Including Alice Read online

  What could I think? They’d already decided on it, obviously.

  Sylvia went right on talking to Dad: “You can get a standard tub with a Jacuzzi too. That way we won’t be using extra water to fill it when we only want a bath.”

  “Now, that’s a practical idea,” Dad said. And they continued talking as if I weren’t even there. I began to feel like Amy Sheldon, barging into a conversation without waiting to be invited.

  I wandered back upstairs and sat down on the edge of my bed, staring at the photo on the dresser of Mom holding me when I was two. I studied her face, her smile, trying my best to remember it. Lester says she was tall, she liked to sing, and she had the same color hair as I do. I’m not tall, I can’t sing, so about the only thing we had in common was hair, and even that was changing.

  And suddenly the sad feeling in my chest grew stronger until I felt panicky, as though maybe this wedding was a horrible mistake. After three years of desperately wanting Sylvia Summers for my stepmom, now I felt sad for my real mother.

  Had Dad forgotten about her? When he kissed Sylvia, did he ever forget and murmur “Marie”? How could we be acting so happy when my real mother had died too young?

  I jumped up suddenly and pulled the hall phone into my room. Then I dialed Pamela.

  “What’s up?” she said. She’s got Caller ID and always knows it’s me.

  “P-P-Pamela … ,” I wept. “Maybe it’s all a mistake.”

  “Huh?” she said. “What is?”

  “The w-wedding,” I wailed.

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I can’t stand it that maybe Dad’s forgotten all about Mom,” I croaked.

  “How could he ever forget her when he’s got you and Lester to remind him?” said Pamela. “What’s the matter with you? Why are you talking like this all of a sudden?”

  “I don’t know. I’m worried that maybe Sylvia isn’t the right woman for him.”

  “You are out of your mind. You’ve devoted the last three years of your life to getting them together, and now you’ve got the jitters. It’s supposed to be the bride who gets the jitters, not the bridesmaid.”

  “But why hasn’t she gotten married before?”

  “What?”

  “Why couldn’t she get along better with her brother, and why did her sister get divorced? Maybe they’re women who just use men and throw them away like Kleenex. Maybe they just—”

  “I’m hanging up, Alice. Call me when you’re sane.”

  “Maybe I should try to stop them before it’s too late,” I mewed. “Maybe when the minister says—”

  I heard a click and then a dial tone. I bawled some more. Twenty seconds later the phone rang. I picked it up.

  “You know who you sound like?” came Pamela’s voice. “Exactly who you sound like? Elizabeth.” And she hung up a second time.

  That snapped me out of it in a hurry. If I didn’t get hold of myself, I’d be worrying about Jim Sorringer following Dad and Sylvia on their honeymoon and trying to kidnap Sylvia and …

  The honeymoon. Where were they going on their honeymoon? Were they even going anyplace at all?

  Suddenly I was afraid that maybe they weren’t! Maybe they were going to come right back here after the reception and spend their wedding night here! In this house! Only two rooms away from mine!

  I called Pamela again.

  “Now what?” she said.

  “If they spend their honeymoon here, I’m coming over to your house for the duration,” I said.

  “Fine,” said Pamela, and hung up for the third time.

  After I washed my face and smeared some foundation on my nose, which was all red and shiny from crying, I went downstairs. Dad and Sylvia were sitting on the couch now, Sylvia’s head on his shoulder.

  “I never asked where you were going on your honeymoon,” I said from the doorway. “Or is it secret?”

  “It’s not secret from you,” Dad said, looking up and smiling. “We’re driving to the Greenbrier Resort in West Virginia. We want to do some hiking and horseback riding … swimming. The leaves should be gorgeous the third week of October.”

  “Am I the only one who knows?”

  “We haven’t told anyone but you,” said Sylvia.

  Amazing how much better things look when you don’t feel so left out. I thought of Amy Sheldon again—the way her face lit up when I told her she was invited to the wedding after all. I went back to my room, got out the percale sheets and pillowcases, and worked some more on the embroidery.

  On Saturdays I have a job at my dad’s music store, the Melody Inn. He’s the manager, and an old girlfriend of Lester’s, Marilyn Rawley, is assistant manager. I always hoped that she and Les would marry, but I guess that wasn’t meant to be. She got tired of waiting for Lester to get serious about her, and now she’s engaged to a guy named Jack.

  “I’ll bet things are really hopping at your place,” she said when I came in that Saturday. “One more week and your dad will have himself a bride. I’ve never seen him so happy.”

  “Me either,” I said, taking off my coat and going behind the counter in the store’s Gift Shoppe, where we sell musical gifts. There are two floors at the Melody Inn. Pianos, violins, and other musical instruments and sheet music on the first; instructors’ cubicles for private lessons on the second. The Gift Shoppe is under the stairs; that’s where I work.

  “And to think you’re the one who brought them together by inviting Sylvia to a Messiah Sing-Along,” said Marilyn.

  “All the more amazing when you consider that I can’t even sing!” I said.

  “Know what I’m giving them as a wedding present?” said Marilyn. “I had a copy of Handel’s Messiah bound in leather, with ‘Ben and Sylvia’ and their wedding date stamped in gold letters on the cover.”

  “Oh, Marilyn, that’s perfect!” I said, and wondered why I couldn’t think of things like that.

  “I thought it was pretty neat myself,” she said, pleased that I thought so too.

  I busied myself with restocking the shelves. Dad wasn’t coming in at all that day, and Marilyn and I were trying to do as much of his work as we could. He had hired a new employee, a handsome guy of about eighteen named David. He was one of the greatest-looking guys I’d ever seen, with dark hair and a square jaw. He wore great-looking shirts too. On this particular morning he was wearing a dark blue shirt with a yellow tie. I wondered if he had a girlfriend.

  “Hey!” he said when he saw me.

  “Hey,” I answered.

  “You bring me anything good today?” he asked. I always bring a lunch on Saturdays, and he’s been teasing me about bringing something for him too. But I forgot.

  “Darn!” he said. “Guess it’s up the street for chicken nuggets again.”

  Shortly after the store opened, a round-faced girl about my age came in and walked into the sheet music department. I glanced over to make sure that either Marilyn or David was there, and when I saw David wait on her, I went back to dusting shelves.

  There was something about her, though, that made me look back—something familiar—and I was trying to decide if I’d seen her around school. I saw her pay for her purchase, and when she turned to leave, she caught me looking at her. She paused, started to walk out, then paused again. Finally she grinned and came over.

  “Alice?” she said, hesitating.

  I looked at her face, her cheeks, the funny familiar downward turn of her mouth at the corners. “Rosalind?” I said.

  “Yes!”

  “I don’t believe it!” I cried, and suddenly we were hugging each other. One of my best friends in third, fourth, and fifth grades back in Takoma Park, and we hadn’t seen each other in over four years. She had lost some weight, but she was still the roundest friend I had. On Rosalind, it looked good.

  I gave her shoulders a shake. “How are you?”

  “Same as always,” she said. “How about you? Why didn’t you ever call?”

  “I went over to your house
before we moved, but you’d gone on vacation without telling me. Why didn’t you ever call?”

  “I was never very good at good-byes,” said Rosalind. She shrugged then and grinned. “Fifth graders! What can I say?”

  I laughed. Then, thinking about the little band that our brothers had formed back in high school, I asked, “Remember the Naked Nomads?” That set us off, and we laughed some more.

  “Does Lester still play the drums and the guitar?” she asked.

  “He sold the drums. Sometimes I hear him playing the guitar, but he’s in graduate school now, so he’s pretty busy. What about Billy?”

  “Bill? He still plays. In fact”—she held up the sack in her hand—“I just got him some guitar music for his birthday. He wants to go professional and plays in a band around town on weekends.”

  “Really? What about you? Are you ever going to get your dream job and work in a zoo?”

  “I already do. I volunteer at the National Zoo.”

  “The elephant house?” I said, remembering how she’d talked about that back in grade school.

  “How’d you guess?” she said. “The elephant house exactly.”

  “Listen, let’s stay in touch this time,” I told her. “I want to catch up on absolutely everything you’ve been doing since the end of fifth grade.”

  “Now that I know you’re working here, I’ll come back some Saturday and we can go somewhere for lunch,” she said. Then, jiggling the sack again, she added, “I’ve got to get home and wrap this so at least one thing will go right for my brother today. His band is supposed to play for somebody’s bar mitzvah next Saturday, and the bass player says he can’t make it. Billy’s got to find a substitute. It’s the second time Sorringer’s pulled this and—”

  “Sorringer?” I said. “What’s his first name?”

  “Jim. You know him? He says he has to go to a wedding.”

  I think I could feel my stomach slide all the way down to my toes. I didn’t know Jim Sorringer was musical. I didn’t know he played bass. “He was vice principal of my junior high school, if we’re talking about the same guy,” I said, my head reeling with the news.

  “That’s him. He’s a lot older than Bill, and I know he’s a teacher or something. Between you and me, he’s not a very good bass player, and Bill’s going to find someone to replace him.” Rosalind laughingly poked my arm. “But, hey, we’re still in the phone book—same street, same number. Call me sometime.”

  “I’ll call,” I promised, and gave her a squeeze.

  It was wonderful to see Rosalind again. I’d wondered from time to time how she was doing, but—being a typical kid—I had gotten busy with other things. Right at that minute, however, my mind was in turmoil. I had a terrible feeling that Jim Sorringer was planning to come to Dad and Sylvia’s wedding, and I was 99 percent sure his name wasn’t on the guest list.

  3

  The Relatives

  I called Lester as soon as I got home, but the guy who answered told me he wasn’t in.

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  “This is Paul, and who are you?” he asked. His voice was pleasant, though. Mine, I’m sure, was nearly hysterical.

  “Alice,” I said. “Would you ask Lester to call home as soon as possible?”

  “Sure. Not an emergency, is it?”

  “Not quite,” I said.

  It was an hour and a half before Lester called back. Dad was in the kitchen making supper, and as soon as I heard the phone ring, I ran upstairs and took it there.

  “Al?” Lester said. “What’s up?”

  “Oh, Les, what are we going to do?” I asked. “Jim Sorringer is going to come to the wedding.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Well?” I said. “What are we going to do?”

  “Call in the National Guard?” said Lester.

  “Lester, this is serious! You know he wasn’t invited. He’s only going to cause trouble.”

  “Okay,” Lester said. “I’m going to conceal a sixinch Magnum inside my suit coat, and as soon as I see him walk through the door, I’ll shoot him between the eyes. How’s that?”

  “Les-ter!”

  “How do you know he’s coming to cause trouble, Alice? Will you quit jumping to conclusions?”

  “Should I tell Dad?”

  “No, you shouldn’t tell Dad! We are talking about mature, grown-up people here. And please quit leaving messages that give the impression the house burned down with everyone in it.”

  I hung up. For once I believed Lester was wrong. Mature, grown-up people don’t buy an airline ticket to England, either, to visit a woman who is thinking about marrying somebody else, which is exactly what Mr. Sorringer did last Christmas. Sylvia didn’t even know he was coming.

  But I decided to keep my thoughts to myself for at least twenty-four hours and see if I still felt uneasy about it. It occurred to me, though, that maybe there were two Jim Sorringers, so on Sunday I called Elizabeth. “Do you happen to know if Jim Sorringer plays a musical instrument?” I asked.

  “Hmm.” She was thinking. “He played in a little band for one of our school talent shows,” she said.

  “Do you remember what instrument he played? I’m just curious,” I told her.

  “Bass, I think.”

  I swallowed. “Thanks, Liz,” I said, and hung up.

  By lunchtime on Monday, however, I was tired of being patient. There was a tragedy about to happen, and I was the only one who saw the danger. And so, seated between Liz and Pam at the table, I told them about seeing my old friend Rosalind at the Melody Inn and what she’d said about Jim Sorringer. It wasn’t long before the whole table—both tables, in fact—knew that our assistant principal back in junior high was planning to come to Dad and Sylvia’s wedding, invitation or not.

  It was Penny who said the unthinkable, and now I really didn’t like her: “How do you know he didn’t get a personal invitation from Sylvia?”

  I stared at her across the table, where she dangled a piece of lettuce between two fingers, then slowly stuffed it in her mouth.

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked coldly. I still hadn’t found out where she’d invited Patrick to go on the day of Dad’s wedding and whether or not he’d accepted.

  “I mean, maybe she just casually told Mr. Sorringer he could come if he wanted. No biggie.” Penny looked even cuter and more petite than ever as she sort of hunkered down inside her sweater.

  “Sylvia would never do that!” Elizabeth volunteered.

  “You don’t even know Sylvia!” I told Penny, excluding her all the more.

  “Sorry. Just a thought to make you feel better,” Penny said.

  “How would that make me feel better?” I said, and gave her a dismissive look. She finished her salad and then moved over to the next table to talk to Jill.

  Patrick came in then with his tray and took Penny’s chair. I told him what was up.

  “So what do you think might happen if he comes?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “All I know is that he does impulsive things, so anything could happen.”

  Brian, who’s as large as a linebacker, pushed his hamburger to one side of his mouth and said, “You want us to deck him if he shows?”

  “What?”

  “Act as bouncers. Usher him out.”

  “You actually would?”

  “Just give the word,” said Mark, and Patrick nodded.

  “We’re not in junior high anymore,” he said, and jokingly flexed one arm.

  I think he was serious, though. I think all the guys were serious. In fact, I think every boy who ever had Sylvia Summers for a teacher was halfway in love with her.

  “Well, when you come to the wedding, why don’t you just sit near the door, and if he comes in, go stand next to him. Don’t ‘bounce’ him if he’s not doing anything,” I told them.

  “Gotcha,” said Brian.

  “We won’t start anything. He’ll have to make the first move,” said Patrick.
/>
  “You’re coming, then?” I asked Patrick. “To the wedding?”

  “Well, of course. You invited me, didn’t you?” he said, and I wanted to cast a triumphant look in Penny’s direction, but I restrained myself.

  “You guys are great,” I told them. Dad and Sylvia had absolutely no idea how much work I had put into keeping them together.

  At the lockers, though, after lunch, we were talking about what the guys had said, and Pamela said, “When you think about it, Alice, if you were Jim Sorringer’s daughter …”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, your dad did steal her away from him; so if it were the other way around …”

  I felt myself bristle. Not Pamela, too! “Well, it’s not like he kidnapped her or anything,” I said. “I invited her to the Messiah Sing-Along, and she discovered she and Dad had a lot in common, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, just like Mom and her aerobics instructor,” Pamela said.

  That was about the worst thing Pamela had ever said to me. I wheeled around. “Pamela!” I said. Pamela’s mom had run off with the guy who was showing her how to use the NordicTrack. Dad and Sylvia hadn’t done anything at all like that!

  “I’m just making a point,” Pamela said. “I mean, you can’t exactly hold it against Jim Sorringer for wanting her back, can you?”

  I supposed not. All through English that afternoon I sat scribbling on the back of my notebook. I wasn’t even aware of what I was doing until I saw whole columns and rows of delicate SSM monograms for Sylvia Summers McKinley alternating with rows of SSS monograms for Sylvia Summers Sorringer. I realized with a pang that I had only a few more nights to finish embroidering the sheets and pillowcases I was giving Dad and Sylvia as a wedding present, and I got that panicky feeling again.

  But it wasn’t just the sheets and pillowcases that did it. It was the fact that Sylvia wasn’t the first woman Dad had lured away from another man. Aunt Sally told me once that before Dad knew Mom, she had been engaged to a man named Charlie Snow. But after Dad met her, he decided she was the woman for him and wrote her such beautiful love letters that she gave back Charlie’s ring and married Dad instead. I wished Mom were still alive so I could ask her about that. About Charlie Snow … love … life …