All Souls (19 page)

“I was the one, you know,” Car said. “He didn't do anything really. He wouldn't. I mean, you know my father when he's had too much to drink.” If she could only describe the way his body strained its casing. “Do you remember years ago that sleepover I had when he came home and stepped on Kitty Johnson?”

“Oh my.”

“That's the way he is. He gets very sad, goes out and drinks, and comes home walloped and stumbles around until he finds something soft to lie on.”

“It's been a long time since I've seen your father,” Astra said. “Mom's funeral, I think.”

“Astra . . .”

“No, it's all right. I'm fine. I talk to Mom all the time, and I know she hears me. That sounds silly, but it's true. Sometimes when I was sick, I was sure she was sitting on my bed.”

“It's not silly.”

“I know you, Car,” then, “Mom says hi. She says, ‘Embrace the world.'” Astra took her friend's arm, said, “Come on. It's okay.”

“That was a heavy-duty play tonight.”

“Yes, it was. Come on,” Astra said. “I'll walk you.” This, their habit from whenever it was they were first allowed to walk home alone or together. Car would walk Astra to her apartment building, then Astra would turn and walk Car back to hers just to keep talking, but they had never before fallen into quite such a silence. It felt like what Car imagined was marriage.

This year two trends in the tulip plantings along Park Avenue: Either the tulips were tight and fringed, or else they were sloppy, enormous, the size of soup bowls in very bright yellows and oranges; on the streets, red. The plantings along the buildings on Fifth Avenue in the Nineties had more interest for Wendell Bliss. These plantings he saw as a response to the park on the other side; they were done up in a woodsy way, oak-leaf hydrangea, hellebores, and bulbs—grape hyacinth, daffodils, and proportionate white tulips. The borders at night looked watered and cool, and Mr. Bliss watched Peanut for signs, but tonight the little dog seemed happy only to be out, and she minced along just ahead. Her “mother” was home now that Marion Bliss was home. Marion was home, and her mother and the long
ordeal of winter were past. Poor Marion.
I keep on expecting my mother to call.

The girl walking toward Wendell Bliss looked almost as sad as his wife. Beautiful girl, she seemed to rearrange herself with a shake as she passed, but she passed by so quickly he couldn't return her small hello.

I wish to thank Rev. Alison B. Miller, whose fortitude and grace when confronting just such a cancer as Astra Dell's inspired this novel. Astra Dell's college essay quotations and her “Yes” to life attitude are taken from Rev. Miller's sermon “Leap of Faith.” Astra Dell, however, is an entirely fictional character and all details of her life, as well as the Siddons School, its community, and their actions, are invented.

For the gift of time, as well as support and affection, thank you to Dorothy Hutcheson, Laura Kirk, John Loughery, Abby Weintraub, and Elizabeth Hartley Winthrop.

C
HRISTINE
S
CHUTT
is the author of the short-story collection
Nightwork
. Her work, which has garnered an O. Henry Prize and a Pushcart Prize, is published widely in literary journals. Schutt lives and teaches in New York City.