Mr. Blake understood her very well. He knew why she felt alone and apart from the rest of the world. He understood why she ran away. In fact, he was the only one who understood her.
Her mother cried for days because Alice ran away without a word. And Mrs. Harrison just didn’t understand why Alice had left, or why their neighbor Mr. Blake was the only person who was calm about the situation.
“Mr. Blake, how can you just sit there and tell me that my daughter is fine? How do you know that?? What makes you think you know my Alice?” she demanded to know, throwing her arms in the air.
“Mrs. Harrison, your daughter is fine. You are exaggerating now. You must know that she is a writer. Every writer needs a story; Alice needed a story so she ran away,” he said, ignoring Mrs. Harrison’s flaunts. He was sitting across from her, leaning on the kitchen table, smoking his pipe, occasionally checking his watch.
Jim Blake was an honest man. A writer himself, a smoker, and he had known the Harrison’s for many years. He was a middle-aged man and was in love with Mrs. Victoria Harrison. Because Victoria was a faithful woman who was deeply devoted to her husband, Jim Blake never revealed his feelings for her. Instead, he became close to Alice, the perfect replica of Victoria, with the same blue eyes, the same pale lips, the same smooth, silky blond hair. He took her out for coffee and ice cream, to the movies, to the park, and they had a marvelous time together. Alice was 19, fresh and flirtatious, an attractive girl, talented and a fine writer. He loved to read her writings. He cherished every moment with her and wished he was young. Alice came to him for advice, for tips on being a better a writer, for talk. And Jim openly welcomed her presence, knowing very well that she would never become Victoria, that she would never understand his feelings.
Mrs. Harrison began to cry, not violently, but quietly. Mr. Blake got off his chair and held her.
“Look Victoria, Alice is going to be a great writer. You just have to trust her. She knows what she’s doing,” he reassured her, speaking gently into her ears.
They both sat down. Mrs. Harrison poured herself a glass of vodka and wiped the tears off her face. Mr. Blake offered her his pipe and she took it gladly.
They smoked for a while. Neither one of them said a word. Then when Mrs. Harrison heard her husband’s footsteps from outside, she asked Mr. Blake to leave quietly from the back door.
Jim Blake left without another word, forgetting to retrieve his pipe. He knew he was never going to see Alice again.