The Two-Family House: A Novel

by Lynda Cohen Loigman

  “But the girls never come to the office. They don’t even know the picture is here.”

  “I know, but still. Maybe you should put up a family photo. I’ll bring you one from home.”

  And that was that—the slow transformation of his office had begun. After the third week, Natalie suggested he leave the extra chair against the wall. “That way, you won’t have to keep lugging it back and forth,” she told him. On the fifth Thursday she brought in a framed photo of Mort’s family that had been taken at a relative’s wedding the year before Teddy died.

  “Where did you find that?” he asked.

  “My mom had it in one of her albums. She said I could bring it to you. Do you like it?” Natalie looked up at him expectantly and smiled. What could he say? The photograph found a permanent spot on his desk.

  After that, there had been no stopping her. She brought a tin of hard candies one week and a dark green pencil holder several weeks later. Natalie understood that he needed time to acclimate to each new item before another one was introduced. She developed a slow-paced yet relentless momentum, and Mort found himself incapable of rejecting her offerings.

  He didn’t want to admit it, but he found himself enjoying the small changes she made. He put his feet up on the extra chair sometimes when he had his coffee, and he liked how the pencil cup looked when it was filled. There was something satisfying about seeing so many neatly sharpened pencils all in one place.

  Every Thursday, Natalie brought some work to do with Mort. Some days she brought equations to solve and some days she brought sketches of shapes she was trying to find the area of. One day she even brought in a story she had written. Mort smiled when he read the geometry-themed fairy tale she wrote about Princess Polygon and the evil dragon Decagon.

  “What made you think of this?” he asked.

  “Last week you taught me about tangents, and then the next day at school the same word was in our book, but it meant something else. The main character ‘went off on a tangent.’ It made me think about all of the geometry words I know, so I wrote a story.”

  “May I keep this?”

  She was pleased. “Sure! Do you really like it?”

  “It’s very clever.”

  The next morning he pulled the story out from his desk drawer to look at it again. He had just put it down when Abe knocked on his door.

  Abe whistled when he found his brother drinking his coffee with his feet up on the extra chair. “Making yourself comfortable there, Morty?”

  Mort sprung up from his seat and pushed the extra chair against the wall.

  “Don’t get up on my account. It’s good to see you relax a little. Nice change of pace.”

  “Hmmph.” Mort didn’t respond further, so Abe took the chair and sat down. “You know, Morty,” he went on, “I don’t think I ever sat down in your office before.” He stretched his arms out, leaned back and looked at his brother’s desk. “Got some new pictures too, I see. Good for you.” Abe chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Ah, nothing. Glad you finally got an extra chair in here, that’s all. Who knows, maybe I’ll come around and visit more, now that it’s so comfortable in here.” Mort gave Abe a look. “Don’t worry, little brother,” Abe reassured him, “I’m only kidding.”

  Chapter 46

  HELEN

  (April 1957)

  When the phone rang, Helen had a feeling it was going to be Arlene. Ever since they’d lost Teddy, Arlene had called Helen every day. Having a conversation with her used to be like pulling teeth, but since the funeral, Arlene hadn’t stopped talking.

  “Helen, sweetie, it’s me.” Arlene’s basic philosophy seemed to be that in order to move past her grief, Helen should be kept as busy as possible. So Arlene called every day with questions, problems that needed solving and tasks she thought might take Helen’s mind off her sorrow. Sometimes Arlene referred to her problems as “tiny hiccups” and sometimes she insisted she was just calling for “some practical advice.” But whenever Arlene called, Helen knew she would be on the phone for a good long while.

  “How are you, Arlene?”

  “Fine, fine! I just need a little practical advice.”

  “Of course. Tell me.”

  “Well, you know how Sol and I are just crazy about the theater.” As far as Helen knew, Sol hated the theater. But she decided to play along. “Mmm hmmm.”

  “We’ve been trying for ages to get tickets to see that show about the baseball team, you know the one I mean.”

  “Damn Yankees?”

  “That’s it! One of Sol’s buddy’s just called to say he has three tickets for the matinee tomorrow.”

  “Sounds terrific—what’s the problem?”

  “Well, Sol and I can’t make it tomorrow. We have a wedding, the daughter of one of Sol’s old friends from Chicago.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “It’s just that Johnny is dying to see the show. Two weeks ago, he had never even heard of Damn Yankees, but now it’s all he talks about. He’s convinced one of the real Yankees will show up.”

  “Poor kid. You want me to take him?”

  “Sol thought you and Abe could go with him.”

  “Abe is in Philadelphia, but I bet Natalie would love to go with us. She’s never been to a Broadway show.”

  “Then she’ll love it! Now, just one other thing. The wedding starts at noon. Sol and I have to drive out to New Jersey early in the day and Saturday is the housekeeper’s day off, so…”

  “Drop Johnny off any time.”

  “The reception may run late, so…”

  “Johnny can stay over with us. Just pack him a bag and bring it when you drop him off.”

  “I’m so glad this worked out for everyone.”

  “Always happy to help solve a problem.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t a problem, Helen. Just a tiny hiccup, that’s all.”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  Sol and Arlene didn’t even get out of the car when they dropped Johnny off. As soon as Helen opened the front door, Sol beeped the horn and Arlene waved her arm out the half-open window of the pale blue Cadillac. “See you tomorrow!” she called out.

  Johnny stood on the front porch, a small duffel bag in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. He looked at his aunt with an apologetic smile. “They were running late,” he said. Helen raised an eyebrow. She wrapped her right arm around her nephew’s shoulders. “Come inside,” she told him. “I hope our tickets are in that bag.” Johnny opened the bag and produced three tickets and a cold piece of toast. “Is that your breakfast?” Helen asked. She took the tickets, threw the toast in the trash and pointed Johnny toward the plate of warm blueberry muffins that sat on the kitchen table.

  “Those look good,” Johnny said, taking one. He was already taller than the last time she’d seen him, just a few weeks earlier. At eleven, Johnny was just starting to trade his little-boy dimples for more grown up good looks. Helen’s boys were all handsome, but Johnny was a different kind of good-looking. He took after Arlene, with his movie-star nose and chiseled cheekbones. Helen was sure he would be a heartbreaker one day.

  “Where is everybody?” Johnny asked.

  Helen poured him a glass of milk and sat down with him. “Let’s see. Well, you know your uncle Abe is out of town. Harry went with him—it’s the first time he’s ever been to Philadelphia. And the other boys are over at the baseball field. They have a doubleheader today.”

  “Where’s Natalie?”

  “Getting ready. She’ll be down in a little bit.”

  Johnny looked concerned. “Is she still really sad? Do you think she’ll like the show?”

  “Don’t worry, she’ll love it.”

  “Can I go upstairs and tell her I’m here?”

  “Sure, honey—go ahead.”

  * * *

  By the time they got to Penn Station, there wasn’t enough time to get lunch, so Helen bought the kids soft pretzels from one of
the carts. “Extra salt, please,” Natalie piped up, and Johnny said he liked his pretzels the same way. They were all in great spirits until a tall man in a gray overcoat bumped into Natalie on the way to the theater. Natalie ended up on the ground, and so did the pretzel. Johnny helped her up and Helen brushed her off, but the pretzel was unsalvageable. Since there was no time to buy another, Johnny handed Natalie his. “Here,” he told her, “take mine.”

  Helen wanted to cry. It was just what Teddy would have done, and Helen could tell from the look on Natalie’s face that she was thinking the very same thing. Natalie stared at Johnny for a moment, then grinned from ear to ear. She broke the pretzel into two equal pieces and gave one of the pieces back to him. “I’m not that hungry,” she told Johnny. “We can share it.”

  Chapter 47

  JUDITH

  Her father wanted to have lunch with her. Alone. The closest Judith had ever come to eating a meal alone with her father had been when her mother was pregnant with Mimi. Rose had been eight months along and exhausted. She had suggested that Mort take Judith for a walk and get her an ice cream cone. “Just remember,” Mort had warned, “I’m not buying you another one if you drop it. Understand?” He had said it over and over, so that Judith couldn’t even enjoy the cone because of his pestering. The ice cream had melted all over her hand, and he hadn’t even thought to give her a napkin!

  Claire, Judith’s friend from class, couldn’t believe it either. She had only met Mort a few times, but Judith had filled her in.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Claire offered.

  “If I bring you along, it will look like I don’t want to be alone with him.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I know. But I don’t want to make it so obvious.”

  “Take him to the coffee shop on Amsterdam,” Claire advised. “It’ll be crowded, but the service is so fast you won’t have to linger. They have good sandwiches too. Or did you want something more elegant?”

  “No, definitely not. The coffee shop will be quick, at least.” Judith was picking at one of her nails and frowning.

  “Don’t get yourself all worked up, Judith. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

  “He’s not really one for surprises.”

  Mort had a morning meeting with Abe on 134th Street, so he and Judith had agreed to meet at the stone archway at Amsterdam and 138th Street. “It’s called the Hudson Gate,” Judith told her father, “in case you need to ask someone where it is.”

  “I’ll find it,” he assured her.

  * * *

  Judith’s morning classes were over too quickly, and before she knew it, it was time to meet her father. He was waiting for her, just where he said he’d be, underneath the elaborate stone archway on 138th Street. He was standing on the Amsterdam Avenue side, looking in toward the campus. Judith spotted him first and for a moment thought about turning in the other direction. But he looked so harmless standing there, with his brown felt hat and his worn leather briefcase, that she couldn’t find the strength to walk away.

  “Hi,” Judith said to him. She had never called him “Daddy.” “Father” sounded strange. It was easiest not to address him at all. She was relieved that he made no move to embrace her.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Claire told me about a place a few blocks up from here—is a coffee shop all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “Up this way then.” Judith pointed to the right and the two of them walked together. She couldn’t think of anything to say, but her father didn’t seem to mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she had walked somewhere alongside him.

  After a few blocks they saw the coffee shop across the street. It was crowded, but the waitress sat them at the last available booth near the soda fountain. A few of the young women at the counter waved to Judith—she recognized them from her Romantic poetry class.

  When the waitress asked if they knew what they wanted, Judith answered quickly that she did. She didn’t want lunch to last any longer than it had to. “I’d like a cup of tea, please, with lemon. And a grilled cheese sandwich.”

  Judith looked over at her father. He hadn’t opened the menu either. “Chicken salad on rye,” he told the waitress. “And a cup of black coffee.” He handed the menu back and straightened his tie. After the waitress left, he pulled his old briefcase onto the seat of the booth and squeezed open the latch. Then he pulled out an envelope and handed it to her.

  “What’s this?” Judith asked him. He motioned for her to open it. Inside was a photograph of a young man, faded and bent in the upper left corner. It was Judith’s father, probably twenty-five years earlier. He was standing in front of the same stone arch where they had just met. “This is you. How old were you?”

  “I was eighteen. It was my first year at college.”

  “You went to college here?” Judith’s hand was shaking. Her father already knew the campus. It was possible he had already eaten in this coffee shop a hundred times. She put the photograph down on the table. “I remembered you took some math courses after high school, but you never told me you went to college here.”

  “Just for a little while. I never finished. When my father died, I left to help Abe with the business.”

  “Uncle Abe asked you to quit school?” Judith was surprised.

  “No, he didn’t want me to leave school. But my mother worried that it would be too hard for him to run the company alone. They argued about it.”

  “You majored in mathematics?”

  “Yes, but I had to leave in the middle of my sophomore year.”

  “Is that why…” Judith hesitated as the waitress approached their table and put two cups down. Judith put both of her hands around the steaming cup of tea. She was shivering.

  When the waitress left, her father raised his eyebrow. “Why what?”

  “Why you’re always so angry.” It dawned on her all at once. “You never wanted to work in the box business.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she tried to take them back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  The waitress reappeared and set down their plates. Her father picked up half of his chicken salad sandwich and took a bite. Why isn’t he yelling? She repeated her apology. “I’m sorry.”

  Instead of answering, he just chewed and swallowed. “I can’t believe this place is still here,” he said. “They always had the best chicken salad.” He proceeded to polish off the first half of his sandwich with a gusto Judith couldn’t remember ever seeing before. He usually only picked at his food. “You’re right about the business.” He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin from his lap. “I wanted to be a mathematician.”

  Judith was utterly confused. She barely recognized the man sitting across from her. The man who carried around old photographs and liked chicken salad sandwiches. The man who wanted to be a mathematician and wasn’t angry at his daughter. The man who wanted to have lunch with her.

  She took a sip of her tea and stared at her plate. Yellow cheese had congealed along the edges of the toasted bread. Her appetite was gone.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Judith asked her father.

  “I was going through some of my old things, and I found the photograph. It made me realize I never told you that I went to school here.”

  She had so many questions. “Is that why you made me go here? Because you wanted me to go to the same school you went to?”

  Her father’s face took on a familiar irritated expression. “Look, Judith, I don’t want to rehash that old argument. City College is a damn good school, even if it isn’t Bryn Mawr or Barnard. When you told us you wanted to go away we were just about to move. We were building the business. We had no idea what we’d be able to afford—”

  Painful memories came back to her in a torrent. “Do you know you never even congratulated me for getting into college? Not even for being named valedictorian of my class?” Her face grew hot and she began to cry. She tried to hold back her tears,
to spare herself the embarrassment of crying in front of her father in the coffee shop booth. She felt ridiculous. But she couldn’t stop.

  Her father said nothing. He turned to the briefcase that was still next to him on the seat of the booth, opened it again and fished out a second envelope. Was it another photo? Another piece of his past that he suddenly wanted to share? He handed it across the table to Judith. But this time the envelope was sealed. It was a letter, addressed to her, from Radcliffe College.

  She stopped crying. “Where did you get this?”

  “It came in the mail yesterday. Your mother hasn’t seen it.”

  But I told them to mail all correspondence to my adviser. Judith had decided to take an extra year at City College in order to continue her studies, but now she was ready for the next phase of her education. Five years had taught her a few things—this time around she was prepared. She had applied for scholarships, housing stipends and work-study jobs, all to secure her financial independence. She wasn’t going to ask her parents if she could go away to graduate school—she was going to tell them. She would work two extra jobs if she had to, but there was no way she was going to be discouraged this time. She had it all planned. Except the part about Radcliffe mailing her letter to the wrong address.

  Her father interrupted her thoughts. “Don’t you want to open it?”

  “I don’t want you to be angry.”

  “How can I be angry when I don’t even know what it says?”

  His casual manner only confused her more. She opened the envelope. “Read it,” her father urged. So she took a sip of cold tea and began:

  “‘We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Radcliffe College as a candidate for the degree of Master of Arts.…’” She skimmed the rest of the first page and then scanned the second. “This says I’ve been accepted as a Mary B. Greenough Scholar.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I have a full scholarship. I don’t have to pay any tuition. They’re giving me room and board.” Judith closed her eyes, savoring the words. “I have a full scholarship. I’m going to Radcliffe.” She braced herself for her father’s inevitable protest. He would be furious with her. Furious that he had been duped yet again. That she had schemed and withheld information. And this time he would be right. This time she had schemed. This time, she thought, he had every right to be angry.