Mama Gets Hitched by Deborah Sharp Page A

processed her porch last night.
    The drapes were drawn in the front windows. The day had been hot, and Alice’s flowers wilted in their gaily colored pots. Mama’s gaze followed mine to her neighbor’s home.
    “Looks sad, doesn’t it?” she said. “What is it about a house after someone dies? You can almost imagine that somehow it feels the loss, too.”
    I wasn’t sure about that. But the house definitely looked empty. Alice’s car was likely still at the VFW. I hadn’t thought yesterday to look behind the hall to see if Ronnie’s truck was parked in the back near the kitchen. I’d have to ask C’ndee if she saw it when she rushed in late to meet us. Come to think of it, there were quite a few questions I wanted to ask C’ndee.
    Mama’s compact clicked shut, bringing my mind back to the present.
    “You ready, Mama?”
    When we got to Alice’s front door, I knocked softly at first. We could hear the TV blaring, even though the windows were closed and the air conditioning unit hummed next to the porch. When there was no answer, I knocked a little harder.
    “Nobody home,” a woman’s voice called from inside. “Go ’way.”
    Mama and I looked at each other.
    “Alice, honey, is that you?” Leaning forward, Mama yelled into the crack at the edge of the door. “I’m here with my middle daughter, Mace.”
    A couple of moments passed. Then the TV volume went down. “S’open. C’mon in, Ros’lee.”
    As soon as we stepped into the house’s dark maw, the smell of hard liquor hit me like a fist to the face. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sat on a high counter in a dim shaft of kitchen light. Alice slouched in a recliner in the living room, illuminated by the blue glow of an ancient rerun of Law & Order . The guy who played Mr. Big in Sex and the City was still a cocky young Detective Logan with the NYPD.
    Alice let out a snuffling sob.
    “Oh, honey!” Mama hurried to her side.
    “I’m all right, Ros’lee.”
    Mama hesitated just a second before she laid a hand on Alice’s shoulder. I had to credit her for not letting her face show the shock she surely felt at her neighbor’s appearance. Bits of brown-looking food and what smelled like bourbon made a trail of stains on Alice’s ratty pink robe. Her hair was limp and greasy. The bathrobe gaped open, revealing Alice wasn’t wearing anything but Alice underneath.
    “Mace, honey, why don’t you go see if you can rustle us up some coffee?”
    With Alice now staring blankly at the TV screen, Mama jerked her head twice toward the kitchen. I got the message.
    I might have been resentful that she sent me on an errand while she got down to the business of comforting Alice. But the truth is I’m awful at emotion. Mama and Marty are the ones with the gift. Maddie usually manages to give offense when she thinks she’s offering comfort. And I just clam up, as tongue-tied as a fifth-grade boy trying to talk to his first crush.
    Alice could definitely use some coffee, and I was happy to have something useful to do. Her coffeemaker was on the counter, and the paper filters in the cupboard overhead. As I hunted around the kitchen for cups and spoons, I heard Mama murmuring in the next room, urging Alice out of the chair.
    “Honey, you’ll feel so much better once we get you into a shower.”
    Soon, the coffee was brewing. Steps sounded from the living room. One set was light; the other heavy. I knew Mama was helping her into the bedroom, because I’d hear the two of them stumble slightly every so often. I probably should have assisted, but my face burned at the memory of that gaping robe. Seeing Alice emotionally naked was somehow even worse.
    Her bathroom must have been right behind the kitchen. I was relieved when I heard the water running through the wall.
    While I waited, I straightened up, trying to make myself useful. I washed a few dishes; tossed away a paper plate half-filled with brown, crusted-over franks and beans. Opening blinds and turning on