The following Monday, the phone rings at 3:24 pm.
"Mrs. Kaznyck?" I blurt into the phone. For all I know, it could be our landlord. For some reason, though, I feel that it's her.
"Alice, honey!" The voice on the other line bleats, and I sigh heavily, leaning against the kitchen wall. I only ever talked to Mrs. Kaznyck when she volunteered for our sixth-grade class, but her voice stirs an acute longing in me for Lillian Middle School and sticky art projects. "Is there some new caller identification thing I don't know about?"
"No," I laugh. "I had a lucky guess."
"Well, it's wonderful to hear your voice," she says. "I'm so delighted that you decided to be a Carnation Duchess!"
"What is this, exactly?"
"The Carnation Festival. You and other Lillian girls will be presented to the town, and then there are a bunch of parties. Lillian girls are presented as Princesses and out-of-towners are presented as Duchesses. At the Coronation, one girl is picked to be the Queen of the Carnation Festival. I was a Princess my year, and Elizabeth Lamb was a Queen, I think, and when I looked at the old records, I saw your mom's name down as a Princess, too."
Mom. Monica. She changed my diaper for two years and then left to go live with her business executive boyfriend in Dayton. She came back for a few months when I was eight and tried to be a mom again. She failed and was back in Dayton by the time I was nine. That was when Dad really started getting fucked up.
"Oh, sorry honey," Mrs. Kaznyck says, sensing my silence on the other end. "I know they're a bit of a touchy subject. Jackson made a complete turn-around after the incident, though. He and Joe aren't perfect, but he's paying for the boy to go to Rhode Island School of Design! Can you believe it?"
Joe? Going out of state? "That's wonderful," I say, but there's a catch in my throat. The few Lima kids I hang out with are all staying in-state—in-city, in fact. But I remember Joe's models, and the way he explained different shades of grey with such fervor in his voice. He'll love it at RISD.
"I know, we're just so proud of him," Mrs. Kaznyck sighs. "But you'll get to talk all about it to him when you come down for Carnation. I read your letter and I'll come drive you to Lillian. We can get Peg's Carnation dress altered—or maybe you'll like Jen's better—and we'll work something out about hair and makeup—"
"You would really do all of that for me?" I cry.
"Oh, Alice, of course!" Mrs. Kaznyck exclaims. "I mean, Joe practically demanded that you participate in the Festival. Charles was very adamant too. The boys miss you, dear. Joe was really torn up that you didn't try to contact him after you moved."
"Louis never gave me the chance," I say in a small voice. Joe insisted?
Well, of course Joe insisted.
Joe and Charles were half in love with me leading up to that summer. Joe was quiet about it, giving me longing looks from behind the library stacks until I looked up and he looked away, startled. Charles was more up-front, always asking me to be in his history project groups and, eventually, in his movie. I said yes because I was bored, and because I knew he wouldn't stop asking me until I agreed.
Of course, I also said yes because of Mrs. Lamb. She'd died practically at my father's hand. I owed it to Joe, to all of them, to be in Charles's movie.
It hadn't occurred to me that they thought about me as much as I thought about them.
"Well, I'm sure that's all water under the bridge now," Mrs. Kaznyck says. "Now, would it be possible for you to come down to Lillian one weekend so I can get you fitted for your dress? I'm not sure if you're more of a Peg or a Jen in terms of body type."
I giggle. Peg was short and a little heavy; Jen was all legs and curves. I'd shot up miles since moving from Lillian, but I lacked Jen's voluptuousness.
"Can I come on a weekday instead?" I ask.
"Now, Alice, I know you're eager, but to skip school—"
"Great, I'll be there Wednesday around noon."
"But that's when—"
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Kaznyck!"
I hang up the phone and race to the video store. In two days, I'll be back in Lillian. And maybe, after this Carnation thing, I can find a way to stay for good.
-x-
I leave the house at 7:45 on Wednesday, but instead of heading for Lima Senior, I bike towards the Greyhound Bus station on High Street. My last paycheck from the video store pays for my ticket, and the bus departs an hour later, headed south. I doze most of the way, only jolting awake whenever they announce a stop.
The bus finally stops in Lillian and I hop off, disoriented. My bike is back in Lima, hopefully still chained to a tree outside the station. I have a little over forty dollars in my purse, and I have no idea how to get to the Kaznyck's house.
Main Street, however, is familiar enough. My eyes prick with tears as I take in Olsen's camera store, Layman's, and the Navy Surplus. I stare for a long time at the gap where the water tower stood. I assume they've built a new one, but a gap remains where the alien took the old one.
And then, I remember. You have to cut through the water tower lot and follow the steel plant to get to the neighborhood. I know that. I've always known that. However, without a bike, that route is useless, so I suck it up and enter Olsen's.
"You guys have a phone book?" I ask, heading for their rotary phone. The kid behind the counter stares at me for a solid minute before plopping a dusty yellow phonebook down on the counter.
"Thanks," I mutter, taking the book and flipping through it until I get to the K's.
"Mrs. Kaznyck?" I say as soon as she picks up the phone. "I'm at Olsen's. I'm so sorry, but would you mind picking me up? I'm ready to get fitted for the dress."
"Oh my Lord, Alice, I didn't think you were serious about coming here on Wednesday," Mrs. Kaznyck says, exasperated. "But if you're here, I'll come get you in about ten minutes."
"Thank you," I say, hanging up the phone. The kid behind the counter is still staring.
"Yeah?" I snap.
"You're Alice Dainard, aren't you?" he asks, although it's more of an assertion than a question.
"Yeah," I reply. "How'd you know?"
"I…Sherriff Pruitt was my granddad," he explains. "I'm Christian. I go to Sinclair on Tuesdays and Thursdays." I nod. Sinclair is the community college in Dayton. "I kind of took over the job when Donny left."
"I liked him," I sigh. "They always say he had the best pot."
Christian laughs uncomfortably, and a brown Chevy Holden Torana that is unmistakably Mrs. Kaznyck's pulls up to the curb outside. I wave goodbye to Christian and rush outside.
"So good to see you," she murmurs as I slide into the passenger seat. "Although I must say, Alice, that I really don't approve of you coming down here on a school day. You didn't hitchhike down here, did you?"
"I took a Greyhound bus," I say.
"I don't really think that that's safe, especially with all of these missing children on the milk cartons," she says. "It's 1983, you can't just let kids run around like that anymore, especially not in Lima."
I stifle a laugh, but I know she's right. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kaznyck."
"We'll worry about it later," she says. "What do you think of Lillian?"
I rest my head against the window, watching other Chevys and Fords race by. "It hasn't changed much."
"The government paid for the repairs," Mrs. Kaznyck explains. "The train station needed to be rebuilt, and we needed a new water tower…they replaced a lot of appliances and such. Oh, and they rebuilt the houses that caught fire. They weren't happy, I think, about whatever it was getting away, but they didn't talk about it either."
I remember some of this from before we moved, but she's right—no one ever talks about Lillian. The only papers that ever talked about the incident were Lillian newspapers, which I salvaged during the move and saved for my wall. When I first came to Lima Senior, most people had never even heard of my hometown.
Mrs. Kaznyck pulls into the driveway of their ranch-style home, and we enter through the back door. She leads me into a small room that must have once been Jen's—a David Cassidy poster is glued to the powder pink wall.
"Jen used to just love that boy," Mrs. Kaznyck sighs. "But she's at Ohio University now, so this is my sewing room. Since Princesses wear white at the Festival and Duchesses have to wear something colorful, I pulled out their old prom dresses for you."
Jen's dress is a glittery pink affair: tight bodice, spaghetti straps, and a long, layered skirt. Peg's dress is simpler and much more to my taste: baby blue with cap sleeves and a square neckline. I smile shyly and point at Peg's.
"I thought so," Mrs. Kaznyck says. "Jen was always so…ostentatious. And those shorts she always insisted on wearing. Horrendous. Now slip this on and step up here."
Peg was taller than I thought but bigger in the bust; the dress does not need to be hemmed but does need to be taken in. Mrs. Kaznyck produces a pair of matching heels. I smile and wonder what my own mother wore.
"You're really generous to do all of this for me," I say as Mrs. Kaznyck helps me step out of the dress.
"Like I said, it was all Charles and Joe," she replies. "I'm just the Duchess Chairman."
I laugh right as the back door slams. A rowdy chorus of voices fills the house, and Mrs. Kaznyck purses her lips. Within minutes, her eldest son has materialized in the doorway.
"Mom, I—" Charles pauses, his mouth agape.
He's not exactly fat, but he is big-boned—built like a football player, and judging by his red letterman jacket, he probably is. His mess of chestnut brown hair is in need of a cut, but his brown eyes glow with warmth and confidence. From his rosy cheeks to his just-visible biceps, Charles Kaznyck has become quite gorgeous.
"Charles, honey, you remember Alice Dainard, right?"
