I instantly regretted the impulse. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m happy to hear Josie’s coming back.”
“Well, of course she is.” Alice pulled her cardigan tighter. Her eyes flicked to the ceiling, the floor, the escape route map on the wall, anything but me. “We had a nice time.”
I stepped aside, gesturing to the recliner. “Do you care for a seat? I’d love to hear about it.”
She studied the chair before giving a quick nod. I scolded myself for coming on to her and took a spot on the edge of Carl’s bed to wait it out. Maybe that’s all it would take: time. I certainly wasn’t going to outright address it.
“Well,” she said, “we shopped, and had lunch at that Mexican restaurant, San Jose’s. Sydney and Josie had margaritas, and after that, the makeover didn’t stop with an outfit. Sydney talked Josie into a haircut, but then Valencia got too tired and we had to come back before it was done.”
The tequila registered with me, but I pocketed it for later. “A makeover. Like in the movies?”
“Just a new outfit and a new hairdo, really. That was standard practice in our house every few months. My girls were spoiled, I suppose.”
“Spoiled, but not rotten. Your girls are lovely, Alice.”
“Thank you.” Her clasped hands in her lap held all her focus, and she dropped her voice. “Josie told us about her mother.”
I straightened. “What about her? What’d she say?”
“She passed away.”
“Did Josie tell you how?”
“Some. Don’t you know? I assumed you knew from Carl.”
“I didn’t press him,” I said coolly. “What did you hear?”
The tension in Alice’s shoulders shifted; it was no longer because of me. “She told us that her mother died two weeks ago. She wasn’t really clear on how, but on the way home Sydney said it sounded like she’d been sick for a while, and Josie took care of her almost the whole time. Can you imagine, Duffy? A young girl like her doing that?” She focused on me, reverent almost. “It makes me think of my cousin Gordy. When his wife got her cancer diagnosis and it moved to her bones, he couldn’t stand to care for her. He left it to the rest of us, and he was a grown man.”
I said nothing.
She gave me a tight nod, sensing my discomfort. “I didn’t know until today that Carl had lost his daughter, and I feel so terrible about it. We never acknowledged it like we’ve done with others. You know, in the blessing service when Pastor Jenkins comes or during Shabbat with Rabbi Weil. None of us even offered him any condolences, and I suspect he missed the funeral. Was it in Everton? Do you know?”
I shook my head.
“Can you imagine?” Alice said. “I’m sure the family was so shocked that they forgot to tell him, or maybe they were trying to keep it from him altogether. I hate when they do that, don’t you? Trying to spare us by lying.”
Again, I kept quiet.
She eyed the exit, and then me. “You know what I thought of? If Carl missed the funeral, we should put together a memorial. Maybe Josie would appreciate it too. We could talk to Shawn about arranging a trip to wherever she was buried . . . If you think Carl would want it, of course. You’d know better than anyone how he’d like to honor . . . My, I don’t even know her name.”
“Kaiya,” I said, surprising myself. “Her name was Kaiya.”
“That’s beautiful,” she said, then went quiet in appreciation or mourning, or both, neither of which I’d spent a moment on. The oversight got me feeling hotter than a burning stump.
Alice said finally, “If you wouldn’t mind, ask Carl what he’d like to do. I overstepped things with the mall trip, and I don’t want to do that again. It wasn’t my intention.”
“He’s acting like a damn baby,” I snapped.
Alice waited patiently for the rest. This was her way, to dangle a little grace out for me to leave or take.