by Judy Blume
The boys, who were now seventeen and nineteen, were capable of looking after themselves, so she’d accepted Sherry’s invitation to lunch at Dorothy Dennis, a ladies’ tearoom. “We don’t get to see you often enough,” Sherry said.
“I know. J.J. and I were just saying the same thing.”
After their sandwich plates had been cleared and the tea served, Sherry said, “The store is so busy this time of year I help out as much as I can, and last week I saw a young girl, maybe fifteen, with eyes exactly like your brother’s.”
Frekki wasn’t sure how to respond.
“She’s friends with the Osner girl. You know the Osners, don’t you? He’s a dentist.”
“Yes, I’ve met them at the Club.”
“So while the Osner girl and her friend were trying on sneakers I told them they looked so cute together I just had to snap their picture with my new Polaroid camera.” She fished a photo out of her pocketbook and passed it to Frekki.
Frekki was surprised, but tried not to show it.
“What do you think?” Sherry asked.
“Makes me wish I had a daughter,” Frekki told her.
“About the resemblance, I mean.”
“I don’t see any resemblance.”
“Really? I’ve always thought your brother had the most unusual eyes, almond-shaped and hazel. And so does she. Of course I haven’t seen Mike in ages, not since he left town in a hurry.”
“He didn’t leave in a hurry. He enlisted.”
“Either way. We went to all the same parties that spring. He and Rusty Ammerman were crazy for each other. She was in my class at Battin.”
“I don’t remember that name.” The redhead. She hoped her face wasn’t giving anything away. Mike had brought her to the house in Weequahic a couple of times. And Frekki had been to the Ammermans’ house, too. Had enjoyed Mrs. Ammerman’s delicious chocolate cake.
“She’s still around.” Sherry said. “And this is her daughter, Miri.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Do I have to spell it out?”
“What you’re suggesting isn’t possible.”
“Are you sure? There was a story going around back then that Rusty had run off and married a boy that summer, a boy who was going overseas.”
“She didn’t marry my brother.”
“Well, she’s never married anyone else that I know of.”
“I think you should forget about this, Sherry. There’s no truth to it and all you can do is make trouble for both families.” Frekki glanced at the photo again. “She looks like a nice girl.”
“She is. The Osners love her like a daughter.”
Frekki dabbed at her mouth with the napkin, applied fresh lipstick and pushed back her chair. “I have to get back to the boys. Thanks for the lunch. Next time it’s on me.” Before she put on her jacket she said, “Oh, do you mind if I keep the picture?”
“Of course,” Sherry said. Was that a smirk on her face?
Frekki called her brother that night, made sure he could talk privately, then told him the story. “I just want to know one thing. Is it possible, yes or no?”
“No,” her brother said, convincingly.
She probably would have let it go if it hadn’t been for the plane crash. She didn’t need any more tsoris in her life. But by then she knew where Rusty lived, and how close the plane had come to her house and that beautiful young girl with Mike’s eyes, that girl who very likely was her niece. She couldn’t sleep that night thinking about it, or the night after that. Which is how she came to ring Rusty’s doorbell on Sunday morning.
Miri
Rusty and Irene were masters of cleaning up, putting everything away, keeping things in order—things they didn’t want to think about, as if they had a box in the closet and they could open it, shove in Frekki and her yellow Cadillac, close the lid, lock the box, put it back on the top shelf and be done with it. Sometimes Miri tried to imagine she, too, had a secret box on the top shelf of her closet, covered in burgundy velvet, a place to hide every hurt, every bad thought, every worry that she couldn’t do anything about—but it didn’t work as well for her as it did for Rusty and Irene. Still, she was good at pretending, good at putting on a happy face. She’d learned that much from her mother and grandmother. So she dressed in her best skirt and the sweater her friends had given her for her birthday, and went off to The Tavern restaurant in Ben Sapphire’s black Packard with Irene seated up front and she and Rusty sharing the back.
A few hours after Frekki Strasser came to their door, you would never have guessed anything unusual had happened that day. Neither Rusty nor Irene said a word to her about the unexpected visit. And Miri knew better than to ask them any questions today, a day they were celebrating the engagement of Henry and Leah.
Elizabeth Daily Post
POLIO CHAIRMAN NAMED
JAN. 20—Mr. Ronald T. Stein was today named chairman of the Union County division of the Annual March of Dimes Polio Drive. Mr. Stein is Chief Executive of Steinmack Trucking, a company he founded in 1938. With headquarters in Elizabeth, the firm has branches throughout the state. He resides in the Westminster section of Elizabeth with his wife, Sarah, and two children, a son, Philip, a senior at Thomas Jefferson High School, and a daughter, Deborah, a sophomore at the University of Michigan.
Long committed to community service, Mr. Stein is a Member of the Board of the Watchung Hills Children’s Home, which specializes in the care of polio patients. He is also on the Board of the Janet Memorial Home.
“Though polio cases have surged in recent years, we now see hope for a vaccine to prevent this dread disease,” Mr. Stein said. “We must redouble our efforts to raise funds to provide care for the afflicted and finance the research to end it.”
13
Miri
Everyone Miri knew considered The Tavern, in the Weequahic section of Newark, the best restaurant in New Jersey. Some families, like the Osners, treated The Tavern like a club. They were Sunday regulars. Other families, like Miri’s, celebrated only the most special events there.
Miri wasn’t surprised to see the Osners lining up just as she and her family arrived. The Tavern didn’t accept reservations. Miri had had Sunday dinners at The Tavern with Natalie and her family more times than she could count. She knew what they would order before they even sat down. Corinne, Natalie and Fern would start with consommé and they’d slice dill pickles into it. Slicing dill pickles into chicken soup struck Miri as disgusting but Natalie swore it was delicious. Every time Natalie said, Have a taste, Miri would say, No thanks. Miri supposed dill pickles in chicken soup was another tradition Corinne had brought with her from Birmingham, Alabama, like the Jewish Santa. Probably Tewky Purvis sliced dill pickles into his consommé, too.
When Irene had asked Rusty about the New Year’s Eve party, Rusty told her Tewky was the best dancer she’d ever danced with. “A lovely man.”
Irene brightened. “And…you’re going to see him again?”
“He lives in Birmingham, Alabama. His family owns a bank there.”
“A bank!” Irene sang. “So what’s a few miles between friends?”
“Unfortunately, he’s a confirmed bachelor.”
Irene paused. “He told you so?”
“He did.”
“Did you ever hear that meeting the right girl can change all that?”
“I’ve heard it but I don’t believe it.”
A confirmed bachelor? So Natalie was right. He was never getting married. Well, that was a relief.
At 4 p.m. the line to get a table at The Tavern was already long, extending down Elizabeth Avenue all the way past the Krich-Radisco building, where Fern would tilt her head back to see her reflection in the mirrored overhead. Families laughed and talked while waiting as if the wait were part of the whole experience, even in winter. Rumor had it the only person who never had to wait was Longy Zwillman. No one complained about that, either, at least not to the owner, Sam Teiger. They all wanted to s
tay on Sam Teiger’s good side. Not that Miri had ever laid eyes on Longy, but she listened when his name came up.
Miri introduced Leah to the Osners. “We’re celebrating our engagement today,” Leah said, holding up her hand as if she couldn’t believe it was her hand, with polished fingernails, a white orchid wrist corsage and, to top it all off, the ring. Corinne called the ring a truly elegant heirloom piece. Leah looked pleased. “Yes,” she said. “It is, isn’t it? Thank you so much.”
“It was my grandmother’s,” Miri told Natalie.
Natalie said, “My mother wears my grandmother’s ring, too. But she had the diamond reset to look more modern.”
Miri would never change Irene’s ring. She hoped Leah wouldn’t, either.
After forty-five minutes of waiting outside in the cold, they made it to the heated vestibule of the restaurant, where they shed their winter coats. Ben Sapphire helped Irene out of her Persian lamb, worn only on special occasions. Miri had always liked the way it smelled from the cold. When she was little she once napped on it at a family party. Lately she’d been thinking about how before it was a coat it was a real lamb, a little black lamb, maybe more than one little black lamb, and that thought haunted her now whenever Irene wore the coat, which was older than Miri. Every few years the furrier on Bergen Street in Newark would update it, making any necessary repairs. Last year he’d relined it with black-on-black patterned silk, embroidering IRENE AMMERMAN in shocking pink just inside the waist, like a fancy name tape, in case someone went home with the wrong coat.
Both Irene and Leah’s aunt Alma had purple orchid corsages pinned to their suit jackets. Alma had never been to The Tavern but, like everyone else, she’d heard of it.
Sam Teiger greeted everyone. “Doc,” he said to Dr. O, “have a little something,” as a waiter passed around a tray of hors d’oeuvres in case a person got hungry while waiting for a table.
Alma helped herself, daintily wiping her mouth with a cocktail napkin. “Delicious,” she said.
Dr. O introduced Henry to Sam Teiger. “Henry is the star reporter who’s been writing about the crash of the plane in Elizabeth. If you haven’t read his stories, you should. I hear he’s considered so good the paper is doubling his salary and giving him his own byline. Is that right, Henry?”
“Byline, yes,” Henry said. “Doubled salary?” He laughed. “Haven’t heard that one.”
“He’s being too modest,” Dr. O said. “And this is Henry’s fiancée, the lovely…”
“Leah Cohen,” Henry told Sam Teiger. “We’re celebrating our engagement today.”
Leah held up her left hand so Sam Teiger could admire her ring, which he did. “Heirloom,” Leah told him.
“Lovely,” Sam Teiger said. “And so are you.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Teiger,” Leah said, looking up from behind her bangs, with her most Debbie Reynolds look. Miri half expected her to burst into song. Then they’d all dance as if they were in a movie musical.
“This calls for Champagne!” Sam Teiger snapped his fingers and a captain appeared, like a genie out of a bottle. Sam asked, quietly, “How many in your party, Henry?”
“Seven,” Henry answered. “But we can squeeze around a table for six.”
“And we’re five,” Dr. O said, though no one had asked. “But we could squeeze around a table for four. Back-to-back tables would be good.”
“Let me see what I can do,” Sam Teiger said, nodding to the captain.
Two minutes later both families were being shown to their tables, one a table for six with an extra chair added, the other a table for six with one chair removed. The big room was attractive, but simple, noisy, but not too noisy. At their table Miri sat between Rusty and Aunt Alma, who was skinny, and, Miri thought, nervous, her hands trembling slightly.
Across the dining room Miri caught a glimpse of Mrs. Stein with her husband, who wanted to travel to exotic lands, and their son, Phil. She hoped Mrs. Stein wouldn’t come over to their table. She didn’t want to have to introduce her to Rusty. She didn’t want to risk how Rusty might react—all that insecurity about not being a good enough mother. She didn’t have to worry. Mrs. Stein acknowledged her with a small smile and a slight gesture of recognition that could have been missed by anyone but Miri. She was grateful to Mrs. Stein for that.
Sam Teiger sent over Champagne, as promised. “A magnum!” Ben Sapphire was impressed. “Sam Teiger is a real sport.”
The waiter popped the cork and poured it, filling Miri’s glass halfway before he realized she was underage. But no one took it away from her.
Irene made the first toast. “Thank you, Henry, for choosing Leah. I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather have for a daughter-in-law.” They all clinked glasses.
“Thank you, Mother Irene,” Leah said. Miri had never heard Leah refer to Irene as Mother Irene, as if she were a nun. Or would that be Sister Irene? She’d have to ask Suzanne, even though Suzanne was Protestant, not Catholic.
“Please, call me Irene.”
“Or Mama,” Henry said. “Because she’s a wonderful mama.” He leaned over and kissed Irene’s cheek. “There’s never been a better mama.”
“Such a son!” She hugged Henry.
Alma said, “My sister, Leah’s mother, is also a wonderful mother. It’s a shame she can’t be here today. But it’s such a long trip from Cleveland and with Sy’s arthritis…”
“But they’ll come for the wedding,” Leah said.
Leah
She was embarrassed her parents weren’t here, leaving Aunt Alma to cover for them. She knew darn well it had nothing to do with her father’s arthritis, which was mild, and everything to do with his pocketbook. He was such a cheapskate when it came to his wife and daughters. And not just with money, but with time, with affection. Now that he was retired it was all about playing the ponies at Thistledown, kibitzing at poker with his buddies or hanging out in the bookie’s room behind the paint store. His daughters never stood a chance with him. Girls, what good are girls? he’d supposedly said when she, and then her sister, were born. Her mother had no guts, never stood up to her father, kept her mouth shut to keep the peace. She’d had to scrimp and save out of her weekly allowance, serving hamburger instead of steak to buy her girls a pair of shoes. She felt sorry for her mother but she’d learned from her, too, learned to speak her mind, to make sure she would have a life apart from her husband’s. Sometimes she hoped her parents wouldn’t come to the wedding. Her father would only make trouble. She’d already told him they didn’t expect him to contribute to the cost, and he hadn’t argued. She and Henry were going to foot the bill and Irene was taking care of the liquor and the cake.
Henry’s family was so close. It worried her sometimes that she was fourth in line after Irene, Rusty and Miri. Not that they hadn’t welcomed her into the family. But he was so attached to them. She’d learned quickly never to say a critical word about any of them. As far as Henry was concerned, they were perfect. A hard act to follow.
Miri
Rusty gave a little cough to get the attention back to the toasts. She held up her glass. “Here’s to the best brother a girl could ever have. And you know I mean that, Henry. May you and Leah enjoy health and happiness always.” Then she choked up.
“Here, here…” Ben Sapphire said. Miri was surprised when he held up his glass because it wasn’t like he was one of the family. Still, no one stopped him from speaking. “Leah,” Ben Sapphire said, “you are joining a kind, generous, loving family. They rescued me when I thought my life was over and helped me find a reason to keep going.”
Now Miri was really surprised. She’d never heard Ben Sapphire say much of anything, let alone something so deep. At least it sounded deep to her. She was trying to think of what she could possibly say after that when Alma clutched her arm. Miri could tell she was growing more and more anxious. Now her hands shook as she passed Miri a note card. “I can’t make speeches,” she whispered. “Will you do it for me?”
So Mi
ri held up her glass the way the others had, and read, “Aunt Alma is so happy that Henry and Leah are marrying.” Miri glanced over at Aunt Alma, who gave her a nod and a small, grateful smile. “And she looks forward to the day you bring your children to her house to play in her yard.”
“Please,” Irene said. “Don’t rush them. They’re not even married yet.” Then everyone laughed, except Alma, who was embarrassed by what she had asked Miri to say for her.
Miri didn’t say any of the things she might have said to Henry alone. He was just thirteen years old when she was born. All of her childhood memories involved him. He was gentle with her and always kind. He never lied, never shied away from taking her questions seriously. When he went away to war she couldn’t stop crying. Every morning and every night she prayed for him. She prayed to a god she didn’t know, not the god from the High Holidays, but some other god, who wouldn’t be too busy to listen. Every night when she sat down to supper with Rusty and Irene, they joined hands, bowing their heads and closing their eyes. That meant they were thinking of Uncle Henry, who was over there.
Irene pasted a blue star in her window, signaling she had a son in the military. When they had air raid practice at night, when the sirens went off and they lowered their blackout curtains, Rusty would lie next to her in bed and tell her stories about Uncle Henry when he was a little boy. She’d always end by promising Miri the war could never come to Elizabeth and no enemy could harm them or any of America. Miri believed her until recently. The day Henry came back from the war was the happiest day of Miri’s life.
—
WHEN HENRY ORDERED broiled lobster, Alma surprised everyone by saying she’d have one, too. “My friend has a cottage in Maine and when I visited we bought lobsters right off the dock.”
“I’ve never been to Maine,” Rusty said.
“I highly recommend it,” Alma told her.
Miri watched, fascinated, at the way Alma dissected her lobster, meticulously removing every bit of meat before eating a bite, dipping each piece into butter, uttering small sounds of satisfaction as she did. She was the last to finish her meal.
