Nannie shook her head.
“What do you mean, no? Where’s Abe? Didn’t he follow us back to the house?”
“He’s not here, dear, he was never here.”
“I don’t believe you. I heard his voice when I was running to the beach.”
“He’s back home with his family, in Detroit, remember?”
“He didn’t come back?” What had Betty heard? Had his voice materialized from wishful thinking?
Nannie wiped strands of hair from Betty’s forehead. “He didn’t come back.”
Betty turned her head away, tears dripping onto her pillow and into her nostrils.
“Summer romances end, sweetheart. That’s just the nature of things like this. You’ll meet a boy when you’re at Barnard and this will all be a nice memory, I promise.”
“A nice memory?” Betty turned her head to look at Nannie. “This wasn’t just a summer romance! Abe has to take care of his mother. His brother just died. We’re going to marry one day.”
Betty thought that would shock Nannie, but she didn’t look surprised. “I know you think that.” Nannie patted Betty’s hand. “But it never would have worked.”
“You’re wrong.” Betty turned her face into the pillow. The same pillow she had once shared with Abe. She wished it still smelled like him. Did she have anything that smelled like him? Betty closed her eyes to conjure the talcum powder, hair cream, and sandalwood aftershave.
They had to let her talk to Abe.
Betty pulled her hand out from under her pillow and laid it atop her head. She opened her eyes and spotted her Miss South Haven sash folded on her vanity. She had wanted that so badly—but now it meant nothing. She’d ruined the day and the pageant for herself and everyone else. But that silly sash was now all she had of sweet, simple dreams come true. “I need to talk to Abe.”
Nannie shook her head. “That’s not going to happen, Betty. Even if he had come back, this thing between you would have to end.”
“It wasn’t going to end. He’s moving to New York when he graduates so we can be together.”
“Zaide and I never would have approved.”
Betty didn’t want to say she didn’t care, but Nannie’s stare said that she knew. “No matter how smitten you are, Betty, it was never going to happen. He’s a shegetz.”
She had never heard Nannie use that nasty word for a gentile boy. “How did you know that?”
“You don’t think we know everything about our staff?”
Too bad you don’t know everything about your granddaughter.
“But you couldn’t have known. You hired him.”
“Zaide hired him. I didn’t stop him.”
“Why did you let me go out with him?”
“I wanted you to be happy. And if I’d said no, what reason would I have given? Not that he wasn’t Jewish. Zaide promised me it wouldn’t cause a problem.”
“Abe was raised Jewish. His father is Jewish.”
“You know he’s not Jewish in the eyes of God unless his mother is Jewish.”
“You’re not even religious. Why do you even care?”
“It’s the way it is. Maybe Zaide and I have been too relaxed this summer, but we wanted you to feel grown-up while we could still keep an eye on you. My mother wouldn’t have even let me date a boy who wasn’t Jewish. She’d have sat shiva for me just for suggesting it.”
“That’s horrible.”
Nannie set her hands on her hips. “What’s not horrible is that we own a kosher resort and our customers are Jewish families. Good Jewish families who want to be with their own people. Those people trusting us and looking up to us is why you have everything you have.”
“What would people say if my granddaughter had a goyish boyfriend, or worse—God forbid? Your heart will heal, and you’ll find a nice Jewish boy at Columbia who wants a modern, pretty girl like you. You’ll earn your degree—the first in the family—have your career, and start a family.” Nannie patted Betty’s arm. “I’ll tell you what—because you’re upset, we won’t even discuss what happened to the blue dress I found all in pieces, or how you invited your parents here without telling anyone.”
Betty was stunned silent. In public she had always honored and obeyed her grandparents. But her bedroom wasn’t public. What would Nannie say if she knew what had happened right on that bed? What might be happening inside Betty?
“Knock, knock,” Tillie said.
Betty had forgotten about her parents. As much as she had wanted them there, she wished even more that they’d leave. She had wanted to impress them, not humiliate herself.
Tillie stood at the door, holding a tray of food at her waist. The one time Betty had asked her to come to South Haven, and there she was, feigning maternal affection. Or maybe attending the pageant was maternal, though Betty reasoned that Tillie and Joe figured it would be time for their annual visit anyway. Standing with the tray, Tillie looked like a cigarette girl, but with a longer skirt. Betty had never seen her mother do anything domestic, yet she looked too much like Tillie for her to seem a stranger. Would Betty look like her as she grew older? Gain that slight definition in her cheeks that were still plump and somewhat girlish? Betty didn’t mind looking like her mother. It had won her a beauty pageant, after all. But Betty would grow out of her frivolity. She would never place her own dreams ahead of the fundamental needs of her child.
Her child.
Betty saw Nancy’s face again. She was wrong. Nancy didn’t know Betty. Any fullness of Betty’s was from too many cheese Danish. She wasn’t one of those girls who needed “a trip to Europe.” Plus, she and Abe had been careful.
“Nourishment for the beauty queen,” Tillie said.
As Betty flipped to her back, the odor of scrambled eggs churned her stomach.
“I’m not hungry.”
Tillie set the tray on top of the dresser. At Betty’s bedside, her mother bowed and placed her hands on her knees. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea.” She gently pushed hair off Betty’s face.
Fish.
A tightness crept up into Betty’s throat. She wanted to scream. Cry. No—
Betty escaped from her bed, shoved Tillie aside, and ran down the hall into the bathroom, where she vomited into the toilet.
Alone, Betty sweated and shivered and purged the worst day of her life.
Soda crackers.
Betty changed into her blue terry-cloth robe that hung on the back of the bathroom door. Back in her room, someone had set a bucket by her bed. She had nothing left to give it.
She climbed into bed and under the cover without speaking to Nannie or Tillie, but she felt Tillie staring. Betty glanced at her mother and Tillie averted her gaze.
“I’ll go down and wait for the doctor,” Tillie said. “Unless you want me to stay.”
Betty shook her head and Tillie left, her footsteps out of the bedroom followed by her footsteps down the stairs.
“I know you’re disappointed,” Nannie said. “And I know it’s hard to believe, but you’ll get over him.”
Disappointed? Was Nannie serious? Betty was heartbroken. Bereft. Confused. Nauseated. Terrified.
“Once you’re feeling better . . .”
“You’ll let me phone him? I promise not to stay on too long.”
“No, that’s not what I was going to say. Before you leave, you’re going to apologize to Mrs. Bookbinder for your behavior.” Nannie spit her words as if she couldn’t get them out fast enough.
Betty had fainted and gotten sick and this was what Nannie cared about?
Dr. Silver stepped into the room. Joe walked to Betty and kissed her on the forehead. Betty turned her head away.
Why did her parents even bother?
Dr. Silver pulled Betty’s vanity stool next to her bed and sat. “I heard you had a little fainting spell. And some nausea.”
Betty nodded. “I didn’t eat breakfast.”
“Let’s just make sure there’s no infection.” He pulled a tongue depressor out
of his shirt pocket. “Say aah.”
Betty opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, though she was becoming more certain that that was not how he’d find out what they needed to know.
Dr. Silver turned to her family. “Betty’s eighteen now; we’ll need some privacy. I’ll let you know what I find.”
The doctor wasn’t rushing to any diagnosis; neither should Betty. The ambiguous nature of his black medical bag and the stethoscope around his neck eased her worries.
Nannie shooed the others out the door.
“You too, Yetta,” Dr. Silver said. “No exceptions.”
Nannie argued, but the doctor did not relent. Nannie closed the door behind her, and Betty hoped she wasn’t right outside eavesdropping.
Dr. Silver looked, listened, tapped, and pressed. Did her heart sound different now that it had been stomped on by her grandmother and possibly abandoned by Abe?
The doctor leaned toward Betty and furrowed his brows. It looked like he wore a giant caterpillar across his forehead.
“Tell me,” Dr. Silver said. “When was your last cycle?”
Betty felt sobs gathering inside her. He knew. He couldn’t know. “I don’t really keep track. June, maybe? The end of May?” She fanned through the weeks in her head, needing to figure this out. “Maybe the middle of June?”
“Betty, could you be pregnant?”
“No!” She covered her face with her hands as her empty stomach turned somersaults.
“I don’t mean to upset you. I’m going to ask you another personal and very specific question and it’s important that you answer honestly. Even if it’s embarrassing. Do you understand?”
Betty nodded. What could be more embarrassing than asking about the timing of her monthlies?
“Have you had sexual relations in the past few months?”
Betty uncovered her face and bolted upright. She wanted to say no, preserving her reputation, and she wanted to say yes, validating her and Abe’s love—but in that moment she knew her words didn’t matter. If it were true, she wouldn’t be able to deny it for long.
Betty had heard whispers about what happened to girls who got into trouble. She had paid little mind except to roll her eyes and giggle. Illegitimate babies were more of a concept than a reality. One day a girl was in school, the next she wasn’t. No one asked questions.
Then the girl was back in school six months later or the next term. No one mentioned a baby.
This shanda had never touched her circle of family or friends. Well, not that she knew of. Not until now. But as soon as Abe knew, he would come.
Dr. Silver cleared his throat. “We’ll confirm with a blood test, of course.”
“I can’t tell my grandparents.”
“They have to be told. Keeping this kind of secret won’t be good for you or the baby.”
Betty had never even told Nannie she’d kissed a boy; now she had to tell her this? Could anything be worse? “Will you tell them, Dr. Silver?”
He nodded without any hesitation, and Betty realized he’d likely done this before. At least now Nannie would have no choice but to let her telephone Abe.
Someone tapped on the door. Betty’s heart pounded and she shuddered. She wasn’t ready—not for any of this but certainly not to face Nannie.
“Betty, it’s us. We can come back if you’d rather.” Georgia’s voice was light and summery, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Which she hadn’t.
“Don’t leave!”
The door opened and it was as if Betty’s personal fairy godmothers had appeared by magic. The light in the hall shrouded Georgia and Doris in the shimmery glow of dancing dust particles.
“We passed Dr. Silver on the stairs. He says you need your rest. Your grandmother said you’re suffering from exhaustion and sunstroke. Is that true?” Georgia said. She grabbed Betty’s arm and lay fingers on her wrist to take her pulse, not that it would mean anything. Betty knew one day, it would.
“It’s not exactly exhaustion,” Betty said, wiggling her arm from Georgia’s hold.
“You’re scaring us,” Doris said.
“That makes three of us.” Or was that four? Betty needed to say it aloud. Her heart thumped so loudly she couldn’t hear her own voice inside her head. “I think I’m having a baby.”
Georgia and Doris gasped. “No!”
“Yes.”
“You had sex?” Doris asked.
“Obviously,” Georgia said. She reached her arms around Betty and held on tight. “What do you need me to do?”
Exactly that, Betty thought. She leaned into Georgia, who rocked her. Back and forth, back and forth.
“What are you going to do?” Doris clasped her hands in front of her as if to blockade herself, then she opened her arms and leaned onto Georgia for a group hug.
“I’m going to tell Abe,” Betty said.
They broke apart the hug.
“And do you think you’ll get married?” Georgia asked.
Betty nodded. There was no other option.
“But you said he wasn’t Jewish,” Doris said.
“You sound like Nannie. She’ll change her mind. She’ll have to.”
Georgia opened her mouth wide enough to let out a scream, but she stayed silent.
Betty knew Irish married Irish. Italian married Italian. Catholics married Catholics (as long as their grandparents came from the same country). And Jews married Jews.
“I don’t care,” Betty said. “It doesn’t feel wrong, even though it goes against everything I was raised to think is right.”
Georgia set her hands on her knees and inhaled a deep breath. “I understand completely. Sometimes the connection is stronger than any logic or good sense.”
“Yes!”
“You’re bonkers!” Doris said.
“Just wait till you fall in love,” Georgia said. “It doesn’t always happen according to plan.”
At that moment Georgia’s ease dissolved into a wistful sadness—which was not at all like the Georgia Betty knew.
Doris hugged Betty. “I have to get back, but I’ll visit tomorrow.”
Betty nodded.
“And if anyone asks—I know—you’re suffering from exhaustion,” Doris said.
She scampered down the steps, and Betty knew she had rattled her friend but that Doris would guard the secret with her life. She turned to look at Georgia.
“Please tell me what’s going on with you,” Betty said.
Georgia shook her head in a perpetual no. “You have enough going on.”
“I have a feeling it’s going to be all about me as soon as my grandparents know about my situation. Distract me. Tell me about your guy. I know there is one, Georgia. He’s making you sad. Who is he?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s too awful. You’ll hate me.”
“I just told you I’m having a baby. You can tell me anything. Nothing will ever make me hate you.”
“You’re not going to like what I say.”
“Let me decide for myself. Do you love him?”
Georgia nodded. “Oh yes.”
“Does he love you back?”
“I think so.”
I think so was never the right answer.
“Did you go all the way?”
Georgia’s faced flushed crimson.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought you knew and didn’t say anything because you didn’t approve.”
“How would I know?”
“Because you saw us together.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It wasn’t Marv and Eleanor on the dunes that night. I couldn’t believe you didn’t recognize the sweater.”
It had been aquamarine, with pearl buttons, folded neatly. The way someone trained in a department store would fold a sweater. Georgia’s family’s department store. A tingle skittered across Betty’s shoulders and up her neck.
“Oh my God. That was you. It was you we saw on the ground having . . . You’re in lo
ve with Marv Peck?”
Georgia slapped Betty’s arm. “It wasn’t Marv.” Georgia glanced side to side and behind her. “It was Sam Bloomfield,” she whispered.
“Sam Bloomfield?” Betty whisper-yelled, trying to match the name with a face. “You mean MISTER Bloomfield? Oh my God, he’s old!”
“He’s not old, he’s thirty-two. He’s mature and sophisticated. I love him.”
“He’s married! He has children. And one on the way. Oh, Georgia. You’re too smart to do that.”
“Apparently not.”
“The Bloomfields left,” Betty said. “They’re not coming back until next year. How did you leave it?”
“He told me he cared for me, and it was fun, but it was over.” Georgia laid her head on Betty’s lap, and Betty stroked her hair.
A few months earlier, Betty might have silently held up Georgia to a traditional standard, but that measure was no longer relevant. Disparaging thoughts about Sam Bloomfield ran through her mind, but her friend didn’t need to hear them. Betty just wrapped her arms around Georgia and rocked.
“I guess we both lost our first loves,” Georgia said.
Betty released Georgia. “I did not lose Abe. He doesn’t know.” For the first time since that morning, adrenaline rushed through her. “Georgia, take me to see him. Drive me to Detroit. Or drive me to a bus and I’ll take a bus to Detroit. As soon as he sees me and he knows about the baby, everything will be fine.”
“Betty, you haven’t had a telephone call or letter in two weeks.”
“Two weeks isn’t so long.”
“Two weeks is too long.”
“But everything has changed.”
“Has it? Abe doesn’t know that. But he knew how important Miss South Haven was to you and he didn’t show up.”
“So, he was busy.”
“Too busy to send a postcard or a telegram to wish you good luck?”
“But he loves me—he wouldn’t just stop.”
“Betty, he did stop. He might care for you but he’s not showing it, he’s not here. That’s a choice. It doesn’t take long to jot off a postcard, even if he can’t call.”
The Last Bathing Beauty Page 24
