Alice in Lace

by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  I didn’t want to think about it. I don’t even like showers. I always get the water too hot or too cold, and I usually get it in my eyes.

  I tried to imagine me and my future husband—Patrick, maybe—standing naked in the shower with water getting in my eyes. I imagined dropping the soap and trying to pick it up with one foot, or stepping on the soap and falling down, or both of us trying to kiss each other while a stream of water went in my ear.

  “Okay, tell me one more thing,” I said miserably. “When do they turn out the lights?”

  Lester shrugged and this time he couldn’t help laughing. “Al, some people never turn out the lights. They keep them on.”

  I thought I was going to have a heart attack. “Even while—?”

  “Some people like it that way.”

  “Lester, I am never getting married! Never, never, never, never, never!”

  I sounded like Elizabeth, but I didn’t care.

  I rushed back to my room and plopped breathlessly down on my bed. It was all just too embarrassing and awkward and gross and ridiculous and …

  I heard Dad come upstairs. “What’s wrong with Al?” I heard him say.

  “She’s never getting married,” Lester told him.

  “Good,” said Dad. “I’ll have company in my old age, then.” And he went on into his room.

  I brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas. I heard Lester go to bed. Dad was moving about in his room, though, and I felt I still needed to talk to someone. Maybe I could ask him how he and Mom worked things out on their wedding night—before they went to bed, I mean. If they went to a hotel first or spent their first night in the tent. I liked the idea of the tent. A pitch-dark tent with no shower to worry about.

  I got up and went out in the hall. Dad’s door was half open and his light was still on. I was just about to knock and go in when I saw him standing by his closet, his back to me. There was something in his hands, a shirt, maybe. No, it was flowered. Pastel flowers. It looked like silk. A robe. And he had his face buried in it, like he was, well, drinking in the scent.

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t go backward or forward. It was Mom’s robe. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. And after a long moment, I saw his shoulders rise, as though he were taking a deep breath, and then he slowly hung it on a hanger again and put it at one end of his closet.

  I went back to my room and softly closed the door.

  We wore sweaters a lot to school now. Some days were really warm and we’d perspire, but mostly the air was crisp in the mornings—you could see your breath sometimes—and then it would warm up during the day.

  In Mr. Everett’s class, we were getting ready for the next unit, Responsible Living; in English, we were reading plays; in gym, we were learning folk dances; in world studies, we were comparing pre-Columbian civilizations; in algebra, of course, we were just doing algebra; and in home economics, we were learning to use a sewing machine.

  I probably had more homework than I’ve ever had in my life, and I knew that after my three hours at the Melody Inn the following Saturday, all I’d have to look forward to was at least three more hours of homework. Patrick and I were seeing a movie on Sunday, but the rest of Saturday had to be spent over books.

  The one nice thing about Saturdays, though, was seeing Marilyn Rawley at the Melody Inn.

  “Alice Green Eyes,” she called me.

  Dad and I couldn’t believe how much she had changed the Gift Shoppe. It was the part of the store Dad paid the least attention to, but the difference between the Shoppe run by Marilyn and the Shoppe that had been run by Loretta was the difference, Dad said, between the music of George Frederick Handel and the Grateful Dead.

  Janice Sherman was pleased, too. When Marilyn wasn’t busy behind the counter, she could help out almost anywhere in the store, and because she played both folk and classical guitar, she was able to give Janice ideas on ordering guitar music.

  “What are you and Lester going to do this weekend?” I asked her. I could ask Marilyn things like that.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think there’s an Octoberfest somewhere up in Pennsylvania. We thought we might drive up there. Want to come?”

  “No, I’ll be going to the movies with Patrick.” I knew Lester would murder me if I said yes.

  I dusted the shelves where the little bronze busts of composers sat.

  “This is sort of an embarrassing question, so don’t answer if you don’t want to, but do you ever think about your wedding night?” I asked her.

  “My wedding night?” she said, the skin crinkling about her eyes.

  “I mean, well, do you ever wonder what will happen?”

  “Alice, today most brides know exactly what is going to happen on their wedding nights. Sometimes they’ve been living with their boyfriends for a couple of years, and the wedding night is no big deal. Gone are the days when a woman had no idea what she was getting into.”

  “Not entirely,” I said, thinking of Elizabeth.

  “Really? What do you want to know?”

  “Not me. One of my friends.”

  Marilyn smiled. “Of course.”

  “It’s just that I can’t imagine Elizabeth ever undressing in front of a man or taking a shower with him or, especially, going to bed with the lights on.”

  “Well, then, tell her she doesn’t have to do any of that.”

  “She doesn’t?”

  “Of course not.” Marilyn rearranged the silk scarves on the shelf, the scarves with the Moonlight Sonata printed on them. “There aren’t any rule books, Alice.”

  I looked at Marilyn. “You’ve never been married, though.”

  “Trust me.” She smiled. “If you try to plan too much, you can ruin it.”

  So who was right? Mr. Everett? Marilyn? Dad? Lester?

  Sunday started out to be a beautiful day. Patrick and I went to a movie in the afternoon and I didn’t even get embarrassed in the love scenes like I used to.

  The first time I ever went to the movies with Patrick, the couple on the screen were having this long passionate kiss, and Patrick and I weren’t even holding hands yet. Now that’s embarrassing.

  I remember how I’d closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them, the couple would be done. They were still kissing.

  I’d closed my eyes again, and when I opened them a second time, the couple was still kissing, and Patrick was staring at me. That was even more embarrassing.

  But this time Patrick already had his arm around me, and when there was a long, drawn-out kiss on the screen, he just squeezed me a little tighter, and sometimes leaned over and kissed my cheek. It was nice.

  Dad had gone over to Sylvia’s house to help put on her storm windows, which was encouraging, and Lester and Marilyn had driven up to Pennsylvania for the Octoberfest. Les got home about eight.

  “Did you and Marilyn have a good time?” I asked.

  “Great. Good weather, good food, good music, good dancing—I love October!” he said, opening the refrigerator and standing there to see what would jump out at him. “Hey, did Crystal call, by chance?”

  “No. Are you dating her again?”

  “Well, I’ve been calling her home for the past month and she’s never there.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Oh, we’ll go out again,” Lester said, finding some cheese and reaching for the crackers.

  “She returned all your stuff, Les! Why would she go out with you?”

  “So? She hasn’t left the country, has she? Give me two more weeks, and see if I’m not taking her out again.”

  What happened next only happens in the movies. Dad was still over at Sylvia’s—I guess he must have stayed for dinner—and Lester had taken a plate of crackers into the living room with him. I was getting ready to ask Lester for help with my algebra, when we heard footsteps on the front porch. The doorbell rang and I answered it. It was Crystal.

  “Crystal!” I said, glancing quickly at Les in the living room.

  Lester gave
me a little grin and nodded his head as if to say, See? Told ya!

  “Come on in,” I said. “Lester’s here.”

  “I didn’t come to see Lester, I came to see you,” she said, and she was smiling.

  “Me?” I was so surprised, I forgot all about inviting her to sit down, so she just walked over to a chair.

  “Oh, hi, Les,” she said, and turned to me. She had her back to Lester. Her eyes were all sparkly.

  “I’ve got great news, and I wanted you to be one of the first to hear,” she told me. “I’m getting married.”

  Lester paused with a cracker halfway to his mouth and stared.

  “You are?” I said, and then I saw the ring, as sparkly as her eyes.

  “Well, oh, Crystal, congratulations! Who is he?”

  “A really nice guy in my choral group. I used to go to high school with him, but then his family moved away. Well, he came back six weeks ago, and I guess it’s what you’d call a whirlwind courtship. The last couple of weeks, I just knew. So when he proposed …”

  “It’s wonderful, Crystal!” I said, happy because she was happy.

  “When’s the date?” asked Lester.

  Crystal didn’t even turn around, just answered as though I’d asked the question myself. “The day after Thanksgiving. And Alice, I want you to be one of my bridesmaids.”

  “Me?” I could hardly believe it. I was going to walk down the aisle in lace again? “Oh, Crystal! Of course I will!”

  I acted more like a flower girl than a bridesmaid, because I promptly leaped up and hugged her.

  “We’ll go over the details later—the dress and everything—but I wanted to be sure you were going to be here at Thanksgiving. Peter, my fiancé, has a brother he wants to be in the wedding party, and he’s about your age, Alice.”

  Even knowing I was being chosen for my age didn’t make me any less excited. “I’ll put it on the calendar and circle it in red,” I said. I did have a life! I did have things to put on the calendar!

  “Thanks, Alice. I know I can count on you,” said Crystal, and stood up to go.

  “Who’s the lucky guy?” asked Les.

  “Peter Carey.”

  “You’re really sure about this now?” Lester got up and walked a few feet toward her.

  “More sure than anything I’ve ever done in my life,” said Crystal, and went out the door.

  On Monday, I thought about Crystal’s wedding plans when I suppose I should have been wondering how Lester was taking it. But he seemed to be doing fine with Marilyn, and Dad probably wouldn’t have been putting up Sylvia’s storm windows if he didn’t think he had a chance with her, so I told myself for once I could stop worrying and relax awhile.

  At school, I had a chance to say a little something to Miss Summers, and I took it.

  She was at the water fountain between classes when I stopped for a drink, and she said, “Isn’t it a gorgeous October day, Alice? I love it when I can feel frost in the air.”

  “Are you going to sing in the Messiah with us again?” I said, before I could think twice.

  “I will if I’m invited,” she told me.

  “You’re invited. This is your formal invitation,” I said.

  “Then of course I will.” She laughed.

  I told Dad at dinner.

  “She did? She said she’d come?”

  “She said she would if she was invited, and I told her she was.”

  Dad looked really pleased. For once in my life, I’d done something intelligent.

  It’s funny about plans. I think Mr. Everett’s right—I know he’s right—when he says you should think about things before they happen so you can make the best choices. Even though things you didn’t expect can happen—awful things, sometimes—or things may go just the opposite of what you planned, it’s still better than no plans at all.

  Look what happened to Mr. Everett himself. He went to college to be a teacher and was the best teacher he knew how to be, and then Jill made that stupid accusation. There was no way of knowing she’d do something like that. But if he hadn’t been such a good teacher, I probably would have believed Jill’s side of the story. I probably wouldn’t have gone to Mr. Sorringer, and the class wouldn’t have welcomed Mr. Everett back the way they had when he showed up again on Monday.

  Dad and Mom didn’t know when they got married that she wasn’t going to live long enough to see her kids grow up, but if they hadn’t planned and saved and married, I wouldn’t be here and neither would Lester. Wasn’t it worth the risk?

  Some things, though, as Marilyn says, like wedding nights, well, maybe you just let happen. Maybe there’s also room for some completely unrehearsed joy.

  I was brushing my teeth around seven, when Elizabeth called.

  “A … Alice, come over!” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “Just cornel”

  I didn’t even put on my jacket, just ran across the street. Elizabeth met me at the door and she was as white as a pillowcase.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Mom.”

  “What?”

  “Alice, I’m here in the kitchen,” came Mrs. Price’s voice, and when I went in, she was standing by the table, one hand resting on it, the other holding her stomach, just the way Pamela had done. But there on the floor where she was standing was a large puddle with little flecks of white in it.

  I didn’t understand.

  “My water broke,” she said, “and Elizabeth needs moral support. I thought I’d better get to the hospital. I’m having mild pains.”

  I was still staring at the puddle. At the little white flecks. Were they part of the baby? Like egg white or something?

  “Where’s your dad?” I asked Elizabeth.

  Mrs. Price answered for her. “Would you believe, he went to Hechingers to buy more mulch for the garden? I’m not due for another week… .”

  “Can we call Hechingers?” I asked.

  “I just did.” She suddenly bent over and winced. “Oooh.”

  Elizabeth collapsed on a chair.

  “He’s not there.” Mrs. Price was panting slightly. “Now I’m wondering if he went to Frank’s Nursery first to price the mulch before he went to Hechingers. I’ve got a call in for the doctor. Elizabeth, write a note to your father and tell him we’re probably at Holy Cross, that my water broke.”

  Elizabeth was staring straight ahead. Then I knew why I was there. I got a piece of paper and pencil and wrote the note myself.

  The phone rang. Elizabeth and I sat motionless while Mrs. Price told the doctor her symptoms. “… fine all day … just a little heavy, you know … pressing on my bladder. Then about ten minutes ago, the water broke and I had a contraction. Two, actually—seven minutes apart, maybe… .”

  When I heard her mention taking a cab, I said, “We can drive you. You won’t need a cab.”

  “A neighbor says they’ll drive me,” Mrs. Price told the doctor. “Yes, I’ll meet you in the emergency room.” She hung up.

  “Elizabeth, please go upstairs and put my pink gown in my bag. Also my robe and slippers… .”

  Elizabeth stood up like a robot and started upstairs.

  “And Alice,” Mrs. Price said, “if we could call your father …”

  I dialed home, my heart beating double time, and Lester answered.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked.

  “He went to the drugstore, I think. No, maybe he said the bookstore, I’m not sure.”

  “Lester, Mrs. Price is having her baby and we need you to drive us to Holy Cross,” I told him.

  “What?”

  “Her water broke and she’s having labor pains. The doctor told her to come to the emergency room at Holy Cross. Can you bring the car over?”

  “Where’s her husband?”

  “They can’t find him.”

  “Al!”

  I remembered how Lester had passed out when I had my ears pierced. Could we trust him to drive on the beltway?

 
; “Don’t worry,” I said. “She has a long time to go yet, and all you have to do is drive the car.”

  Twenty seconds later there was a screech of tires as Lester turned the car around in the street.

  We left the note for Mr. Price on the kitchen table. Elizabeth had her mother’s overnight bag, and I had hold of Mrs. Price’s arm. We helped her down the steps. It wasn’t until we were in the car that I realized nobody had mopped up the floor. Mr. Price would come home and find a puddle with white flecks in it and a note saying his wife was at the hospital. Maybe he’d think she’d exploded!

  I got in the front seat with Lester. He was gripping the wheel like he was in an auto race.

  “Lester,” I said, “the slower and gentler you drive, the more likely you’ll beat the baby to the hospital.”

  “Oh … okay,” Lester said, and took a deep breath. His driving instructor back in high school would have been pleased. He turned every corner as though we had champagne glasses on board, and he only ran a red light once when Mrs. Price moaned. By the time we reached the emergency room, I could smell Lester’s sweat, but we made it.

  A nurse came out with a wheelchair, and I was tempted to tell Lester to get in it.

  “I’m going to stay with Elizabeth,” I told him. “You go home and tell Dad where I am.”

  “And please tell Fred I’m okay,” Mrs. Price called after him.

  I never saw my brother so glad to be rid of a woman as he was that night.

  Now it was Elizabeth I was concerned about. She had barely said a word all evening. We sort of tagged along after the nurse and the doctor and Mrs. Price in the wheelchair. When we got up to the obstetrics floor, the nurse showed us the waiting room, and we went in and sat down together. It was then we discovered we were still holding the overnight bag.

  “Her bag!” Elizabeth cried, leaping up. “I’ve got her gown! I’ve got her slippers!”

  “Honey,” said a middle-aged woman across the room, “your mother doesn’t need a thing till tomorrow. She’ll be just fine. I’m waiting for my daughter to have her baby, and she’ll be fine, too. This is the happiest ward, you ever think of that? The one place in a hospital where you’re waiting for something natural and good to happen.”