Saving Alice Page 9

  I went to the front door, descended the coarse steps in my bare feet, and snatched the paper. Heading back, clutching the paper under my arm, I heard the putter of a car engine. Peeking around the corner of our house, I noticed the garage door raised a foot from the ground. Beneath it, a soft curl of smoke sputtered into the cold morning air.

  Stepping gingerly, I went to the side door and opened it. I pushed the opener mounted on the wall, and the door slipped down. I pushed it again and the door began to rise until fully open. Staring into Donna’s minivan, I made out the shadowy outlines of boxes and suitcases. My entire body went numb with the realization.

  I was still standing on the sidewalk, between the garage and the house, when Donna came out, carrying an armful of dresses. Her blond hair was tied back in a kerchief. When she saw me, she stopped in her tracks.

  Our eyes met, and I read the flicker of guilt behind her eyes. She seemed to steel herself before continuing past me into the garage.

  “You’re up early,” I said, at a loss for anything significant to say. “Can I help you with anything?”

  “No, Stephen,” she replied curtly, shoving the box on top of another and slamming the door shut.

  “Are you going somewhere…” I started. “Vacation or …”

  “A well-deserved vacation,” she answered. Her chest heaved slightly as she took a slow, deep breath.

  “Do you want to talk—”

  “No,” she said, walking past me. Her voice seemed stronger, as if she was gathering her courage. She poked a thumb toward the front. “There’s more…”

  She took a few indecisive steps, then whirled around. Her eyes flashed with anger. “I want a divorce, Stephen.”

  The first utterance of those words brought a deep chill to my bones. Even in the worst of our years together, she’d never used the D word, not even in anger.

  Heading back in, she gave me no time to reply. I followed her, my formerly cold feet now numb. Further discussion outside would be broadcast to the neighbors.

  Entering the house, I saw Donna turn the corner quickly, heading back to the bedroom. I stood just inside the doorway and waited for her to emerge. When she did, she was carrying a cardboard box.

  I stepped aside, hoping to appear reasonable. “Can we talk about this?”

  She bit her lip again, but shook her head. “No, Stephen. I’m done talking.”

  “Is this about your party?”

  Seemingly confused, Donna set the box down, and folded her arms over her blouse. Her voice contained an incredulous whisper. “Do you think I’d actually leave you just because you forgot my birthday?”

  “I’m really sorry, Donna.”

  Her face flushed red. “Are you really, Stephen?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, Stephen. I’m the one who’s sorry,” she said. “For you, ‘sorry’ is just a word, but for me it means something.”

  Her eyes were filling with tears, and her breath was coming in heaves. “I wasn’t going to do this…”

  I lowered my voice to a whisper, hoping she’d do the same. “We don’t have to, Donna. We can talk later if you want.”

  Ignoring me, she took a deep, heart-wrenching breath. When she blinked, the tears finally streaked down her face. “You know what I’m most sorry for?”

  I tried to breathe.

  “I’m sorry I ruined your life. I’m sorry I was such a poor replacement for the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  “Donna, that’s not—”

  “Please, Stephen.” She exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry I wasted so many years believing in us.” She said “us” as if it was a four-letter word.

  I stood there, waiting for her to finish.

  “And I’m sorry we wasted a decade, Stephen.”

  “We had Alycia,” I whispered lamely, and I was foolishly tempted to remind her of the good times, something our counselor had once advised us to keep in mind.

  Donna’s eyes darted to the basement door. Finally, she lowered her voice. “And look what we’ve done to her.”

  Dropping to her heels, she picked up the box and pushed out through the door, then propped it open with her leg, letting the box rest on her bended knee. She nodded toward the kitchen. “I’m leaving the papers on the table.”

  I glanced toward the kitchen and saw the documents. She must have put them there when I’d slipped outside to get the paper.

  “It’s pretty simple,” she said. “I don’t want the savings. But I get sole custody of Alycia.”

  I felt like she’d physically slapped me. How did we get to this so quickly?

  “Shouldn’t we consider … a temporary separation?”

  She shook her head. “What’s the point, Stephen?”

  “Then take the house, Donna. I’ll leave instead. You and Alycia belong—”

  “No,” she said, looking about the living room. “I can’t deal with the memories. This was more your house than mine. All I want is my daughter.”

  “But what about joint—”

  “Don’t even go there, Stephen.”

  “But—”

  “She needs stability.”

  The knot in my gut twisted further. The thought of losing Alycia completely struck terror to my heart. I’d always harbored the hope that Alycia and I would get back on an even keel, but if she didn’t live here, what were our chances? It was an irrational fear, but I wasn’t thinking clearly at this point. One minute Donna and I are married, the next minute we’re negotiating visiting rights.

  “It’s only for a while,” she continued. “Till Alycia can find her way … half a year, a year.”

  A year? “Just give me two hours a week.”

  “That’s two hours more than you’re doing now.” Her eyes blazed. “Stephen, please. You’re always at the office, and when you’re not, you’re with your friends. Don’t torture her. And don’t you dare get her hopes up again. If you care for her at all, you’ll leave her alone for a while. She’s more fragile than you think.”

  “Two hours,” I repeated weakly, but Donna had lifted the box and was already pushing through the screen door. Over her shoulder, she called back. “I have a few more things, and then we’ll be gone.”

  I heard the creak of a door, and Alycia appeared from the downstairs, still looking awkward and sheepish, and carrying a single backpack. Her hair remained damp, and she was wearing white slacks and a brown sweater, considerably more drab than her normal attire.

  “Can I help you, honey?”

  “I’ll get the rest later,” she said without meeting my gaze. She headed outside.

  Donna returned and handed me a piece of paper. “Here’s where we’ll be staying.”

  It was the address and phone number for Sally, her best friend, who lived in a tiny apartment two blocks from the library.

  “I need a moment with Alycia,” I said, faltering.

  Donna glared at me.

  “Please, Donna.”

  “No more promises, Stephen.”

  Without agreeing, I headed outside again, my pulse pounding. In the garage, I knocked on the passenger window. Alycia looked up at me through the window, then rolled it down. Her eyes were red, her face pale.

  “I’m really sorry, honey,” I said.

  “That’s okay, Dad.”

  “I want to pick you up this Friday night for dinner,” I said, crouching down. “We can go to one of those fancy places you like. We need to talk about this.”

  Alycia frowned. “You’re kidding. Friday night?”

  “Uh … okay … how ’bout Saturday? Saturday morning. Brunch.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m not waiting all day for you to show up.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “You won’t show…”

  “I promise, Alycia.”

  “Take an aspirin, Dad. It’ll pass.”

  “I promise.”

  “No, Dad. I promise you. I won’t be there. And I happen to keep my promises.”

/>   “Ten o’clock,” I said firmly, and my insides were shaking.

  Alycia’s eyes filled with tears. “Please, Dad. Just leave me alone.” And with that she rolled up her window. She turned forward, dismissing me, wiping her eyes. I stood there longer, staring at her, wishing for her to roll the window down again, but she refused to acknowledge me. I even reached up and touched the window, remembering a time when she would have matched my fingers with her own.

  I’m making a fool of myself, I realized. I kissed my finger and touched the window again, but Alycia only closed her eyes and leaned back.

  When I entered the house again, I suddenly realized how frantic I felt. I heard Donna rummaging around in the bedroom. I stared down at my trembling hands.

  I’ve finally lost everything—my wife, my little girl….

  I couldn’t let Donna see me like this. I headed straight downstairs, feeling dizzy, gripping the railing. When I reached my office, I closed the door and leaned against it, trying to compose my emotions. I noticed the clock. 7:31.

  Pushing off from the door, I sat on the couch, and lowered my head to my hands. I hadn’t truly prayed in years, but the words seemed to materialize out of thin air. Lord, don’t take them away from me. Please give me a second chance….

  My forehead felt hot, but the rest of my body shivered. The vibration of the terror, the panic, was beginning to fill every part of my body. I was puzzled by it. I took several deep breaths until slowly the emotional turmoil began to subside, and then suddenly the strangest sensation fell over me. The room began spinning, I felt suddenly exhausted, and everything went black.

  I “awakened” seconds later and shook my head quickly, marveling at the disturbing effects of stress. I rose to my feet, steadying myself. My insides still churned, but the overwhelming panic had left me.

  I peered at the clock again. 7:41. A question flickered across my mind, but I dismissed it. Taking one last deep breath, I twisted the knob on the door and headed back upstairs. Ducking my head at the last minute to avoid the low spot in the ceiling, I grabbed the doorknob to the kitchen, then hesitated before going through. Surely they were gone by now.

  When I walked into the kitchen and peeked around the corner, Donna was standing in the hallway looking at the pictures on the wall.

  “I thought you’d left,” I whispered.

  Donna sighed. “Poor Alycia’s still in the car waiting for me.”

  She was evidently calmer now. While Donna’s anger had always been quick to fire, it was just as quick to diminish. Arms again folded across her chest defensively, she appraised the photos as if she would never see them again. Her expression turned wistful. “My favorite isn’t even up here anymore.”

  Approaching the wall, I followed her gaze.

  “I took it down years ago,” Donna said, turning to me. “Remember?”

  I squinted at the wall, then remembered how, following an argument, Donna had removed a picture, but I couldn’t place it now.

  “You don’t, do you?” she said now.

  “No,” I admitted, wishing I could have said yes.

  Another sigh escaped her, and she shook her head mournfully. “It seems you’ve forgotten everything.”

  Turning from me, she appraised the entire wall again, like a final good-bye, then turned back with a piercing gaze. I simply stood there, waiting for her to speak.

  “It was all my fault, Stephen.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” I said.

  She nodded. “I knew in my heart why you were marrying me…”

  I shook my head to object, but she didn’t stop.

  “I ignored my head and followed my heart,” she said.

  “But it doesn’t matter how it started,” I said.

  She only smiled sadly. “We both tried to keep her memory alive.” She blew out another breath. “We even named our daughter after her, Stephen. What on earth were we thinking?”

  We heard a click from the front door. “Mom … are we going? I have to meet Denise at—”

  “Just a minute, honey,” Donna replied softly, and we traded glances, wondering if Alycia had heard the last comment. I tried to catch Alycia’s eye, but she was already on her way back to the car.

  I turned to Donna. She looked away and bit her lip as though trying not to cry.

  I reached for her but she pulled away.

  “Don’t go, Donna,” I whispered, but her face turned stony again.

  “I don’t blame you for leaving,” I added. “I’ve been …” I stopped, then started again. “I’ve been a terrible provider.” Donna blew out an incredulous breath. “Oh, Stephen…”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you? We’ve got a little savings. At least half is yours.”

  She shook her head and let out one long sigh, then slowly walked to the door.

  With her hand on the knob, she paused again, then turned to me. “I failed you, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “But I promised.”

  “It was an impossible promise,” I replied.

  Our eyes met, and she seemed to accept this. There was nothing left to say. After fourteen years, we’d exhausted our supply. And with that, Donna slipped out the door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I didn’t budge from the hallway wall for the longest time, as if lingering at the scene of an accident, gawking at the carnage. Donna’s words echoed in my mind: “My favorite isn’t up here anymore…. You’ve forgotten everything.”

  Most of the pictures were posed studio photography: a family portrait, taken two years ago when Turbo, our misshapen Labrador, was still alive. Grasping Turbo’s neck like an oversized fuzzy black lollipop, ten-year-old Alycia smiled enthusiastically for the camera. Donna’s pose was proud and motherly, and mine, formal and professional.

  Alycia’s brown hair was lighter, more curly, her freckles more prominent, and the glint in her eyes as yet undiminished. But when I looked closer, I saw the spark of something to come and felt another twinge of regret.

  Next to this was another taken of us at the Mall of America in Minneapolis during a weekend trip, an automatic digital photo of us on the roller coaster—Alycia with her hands in the air, Donna, grinning wide-eyed, and me, holding on for dear life.

  “I want a divorce” rang over and over in my head.

  The walls were closing in on me. I went to the kitchen, ignored the papers on the table, and grabbed my car keys. Closing the door, I locked up the house, then sat down on the concrete step for a moment, taking in the neighborhood. Except for the clouds of moisture from my lips, the air seemed frozen. Above me, the sun struggled through a restraining gray cloud.

  I idly wondered if any of our neighbors had observed Donna’s departure. Across the street, Mrs. Saabe, the sweet elderly widow, was wandering around her yard with a watering can, hydrating her collection of marigolds along the sidewalk, for their one last gasp before winter took full control. Apparently, she hadn’t figured anything out yet, because she gave me an enthusiastic wave before continuing her gardening, now leaning over and pulling a few bedraggled weeds.

  Regardless, I knew I soon would have a series of unpleasant questions to face: “How is Donna? I haven’t seen her around lately.” Then again, news travels fast in a small town. If they didn’t already know, they’d know by tonight.

  I took a drive, heading south to Eighth Street, then east to Roosevelt, winding my way to Sixth Avenue, which ultimately became Highway 12. Eventually the trees disappeared, revealing a broad horizon of mind-numbingly flat farmland, where all roads intersect at unimaginative right angles.

  Farther out of town, a gentle wind blew a dusty white sheet of snow across the icy highway, wispy and ghostlike, like the sands of time slithering before me. Little bristles of tan weeds jutted above the recent snowfall.

  A few miles later, I passed a half-frozen small pond on the left, where shivering mallards, taken by surprise with this early winter weather, bobbed their heads into the water, flappi
ng for balance.

  Before my cell phone signal could fade out, I called my mom and gave her the news. Although acutely disappointed, she didn’t seem surprised. Perhaps Donna had already briefed her.

  “Are you okay, Stephen?”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, recalling my mother’s fondness for Donna.

  “Is there any hope, Stephen?”

  I took a breath and considered Donna’s determination. “Yes,” I replied weakly. “There’s always hope.”

  “Good for you, Stephen.” She wondered where Donna would be staying and I told her. We talked a bit longer, and I voiced my concern for Alycia.

  “Kids are resilient,” she said. “But don’t give up on her. She’s a moody one.”

  I smiled at my mother’s interesting choice of words. When it was time to hang up, I told her I loved her. “I don’t think it’s hit you, Stephen,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I’m praying for you. I’m praying for all three of you.”

  I called Larry next.

  “Need some time off?” he asked, and I declined.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Need time to think,” I told him.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he replied, and I could read his mind. In his opinion, expressed in countless conversations over the years: thinking—or over thinking—was at the heart of my problem.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said and hung up.

  I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and vaguely remembered a time when Larry wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. He would have insisted on getting together to offer support.

  Driving into the snow-covered fields, beneath the cloud-trapped sun, surrounded by the harshness of winter air, vivid images came out of nowhere—things I hadn’t thought about in years—and most of the memories depressed me, not because our marriage had been all sad but because if this was the end, even the good memories would always contain an underlying tinge of hopelessness.

  Some memories were hopeless by definition, like the time when Donna’s parents stayed a week when Alycia was only seven. Donna’s mother had cornered me in the kitchen. “You’ve ruined my daughter,” she said urgently. “I don’t even recognize her.”

  At first, I was taken aback by the harshness of her word choice. Ruined her daughter? But instead of arguing, I stood there like a guilty man, unable to answer, which only fueled her flame of indignation. I tried to think of what I had done to hurt Donna. In the early years, we rarely fought, and I never berated her, but her mother was quick to fill in the blanks. “She’s not the same girl we raised.”