by Peg Cochran
Afterwards, that one moment in time became frozen in Mary's memory forever. Even ten years later she could see the way the sun slanted through the trees and bounced off the roof of a passing car creating a blur of hazy light. She could hear the pounding heartbeat of the alarm behind her and feel her own heartbeat immediately ratchet up to warp speed.
Her first reaction was to freeze although her mind was screaming "run, run" in a shrill, insistent voice.
“I’ll call my father. He’s a lawyer.” Deirdre burst through the door behind her, breathless, her cell phone already out. Her hands shook as she punched in the familiar numbers.
Mary was too stunned to say anything. The theft had been impulsive. Crazy. She wanted to rewind the tape like they did on television, only this time she would put the iPod back in the case and walk out empty-handed.
The store manager rushed out. He must have been in the break room having his dinner because he still had a napkin tucked into the open neck of his sport shirt. He stood between Mary and the curb with his arms held out in front of him and his upper lip curled like a guard dog keeping a thief at bay. Mary wouldn't have been remotely surprised if he had started to growl.
A police car came around to the back of the store. Mary was grateful they didn’t use the sirens. The two policemen who rushed into the back room of Eric’s Electronics were enormous. Their presence sucked all the air out of the tiny, cramped space. Mary smelled sweat and cheap aftershave on one of them, and it made her feel like puking.
Deirdre was still pale and shaking, and Pamela was watching the whole thing as if she were curled up at home and this was the Lifetime movie of the week. She had taken an emery board from her purse and was filing her nails.
They stood around waiting for Deirdre's father. Mary heard each minute tick by on the time clock by the back door. The two policemen shifted back and forth from one leg to the other. They wouldn't sit down. Mary wondered if they were afraid she would try to escape?
Deirdre's father finally burst through the door, bringing a blast of warm, humid air with him. Mary had never met him although she’d seen him outside plenty of times cutting the grass or getting the mail. He looked younger than her father and more successful. His charcoal gray, pin-striped jacket buttoned smoothly over his stomach, and his dark hair was long enough to curl over the tops of his ears and the back of his shirt collar.
“Daddy, you came.” Deirdre threw herself into his arms.
He pushed Deirdre aside and turned toward Mary, holding out his hand. “Mike Ruffelo.”
Mary took his hand. She had to fight the urge to cling to it. Everything had suddenly become very real. And very scary.
“Would you mind if I have a word?” Mike looked at the two policemen who had finally perched on the edge of the manager's battered metal desk.
They nodded.
Mike put his hand on Mary’s back and steered her toward a corner that was as far away from the two policemen as they could get.
His hand lingered on the small of her back like a caress. When it suddenly slipped lower, Mary twisted around until he was forced to drop his arm to his side.
"Quickly. Tell me what happened." His voice was low, his breath whispering across her ear. He smelled like beer and breath mints.
Mary told him about the impulse that had led her to taking the iPod. She thought of the cash she'd slipped from Mr. Sobeleski's cash drawer, and she knew her face was getting red.
"Leave things to me. Don't answer any more questions unless I tell you to."
Mike put his arm on her back again and led her over toward the policemen.
"We need to take you down to the station." The larger of the two said to Mary.
Mary glanced at Mike in panic.
He nodded and tightened his arm around her waist. "Any objections to my riding along?"
The two policemen glanced at each other and shrugged.
They got into the backseat of the patrol car, Mary sliding all the way across the worn vinyl seat so that Mike could slip in beside her. The space felt smaller than usual, the windows clouded over with splattered mud and grime. Mary's panic rose. This was real. She was going to the police station in a police car.
She looked out the back window as they pulled out of the parking lot. She could see Deirdre behind the wheel of her father's BMW, jerking away from the curb with an audible grinding of gears.
Deirdre wanted to hang out at the police station and wait for her father and Mary. It would be nice if they could ride home together, but her father told her not to wait, he’d catch a cab later. All of his attention had been on Mary. They’d disappeared through some door behind the front desk of the police station while Deirdre waited in the lobby.
Her hands were still shaking as she pulled out of the parking lot behind the police station. She had no idea what was going to happen to Mary. The whole thing was terrible. It wasn’t like Mary to do something like that. If she’d known Mary wanted an iPod so badly, she would have given her the one Maureen and Ed had bought for her.
She pulled into her driveway and sat there, leaning on the wheel. She’d been so distracted that she went through the stop sign at the intersection of Maple and Elm even though she’d known her whole life that there was one there. It was luck that no one had been coming the other way.
She put the keys to her father’s car in the bowl on the table in the foyer. Voices were coming from the living room which was strange.
“Oh, Deirdre, is that you?” Her mother came into the foyer carrying a tumbler of clear white liquid that Deirdre knew wasn’t water. “I thought I saw Mike’s car…”
“Daddy’s coming later. In a cab.”
Deirdre’s mother raised her eyebrows. “A cab? Well, never mind that, there are these people here to see you.” She gestured toward the living room, and the ice cubes clinked against the side of her glass.
The way she said “these people” made Deirdre half expect to find a room full of aliens. She peered cautiously around the corner into the living room.
It was the Bergmans—the couple planning to adopt her baby. Deirdre had a moment of panic. She hoped there wasn’t anything wrong.
“Ah, Deirdre!” Ed got to his feet and stood rubbing his hands together as if he were cold.
Maureen perched on the very edge of the all-white sofa. “We thought we’d drop by, and say hello and see how you’re doing.” She sounded nervous and unsure of herself.
Deidre glanced at her mother, who hadn’t sat down, but was leaning against the wall by the door. She was wearing a pair of off-white linen trousers and a thin, black cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed up. Maureen, in contrast, had on navy polyester slacks and a white blouse with eyelet trim. Ed was wearing his shorts with the cargo pockets again. Deirdre could imagine what her mother thought of them.
“Sit.” Ed pointed at the sofa and fluffed one of the back cushions for Deirdre.
Her mother made a snorting noise in the back of her throat. “If you need me for anything, I’ll be upstairs.”
They were quiet as they listened to her footsteps receding up the stairs.
“Well.” Ed rubbed his hands together again.
“Maybe we should have called.” Maureen patted Deirdre’s hand. "But we were so anxious to hear how you're doing. Everything is okay, isn't it?"
“Yes. I’m fine. You can come by anytime.” Deirdre looked from one to the other of them as they smiled hesitantly at her. She really was glad to see them. She leaned back against the cushion Ed had fluffed for her, and relaxed slightly.
The Bergmans looked at each other.
"You look tense, dear." Maureen took Deirdre's hand. "That's not good for the baby, you know."
Deirdre nodded. Tears pressed against her closed lids. Their care and fussing made her feel vulnerable.
Just then the front door flew open, and Deirdre’s father rushed in. He nodded at the Bergmans and headed straight toward the bar. They heard the clink of several ice cubes and then the hiss of
a seltzer bottle being opened.
He walked back into the living room taking a long, deep swallow of his drink. He raised his glass toward the Bergmans, “nice to see you.” He mouthed at Deirdre, “friends of your mother’s?”
Deirdre shook her head and was about to explain, but her father was already walking from the room.
“Wait.” She called after him. “What happened with Mary?”
He waved a hand at her. “Later.”
“Maybe we should go.” This time Maureen got to her feet, and Ed followed suit. Maureen smiled apologetically. “I think we're in the way. Next time we’ll call.”
Deirdre protested, but they insisted. She walked them to the door. She didn’t want them to go. She wanted to capture that feeling she’d had last time when they met at Starbucks and they’d asked her all about the baby and how she felt and had given her a present.
They seemed in a hurry to leave this time and almost ran down the front steps towards the dusty white Taurus they’d left parked in the street.
“Are they gone?” Deirdre’s mother came down the stairs a minute later and stood by the open front door. “Who are those dreadful people?”
“I told you. They’re adopting my baby. And they aren’t awful. They’re kind, and they care about me.” Deirdre sniffled.
“Honestly, Deirdre. They want your baby, not you.” Her mother watched as they disappeared down the street. “I’m not so sure I want my grandchild being raised by those tedious people.” And she slammed the front door.
The police hadn't wanted to release Mary to Mike Ruffelo's custody, but after trying for over an hour to get either of her parents, they had given up and let Mike take her home in a taxi.
The house was empty when Mary walked in the back door. A whole chicken sat out on the counter in the kitchen—raw, with its legs splayed grotesquely. There were several gashes in it as if someone had tried to cut it up and had failed. A pot of water on the stove with green beans floating in it—they hadn't been trimmed or anything, just dumped in any old way.
It was nothing unusual. Mary's mother would try her best to make dinner, and would struggle with the ingredients, but in the end her father would order take-out or they'd heat up a frozen pizza.
Mary climbed the stairs to her room, too stunned to cry, although she could feel the pressure of tears building up behind her eyes. When she got up this morning, she had no idea that by evening her life would be over. She was on her way to becoming a convicted shoplifter. She'd never get to college now. Who would want to give her a scholarship?
She didn't know what she would have done if Deirdre hadn't called her father. He'd told her not to worry—that he'd plead extenuating circumstances when they got to court and all she'd likely get would be community service.
He had saved her life.
Even if he did keep trying to touch her in ways that made
her slightly uncomfortable.
Later that week there was a small story in the local paper about a girl being arrested for shoplifting at Eric's Electronics. It didn't mention any names, but Rivka cut it out with a pair of manicure scissors anyway. Pamela told her all about it. She didn't want her mother reading it and giving that annoying little shriek of hers and then spending hours wondering, out loud, who on earth could do something like that. It wasn't like Mary was a criminal or anything. Mary shouldn't have taken the iPod—Rivka knew that. But somehow she couldn't really blame her.
Rivka was packing her bag when her mother knocked on the door. This was it—the day she was leaving for the beach with Pamela, Mary and Deirdre. She was so excited she hadn't been able to eat more than half her sandwich at lunch.
Rivka stood in the doorway so her mother couldn't come into her room. Maybe she would get the hint and go away.
But no.
"Are you getting excited, bubeleh?" Her mother looked as if she had nothing else in the world to do except annoy Rivka.
Rivka shrugged. "Sure."
"You're going to have so much fun." Her mother slipped past her and into the room. She started poking around in Rivka's closet. "Be sure to take a sweater. It's still getting cold at night."
Last night it had been humid and sticky and hadn't gone much below seventy degrees, but Rivka didn't say anything.
"If you don't need any help, I'll meet you downstairs." Her mother looked at her watch. "Tate said we should leave at five-thirty."
They were only going the ten miles to the synagogue, Rivka thought, and the bus didn't leave till 6:30. What on earth where they going to do all that time?
Everything was arranged with Pamela. She'd be there in her powder blue Saab convertible, keeping out of the way so that Rivka's parents wouldn’t see her. If all went well, and there wasn't too much traffic, they'd be on Long Beach Island by
8:30 p.m.. Rivka felt a twinge of guilt about lying to her parents, but she shrugged it off. They’d lied to her, too, so what was the big deal?
Her mother finally turned to go, and Rivka breathed a sigh of relief, but her mother stopped at the threshold, one hand on the doorknob. She turned around. “Is everything okay, bubeleh? You haven’t been yourself these past few weeks. Tate noticed it, too.”
Rivka shrugged. “Oh, you know, the usual. School work and final exams and all that.” She couldn’t quite meet her mother’s eye.
Her mother shook her head. Her expression was serious. “I don’t think so, Rivka. I think your Tate and I know you better than that. It’s more than school work. Has something happened? Is there something you’re afraid to tell us?”
Rivka shook her head firmly. “No, it’s nothing like that. Don’t worry about it.”
“But I do worry. Tate and I love you. We’re your parents. We don’t want to see you upset.”
Rivka thought about what she had discovered that night in the file on her father’s desk. She felt tears pressing against her lids. Her whole life had been a lie! Her Mame and her Tate…and everything. She couldn’t help it—a tear escaped and slid down her cheek and into the corner of her mouth where she could taste the salty wetness.
Her mother crossed the room in one step. She put her arms around Rivka. “What is it, bubeleh. You can tell me.” She stroked Rivka’s hair back from her forehead the way she used to when she was little, and Rivka melted against her chest.
Rivka's shoulders convulsed and her throat tightened. She couldn’t hold back the tears—they streamed down her face and soaked into the collar of her shirt.
Her mother held her and made comforting little noises. “There, there,” she patted Rivka’s head.
“I know about Aunt Ruth,” Rivka sniffled when she was finally able to talk. “The papers were out on Tate’s desk, and I…I read them. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it.”
“What papers? What are you talking about?”
“The ones in the file with Aunt Ruth’s name on them.” Rivka hiccoughed loudly. “The adoption papers.”
Her mother gave a little cry and put a hand to her mouth.
Rivka squirmed around so she could look up at her mother. “I’m really Aunt Ruth’s daughter, aren’t I?”
Things don't always go according to plan.
Rivka’s was the second car to arrive in the Elmwood Synagogue Parking lot. The place was deserted except for a white Toyota Camry parked at an angle across several spaces. The bus wasn't even there yet.
Rivka's father started to pull into one space, then changed his mind and started maneuvering into another. Rivka hoped they wouldn't have to try them all before picking one, or they'd be there forever. Finally parked, her father opened the windows and turned off the engine. Of course, it was hot and humid and the sun was at the perfect angle for its rays to pierce the front window and fry everyone in the car. Rivka fanned herself with one of the magazines she'd told her mother she’d brought to read on the bus.
The only other car in the parking lot belonged to the Goldsteins. David Goldstein took calculus with Rivka and was always hanging aro
und afterwards to see if he could walk her to her next class. She watched in horror as he climbed out of the family car and started walking toward them. Since her father had turned the car off, she couldn't even zap her window up.
"Hey," Dave leaned on the car nonchalantly, grinning furiously. "Ouch." He pulled away suddenly. The car had been out in the sun all day and was burning hot.
"Hi." Rivka didn't smile or put any enthusiasm into her voice for fear of encouraging him. Her mother was grinning in that way she had—as if she expected them to announce their engagement any day. She poked Rivka's father who looked up, surprised, from entering something in the car's maintenance log.
Just then, the bus pulled into the parking lot belching black exhaust. David's parents waved frantically at him, and, to Rivka's relief, he headed back toward his family’s car.
Ten long minutes went by before the doors of the bus hissed open, and the driver came out. He had a cigarette and lighter at the ready and went to light up in the shade of a nearby tree. More people had arrived, and a couple of kids waved good-bye to their parents and straggled aboard the bus.
"I guess I should go." Rivka began to collect her things.
Her father looked at his watch. "There's time yet. No hurry. We don’t mind waiting."
The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness. Rivka sat clutching the handles of her purse wishing she had the nerve to bolt out the door. Pamela had arrived shortly after the bus—Rivka had noticed her pulling into the parking lot and disappearing around the other side of the building. She was half afraid that Pamela would get bored waiting and would leave without her.
Finally her father looked at his watch again. “I guess you’d better get going. You don’t want to be left behind.” He chuckled, and her mother joined it.
They were a regular comedy team, Rivka thought as she yanked her duffle bag off the back seat.
She kissed her parents, gave them a hug and headed across the parking lot toward the bus. She stood beside the door to the bus and turned and waved in an exaggerated way, but her parents just sat there. Her father hadn’t even started the car yet.
