“No, it’s fine,” said Alice. “I’m up to it.”
“I don’t want you to drive,” said Officer Walsh. “Do you want to ride with me?”
“I’ll take her,” said Ellie.
“Dave is on his way,” said Alice, looking at a text that had just arrived. She started typing with her thumbs. “I’m telling him to meet me at the station.”
“Do you want me to come to the station, too?” asked Joan.
Alice shook her head. “Dave’s on his way. I think I’ll be okay.”
“Okay. Don’t worry about your car—Ellie and I can take care of it,” said Joan. “As soon as Ellie gets you situated at the police station and Dave has arrived, she can come and get me. Give me your keys. I’ll leave them on your kitchen table after we deliver the car to your house.”
Joan exited the back seat on one side, and Ellie got out on the other. Alice sat still in the middle. Joan ducked her head down. “No rush.”
“I’m coming,” said Alice, feeling unable to move. Several seconds passed. She leaned forward and then began to slowly scoot her bottom over to the seat just vacated by Joan. Joan held her hand out, and Alice took it. Alice squinted in the bright sunlight. Her sunglasses had fallen off somewhere.
Ellie walked around to join them. She could see that Alice was trembling, and she put her arm around her waist. “My car is just over there.”
“Alice,” said Joan. Alice looked at her. “Call me if you need something. I can be at the police station in five minutes.”
“I will be okay,” she said. “As soon as Dave gets there, I will be okay. Would you mind looking for my sunglasses?”
“No, I’ll do that right now,” said Joan. “Ellie, call me when you are ready to get Alice’s car. I’m available anytime.”
After telling Officer Walsh that she would have Alice to the station in ten minutes, Ellie guided Alice to her car and helped her into the passenger side. Alice continued to move haltingly, as if she had been physically damaged in an accident. As soon as they were both inside, seatbelts on and ignition started, Alice said to Ellie, “I could have killed him.”
“Yes,” said Ellie, letting the car idle.
“I wanted to kill him.”
Ellie hesitated a moment, in case Alice wanted to continue talking. And then Ellie turned the car around and drove out of the beach lot. As soon as they were on the main road, Alice said, “I opened the doors, so he could get in, thinking I would kill him with my weapon. But as soon as the door was open, I knew I could not.”
“What do you mean you opened the doors? I assumed you didn’t have time to lock them.”
“I had time,” said Alice. “I got to the car before he did. I unlocked my door, jumped in, and locked the door behind me, a split second before he slammed into the car.”
Ellie turned the car onto Route 1. “And then you opened the doors?”
“Yes,” said Alice. “I opened the doors to let him in, so I could kill him.”
“And then you didn’t.”
“No,” said Alice, shaking her head slowly.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
They drove without speaking for a few minutes until Ellie turned her car into the parking lot of the Southwood police station. She pulled into a space, switched off the ignition, and then turned in her seat to face Alice. “Have you told this to Officer Walsh?”
“No,” said Alice. “Once she knew I was okay, she focused her attention on the ambulance personnel.”
“You don’t have to tell her what you just told me.”
Alice unbuckled her seatbelt and then turned to face Ellie. “Why wouldn’t I tell her that?”
Ellie looked out the windshield at the front doors of the police station. “Because they might take it the wrong way.”
“What wrong way?”
“That you were safe in your locked car, and you could have simply driven away.”
“But then I opened the doors, putting myself in danger, only so I could shoot him,” said Alice, taking hold of Ellie’s line of thinking, grasping her warning. Ellie didn’t respond. “But he will tell them. Greg Anderson will tell them.”
“And who are they going to believe?” Ellie asked. “Greg Anderson or you?”
Just then Dave arrived. He parked his car and ran to the front doors of the police station. Within seconds, he had disappeared inside.
“He looks pretty concerned,” said Ellie.
“He is,” said Alice, opening the car door. “He’s been talking; we’ve been talking.”
“Good,” said Ellie, opening her door. “Let’s get you inside, so he can see that you’re okay.”
Alice wiped fresh tears from her cheeks with both palms. “I don’t feel okay.”
“I know,” said Ellie, who felt at that moment like she didn’t know anything. “It will take time, Alice, but I know you will be.”
CHAPTER 42
Alice played with instead of ate her salad, using her fork to move arugula, grape tomatoes, and slices of red pepper from the center of her plate to the rim, creating space for the scoop of chicken salad that she sometimes ordered, but had ten minutes ago declined. Greg Anderson was out of the hospital and in jail, awaiting trial. The bullet from Alice’s gun had severed his small intestine, which a local surgeon had reconnected. The bullet missed his spine and everything else that could have caused a serious problem. He was in some discomfort. But his digestion process would return to normal over the next several weeks. And a couple months from now, Greg Anderson would be as good as if he had not been shot, the impact of his encounter with Alice at the beach erased. She looked up from her plate to find Ellie and Joan, their lunches partially eaten, looking at her. “What?” she said.
“What indeed,” said Joan. “Talk to us, Alice. You have not said a word since you ordered that salad you are not eating.”
Alice pushed her plate toward the middle of the table. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say anything,” said Joan. “Start anywhere.”
“Even if he’s found guilty,” said Alice, “he’ll only get a year in prison.”
Ellie looked at Joan and then Alice. “How do you know that?”
“Because it’s a misdemeanor,” said Alice. “Because he did not actually rape me, it’s a misdemeanor in the state of Connecticut.”
“Yeah, but he beat the shit out of you,” said Joan. “That’s worth some jail time.”
Alice closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them. “What happens after his year in prison? Will he find me again?”
“I agree with Joan,” said Ellie. “What about the fact that he is a repeat offender? Officer Walsh said two other women have come forward to identify him. And there’s his escape from police custody. He’s not going to get out in a year, Alice.”
“I should have killed him,” Alice said. “All I had to do was shoot six inches higher. I could have done it. I knew what I was doing.”
Joan picked up the second half of her grilled cheese and bit into it. “You did know what you were doing,” she said. “That’s why you shot him where you did—so you wouldn’t kill him.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve changed my mind.”
“Have you really changed your mind,” asked Joan, “or are you back in cahoots with the Well Protected Women?”
“Do you always have to be so direct?” asked Ellie, looking at Joan. “Do you have any filter whatsoever?”
Joan took another bite of her sandwich and set it back down on the plate. “Alice, you are not a murderer. You would not want to be saddled with that label for the rest of your life—no matter what Greg Anderson did to you. You shot him. He knows you shot him. When he gets out of prison five, ten years from now, he’s not going to go looking for the woman who shot him. He knows, just as you know, that if he confronts you again, he’s a dead man.”
Alice reached for her water glass and took two sips, both of which failed to ease the constriction in her throat. “I’m afra
id for my daughters,” she said, looking down at her plate instead of into the faces of her friends.
“Of course you are,” said Joan. “I am afraid for my daughters, too. But they are better than we are at this. Their generation is much less trusting. Women in their twenties are much less likely to run on their own than women in their fifties.”
“Meaning I’m an idiot,” said Alice.
“No,” said Ellie, reaching across the table to take hold of Alice’s wrist. “We live in a safe place. This shouldn’t have happened. You had every right to be running on those trails on your own. People do it all the time.”
“Then why did it happen?” asked Alice. “Why did it happen on that day to me?”
Joan shook her head. “Don’t go there,” she said. “Sometimes things happen for a reason, and sometimes they don’t. There is a randomness to life, Alice. What matters more than what happens to us is how we deal with it afterward, what decisions we make moving forward.”
Alice folded her arms across her chest. “That sounds good, Joan. And it probably looked good in whatever article you read. But it doesn’t feel right. I find your righteous words and tone off-putting.”
Joan shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry if I’m offending you,” she said. “Personally, I think you did everything right. You got away from him the first time, and you sent a serious message to him the second time. He now knows that any violent crime he is thinking about committing could have very undesirable consequences. Plus, maybe the guy will learn something in prison.”
Alice looked at Ellie.
“You need to get through this trial,” said Ellie. “Joan and I will help you. Your family will help you. Greg Anderson will be sentenced and will go to prison, and you will be able to live your life without worrying about him.”
Alice reached for her plate, pulling it back toward her. She speared a pepper and put it in her mouth. “There will always be something to worry about.”
“Are we talking about Dave?” asked Joan.
“It’s better with Dave,” said Alice. “He’s better, in terms of his attentiveness to me. But I still don’t think he gets it. I know he loves me, but I also know he has no idea who I am. Sometimes I am incredibly frustrated by this, by his inability to see that I am not the same person he married thirty-three years ago. And then other times I realize that I can’t really blame him because lately—since Linda left the house—even I don’t know who I am.”
“You’re a mother,” said Ellie.
“And a runner,” said Joan.
“And an incredible cookie baker,” said Ellie.
“And a loyal friend,” said Joan.
“And an activist,” said Ellie.
“And a damn good shot,” said Joan. Alice allowed herself the smallest of smiles. “You just need to find your next best thing.”
“How am I going to do that?” asked Alice, chewing lettuce leaves she had put into her mouth.
“I don’t know,” said Ellie. “But we’ll help.”
Alice speared another pepper and then said, “I’m so glad my parents and my sister and her family were here before all this happened.”
“Do they know?” asked Joan. “Have you told them what happened?”
“No,” said Alice. “It would upset my parents and annoy my sister.”
“Why would your sister be annoyed?” asked Ellie.
“She’s one of those people who thinks everything happens to us because we initiate it, because we ask for it. So she would be irritated that I let him attack me—and she would use those words—and she would be furious that I shot him.”
“Wait a minute,” said Joan. “Is this where your insecurity about this comes from, from what your sister would say?”
“She’s always right, and I’m always wrong.”
“I don’t think so,” said Joan.
“Me neither,” said Ellie.
“Well,” said Alice, “they’re out of my life until next July.”
And because neither Joan nor Ellie knew how to respond to Alice’s comment without doing more harm than good, they said nothing.
“It’s okay,” said Alice. “It’s been like this for a long time. We had a pretty good visit, actually.”
Ellie and Joan opened their mouths at the same time and said in unison, “Good.”
CHAPTER 43
It started as a quick thought as Alice ran errands. It was buried by the time she got home from an unusually long wait at Valvoline and a trip to three grocery stores to find miso, the key ingredient in a recipe given to Alice by a neighbor. But it resurfaced later that afternoon, just before Dave walked through the back door into the kitchen. She didn’t say anything, either to her husband or to Linda, who, freshly showered, walked through the kitchen on her way to her car parked outside. “I’m delivering until ten,” she said. “And then I’m heading over to Melany’s house for some serious partying.” Both Alice and Dave looked at their daughter. She flipped her long blond hair, the same shade and style as her mother’s, over one shoulder. “I’m joking! I just wanted to see if you guys were listening to me.”
“We always listen to you,” said Dave.
“Yeah?” she said, grabbing one of her mother’s oatmeal raisin cookies from the wire cooling rack on the counter and biting into it. “So that thing we were talking about, when you were watching the Sox game last night, Dad,” she said, chewing. “What do you think, yes or no?” Dave closed one eye in an effort at concentration. “You don’t remember?” asked Linda, taking another bite as she grabbed her purse from a kitchen chair and slung its strap over her shoulder.
“Was it something about this coming weekend?” he asked. “It was definitely something about the weekend, wasn’t it?”
“Dad,” said Linda, one hand on her slim hip. “I didn’t ask you anything last night. The only time I initiate a conversation when you are watching baseball is when I want a quick yes.”
Alice laughed.
Linda put the rest of the cookie in her mouth and grinned at her parents. “See you two later,” she said as she walked out the door.
Dave was thankful that Linda was home, had been home all summer. She had the same sense of humor as her mother and often made Alice laugh, which is what Alice seemed to need most right now. He turned to Alice and said, “I love having her home.”
“I do too,” said Alice. “But it’s really different from when she was in high school, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“A year ago, we knew everything she did—or we thought we did anyway—from the moment she got up in the morning until the moment she closed her eyes at night. We knew what she was involved with at school. We knew all her friends. We knew all her friends’ parents. And now she breezes in and out of the house, sometimes telling us what she is up to and sometimes not.”
Dave picked up the newspaper that was sitting on the table. He glanced at the headlines on the front page. “She’s turning into an adult.”
Alice held up her hand. “Not quite yet. The other day she had a complete fit about how rudely she was treated by a customer the night before.”
“Well, thank God she’s not done with meltdowns,” said Dave. “What in the world would we talk about?”
Responding to the beeping timer, Alice opened the oven door and extracted a baking sheet holding nine perfectly browned cookies from the oven. She set it down on the stove top and then moved the still warm cookies from the cooling rack to a plastic serving platter sitting on the kitchen table. In one minute, she would transfer the hot cookies on the baking sheet to the rack, a ritual that hadn’t yet failed to produce a cookie with a firm circumference and a chewy center. Dave took a cookie from the platter. “How about getting a dog?” Alice asked. Dave stopped chewing, put the paper back down on the table, and looked at Alice, one eyebrow raised. “I know what you’re thinking—that this is crazy. And it is crazy. All the kids are gone. Why now, right? Because I have time now. And I love dogs. And I really miss having
one. It’s been two years since Shasta died.”
Dave put his hands on his hips. “What about getting a job? I thought you were anxious to get back to work?”
Alice closed the oven door. “I do want to get back to work, at some point. But if I were anxious, I’d be working already. I don’t know what I want to do, Dave, and I don’t want to do just anything. You don’t seem to need me at either store. And training a dog would not take more than six months or so. I could think about what I want to do while I’m hanging out with our new dog.”
Dave scratched his head. “What kind of dog do you want to get?”
Alice shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll have to see what the dog pound has to offer.”
“A mutt then.”
Alice smiled. “Yeah—a big lovable mutt who will run with me.”
“Alice, you know how busy I am,” said Dave, his forehead creasing.
“I do know,” she said, holding out her hands to stop Dave from continuing. “This will be my dog. I will do everything, from training her to walking her to taking her to the vet. She will be my responsibility.”
“Okay. Under those conditions, how can I say no?” said Dave. He looked at his watch. “When’s dinner?”
“In about an hour.”
“Good,” he said, already moving toward the hallway. “I’m going to squeeze in a thirty-minute run.”
Alice waited until he was gone before she shook her head. He was getting better at processing Alice’s feelings, at talking about Alice’s feelings, but he was still a long way from showing he understood.
* * *
The next morning, Alice drove to the Southwood Animal Control Center, arriving when they opened at eight o’clock. After a brief interview with an officer, Alice was ushered back to a large room with cages around its perimeter. The dogs immediately started barking. “These dogs come from all over town,” the officer shouted over the deafening din while strolling toward the far wall, where large, mature dogs were housed in individual crates. “Some of them are stray dogs that we pick up when people call us. Some of them, like this one here,” he said, pointing to an overweight collie mix, “are dropped off in the night. There is a kennel out back where people can leave dogs when we aren’t open.”
Every Other Wednesday Page 24
