Including Alice

  On the bus going home that afternoon, I squeezed in between Pamela and Elizabeth.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Elizabeth said to Pamela as I felt a tear roll down my cheek.

  “Pre-wedding jitters,” said Pamela. “If she’s like this as a bridesmaid, can you imagine what she’ll be like as a bride? The other day she was worried that Sylvia was the kind of woman who discards a man like Kleenex.” They both looked at me pityingly. “So what is it now?”

  “What if … what if my dad’s a home-wrecker?” I said in a barely audible voice.

  “A what?”

  “What if he’s only attracted to women who are loved by another man?” I sounded so much like Elizabeth, I was embarrassed to be saying it in front of her.

  But it was Elizabeth, surprisingly, who said the wisest words of the afternoon: “If your dad was a home-wrecker, Alice, he’s had ten years since your mom died to wreck a couple of marriages and then some. Instead, he’s been waiting all this time for just the right woman to come along, and now she’s here.”

  I laid my head on Elizabeth’s shoulder. Not even Aunt Sally could have said it better.

  That evening Martin Small, one of the instructors at the Melody Inn, came over with another of the musicians who were going to play at the wedding—the cellist. The violinist was late, and Dad said he’d play that part until she came. I said hi and went up to my room to work on my embroidery while they practiced.

  I never like to be in the same room with musicians. I’d rather listen to them than watch, because I focus on their faces instead of the music. Some musicians rock back and forth when they play, and some wrinkle up their foreheads. When I was small, I remember Dad taking me to a concert. The piano player leaned so far back, I thought he was going to fall off the piano bench, and I laughed out loud. So I usually go up to my room when there’s a music session going on.

  But this time, as my needle went in and out of the percale, I listened hard. I imagined the ensemble up front at the church, playing as the guests came in and were seated. Dad had already talked about liking the third movement of the trio best, so I knew there would be three movements with pauses between them. When the third one began, it would be my cue that the wedding march was only minutes away.

  The first movement reminded me of the way Dad was when Sylvia fell in love with him: happy. Perfect, I thought. Happy music for a happy day. But when the second movement began, slower and somber, I felt that panicky feeling again. I remembered Dad’s face when he found out that Jim Sorringer had flown to England to surprise Sylvia at Christmas. I remembered the way he had puttered aimlessly around the house last summer when Nancy got sick and the wedding had to be postponed.

  This is the way it will always be, I reminded myself. The way life will always be—happy and sad and scary and exciting and never knowing what will happen next. And, as if to prove it, when the third movement began, there was the excitement, the happiness again, with just a few sad notes mixed in.

  They hadn’t quite reached the end when the doorbell rang and the violinist arrived. When the musicians played the piece for the second time, I was ready for it—the sad parts, too. I knew they would be over soon and the music would be joyful again. And so would I.

  4

  The Jitters

  What I wanted, this week of the wedding, was for time to stand still so I could concentrate on what had to be done. But teachers went right on giving assignments as though the most wonderful wedding in the world weren’t taking place on Saturday. And it wasn’t just the teachers. I’m the sophomore roving reporter for our school newspaper, The Edge, and I even got an assignment from our new editor, a tall dark-haired senior named Jayne Renaldi.

  “You know that class Mrs. Frazier is teaching this year, Practical Living?” she said at the staff meeting. “Things all seniors should know before they graduate?”

  “You mean the one where you learn to balance a checkbook and change a lightbulb?” someone asked, and we laughed.

  “That’s the one. I thought it might be fun if we surveyed a sample of students ourselves and asked them what practical thing they would like to learn before they graduate. Make our own list and publish it in the paper.”

  We thought it was a pretty good idea.

  “When’s the deadline?” someone asked.

  “Make it October twentieth, next Monday,” said Jayne.

  Oh, wow! I thought. Two days after the wedding. Why does everything have to pile up at once? Life’s rough, Lester would say if I complained to him.

  But in addition to my schoolwork, this wasn’t just the last week to finish embroidering a present; it was also the week the relatives would arrive. Dad was half crazy with stuff he had to do. He only went to the Melody Inn a few hours each day. I decided I’d better call Sylvia and see if there was anything I could do for her, because she didn’t have a nearby family member to help out at all.

  I waited until I figured she’d be home from school on Wednesday, then dialed her number. The phone rang five times before she answered, and she sounded rushed.

  “I just wondered if there was anything I could do to help,” I said. “Dad’s going a little bit nuts here with all he has to do, so I was worrying about you.”

  She laughed. “Oh, you’re sweet, but actually, I was just heading out the door when you called. My girlfriends are giving me a ‘Girls Night Out’ party, so I’ve got to run.”

  “Oh!” I said in surprise. Then, “Oh!” again. “Well, have fun!” I said, and hung up.

  I didn’t take my hand off the phone. Was this what I thought it was? A bachelorette party? I lifted the phone again and called Lester. Miraculously, he was home.

  “I just want to know, Les. Are you giving Dad a bachelor party?” I asked.

  “Are you crazy?” he answered. “As though we don’t have enough to do?”

  The phone hadn’t been put down again five seconds when it rang. It was Elizabeth. “Pamela’s here, and we’re trying to decide what to wear to the wedding,” she said. “Want to come over?”

  I did. They had five outfits draped across one of Elizabeth’s twin beds, and were trying out different jackets and jewelry to see which went with what. I sat down in a chair in the corner and gave a thumbs-up or thumbs-down to each new combination they showed me. Elizabeth decided on a blue dress with an ivory chemise, while Pamela chose a black strappy dress that showed off her shoulders. This settled, we poured ourselves some Mountain Dew, and Elizabeth and Pamela sprawled on the other bed.

  “You know where Sylvia is right this minute?” I said.

  “Where?” they asked.

  “A bachelorette party.”

  Pamela gave a whistle. “Her last night to howl,” she said. “Love those Chippendales!”

  “She wouldn’t,” said Elizabeth. “She wouldn’t go watch nude men prancing around, would she, Alice?”

  “I’ll bet she even goes up and slips a twenty in a G-string.” Pamela giggled.

  Elizabeth kept her eyes on me, waiting. It was as though if I said yes, Sylvia would do something like that, then all of Western civilization would crumble.

  “I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “Maybe they’re just all at a ritzy bar somewhere, having a couple drinks and telling each other intimate secrets.”

  “That’s almost worse,” said Elizabeth.

  I propped my feet on the bed beside Elizabeth and Pamela. “How is that worse?”

  “Because if you’re talking about how far you went with a guy, it won’t belong to you and your boyfriend anymore. It’s out in the open, where anyone can grab hold of it.”

  Pamela and I exchanged glances.

  “Grab hold of what?” Pamela said. “You told us about Ross kissing your breasts at camp, and none of us grabbed hold of them.” We grinned. It is so easy to get Liz worked up.

  Elizabeth’s face flushed. “And I never should have told you, because now it’s not private anymore. I’ve wished a hundred times that I’d never told you guy
s that night, because that should belong to Ross and me and nobody else.”

  I leaned my head back in the chair. “Okay, I am going to hypnotize myself into forgetting that you ever told us,” I said, and slowly dangled my house key back and forth in front of my face.

  “Me too,” said Pamela, turning over on her back. She fished inside her bag, looking for something of hers to dangle, and finally pulled out a tampon. Pushing it out of its applicator, she held it by its string, and we struggled to keep from laughing. “What do we do now?” she asked me.

  Back and forth went the key in front of me. “I see a girl and a guy … walking through the woods … ,” I began, trancelike.

  “Holding hands … ,” said Pamela softly.

  “Now … they’re stopping … and gently … he … kisses her on the mouth … and they … move on,” I said.

  “But wait!” said Pamela, swinging the tampon above her face like a dead mouse. “They stumble! They fall!” The tampon began to swing faster. “He falls over her … on her! They’re moving up to the starting gate, and then … they’re off! Elizabeth on the inside, Ross on the outside, Ross moving up, Elizabeth against the rail …”

  “Oh, you guys!” Liz laughed.

  “Elizabeth in the lead! Ross gaining!” The tampon was going like crazy. “He’s on the sweatshirt! He’s under her sweatshirt! And it’s … Ross! Ross by a nose and a tongue. Ross wins the Triple Crown! Yahoo!”

  We were all laughing now, and Elizabeth’s little brother peeked in the room to see what was going on.

  “See? I’ve forgotten already, Elizabeth!” I said. “I know it had something to do with lips and leaves and sweatshirts, but I haven’t the foggiest idea what we were talking about.”

  “Well, I do! It’s about Ross kissing her naked breasts, and this is implanted in my brain forever!” said Pamela.

  “I’ll never tell you guys another thing!” Elizabeth said, playfully giving us each a kick.

  “Until Ross comes to visit,” Pamela said. “Then we’ll hear all about it. You know you’re going to tell!”

  I found out later from Dad what Sylvia did on Girls Night Out, and as soon as I got on the bus the next morning, I squeezed into a seat between Elizabeth and Pamela.

  “I got the whole story,” I whispered mysteriously, “but you have to promise you’ll never tell a living soul or it could be the end of their marriage.”

  Elizabeth sucked in her breath. “What?” she whispered.

  “Well, Sylvia and her girlfriends went to this private place …” I lowered my eyes. “And … one at a time … they each took off their clothes.”

  Pamela stared at me.

  “Everything?” Elizabeth asked. “Even their underpants?”

  “Everything!” I said. “And then … one at a time … they each lay down, and this man came in …”

  “And what?” Elizabeth gasped, her eyes huge.

  “And gave them a massage,” I finished, and burst out laughing.

  They laughed too, and Elizabeth looked decidedly relieved.

  “They gave Sylvia a private party at the Red Door Salon and Spa. They all got massages, facials, manicures, pedicures—the works. And then they all went out to dinner.”

  “I knew she wouldn’t do anything awful,” said Elizabeth. “I knew she’d be true to your dad.” But then she looked thoughtful. “Do you have to get naked to have a massage?”

  “Well, you’ve got a sheet over your privates,” said Pamela. “He only uncovers a little bit at a time.”

  “Does it have to be a he?”

  “Doesn’t have to,” I told her, “but it sure makes it a lot more exciting.” As though I knew anything about it!

  That evening—Thursday—I rode to the airport with Lester to pick up Aunt Sally, Uncle Milt, and their daughter, Carol. Dad had reserved two rooms for them at the Holiday Inn in Silver Spring, where we live. But the minute Les told them about his bachelor apartment, Carol said, “Oh, Les, let me stay with you!”

  I was sitting in the backseat between my aunt and uncle and heard Les say, “Sure! We’d love to have you!”

  I think Aunt Sally stopped breathing. Uncle Milt’s getting hard of hearing, so it went right over his head. He was looking out the window, watching a huge crane at a construction site, but Lester’s answer was like a huge crane itself, taking up all the space in the car.

  “Carol!” said her mother. “You can’t just invite yourself over to a man’s apartment like that! Where would you sleep?”

  “She can have my bed,” said Lester. “I’ll take the couch.” Then he added mischievously, “Unless she’d prefer to bunk with George or Paul.”

  Carol and I laughed, but Aunt Sally drew in a long breath. One of the problems of growing old, I think, is how much harder it must be to know when people are teasing. Did Aunt Sally really believe that Carol would walk into Lester’s apartment, look the guys over, and go, Eenie, meenie, minie, mo?

  I stole a look at Aunt Sally, the way her face had tensed up. Yep, I thought. She does.

  Lester says that Aunt Sally and our mom were very different, even though they were sisters. Aunt Sally’s hair is gray now, but it used to be strawberry blond like Mom’s. Only Mom wore hers loose about her face, while Aunt Sally keeps hers permed in tight little curls around her scalp. Her head always reminds me of a cabbage.

  She was four years older than Mom, always too grown-up for her age, I’ve heard, while Mom was the free spirit, sort of like Carol. Lester says if we’d been born to Aunt Sally, he probably would have grown up to be a bookkeeper and I’d be in a convent, and we’re not even Catholic. But how do we explain Carol? Pretty, vivacious, funny, and divorced. That’s Carol.

  “That’s settled, then!” Lester said brightly. “And we just saved you the price of a room. You’re going to love our place. We decided to knock out a whole wall between an old sitting room and a bedroom. Makes a great living room/kitchen combination with stove, sink, and fridge in a closet.”

  “Sounds terrific!” said Carol.

  But to Aunt Sally, I suppose, it sounded like trouble.

  Sylvia’s sister had come in that afternoon at Dulles Airport, and Lois—Sylvia’s college roommate—had driven up from North Carolina. The three of them were going to have a quiet dinner together at Sylvia’s to give Nancy a chance to rest. So Uncle Milt and Aunt Sally took Dad to dinner. I begged off in order to finish my homework assignments—I knew I wouldn’t have any time over the weekend. What I really needed to do was work on embroidering that sheet and pillowcase set. The rehearsal dinner was the following night, the wedding the day after that …

  I set to work on one of the flowers and managed to call a few kids while I was at it and ask what practical thing they would like to learn before they graduated.

  “Put on eyeliner,” said Jill.

  “Fake an ID,” said Brian.

  When I heard Dad come in, I hurriedly put all the thread away, along with the sheets, and managed to have my biology book out when he came upstairs.

  “Still at it?” he said, stopping by my room.

  “Yeah,” I told him. “How was dinner? Has Aunt Sally recovered from shock?”

  Dad just chuckled. “She’ll always be Sally,” he said. “I imagine I’ll even sound like her in a few years.”

  “Tell me something,” I said. “Why do adults assume that all you have to do is put a guy and girl alone together and immediately aliens take over their brains and the next thing you know they’re in bed?”

  “Because sometimes it happens, even without aliens,” Dad said.

  “Les is twenty-three now,” I said, “and Carol’s even older.”

  “I know,” said Dad.

  “Carol’s divorced and Lester’s had a few relationships. It’s not like they haven’t been around.”

  “I know,” said Dad.

  “So when is Aunt Sally going to stop worrying about her?”

  “Never.” Dad smiled. “She’s a mother, Al. It goes with the ter
ritory.”

  We got through the rehearsal on Friday without any major goofs. But Nancy decided she just didn’t feel well enough to stand on her feet during the whole ceremony, so I would be maid of honor. Lester was best man; Kirk—Sylvia’s brother—would walk her down the aisle; and Uncle Harold and Uncle Howard, Dad’s brothers from Tennessee, would serve as ushers. Except that they hadn’t arrived yet, so we had the rehearsal without them. Nancy sat in one of the pews and watched.

  “Hello, Alice,” she said when we met, and she smiled the same kind of warm smile that Sylvia did. Her eyes were gray, not blue, and she looked a bit puffy around the face, but I think I could have guessed she was Sylvia’s sister.

  “I’m glad you’re better,” I said.

  “So am I. And I know you’re going to be a fine maid of honor in my place,” she said.

  I was curious about Sylvia’s brother, though—about Kirk and his whole family, in fact. He was tall—taller than Dad—and his hair was gray around the temples. He had a square face with a wide forehead, and his wife looked a lot like him. It’s strange sometimes the way a husband and wife start looking like each other. They had a son, I’d heard, who was in the Marine Corps, but their nineteen-year-old daughter—Margaret—had come, and she and her mom sat in the pew with Nancy during the rehearsal.

  What was it about Kirk that was so different from Sylvia? I wondered. He and his wife and even Margaret seemed so uptight, as though things had to be done exactly right or it wouldn’t be a proper wedding. Just the way they sat, the way they smiled or didn’t smile. The formal-sounding way they talked.

  “How do you do, Alice?” Kirk had said to me after he’d been introduced to Dad. Then his wife asked, “How do you do?” and Margaret said, “How do you do?” and I wondered if I should just go down the row and answer, “Fine … fine … fine.” But he had flown out here for Sylvia, and I was determined to be nice to everybody, even Margaret when she took me aside without my asking and instructed me on how to walk down the aisle.