glamorous, silly. When it was over, she felt much better.
Back at the dining room table, she read until the grandfather clock in the front hall chimed midnight. Stretching, she looked down at the pile of mail she hadn’t read yet.
Catalogues—toss those. Professional magazines, and
The Smithsonian
, she put aside for herself and Theodore. Bills. And a thick envelope for Dr. and Mrs. Becker. She ripped it open.
An invitation to a party! For Eloise Linley. They used to be close, back when Teddy was in high school with Eloise’s son Jason, but Jason went off to college in California, married, and remained on the West Coast, and Marilyn hadn’t seen Eloise for years, until the funeral for her husband six months ago. Theodore wouldn’t want to go. He considered time spent on anyone but scientific colleagues a waste.
But Marilyn would go, she decided. It was a long time since she’d been to a party. The thought had a kind of frightening allure that made lightning bugs flicker in her heart.
8
ALICE
Arthritis was turning Alice into a stiff-limbed man-nequin. At home she sat around on a heating pad, but she didn’t dare use one of those at the office, especially now that little Alison was around. So Alice creaked and ached through her day, and after work she drove straight to CVS to buy a cartload of Bufferin.
She was hungry, and cranky, and her feet hurt, so naturally the lines at the cash register were long, and everyone was sneezing or hacking with a late-winter cold. She sighed, letting her eyes rest on a display on a nearby counter. Out of the blue, a truly bizarre craving possessed her.
There, among the chocolate Easter candy, was a rack of plastic beaded bracelets, in a symphonic sherbet of colors: turquoise, pink, pale green, lavender. Suddenly, for no reason, Alice desperately wanted to buy every color and slip them onto her wrist.
It would be like wearing a rainbow.
Still:
plastic
bracelets? For thirty years she’d worn only solid gold jewelry. She considered it a kind of signal: Whatever she touched was only the best. If anyone saw her wearing plastic bracelets—she shuddered, paid for her Bufferin, and hurried to the door, each step a burn of pain. She
had
to get different shoes.
Sleet hit her face as she rushed to her car. Just as she reached it, she slipped on some thin ice coating the pavement. Reaching out to catch herself, she knocked her arm on the hood of her Audi. She had to stop a moment to get her breath. Now her feet hurt, her back hurt, and her arm hurt.
“You okay, ma’am?” A punk kid with spiked hair and more spots on his face than a leopard approached her, sleet slapping against his jeans jacket.
“Of
course
I’m okay!” she snapped.
He held up his hands as if she’d pointed a gun at him. “Sor—
ry
.” Loping off, he looked over his shoulder at her.
“Jeez.”
“I am
not
an old woman!” Alice yelled at him, but only in her mind. She wasn’t so far gone that she’d taken to yelling at hoodlums in the street, even if she had spoken rudely to him. He’d only been trying to help, and she was appalled at her instinctive fear simply because he was young, tall, and resembled a space alien.
What was happening to her? She watched the boy move off down the street, making a game of sliding on the ice.
Come back,
she wanted to call.
Come back and
tell me if I look like an old woman!
Turning around, she entered the pharmacy, strode up to the counter, and selected seven plastic bracelets.
“For my niece,” she informed the salesgirl, needlessly.
“Oh, she’ll love these,” the girl cooed. “Everyone does. It’s the rage right now. They bring you good luck, too.”
“They do? How do you know?”
“It says so, right here.” The salesgirl pointed to the print on the card behind the rack of bracelets.
ORIENTAL GOOD LUCK BRACELETS
IN REAL FAUX STONES
WILL BRING YOU GOOD LUCK!!
One size fits all.
Stretchable. Made in China.
“Uh-huh.” She had respect
Back at the dining room table, she read until the grandfather clock in the front hall chimed midnight. Stretching, she looked down at the pile of mail she hadn’t read yet.
Catalogues—toss those. Professional magazines, and
The Smithsonian
, she put aside for herself and Theodore. Bills. And a thick envelope for Dr. and Mrs. Becker. She ripped it open.
An invitation to a party! For Eloise Linley. They used to be close, back when Teddy was in high school with Eloise’s son Jason, but Jason went off to college in California, married, and remained on the West Coast, and Marilyn hadn’t seen Eloise for years, until the funeral for her husband six months ago. Theodore wouldn’t want to go. He considered time spent on anyone but scientific colleagues a waste.
But Marilyn would go, she decided. It was a long time since she’d been to a party. The thought had a kind of frightening allure that made lightning bugs flicker in her heart.
8
ALICE
Arthritis was turning Alice into a stiff-limbed man-nequin. At home she sat around on a heating pad, but she didn’t dare use one of those at the office, especially now that little Alison was around. So Alice creaked and ached through her day, and after work she drove straight to CVS to buy a cartload of Bufferin.
She was hungry, and cranky, and her feet hurt, so naturally the lines at the cash register were long, and everyone was sneezing or hacking with a late-winter cold. She sighed, letting her eyes rest on a display on a nearby counter. Out of the blue, a truly bizarre craving possessed her.
There, among the chocolate Easter candy, was a rack of plastic beaded bracelets, in a symphonic sherbet of colors: turquoise, pink, pale green, lavender. Suddenly, for no reason, Alice desperately wanted to buy every color and slip them onto her wrist.
It would be like wearing a rainbow.
Still:
plastic
bracelets? For thirty years she’d worn only solid gold jewelry. She considered it a kind of signal: Whatever she touched was only the best. If anyone saw her wearing plastic bracelets—she shuddered, paid for her Bufferin, and hurried to the door, each step a burn of pain. She
had
to get different shoes.
Sleet hit her face as she rushed to her car. Just as she reached it, she slipped on some thin ice coating the pavement. Reaching out to catch herself, she knocked her arm on the hood of her Audi. She had to stop a moment to get her breath. Now her feet hurt, her back hurt, and her arm hurt.
“You okay, ma’am?” A punk kid with spiked hair and more spots on his face than a leopard approached her, sleet slapping against his jeans jacket.
“Of
course
I’m okay!” she snapped.
He held up his hands as if she’d pointed a gun at him. “Sor—
ry
.” Loping off, he looked over his shoulder at her.
“Jeez.”
“I am
not
an old woman!” Alice yelled at him, but only in her mind. She wasn’t so far gone that she’d taken to yelling at hoodlums in the street, even if she had spoken rudely to him. He’d only been trying to help, and she was appalled at her instinctive fear simply because he was young, tall, and resembled a space alien.
What was happening to her? She watched the boy move off down the street, making a game of sliding on the ice.
Come back,
she wanted to call.
Come back and
tell me if I look like an old woman!
Turning around, she entered the pharmacy, strode up to the counter, and selected seven plastic bracelets.
“For my niece,” she informed the salesgirl, needlessly.
“Oh, she’ll love these,” the girl cooed. “Everyone does. It’s the rage right now. They bring you good luck, too.”
“They do? How do you know?”
“It says so, right here.” The salesgirl pointed to the print on the card behind the rack of bracelets.
ORIENTAL GOOD LUCK BRACELETS
IN REAL FAUX STONES
WILL BRING YOU GOOD LUCK!!
One size fits all.
Stretchable. Made in China.
“Uh-huh.” She had respect
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