looks at your eye from behind itself and you wonder what it is you’re seeing.
The bushes rustle and Maggie comes out, shakes herself off, then comes up to Alice and noses at her elbow. Alice raises her arm slightly and Maggie crawls onto her lap, settles down to grieve with us, her chin on her paws. Alice scratches behind her ears, looks at me and shrugs. “What can I say?” She smiles. “She’s a woman dog.”
I scratch Maggie under her chin. She closes her eyes halfway, raises her chin higher. “Doesn’t she look like Queen Elizabeth when she does that?” Alice asks.
“How come you couldn’t sleep?” I ask. “What were you thinking about?”
She stops smiling, sighs. “You really want to know?”
“Sure.”
“I haven’t told you ’cause … Well, you know. You’ve been busy. But I think Ed’s … involved.”
“Oh, Alice. Really?”
She shrugs.
“How do you know?”
“Oh, you know. Believe me. You know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing.”
I wait.
“It’ll go away. It’s happened before.”
“Wow,” I say stupidly. And then, “I had no idea.”
“Well. When you look like me …”
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I guess I mean that’s a stupid reason, if that’s the reason. And it’s not okay, Alice.”
“You don’t need to get angry on my account, Lainey.”
I’m confused, a little hurt.
“It’s an accommodation I make. It’s just that when a new one starts … Listen. He loves me. I know that. But sometimes a pretty face comes along and he can’t help himself. There are such things as open marriages, you know. We have an open marriage. Only we don’t talk about it.”
“So do you—?”
“No. I don’t.” She drains her cup, hands it back to me. “Come on, Lainey. I know what the deal is. I’m grateful to have what I do.”
“Alice, this doesn’t fit. I just don’t see you putting up with this.”
“You should lower your voice. You’ll wake everybody up.”
I look back at the house, then whisper, “I don’t want this to be true, Alice. I think you deserve better than this.”
She smiles. “Well.”
“I do!”
“Lainey. The world is very different from the way you wish it were. The way you seem to pretend it is.”
I suppose it is. Once I cut an article from the newspaper and kept it on the refrigerator for almost a year. Jay asked me why I saved it and I told him it was because the article was about an ice-cream truck man, a forty-seven-year-oldguy who drove around neighborhoods in the summer, playing pied-piper songs from his truck and selling ice cream to children who came running up to him in their pajamas; and that’s all it was about. There was no violent, surprise ending. That’s all it was about. I liked thinking about that man, taking a slow turn onto a wide neighborhood street. I made the sky a faint purple color, dusk. I gave the driver a nicely trimmed mustache, a T-shirt that smelled like detergent. I gave the children limp dollar bills that folded over in their hands. I had them line up crooked, so that each could see what the other got. I had parents watching from the doorways, the light behind them a deep yellow.
I swallow, hunch over into myself, embarrassed by my usual inability to be with the program.
“Guess what I saw today?” Alice says.
“What?” I ask miserably.
“I was at a stoplight and this guy pulls up to me, his radio’s playing really loud, and he’s seat-dancing, you know, and singing along.”
I straighten up. “I love that. I love when you see people doing that.”
“Oh, but this was even better than usual. The guy pulls down the rearview mirror and checks out his hair, spits on his fingers a little to get the sides pushed back right. And then he starts wiping off his teeth with his forearm!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he did! He was brushing his teeth with his arm!”
“Huh! Hot date, maybe.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She holds her own arm up, rubs it
The bushes rustle and Maggie comes out, shakes herself off, then comes up to Alice and noses at her elbow. Alice raises her arm slightly and Maggie crawls onto her lap, settles down to grieve with us, her chin on her paws. Alice scratches behind her ears, looks at me and shrugs. “What can I say?” She smiles. “She’s a woman dog.”
I scratch Maggie under her chin. She closes her eyes halfway, raises her chin higher. “Doesn’t she look like Queen Elizabeth when she does that?” Alice asks.
“How come you couldn’t sleep?” I ask. “What were you thinking about?”
She stops smiling, sighs. “You really want to know?”
“Sure.”
“I haven’t told you ’cause … Well, you know. You’ve been busy. But I think Ed’s … involved.”
“Oh, Alice. Really?”
She shrugs.
“How do you know?”
“Oh, you know. Believe me. You know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing.”
I wait.
“It’ll go away. It’s happened before.”
“Wow,” I say stupidly. And then, “I had no idea.”
“Well. When you look like me …”
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I guess I mean that’s a stupid reason, if that’s the reason. And it’s not okay, Alice.”
“You don’t need to get angry on my account, Lainey.”
I’m confused, a little hurt.
“It’s an accommodation I make. It’s just that when a new one starts … Listen. He loves me. I know that. But sometimes a pretty face comes along and he can’t help himself. There are such things as open marriages, you know. We have an open marriage. Only we don’t talk about it.”
“So do you—?”
“No. I don’t.” She drains her cup, hands it back to me. “Come on, Lainey. I know what the deal is. I’m grateful to have what I do.”
“Alice, this doesn’t fit. I just don’t see you putting up with this.”
“You should lower your voice. You’ll wake everybody up.”
I look back at the house, then whisper, “I don’t want this to be true, Alice. I think you deserve better than this.”
She smiles. “Well.”
“I do!”
“Lainey. The world is very different from the way you wish it were. The way you seem to pretend it is.”
I suppose it is. Once I cut an article from the newspaper and kept it on the refrigerator for almost a year. Jay asked me why I saved it and I told him it was because the article was about an ice-cream truck man, a forty-seven-year-oldguy who drove around neighborhoods in the summer, playing pied-piper songs from his truck and selling ice cream to children who came running up to him in their pajamas; and that’s all it was about. There was no violent, surprise ending. That’s all it was about. I liked thinking about that man, taking a slow turn onto a wide neighborhood street. I made the sky a faint purple color, dusk. I gave the driver a nicely trimmed mustache, a T-shirt that smelled like detergent. I gave the children limp dollar bills that folded over in their hands. I had them line up crooked, so that each could see what the other got. I had parents watching from the doorways, the light behind them a deep yellow.
I swallow, hunch over into myself, embarrassed by my usual inability to be with the program.
“Guess what I saw today?” Alice says.
“What?” I ask miserably.
“I was at a stoplight and this guy pulls up to me, his radio’s playing really loud, and he’s seat-dancing, you know, and singing along.”
I straighten up. “I love that. I love when you see people doing that.”
“Oh, but this was even better than usual. The guy pulls down the rearview mirror and checks out his hair, spits on his fingers a little to get the sides pushed back right. And then he starts wiping off his teeth with his forearm!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he did! He was brushing his teeth with his arm!”
“Huh! Hot date, maybe.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She holds her own arm up, rubs it
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