All the Beautiful Lies(23)

“White wine okay?” Alice said, entering with an unopened bottle.

“Oh, sure.”

“Can you open it up and pour us some, Harry, and then we’ll finally eat.”

Despite having lost his appetite again after that morning’s visit from the detective, the food tasted good. It was clear that Alice was not in the mood to talk about serious matters. She asked Harry rapid-fire questions about his future plans, all of which he deflected. She picked at her food and took small sips of the wine, her pale cheeks becoming flushed.

“And what about a girlfriend?” she asked, after bringing him a butterscotch sundae from the kitchen. “Anyone special you left behind?” The words sounded rehearsed.

“No. Not really.”

“Boyfriend, then?” Harry thought she was trying to sound casual, but she punctuated the question with an odd laugh, and her flushed cheeks had become almost mottled with red.

“No, I don’t have one of those, either.”

“I hope I didn’t . . . I just wondered because I thought maybe Paul—”

“Yes, Paul is gay.”

“I’m prying.”

“No. It’s fine.”

They were silent for a moment. Harry asked, “Did my father wonder?”

“Wonder what?”

“Did he wonder if I was gay? Is that why you were asking?”

“If he did wonder, he never brought it up with me. And honestly, you knew him. More interested in what was happening in one of his books than what was happening around him. And he wouldn’t have cared. You know that, too.”

Harry finished his dessert. Alice was drinking the dregs of the wine, and rubbing her finger absentmindedly on the wooden table, her eyes slightly glazed over. In the light from the flickering candle, she looked not a whole lot older than Harry. Her skin, except for around her eyes, was entirely unlined. She tapped her finger on the table and shifted her gaze, catching Harry watching her.

“You look tired,” he said. “Let me clean up, since you cooked the dinner.”

She sat up straight. “No, I’ll clean. I want to. You can help me bring the dishes into the kitchen, but that’s it. I insist.”

Harry did as he was told, leaving Alice cleaning dishes in the large double sink. He said good night and was turning to go when she reached out a hand. He took it and felt a slight tug, and she leaned over and kissed Harry on the cheek. Her skin was slightly damp from the steam of the hot water. “Thank God for you, Harry. I don’t know what . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.

“Thanks again for dinner, Alice.”

“And, Harry, one more thing. I talked with John today and he really needs you to help him out in the store tomorrow. Could you . . . Do you mind?”

Harry said he didn’t mind.

Back in his room, he cracked a window and tried to get back into the Ed McBain book, but he kept thinking about Alice, her damp cheek on his as she kissed him good night. He also kept thinking about her refusal to discuss what had happened with her husband. Was it because she knew more than she was saying, or was she simply someone who didn’t want to think about anything unpleasant? He realized how little he knew about her. Was it because he’d never asked, or was it because his father had never offered? And now here he was, living for a summer with this strange woman, and she was practically all the family he had left.

He fell asleep above the covers, and woke up cold. He got up and shut the window, then got under the comforter. He listened to the house, so much quieter than his dormitory, where he could lie in bed and listen to the muffled sounds of its other inhabitants. Here, all he could hear was the occasional sound that old houses made, the almost unnoticeable ticks and sighs. He didn’t really like it, the enormity of the quiet, the way it made him feel more alone than he usually did. He felt the negative thoughts rolling toward him, and knew if he let them in he wouldn’t be able to sleep for hours. He recited the Lord’s Prayer to himself, even though the words had long been meaningless to him, but it was too late. The horrible dread—this now familiar feeling of insignificance—coursed through him. As always, it felt more like fear than sadness. He knew it would pass, and he concentrated on relaxing his body and focusing on his sensations, listening to the house.

After a while, he was beginning to fall asleep again when he heard the creak of the stairs, maybe Alice coming up to bed. Then he heard faint sounds just outside his door. He listened intently, sometimes hearing them and sometimes not. Moving slowly and quietly, he got out of the bed and took three steps along the worn rug to stand in front of the door. He turned his ear toward the door and listened. It was unmistakable. He could hear Alice breathing just on the other side of the door. He shifted his weight, and a floor plank made a squeaking sound. He listened to Alice’s footsteps as she retreated quickly down the hall.





Chapter 11





Then



After Edith’s death, Jake and Alice settled, quickly and naturally, into a new life together. Alice, as planned, enrolled in classes at the community college, commuting back and forth. She kept her own bedroom at the beachside condominium but spent every night in the master bedroom with Jake, even though there were so many reminders of her mother around.

“Should we pack some of these things away?” Jake asked one morning. He was holding up a half-empty perfume bottle while Alice toweled herself dry in the en suite bathroom.