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Alice was a big proponent of the idea that you get what you get and don’t get upset. Henry pushed down that ugly, hollow feeling, but from that day forward, he was always aware of it.
Henry didn’t know where Alice worked. They hadn’t been here long and the subject hadn’t come up. In other places, she’d had a number of jobs—once a waitress, then a grocery store clerk. Once she’d cared for an elderly woman named Faith. Alice had worked at a bookstore, a clothing store. But where now? Another question without an answer.
At school, there were career days where parents came in to talk about their important jobs—doctor, lawyer, fireman. Some parents came to show skills—like cooking, painting, or crochet. Others came in to talk about their religion. His mom never did things like that. But they always had what they needed, a place to live, food, clothes, video games, books. She never talked about money. He never thought about it.
That he knew too little about his mother, about where she could be, about who she came from, dawned on him for the first time. She, too, must have had a mother and a father. They were dead. That’s all he knew about them.They were rotten, the both of them. Good riddance.
The sky was almost fully dark when he left the apartment again, key in one pocket, the twenty from his birthday card in the other. He walked back to school. The world seemed changed, store signs glowing, road busy with cars, a blur of red and white lights. But when he got to the school it was dark, deserted. Even the field lights were out, no games being played that night. The school was a hulking black shadow in the near dark; above, cumulous clouds towered, big as mountains. The air was sticky and hot.
He knew the way to Piper’s from school. She’d invited him one afternoon and her mom had made them gooey grilled cheese sandwiches. They’d had a swim in her pool. Her family kept horses on their expansive property. She’d taken him to the small barn down a path from her house. He remembered the smell of manure which somehow wasn’t that unpleasant; he loved the way the mare had nuzzled him.
At her house, he rang the bell and Piper’s mom came to the door. She was full-bodied and smiley, nails done and face flushed.
“Oh,” she said. “Henry! Are you here to help Piper with her homework?”
He shook his head, wasn’t sure what to say and didn’t trust his voice anyway.
Her face darkened with concern and she opened the door wider. “Honey, what’s wrong? Come on in.”
Later, when the police came, they asked all the questions that he couldn’t answer. Where did she work? Was there other family? A boyfriend, friends? Where had they lived before? He could tell by the way they looked at him that he should know these things. That it was weird that he didn’t.
The police took him back to the apartment; he rode in the back of the squad car and under other circumstances that might have been cool. But he felt rigid and brittle, like he might shatter into pieces. Piper’s mom followed behind them in her own car.
But when they got there, Alice still wasn’t home. Henry let the two policemen in, they walked around, footfalls heavy, radios chattering, looking in closets and behind shower curtains.
Piper’s mom stood with him, a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ll stay with us tonight, Henry. Get your things and we’ll leave a note for your mom. I’m sure she’ll call when she gets in. Must be a good explanation.”
The two officers exchanged a look. While Henry gathered his things, he heard them talking to Piper’s mom.If she doesn’t come back by tomorrow, call this number.
More than anything he remembered that the air was heavy with things the grown-ups didn’t want to say in front of him. That heaviness settled on his shoulders; he carried it out when Piper’s mom took him back to their safe, pretty house where bad things didn’t happen, and photographs everywhere showed smiling faces.
When a detective came to Piper’s house that night, Henry was roused from sleep in the guest room bed.
“Honey,” said Piper’s mom. The hallway light shined in bright through the open door. Her hand was warm and gentle on his arm. For a second, he thought she was Alice.
“Mom?”
“No, honey,” she said softly. “Come on downstairs.”
Her voice quavered, and her usually smiling face was grim. He followed her down the hallway lined with all those family pictures, a stone in his gut.
He felt small and shaky in the room of adults. The detective was older with salt-and-pepper hair, deep wrinkles. He had a hard set to his jaw, a deep furrow in his brow, wore a look of dread underlaid with a layer of compassion.
“I’m afraid I have hard news.”
Later, when Henry was asked to identify Alice’s body, he imagined that on her still, gray face he saw the same expression.
12
Hannah
June 2018
Mako sat at the head of the table, of course, with Hannah and Bruce to his right, Cricket and Joshua to his left. The king and his subjects, the table laden with baskets of bread, a meat and cheese board, bottles of wine—Mako and Liza’s favorite Caymus Cabernet, Cricket’s favorite Cakebread Chardonnay—the silverware gleaming, water glasses shimmering. Candlelight. Jazz from speakers.
Liza sat at the opposite end of the table, dressed in a simple black shift, her hair loose and shining. She chatted easily with Joshua. She’d rallied as promised, but she still looked unwell—a little gray around the eyes, her usual high color dulled. But she seemed to be holding up.
