botanist?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“I’ve always meant to get out there, but Brooklyn seems so far away.”
“It is. I’m considering moving out there because of the subway ride.”
Alice wondered how she could hang up gracefully. It was nearly four-thirty and, though she didn’t have to work in three hours, she grew suddenly afraid of the day ahead. Henry said, “I’ll take you out there sometime, on my day off.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“I love it there.”
“I can’t say the same about the library, I’m afraid.”
“Are you tired yet?”
“I am, as a matter of fact.”
“Good night, then.” In the window he waved and, perhaps,blew a kiss. Then he turned away, the phone disconnected, and in a moment the light had gone off. Alice smiled, as if she had gotten away with something secret.
A T THE two o’clock funeral, Alice mostly watched the photographers jostling for position. One or two of them, including the woman who Alice liked to think was from
Rolling Stone
, recognized Susan and, noticing Alice beside her, blatantly studied Alice’s face, as if to memorize it for future reference. But maybe they were merely curious. There hadn’t, after all, been as much attention to the story as Craig might have wanted. Rya sat between Alice and Noah. As the church, Mount St. Ursula’s (chosen by the funeral home because it was nearby), filled with sightseers, Rya said, “I want to tell you that Noah and I went to see
Ain’t Misbehavin’
last night.”
“How was it?” Alice could not help noticing Rya’s shoes, which had pointed toes, four-inch heels, and were made of black satin, although, on the other hand, she had dug up one of the most subdued black suits Alice had ever seen to wear with them.
“Do you think it’s terrible that we went?”
“Why should it be? You got the tickets ages ago.”
“It seemed terrible.”
“Don’t worry about it. Was it good?”
“Wonderful. There was even a song in it just for Noah. It was about a five-foot reefer.”
Alice chuckled shortly. The priest, perhaps (Alice read the names over the confessionals) Father O’Brien, perhaps Father Angelini, perhaps Father Becker, bustled in with his purple robes trimmed in black and his two little boys. Alice was surprised at how nervous they made her, at how well the Lutheran prejudices of her grandparents had taken hold. Instead of watching them, instead of kneeling and sitting and standing up with the faithful, she perched on the forward edge of her seat, in a compromise between kneeling and sitting, and gazed around. One photographer, a lanky,pale, and soberly dressed kid, hardly in the employ of any newspaper or magazine, glided around the church, flashing his bulbs at the priest, the little boys, the (closed) coffins, the audience, the stained glass, the crucifix. Next to Alice, Susan glanced at him, too. Susan was “bearing up.” The church was “lovely.” It was hard not to think in funeral lingo. Alice thought of the priest suggesting a “guitar Mass” and suppressed another harsh chuckle. She reminded herself that he hadn’t had to agree to memorialize two non-parishioners at all. She thought of the twenty dollars folded in her pocket that she was to slip him after the service. She thought of everything the undertaker had done for them and the money it would cost. In a shaft of yellow light from the stained glass, Susan’s copper hair blazed up. Rya squirmed. The young photographer glided down the side aisle into something, the apse, maybe, and took an oblique shot that included St. Ursula, the crucifix, and the purple-draped coffins bathed in colored light. Noah, Ray, and some other men Alice barely recognized stood up and went forward. Susan fetched up a sigh so deep that Alice could feel the air vibrate.
D INNER , because everyone sensed it would be the last official communal meal, was taken in a French restaurant. Susan ordered extravagantly. Alice got the distinct impression that Susan
“Yes, indeed.”
“I’ve always meant to get out there, but Brooklyn seems so far away.”
“It is. I’m considering moving out there because of the subway ride.”
Alice wondered how she could hang up gracefully. It was nearly four-thirty and, though she didn’t have to work in three hours, she grew suddenly afraid of the day ahead. Henry said, “I’ll take you out there sometime, on my day off.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“I love it there.”
“I can’t say the same about the library, I’m afraid.”
“Are you tired yet?”
“I am, as a matter of fact.”
“Good night, then.” In the window he waved and, perhaps,blew a kiss. Then he turned away, the phone disconnected, and in a moment the light had gone off. Alice smiled, as if she had gotten away with something secret.
A T THE two o’clock funeral, Alice mostly watched the photographers jostling for position. One or two of them, including the woman who Alice liked to think was from
Rolling Stone
, recognized Susan and, noticing Alice beside her, blatantly studied Alice’s face, as if to memorize it for future reference. But maybe they were merely curious. There hadn’t, after all, been as much attention to the story as Craig might have wanted. Rya sat between Alice and Noah. As the church, Mount St. Ursula’s (chosen by the funeral home because it was nearby), filled with sightseers, Rya said, “I want to tell you that Noah and I went to see
Ain’t Misbehavin’
last night.”
“How was it?” Alice could not help noticing Rya’s shoes, which had pointed toes, four-inch heels, and were made of black satin, although, on the other hand, she had dug up one of the most subdued black suits Alice had ever seen to wear with them.
“Do you think it’s terrible that we went?”
“Why should it be? You got the tickets ages ago.”
“It seemed terrible.”
“Don’t worry about it. Was it good?”
“Wonderful. There was even a song in it just for Noah. It was about a five-foot reefer.”
Alice chuckled shortly. The priest, perhaps (Alice read the names over the confessionals) Father O’Brien, perhaps Father Angelini, perhaps Father Becker, bustled in with his purple robes trimmed in black and his two little boys. Alice was surprised at how nervous they made her, at how well the Lutheran prejudices of her grandparents had taken hold. Instead of watching them, instead of kneeling and sitting and standing up with the faithful, she perched on the forward edge of her seat, in a compromise between kneeling and sitting, and gazed around. One photographer, a lanky,pale, and soberly dressed kid, hardly in the employ of any newspaper or magazine, glided around the church, flashing his bulbs at the priest, the little boys, the (closed) coffins, the audience, the stained glass, the crucifix. Next to Alice, Susan glanced at him, too. Susan was “bearing up.” The church was “lovely.” It was hard not to think in funeral lingo. Alice thought of the priest suggesting a “guitar Mass” and suppressed another harsh chuckle. She reminded herself that he hadn’t had to agree to memorialize two non-parishioners at all. She thought of the twenty dollars folded in her pocket that she was to slip him after the service. She thought of everything the undertaker had done for them and the money it would cost. In a shaft of yellow light from the stained glass, Susan’s copper hair blazed up. Rya squirmed. The young photographer glided down the side aisle into something, the apse, maybe, and took an oblique shot that included St. Ursula, the crucifix, and the purple-draped coffins bathed in colored light. Noah, Ray, and some other men Alice barely recognized stood up and went forward. Susan fetched up a sigh so deep that Alice could feel the air vibrate.
D INNER , because everyone sensed it would be the last official communal meal, was taken in a French restaurant. Susan ordered extravagantly. Alice got the distinct impression that Susan
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