It was only because of Teddy that he was able to do that now. It didn’t matter that the books his son found in the garage were much too difficult. It didn’t matter that he had never taught math to anyone before. What mattered was that Mort was sharing something he enjoyed with one of his children, perhaps for the very first time.
Mort had never been a father who sat down on the floor and played board games or drank pretend cups of tea. He didn’t kiss dolls and he didn’t sing lullabies. Mort hadn’t known how to talk to his daughters when they were little, and as they evolved into young women he found himself only more uncomfortable. When Teddy came along, Mort had hoped it would be different, but he had already fallen into bad habits. He thought baseball might bring them together, but Teddy was a tentative player, and Mort wasn’t exactly sure how to instruct him. Teddy was too young to play on his cousins’ team and too shy to ask any of the kids at school to be on theirs. Mort and Teddy listened to the professional games on the radio together, but as soon as the games ended, Mort ran out of things to say.
Every once in a while, Mort would bring Teddy to the factory so he could learn about the family business. But Teddy was still too young to be interested, and he mostly just sat at the receptionist’s desk and colored. Sometimes he watched the machinery, but it was loud and monotonous. When Mort stopped asking if he wanted to come along, Teddy never questioned it.
Then the children found the math book. Mort wondered whether Teddy would have had the courage to ask about it if Natalie hadn’t been there. He supposed it didn’t matter—she had been there, and Teddy was willing. Mort knew he would never be great at teaching his son how to hit or throw a baseball, but explaining arithmetic to him was something he knew he could do. The best thing was that Teddy seemed to enjoy it. Having Natalie close by seemed to give Teddy the confidence to ask Mort all of his questions.
“Dad, can you explain square roots again?”
“Absolutely. A square root of a number is a number which, multiplied by itself, gives you the original number. So the square root of nine is three because three times three equals nine.”
“Oh.” Teddy didn’t sound convinced.
“Let’s do it backwards. What is two times two?”
“Four.”
“Right. So that means the square root of four is two.”
“I think I understand.”
“Let’s pick a different number. Try sixteen. What do you think is the square root of sixteen?”
Teddy scrunched up his eyes to concentrate. “Four?”
“Yes! Because four times four is sixteen. Good!”
This is better than a home run, Mort thought.
Later that evening, when Teddy was in the bathroom, Natalie asked Mort another question. “Uncle Mort? There are really two square roots for every number, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean four is the square root of sixteen but negative four is also. Every positive number has two square roots, right?”
Mort nodded. “Yes, that’s true. A negative number times another negative number equals a positive number.”
“Good,” Natalie said. “That’s what I thought.”
She never lets Teddy figure out she knows more than he does.
Mort was used to being treated with a mixture of reverence and apprehension by his children, but Natalie was different. She wasn’t disrespectful, but she certainly wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, she seemed genuinely fond of him and comfortable in his presence in a way that most people were not.
“Uncle Mort, what do you like better, pie or cake?” she asked him one Thursday.
“Cake.”
“Exactly!” Natalie practically shouted. “Most people do. So why do books always use pies to show fractions? Why not cake?”
“Yeah!” Teddy chimed in. “I like cake better too.”
Mort didn’t skip a beat. “It’s the layer cakes that are the problem,” he said solemnly. “Layer cakes confuse the mathematicians because they have to multiply the fraction by the number of layers. That’s why they use pies.”
The children stared at him. Then they burst out laughing. “You’re so funny, Dad,” Teddy said.
No one’s ever said that to me before.
The next few months flew by for Mort. Teddy agreed to study with him on Sundays also, as long as they didn’t get too far ahead of Natalie. They calculated batting averages for Teddy’s favorite baseball players and the ERA of every pitcher in the league. Teddy’s work with percentages and decimals was far beyond that of a third grader. The old book was like magic—as long as it sat open between them, father and son could talk easily with each other.
Rose noticed the change and remarked on it to Mort one Thursday after Natalie had gone home. They were in the kitchen, and Rose was drying dishes.
“You seem to be having a nice time with Teddy lately,” she said. “Natalie too.” Rose hesitated for a few moments, then added, “Why don’t you try to get along like that with your own daughters?” She put away some glasses and closed one of the cabinet doors a little too forcefully.
“Excuse me?”
“You have three daughters. You’ve never taken an interest in them the way you have with Natalie.”
He was taken aback. “I’m studying math with Teddy.”
“You’re studying with Teddy and Natalie.”
“That’s because Natalie comes over on Thursdays. To be honest, I’m not sure Teddy would have asked about the math in the first place without her. She’s good for him.”
“Judith has always taken care of Teddy. But you don’t dote on her the way you dote on Natalie.”
“I don’t dote on anyone, Rose! Judith is hardly home!”
“But Judith is so smart. You never encouraged her.” Rose was angry.
Mort became flustered. “Isn’t Judith in college right now? Studying everything she wants? Isn’t she getting a good education?”
“But you don’t laugh with Judith, not the way you…” Rose’s eyes began to tear up.
“What are you crying about, Rose? Teddy and I finally found something we really like to do together. Don’t turn it into something unpleasant.”
But Rose couldn’t help herself. Her sobs only came faster and it was hard to understand the words she managed to choke out between them. “For so long … disappointment after disappointment … and then she comes along and suddenly it doesn’t seem to matter.…”
Mort couldn’t imagine why Rose was so upset. How could she criticize him for spending time with his son?
“I think you need to sit, Rose,” was all he could say. He guided her to one of the kitchen chairs. Then he sat across from her and waited.
Slowly, Rose controlled her crying, and her breathing steadied. She wiped her eyes a few times with a napkin and stared down at the table.
Mimi breezed into the kitchen just then. Her hair was in curlers and she had just applied a fresh coat of nail polish. “Hey, Mom, what do you think of this color? Is it too pink?” She looked up from her fingernails to see her mother’s tear-streaked face. “Gee, Mom, are you okay? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Rose told her. “Why don’t you ask your father about the color?”
Mimi looked at her mother like she had two heads. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” Rose insisted. “Mort, your daughter would like your opinion on something.” He gave her a confused look, but she ignored him, got up from the table and started to walk out of the kitchen. “I’m sure you two will have a nice conversation,” she said. And then she left.
Chapter 36
ROSE
(October 1956)
Rose was putting cereal bowls out on the table when Teddy hobbled into the kitchen. “Why are you limping like that?” she asked him. He sat down and filled a bowl with cornflakes from the box. Rose asked again, “Why are you limping?”
Teddy didn’t look up. “My shoes are tight, I guess.”
“You guess? Are they tight or aren
’t they?” Rose was irritated.
“Let me see your foot,” she told him. Teddy stuck one foot out from under the table, but looking at the shoe didn’t tell Rose much about the foot inside it. “Stand up,” she ordered. Teddy did as he was told and let Rose press on the front of his shoes. She could feel his toes pushing up against the edge of his Buster Browns.
“Why didn’t you tell me you needed new shoes?”
It took Teddy several moments to answer. “I told you a few weeks ago.”
“A few weeks ago?” She shook her head, unable to remember, and made her way to the coffeepot to pour herself a cup. “What did I say?”
“You told me that I had just gotten new shoes and my feet couldn’t grow again so fast.”
“I don’t remember having that conversation.”
Teddy stared into the bottom of his cereal bowl. He wouldn’t look up. “I told you my shoes were hurting on Saturday too,” he whispered.
“This past Saturday?”
He coughed. “Mmm.”
“I see. So it’s my fault that you’re limping.”
“No, I didn’t say—”
Rose silenced him with a look. “I’ll take you for shoes today, after school.”
“But it’s Tuesday.”
“So? The stores are open on Tuesdays.”
“I’m going to Natalie’s house today. I can wait one more day. Please!”
Mort walked into the kitchen just as Teddy’s eyes began to well up. “What’s all the yelling about?” he wanted to know.
Rose explained, “He can’t even walk, his shoes are so tight. I said we’d go shopping this afternoon, but no, he wants to go to your brother’s.”
Teddy’s face was flushed and sweaty. He looked desperate.
Mort had an idea. “Teddy, how are your sneakers?”
“A little small but not as tight as these.”
“Wear your sneakers to school then. Tomorrow you’ll get new shoes and new sneakers.”
Teddy looked happy, but Rose was furious. “You want him to go to school looking like a beggar?”
“Better a beggar than a cripple.” Mort held his ground. “He won’t make it through the morning in those shoes.”
“What is his teacher going to think? That he has a mother who can’t even dress her own son? He is not wearing sneakers to school!”
“Teddy, go to your room, please. Find your sneakers and give us a few minutes.” As soon as Teddy left the kitchen, Mort poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. Rose was still standing, glaring at him from her spot by the stove.
“Rose, please. Don’t blow this out of proportion. Why can’t you just take him for shoes tomorrow?”
“He needs them today.”
“One day isn’t going to make a difference.”
Rose looked like she wanted to throw her coffee at him. Instead, she dumped the remains in the sink, rinsed out the cup and placed it upside down on the dish rack. “You’re wrong. One day can make all the difference in the world.” She pointed to the clock over the sink. “The bus comes in ten minutes. You’d better call the kids downstairs if you want them to be on it. Otherwise, you’ll have to drive them to school. I’m going to get dressed.” She walked out of the kitchen, leaving Mort alone with his coffee.
* * *
About an hour after the girls got home from school, Rose was in the kitchen making dinner. It was baked chicken night and she was crushing Ritz crackers for the topping when she heard the phone ring.
“Rose, it’s Helen. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. You?” It wasn’t easy to get the casserole dish she needed off of the top shelf with only one hand. “Hold on a minute.” Even after she had the dish on the counter, Rose waited a few moments before putting the phone back to her ear.
“Sorry about that. Mort will pick Teddy up at the usual time, all right?”
“Sure. But how are you?”
“I told you I’m fine,” Rose snapped. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
“Teddy said you weren’t feeling well last week. I figured you still must be sick.”
“Well, you heard wrong. I haven’t been sick.” She always does this. Looking for bad news wherever she can find it.
There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line. “Oh. My mistake.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, one thing. I have some old shoes of George’s. They’re like new. He wore them maybe for a week before he grew out of them. I’m sending them home with Teddy. They fit. You’ll see if you like them.”
“Shoes?”
“You know me, I never throw anything away.” Helen let out a nervous laugh.
“I knew it. It’s always something about Teddy with you.”
“No, no. I just noticed last week he wasn’t walking so well and he said you didn’t get a chance to take him to the shoe store because you were sick.”
“I’m not blind, Helen! I wanted to take him for shoes today, but he threw a fit because he wanted to go to your house! He’d have had new shoes by now if it wasn’t for you!”
“Me? You’re blaming me? I’m giving him shoes!”
“Of course you are. You’re always coming to the rescue. Pointing out every little thing I do wrong. Keep your damned shoes, Helen! Keep them. Because so help me, if Teddy comes home with them I will throw them in the garbage!” Rose slammed down the phone. Her breathing was heavy and her hands were shaking. What a fool I am, she thought, worrying about the teacher. I should have known Helen would be the first one to notice.
Chapter 37
HELEN
(November 1956)
It had been nine years since they were all together for Thanksgiving. Helen wondered if Rose remembered. After Natalie and Teddy were born, Rose’s family started going to her aunt Faye’s for the holiday. But Faye’s husband, Stuart, had retired over the summer, and Faye and Stuart decided to spend the winter in Miami. When Helen called with an invitation, Rose had no excuse.
At first Helen had been thrilled. After a week passed, however, her excitement turned to regret. She was nervous. They had shared other holidays over the years—there had been Yom Kippur break-fasts, Fourth of July barbecues and Passover seders—but those had always included other relatives or friends. Thanksgiving would be just the two families. Even Sol and Arlene couldn’t make it—they had gone to Arlene’s brother’s place in New Jersey.
Luckily Helen didn’t have to worry about the food. Her Thanksgiving menu hadn’t changed much in the past eight years. That was one of the best things about the holiday, she decided. People didn’t want to be surprised—they wanted the classics: turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, apple pie. Judith always loved my apple pie.
Helen had seen Judith a few weeks earlier when she’d dropped off a birthday present for Dinah at the house. Helen wanted to stay and talk to her, but there hadn’t been time. She was glad she would see Judith today.
“Natalie! Come help me set the table!”
“Coming!” Natalie appeared a few moments later wearing denim overalls handed down from one brother and a faded green T-shirt handed down from another. Helen wasn’t surprised. That’s what happens when you have four older brothers.
“Hey, Mom, what’s this?” Natalie was rummaging through the drawers of the breakfront in the dining room searching for extra napkins. She held up a small cardboard box. “I found it under the napkin rings.”
Helen looked up from the silverware she was arranging. “I don’t know,” she said. “Let me see.”
Natalie passed the box to her mother. Inside it were four neat stacks of small cream cards. “They’re place cards. I think someone gave them to me at my bridal shower. I can’t believe I still have them.”
“Can we use them?”
“You mean for today?”
“I’m going to write all the names out in orange for Thanksgiving. It’ll be so pretty!”
Helen laughed. “All right, if you really w
ant to. But you’d better get started. Everyone will be here in a few hours and you still need to change out of those overalls.”
Half an hour later Natalie brought the finished cards into the dining room and started placing them on the table. “Mommy,” she asked, “who should I put next to you?”
“Oh, I don’t care. Just put me near the kitchen. And separate your brothers a little bit. If they’re all together they’ll kill each other.”
“I know. I put Dinah between George and Joe, and Mimi between Harry and Sam.”
“That was good thinking.”
“Yeah, but … where do you think I should put Aunt Rose?”
Helen knew what Natalie was hinting at from the way she asked the question. Is it that noticeable? Even to Natalie?
To be honest, Helen hadn’t thought for one moment about sitting or not sitting next to Rose. She had been too busy cooking. But now there were place cards, and she worried that Rose might think she had orchestrated the seating arrangement. “Why don’t you sit next to Aunt Rose?” she told Natalie.
“I can’t. I’m sitting next to Teddy on one side and Uncle Mort on the other.”
Helen was touched. “Oh honey, you can put Uncle Mort next to me. You don’t have to sit next to him.”
But Natalie was matter-of-fact. “I want to sit next to him.”
“You do?”
“Sure! Uncle Mort is really funny.”
“He is?” Helen was shocked.
Natalie nodded. “He told us a crazy story about mathematicians and cake. He was making it up but he acted really serious so we believed him. Mommy, what’s that called again, when you act serious but you’re really not?
“Sarcasm?”
“Yes! That’s it! Uncle Mort is great at sarcasm. Plus, he’s a really good teacher. On Thursdays after dinner, he teaches me and Teddy from his old math books. He makes up special problems for us because the books are too hard.”
Helen was speechless. Mort was teaching them math? Mort was funny? How had such a grim and humorless man captured Natalie’s affection? Helen didn’t want to think about it.
The Two-Family House: A Novel Page 15
