Alice Close Your Eyes Read Online Free Page B

angling, then reverses and backs slowly into the driveway. The door opens and a man climbs out. He zips up his jacket and waits in the driveway.
    A woman gets out of the car, then two young girls. They line up along the fence, looking at the house. The older girl says something to her mother, receives a kiss on the top of her head. She takes her sister’s hand and the two of them cross the street to the park where I sit watching, while the man in the driveway opens the moving van and starts to unload it.
    As the girls get closer, the younger one, a mop-headed bundle of about three, makes a beeline for the swings, careening forward on stubby legs with her sister in tow.
    “Sissy, swing me,” she says. Her voice is a bell, chiming in the stillness.
    The bucket seat is a stretch for the older girl, who is maybe nine or ten. She wraps a skinny arm around the toddler’s middle and tries to lift her into the swing.
    I toss away my cigarette. “Want a hand?”
    The girls blink up at me with fawnlike eyes, trailing garlands of golden hair that cling to their eyelashes and the matted fleece collars of their coats.
    “These seats are really hard to get into,” I say, and my throat is unexpectedly tight.
    Without waiting for permission, I scoop up the little one and slide her into the swing. Her chubby stockinged legs poke out the holes in the seat and she curls her hands around the chains.
    “Swing me,” she says imperiously.
    This time my smile feels more natural. I give her a nudge.
    “Do you want me to push her, so you can swing, too?” I say to the older girl.
    Soon both swings are in motion, squeaking gently, sending up rhythmic swirls of cool spring air as they pass. The sun peeks through the clouds and warms our faces. With my eyes closed, the park sounds like it did when I was a kid. Bird calls and rustling leaves underneath, bubbling with children’s voices on top.
    And my mother, laughing, her eyes full of sky.
    After a few minutes, the older girl lets her sneakers skid along the ground. She comes to a gradual stop, spins in place a few times by twisting the chains together and then letting go. The swing gains momentum and carries her hair like a banner in the sunshine.
    Little sister thinks this is hilarious. She giggles and chortles, snorts, then breaks into a full-bellied baby laugh until I can’t help but join in. It feels strange to laugh, as if I’m tempting the gods. I stop laughing and listen to them instead.
    Finally their amusement plays out and they go off to the slide. I resume my spot on the swing, shake out another cigarette and watch them while I smoke it. Big sister is pushing the little one up the slide. They keep tumbling down and having to start over.
    When the girls get tired, they amble back across the street and go inside the house. The man comes out and stands in the driveway, hands on his hips. He’s looking at me.
    I look back, rocking.

CHAPTER FOUR
    The next day, I ride my bike into town to the small family games and craft store off Harbor Street, where an internet search told me I could find kits for making ships in bottles. The shop turns out to be a bright, trim little place run by a four-foot-tall Filipino who says his name is Ernie.
    I point to the model in the window—a pirate ship in a fat glass bottle.
    “Did you make that?”
    He beams, inflating. “Yes.”
    “How is it done?”
    Ernie takes the bottle off the shelf and points a stubby finger at the glass. “You see? The masts are on hinges. You put the ship inside, pull the hinges to raise the masts.”
    I’m disappointed. “I thought the ships were built inside the bottle.”
    “You can do it that way, too.” He grins, his teeth flat and gray as paving stones. “Have to be patient. And careful.”
    His expression says he doubts I could be either.
    “What would I need to build a ship that way?” I say.
    “You don’t want to do that. Model with the hinges, much easier.”
    I look at him, unsmiling.
    Sighing