“Oh. And the phone calls?” My toes press into the hardwood floor, my teeth grate over my lip.
She smoothes her hair over her breasts. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
I ignore the melting feeling in my chest. “You couldn’t return my calls?”
Lindsay sits up in the bed, rests her elbows on her upright knees, chin in her palms. “So you’re not happy to see me?”
I smack the edge of the chair with the palm of my hand. “You don’t get it, do you? You can’t just come here.”
“I thought you wanted to see me again.”
I sigh. “I do, just not here.” A toilet flushes upstairs. My shoulders stiffen. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”
Lindsay nods and yawns, stretching her arms over her head.
Upstairs I lock myself in the bathroom, where the floor doesn’t squeak, and do push-ups, not the ones with your knees on the floor either, but real push-ups, three sets, until my arms ache. Lindsay, in my living room, with only a nightgown on. The new cut in my mouth bleeds. A hundred sit-ups, my back pressing into the linoleum through the thin bath mat. Ten stairs down and I could curl up behind her on the saggy sofa bed, bury my face in her hair, like Bo and Hope, finally reunited. Thirty squats, breathing fast. Plum-colored bruises like finger marks, like someone squeezed her tight.
Imagine: enough confidence to just show up at someone’s house.
I spend the night twisting in my sheets, restless, rolling over. In the dim early morning light I watch the Christmas lights glowing across the street. I pull on my terrycloth robe and quietly make my way down the painted orange stairs, feeling the edges with my feet, my hands resting on the wooden banister. In the darkened kitchen I sip not-quite-steaming tea from the prepared thermos, trying to warm my hands around the white pottery mug. At seven the light timers click on, and the kitchen is suddenly bright.
In the doorway of the living room I whisper, “Lindsay?”
She mumbles and rolls over.
I tiptoe into the room, poke her shoulder. “You need to wake up.”
She squints at me. “Why so early?”
I sit on the edge of the bed. “They’ll be up soon.” My hand snakes up to my neck to the hair growing in at the back of my head. “I...you can’t come back here again.”
“Oh.” She sits, rubbing her eyes, looking strangely disappointed. “I was just in the neighborhood and I needed a place to go...” She stops, her voice tired. She pushes her hair out of her face, her eyes shadowed, her cheeks hollow since the summer.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Lindsay?”
She doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
She waves a hand. “No worry. Thanks for having me.”
I twist my hands. I need her to leave before I have to explain how to make kosher tea, before I have to tell Ima that she can’t go to shul anymore.
“You really should leave, before my parents get up.”
Lindsay nods. “Just a second, and I’ll get ready.”
“I’ll walk you to the subway.”
I creep upstairs and quickly get dressed. Lindsay is already by the front door putting on her boots when I come down.
We stand at the front door, pulling on our coats and hats. I reach for the door handle, anticipating the creaky hinges. Lindsay puts her hand over mine. “How about a kiss?”
I stop, stunned. “Here?”
“Sure. That’s the other reason I came.”
I pause. “What about—what about that guy?” My groin hums warm and wet, my arms heavy in my coat sleeves.
Lindsay steps closer to me. “He was so boring.” She touches my hand, pushes her fingers under the cuff of my coat.
Just one kiss and I can go back to being Ellisheva Gold, observant Jew, never been kissed—at least not by a boy.
The fronts of our coats touch. Lindsay’s hand slides up my arm to my cheek. She guides my face toward hers and brushes her lips against mine, soft and warm. My arms slide around her waist to clasp her to me. Her tongue probes my mouth, the kiss deepening, my knees melting.
Footsteps sound in the upstairs hallway. Lindsay and I spring apart.
“Ellie?” Ima whispers down the stairs. “Where are you going?”
“I’m just walking Lindsay to the subway. Did we wake you?”
Ima comes down in her robe. “No,” she whispers, “I’ve been up for hours. You didn’t want to stay for breakfast?”
“Oh, no, thanks.” Lindsay steps toward the door, pulling on her mitts.
Ima rubs her eyes sleepily. “I got up in the middle of the night and thought, did Lindsay ever call her mom?”
“Oh, well, I’m on my way home now.”
Ima’s eyes narrow. “Won’t she be worried?”
“Well, I’m heading there now.”
“Call anyway.”
“Yeah, okay, thanks for having me, Mrs. Gold. Call me, Ellie.” Lindsay flashes a smile, flips her hair over her shoulder and backs out the door, closing it quickly behind her. I swing the door open to follow her.
“Ellie,” Ima says.
“Yeah?” I lean back into the house.
“Go call her mother right away.”
Lindsay jogs down the driveway and turns onto the street. I glance back at Ima. “Yeah, we forgot, sorry.” Lindsay looks back, waves. I step back out onto the front doorstep. “I’ll call later.”
Ima crosses her arms. “Do it now.” I watch Lindsay turn the corner, out of my sight.
“Ellisheva.”
“Yeah?”
Ima licks her lips. Her eyes thin to slits. Her voice is deliberate and slow. “I don’t know what you were thinking, but her mother must be sick with worry. I want you to call now.”
I stop staring at the street and close the front door. “On Shabbos?”
“Yes.”
In Ima and Abba’s office I slump into the swivel chair, drop my forehead against the wooden desk. I pick up the phone and dial Lindsay’s number. It rings four times and the answering machine clicks on. I don’t leave a message. A sigh exits my body, exhaustion seeping into my limbs. I lay my head back down on the desk. I want to hold Lindsay’s hair, and gather it in my hands like a bunch of wildflowers. I slowly get up and head into the kitchen.
BY 9:00 AM, Ima is dressed in her polka-dot silk blouse and black wool skirt. “Nu? Are we going to shul today or not?”
I shrug, avoiding Ima’s eyes as I sit across from Neshama at the dining room table. I check the kitchen clock, pour a bowl of bran flakes. Bubbie’s shul doesn’t start until after ten. Abba hasn’t shown his face yet.
Ima stares at us. “Why are you so slow this morning?”
I sigh and curl my toes. Neshama and I look at each other across the table until she kicks me.
Anger swarms through me. I swallow a mouthful of cereal and turn to Ima. “Actually we’re not going to go to Beth El this morning because we told Bubbie we’d go to shul with her. We have lots of time still.”
Ima raises her eyebrows. “With Bubbie? She never goes to shul.”
I pour milk over my cereal. “Actually, she wanted to know if you’d come with us.”
Ima snorts. “Tell her no thank you.”
“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun.”
Ima pulls a mirror from her purse and smoothes on creamy plum lipstick. “I’m going with your father.”
I bite my lip. “Um, please.”
Ima looks at me. “What?”
“I really want you to come with us.”
“I can’t stand her shul. What made you think we’d go with Bubbie?”
Ima stares at me, waiting for me to respond. “Ask Abba,” I mutter.
Ima leans into the hallway and calls up the stairs, “Avram, are you coming already?”
Abba comes into the kitchen. He has circles under his red eyes. “You sure you don’t want to go with your mother and the girls?”
> “No, thanks.” Ima sucks lipstick off her teeth, checks the angle of her hat in her compact.
Neshama and I look down at our cereal bowls.
“Can I talk to you?” Abba guides her into the dining room.
Neshama and I stop eating, our ears cocked.
“What’s going on?” Ima asks.
“You can’t go.”
“And why not?”
Abba pauses a long moment. “Rabbi Abrams and I thought it best if you didn’t come back for a while.”
Ima doesn’t say anything. “Why?”
Another pause. “You know why.”
Ima doesn’t say anything for a moment. She sniffles. “What if I promise not to sing again?”
“Not this week.”
I peek around the corner. Tears well in Ima’s eyes. She clicks the latch on her purse open and closed.
“I’m sorry, Chana-leh, but it wasn’t right what you did.”
“Asshole,” Neshama hisses.
“Are you going back?” Ima asks.
“No.”
“Where are you going then?”
“To my school.” Abba clears his throat, mumbles something I can’t hear.
“Oh, I see. What about me?”
“You should go with your mother.”
Ima stands up, her voice rising. “I can’t pray there.”
“You burned your bridges,” Abba says clearly.
Neshama slams her bowl down on the counter, makes a fist at Abba through the wall.
Ima sobs. “How can I make the messiah come if I can’t daven? I can’t daven at my mother’s shul.”
Ima’s sobbing washes out Abba’s response. I want to wrap my arms around Ima, stop the sobs from her hiccuping, heaving chest.
Neshama and I don’t move until we hear the front door open and Abba’s footsteps fading. I peek into the living room. Ima is slumped on the couch like a deflated balloon, shoulders collapsed against the armrest, arms limp beside her.
“Ima?”
She waves a tired hand at me. “Just go with Bubbie.” Her voice is a thin whisper. I glance at her splayed legs, her brown heels dangling off her stocking feet. She wipes a hand across her face, smearing her lipstick across her cheek and exposed teeth.
I hesitate at the door. “Are you okay?”
She braces her hands on the armrest, levering her torso upright a moment, then lets her shoulders sag again. She nods, mascara trickling down the side of her cheek.
“Go,” she whispers, “you’ll be late.” She goes upstairs.
Back in the kitchen Neshama yawns, stretching her arms over her head. “I think I’ll call in to work and see if I can get a shift.”
“On Shabbos?”
Neshama clears her bowl. “It’s almost Christmas; it’s really busy at the mall.”
“You’re making me go to Bubbie’s shul alone?”
“Just call and tell her you can’t come.”
I roll my eyes. “You know I don’t use the phone on Shabbos.”
“You did this morning.”
“That was an emergency.”
Neshama leans toward me and whispers, “A girlfriend emergency?”
I stand up from the table. “Shut up.”
“That’s her, isn’t it? Your ‘boyfriend’ from the cottage.”
I grab her arm, and twist the skin on the underside hard. “Just shut up.”
Neshama yanks her arm away. “I’m not going to say anything—”
“Just shut the hell up!”
I shove Neshama so hard she hits the table, knocking over the garbage pail. Banana peels and crumpled napkins spill onto the floor.
I bolt from the kitchen and charge up the stairs. In my room I change into a navy velour dress I know Bubbie likes. I burst out of the house, pulling on my coat as I race down the front steps. Sunlight bouncing off the snow blinds me, but I don’t care. I jog into the ravine, snow crunching under my boots, passing families with golden retrievers and chocolate labs, babies in designer snowsuits. I don’t care about Ima home sniveling, or Neshama not going to shul, or even an entire service like a church concert with Bubbie and her perfumed, chatty friends. Lindsay kissed me, wrapped her arms around me like we did in the trees at the cottage on the flattened grass behind the sumac bushes, when her long legs wrapped around mine. Lindsay wants to kiss me.
BUBBIE’S SHUL IS an enormous building with carved Roman pillars, stained-glass windows and sloped seating like a concert hall. The cantor plays organ and a choir sings from a balcony above the stage.
Bubbie sits in the back row next to another woman. She kisses me on the cheek. “This is Mrs. Simon.” I shake hands with the woman. “Her daughter just had a baby.”
“Mazel tov,” I whisper.
“A boy, seven pounds.”
“Please rise for The Barchu on page three sixteen,” the rabbi announces.
“That’s wonderful,” I say. We rise with the congregation.
Mrs. Simon thrusts photos at me. “Looks just like his grandfather, my late husband.” She dabs at her eyes with a tissue.
“Bless God, the blessed one,” the rabbi intones in English.
“Beautiful baby,” I whisper.
“Blessed is God, the blessed one for all eternity,” the congregation replies.
“Please be seated.” We sit.
I flip through the mostly English prayer book. Bubbie and Mrs. Simon chat about condo prices in Florida. It’s not like I want to pray anyway.
WHEN I COME home from shul Abba is waiting for me to eat lunch. He dishes out cholent, a bean and meat stew. “Where’s your sister?”
“Um, I think she went to Ruchi’s for lunch.”
“You think?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Didn’t she go to shul with you?” His mouth folds into a tight line, his brow furrowing. He taps his fingers on the table.
I hesitate. “No, she didn’t.” She’s out somewhere wrapping gifts for goyishe people and their goyishe holiday.
“When’s she coming home?”
“Ask her yourself.”
Abba stares at me. I return his gaze without flinching and dig into the spicy bean cholent.
AFTER LUNCH I take a cup of tea up to Ima. I open the door a crack, the light from the hall shining into her darkened room. I sit on the end of the bed. The room smells stale—like bad breath and sleeping bodies. Ima lies curled on her side in her yellow plaid nightgown.
“I brought you some tea.”
“Thanks,” she whispers.
“Are you sick?”
“Just tired.”
I nod. Her eyes are red and shiny. “Do you want me to call Bubbie?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine tomorrow,” Ima croaks. “Just a headache and my throat.”
“Don’t talk.” I pat her hip. “I missed your singing this morning.”
Ima tears up.
“We’ll sing next Shabbos.”
“Where?” she whispers.
“Here, we’ll sing here.”
“How was Bubbie’s?”
“Okay. Well, lousy.”
Ima makes a face. “Choir?”
I nod.
Ima comes down for the Havdalah ceremony that marks the end of the Shabbos. She melts into the couch, her face slack and pale, sudden crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes. Her voice has disappeared, as if it slid down her throat with the medicinal tea she drank, leaving her mouth open and gaping.
Neshama walks in just as Abba prepares the tray with the blue- and white-braided candle, the spice box and the wine.
“Hello, I’m sorry I’m almost late.” Neshama’s cheeks are rosy from the cold.
“Why weren’t you here for lunch?” he asks.
“I was invited to Ruchi’s.”
“Oh.” He eyes her outfit, a beige corduroy skirt and black sweater. Neshama crosses her arms. “Ruchi’s mom is sick again. I didn’t want to overdress.”
Abba nods. “Let’s do Havdalah.” He
lights the candle, passes it to me to hold and begins chanting, “Hee-nai el ye-shoo-ati.” Behold, God is my deliverance.
Ima stands to join us by the dining room table. She clears her throat, but no sound comes out. Tears edge out her eyes as she settles back into the couch.
I sigh, look at Ima and then turn back. I close my eyes and whisper along with Abba. I sniff the spice box, sip the wine and dip the candle in the cup of wine. The flame makes a tsss sound and Shabbos is over. For a moment I feel grounded, rooted in a way I haven’t felt since Ima sang.
Neshama shoves me inside the office. “What did you say to him?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Wrenching my arm behind my back, she forces me up against the desk. “I cover for you, you cover for me.”
I try to pull away. “I’m not the one skipping out on Shabbos.”
She squeezes my arm harder. “You cover for me, I cover for you.” She raises her eyebrows.
I pause a moment, catch my breath. “Whaddya think I’ve been doing all week?”
We glare at each other.
She lets go of me. “Fine.”
After Neshama stomps out of the office I sit down at the desk and dial Lindsay’s number. My heart pulses through my chest.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Ellie.”
“I thought you’d call earlier.”
“I had to wait until...I was just busy all day.”
“I tried calling but there was no answer.”
“Yeah, we don’t really use the phone on Saturdays.”
“Oh, is it that Sabbath thing?”
“Yeah, kinda.”
Wrapping the long phone cord around my hands, I start to spin, twirling the line around me, making my way from the desk over to the window.
“So was your mom angry about me not calling?” Lindsay asks.
“Neh, she forgot. When I called your mom, there wasn’t any answer.”
“Yeah, she slept at her boyfriend’s house.”
“So she didn’t know you were gone?”
“Nope. So, if I can’t come over to your house, can you come over to mine?”
I gulp. “Sure. When?” I unwrap myself from the phone cord, twirling back to the desk.
“Oh, whenever.”
Now? Tomorrow? “I can come Monday after school.” I hold my breath.
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