, you know. A guitarist. He auditioned for the Eagles a few years ago before moving back to Connecticut.”

  Alice laced her fingers together and stretched, no longer inclined to fake interest.

  “I’ll ask Bill if he said anything about you at work today.”

  “That’s okay. Don’t bug him about it. Men don’t like getting in the middle of things like that.”

  “Bill doesn’t mind. It’s kind of fun playing matchmaker. You haven’t had a date the whole time I’ve known you, Alice. That’s tragic. You’re too smart and too pretty to be single.”

  Alice contemplated the innocence in Leslie’s eyes. “You know, Betty Friedan might say I’m too smart and too pretty to be attached. There’s something to be said for true independence.”

  Leslie tilted her head. “I thought you said feminists can have husbands and boyfriends.”

  “Of course we can. We just don’t need them to define us and validate our womanhood. Haven’t you read The Feminist Mystique?”

  Leslie shook her head.

  “Boy, you really have been stuck in the kitchen too long. I’ll bet you’ve never even burned one of your bras either.”

  Leslie protested. “I’ve had two kids. If I go around braless in public, these things will be headed in two separate directions.”

  Alice laughed as they headed back to the office. “Well, lucky for you, free-falling boobs aren’t a crochet-club requirement.”

  *

  After morning break, Alice was unable to focus on work for the rest of the day. With the headphones in her ears and her boss’s voice droning, she typed mindlessly, stealing glances at Leslie, feeling uneasy. What was happening? Was all Leslie’s talk about the tragedy of being single getting to her? Was she turning into one of those women Betty Friedan talked about who ended up on Valium? Or worse, doing time in the booby hatch? Ridiculous. She had nothing to be anxious about. She worked for a secure company, lived in a well-manicured Cape that Tony agreed to let her keep, and had her Friday-night crocheting klatch every other week and her friendship with Leslie. So what if she was still single?

  At ten past three, Alice timed her coffee break so she could walk with Leslie to the time clock to punch out for the day. As they were steeped in conversation about why Mr. Engle always waited till the last minute of the day to give Leslie “hot rush” letters, Alice followed Leslie to the ladies’ room. From the stall, Leslie had determined he was resentful of her leaving earlier than the rest of the staff each day.

  “No, I don’t think that’s it,” Alice said as the water ran over her clean hands. “Being vindictive requires forethought.”

  “Maybe he just forgets I leave early.”

  “That sounds more like Engle.”

  Leslie pointed at her face. “Alice, can you check my eye? I think I’ve had a lash stuck in there all afternoon.”

  Alice’s heart suddenly throbbed as she stood close enough to Leslie to pull at her eyelid and search for the errant lash. Leslie’s breath hit her chin as she patiently allowed Alice’s finger to poke at her eyeball. Even though she saw the tiny lash in the corner right away, Alice kept it there a second or three longer.

  “Thank you,” Leslie sa
id, rubbing her eye. “That feels so much better.”

  Alice remained close to Leslie, her gaze fixed on her.

  “What’s the matter? Is something still there?” Leslie leaned closer to the mirror over the sink and inspected her eyes.

  “No,” Alice said, stepping back from the awkward exchange. “It’s just a little bloodshot. It’ll clear up.”

  “Thanks. You always seem to be saving me from something.”

  “I wish I was the hero you make me out to be.”

  “You’re my hero.” Leslie gave her a playful nudge in her side.

  “Aww, shucks,” Alice said and nudged her back.

  They continued jostling each other.

  “Hey, you just pinched my fat,” Leslie said.

  “Are you high? There’s not an ounce of fat on you.”

  “I hide it well,” Leslie said, gasping for breath. “It’s stuffed inside my pantyhose.”

  Alice stopped suddenly when an unusual sensation thundered through her as Leslie pinched what she could grab of her sides.

  Seemingly unfazed, Leslie adjusted the waistband of her skirt. “Getting these off the second I get home is my favorite part of the day. I don’t care if ‘nothing beats a great pair of L’eggs’ when the elastic waistband is cutting me in half.”

  Alice laughed. “Why do you think feminists wear sandals and long skirts? Misogynists invented pantyhose and those pointy-toed heels.”

  “Who?”

  “Misogynists. I’ll let Cynthia and the ladies explain that theory to you on Friday.” Alice smiled, and suddenly, Friday couldn’t arrive fast enough.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning in Mary Ellen’s kitchen, Alice squinted as the sun bounced off a glass patio table and pierced the sliding doors. Perched on a stool at the breakfast island, she stared into her fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt, stirring slowly, as if a genie might swirl up any minute and grant her three wishes. The first two wishes were easy, but what about the third?

  Clarity. Yes, clarity would be her third wish.