Serendipity's Footsteps

by Suzanne Nelson

  “Do you remember that night in the camp when we talked about being born as another person, and the choices we might make?”

  Aaron nodded.

  Shame crawled under her skin. “I tried it,” she whispered. “I tried becoming someone else, just to forget. I wanted to see if things might be…easier.”

  “Were they easier?”

  “At first,” she admitted. “But then…” She clasped her trembling fingers. “Then it felt like I wasn’t anybody anymore. And that was worse.” She bowed her head, unable to meet his eyes, and then, slowly, she told him her story. She was terrified he’d judge her. That he’d hold her accountable for the many months she’d hidden with the Ashburys, the months she’d spent talking about her family as if they were made-up characters in a book, the months she’d never set foot in synagogue or said a Shabbos prayer. But he had no anger or shame for her. At least, not that she could see. He only listened carefully.

  As she talked, she felt a few of the scabs on her heart flaking off, turning to dust. Tentatively, she spoke of her parents, her sister and brother. She whispered their names as if they were made of the most fragile glass and would shatter at the faintest breath of wind. She knew she didn’t have to tell their story to Aaron. He’d borne witness to it. Instead, she could talk about them and see the light of recognition in his eyes. In their shared memory, the people she’d once loved that had become strangers slowly drew closer to her again. They emerged from the murky shadows, and the curves and colors of their faces solidified.

  The pain she’d kept at bay, the grief she’d built a barrier against, ripped the callus from her heart, leaving it scarred but beating furiously, and her tears fell, for the first time, on Aaron’s shoulder, mixing with his own.

  When she was sapped of tears, Aaron stood up.

  “Will you walk with me?” he asked. “There’s something I want to show you. Something in this city I don’t think you’ve seen yet.”

  —

  She didn’t recognize the blocks they walked through on the Upper West Side, with their narrower, less austere buildings, their corner markets and colorful coffee shops and delis. But soon enough, she heard it. German, Yiddish, and Polish peppered the streets, drifting from corners and open doorways. Words she hadn’t heard spoken in lifetimes, it seemed, words that she herself hadn’t thought or dreamt in months, words that sang deliciously in her ears. And with them came other things, wonderful things. The smell of freshly baked challah bread, butcher shops with their names painted in Hebrew on their windows, and kosher delis selling matzo ball soup.

  She closed her eyes, letting the familiar sounds and smells take her back to another country, another time. When she opened them again, Aaron was watching her, smiling.

  “This is where they’re coming,” he said. “All of us who had to leave, who survived. It’s still a strange land, but it’s closer to home than the Ashburys’.”

  “I can’t believe I never came here before,” she said. Of course, even back in Berlin, she’d heard about pockets of New York that were like this, teeming with immigrants, welcoming to all. But she’d never wanted to explore on her own to find them, always afraid of the memories they might stir. So much time in this city, and she’d stayed confined to the parts of Manhattan the Ashburys had shown her. Even Henry, intent as he’d been on hating his parents and their world of wealth, had never taken her here.

  She didn’t want to be anywhere else. They walked for hours and hours, until her feet burned fiercely, but she only wanted to keep going. The streetlights winked on and the sky purpled, but she didn’t care, until, suddenly, an air-raid siren ruptured the night.

  She froze midstep on the sidewalk and squinted past the glow of the city, searching the sky for planes, listening for their ominous drone. A second later, the lights went out, and the street pitched into darkness. In the blackout, beams from the searchlights downtown in Bryant Park scanned an empty sky.

  “Just a drill,” Aaron muttered when the streetlights flickered on again, and it was only then that she realized his arm had gone around her shoulder, firmly and protectively. She didn’t pull away, but a moment later, his arm slipped to his side.

  “The drills are all the time lately,” Dalya said. “But look at them.” She glanced toward Broadway, still bustling with people and traffic. “No one’s screaming or running for shelter. I’m not sure any of them actually believe the war will come here. It must be wonderful, to feel that safe.”

  “I don’t think the war will come here,” Aaron said. “Even if it does, it could never be the way it was for us.”

  “I wish I could believe that.” Dalya shivered, then straightened. “I should get back to the Blumbergs’. They’ll be worried.”

  Aaron nodded, and they began slowly making their way back downtown.

  “Are you glad?” he asked, his voice tentative but hopeful. “That I found you?”

  “Yes.” She smiled with more genuine happiness than she’d allowed herself since she’d come here, more than she thought she deserved.

  “And”—he paused, digging his shoe into the sidewalk—“what about Henry?”

  “Henry?” His name stabbed her heart.

  Aaron’s brow knitted. “Something happened with him. I saw it in his face when I mentioned your name. It’s in yours now. Did you…?” He swallowed. “Did you fall in love with him?”

  Dalya hesitated, thinking that the truth would be too unkind after what Aaron had done for her. Finally, she settled on a softer, gentler piece of the truth. “I can’t make Henry happy,” she said. “No one can.”

  Aaron frowned, and she knew he’d wanted to hear a different answer. Then he sighed, and his frown dissolved into reluctant acceptance.

  “This place”—he raised his eyes to hers—“is where I’ll make my home. You don’t have to share it with me, but I can help you make a home of your own here, too. If you’ll let me.”

  She sensed the rest of what he wasn’t saying, the rest of what he was hoping for, but she was thankful he didn’t push for more.

  “I…I can’t promise anything,” she said quietly. “But I’d like to have your help, and your company.”

  She waited for him to shake his head, to give up and walk away. Instead, he smiled. “Good.” He held out his hand, waiting.

  She slipped her fingers into his, and together, they walked through the filmy golden streets, not knowing what the city held for them, but feeling, for the first time since they’d come here, that it could be home.

  DANIEL

  When Daniel came home from the Rhode Island School of Design, he brought his boyfriend with him. It was the first time he’d ever introduced his parents to someone he was involved with romantically. His parents never asked questions about his personal life, and Danny never offered up information. They’d reached an unspoken agreement years ago that Danny’s attraction to other boys never had to be acknowledged.

  The day Danny brought Pete home changed everything. He needed it out in the open. Pete wasn’t just another relationship. The two of them were in love, and Danny wanted to share his happiness with his parents, his friends, the whole world, judgment be damned. Instead, the moment Danny walked through the door with Pete, a curtain fell on his parents’ faces. His father didn’t extend his hand to Pete. Then there was an awkward dinner, followed by an announcement. His parents thought it best if Danny moved out and got a place of his own. He was nearly through with college. Soon, he’d be on his own anyway. Why should his mother keep up his boyhood bedroom anymore? They’d wanted to convert the room to an office for quite a while.

  It was all presented to Danny with deadening calm. Yelling wasn’t his parents’ way. They were skilled in desensitizing.

  After dinner, Danny told Pete to go outside while he got his things, not wanting him to suffer through more of his parents’ silent condemnation. When Danny walked into his bedroom, he discovered his mother had already placed a dozen boxes in the room, ready for packing. Danny held back
his tears. If this was what they wanted, then he wouldn’t waste one tear on them.

  He quickly tossed his trophies and books in the boxes. The more he lingered over his things, the more repulsed he became. The very floral and Lysol-infused scent of his parents’ house was sickening. He couldn’t stand another second here, in this place where he’d always been misunderstood.

  But he paused when he unearthed the pale pink shoes from the recesses of his closet. He ran his hand along their sides. How many hours had he spent with these shoes? They’d offered him comfort when he held them, no matter how many disappointments he’d given his parents through the years, how many times they’d misplaced their love for him or forgotten it altogether. The shoes had given him a window into his future. He’d always admired the designs of women’s shoes and clothing. And for this summer, he’d landed an internship at one of the top fashion magazines in Manhattan, as a wardrobe assistant. Someday, if he worked his way up, he’d be a full-fledged fashion designer.

  He tenderly tucked the shoes into the last box, then let himself out without saying goodbye. Pete was waiting in the car with a hug, and Danny kept his eyes straight ahead as they left town.

  They drove by the thrift shop a few hours later. It was in the middle of a nowhere Texas town called Jaynis—a pit stop on the way to Pete’s sister’s shore house on the Gulf. Danny hadn’t given any thought to the boxes, until he saw the tiny little shop. The Pennypinch.

  “Stop the car,” he told Pete. Hurriedly, he carried the boxes into the shop.

  “Are you sure about this?” Pete asked him. “There are memories here.”

  “Not many good ones,” Danny said. “I want it gone. All of it.”

  When the shop owner, a Mrs. Baddour, pulled out the pale pink shoes and set them on her counter, Danny felt the urge to take them back. Then Pete slipped his hand into Danny’s, and Danny smiled. No. Better to leave them behind. Maybe the shoes would find their way onto someone else’s feet. Someone who needed them as much as he had. He grazed their flowers with his finger one last time, and then walked away, without looking back.

  PINNY

  Pinny was pulling the pale pink heels out of her backpack when JT’s hand went where it shouldn’t.

  “Please stop.” She gently pushed his hand away. Why did he want to touch her there? It was a private place where no one was allowed. Mrs. Danvers had taught her that. Ray let boys touch her there. Once, Pinny’d seen her under the bleachers with Travis Ross, practically naked. Ray hadn’t looked like she liked it much, though.

  And Pinny didn’t like this. Not one bit. JT smelled like sardines and cigarettes, and being this close to him made the smell worse. He smiled and put his hand on the private place again.

  “Come on, darlin’,” he said. “I helped you and your friend out yesterday. You owe me a little sugar.”

  “Stop!” She tried to move past him. But the trailer was small, and he blocked her way, laughing.

  “I thought we were friends,” she said. “But you are not nice. Not nice at all.”

  His smile turned crooked in an ugly way. Like the sort of smile a snake might have, if snakes had smiles, which she wasn’t sure about. He grabbed her wrists hard, holding them against her sides. “Now, don’t fight me. You be nice and quiet and I won’t hurt you.”

  He pushed her backward, toward the bed. He pressed his whole body onto her, squeezing the air out till she couldn’t holler, and a storm of jitterbugs rose inside her, filling her with fight. She wiggled under him, but he pressed harder. She wiggled again, and one of her hands sprang free. The hand reached for her backpack, feeling for it somewhere above her head on the bed.

  While JT tried to pull down her pants, her fingers scrambled inside the backpack, searching. Brushing against a cluster of smooth bumps on silky softness, her hand made a fist around the shoe.

  He was undoing his belt when the shoe hit him. She hit him with it again, then stabbed its heel as hard as she could into his eye.

  His scream broke the silence. She clambered off the bed, clutching her shoes and backpack, and slammed into Ray. She was standing by the door, holding her pocketknife.

  Ray jabbed the knife in JT’s direction, but he was bent over the bed, clutching his eye and moaning. “If he hurt you—”

  “No,” Pinny said quickly. Ray’s eyes were wild, and Pinny was scared of what she might do with the knife.

  “Come on,” Ray urged. “Before he gets up.”

  She scuttled down the trailer stairs after Ray. “What about our tent?” If they left it, Mrs. Danvers would be grumpy. Especially after the magnolias, too.

  “Forget it!” Ray said. “We’ve got to go. Now! Hurry!”

  They ran through the campground and out the entrance to the main road. She looked over her shoulder once, thinking she’d heard shouts. It was probably JT. She wondered if he could see out of his eye. She hoped not, at least not until later, after they were gone.

  They ran faster, turning corner after corner. Soon, her breath was whooshing in and out like her chest was catching fire.

  “Ray,” she panted. “I can’t run anymore.”

  Ray glanced back at her, then nodded, slowing down. A minute later, they ducked into a diner that smelled like French fries and burnt coffee. It made her think of Fricasweet’s, and she wrinkled her nose. But this smell was better than sardines and cigarettes. For sure.

  “Sit down.” Ray sank into a booth with red seats. “Even if he followed us down the street, he won’t risk a scene in here.”

  Pinny shook her head. She didn’t want to sit. Not right now. Her face was hot and sticky, tears stung her eyes, and her feet burned like firecrackers. She’d left her purple glitter Keds back in the tent. So here she was, barefoot in a diner. But that was fine by her. The tent could keep her Keds, as long as she stayed far, far away from JT. Besides, she still had the pale pink shoes. Those were the ones that really mattered.

  She set them on the table, then rubbed her arms. She’d been clutching the shoes so tight, they’d left red dents all over her skin.

  “Watch those for me,” she said. “I’ll be back.” Without giving Ray a chance to say anything, she marched straight to the bathroom. She bent over the sink and turned on the faucet, then let the tears loose. She wasn’t sure she’d ever understand the meanness of some people. It seemed to stick to certain folks, the way goodness stuck to others. But she never could see it. Not at first, at least. Not until someone did something so nasty to her that she had to see it. Like with Careena. She’d kept on giving Careena chances, hoping she’d end up as pretty on the inside as she was out. Well, that’d been one hope wasted. It was the only thing she hated besides pity: the meanness. Why couldn’t the world ever manage to get by without it?

  She sighed, put her hands into the steaming water, and scrubbed. Her face, her neck, her arms. Everywhere JT had touched. His trash-stink of sardines was still in her nose, and she wanted to get rid of every last bit of it.

  RAY

  Ray sat in the booth, staring at the pale pink shoes that, a few days ago, had belonged to her. They were haunting her, no doubt about it. She chided herself for not being able to hate them more. Even after the horrible thing and the promise she’d made to forget the shoes, she felt their familiar pull. It was as strong as the very first time she’d seen them.

  She’d stolen from the Pennypinch before. She’d stolen from every shop in Jaynis at one time or another. Her fingers always knew she was going to steal before the rest of her did, grabbing and pocketing treasures quicker than a darting dragonfly. Her fingers took small things, mostly. Guitar picks or sheet music, once a pair of junk earrings on clearance at the Wiggly Pig. Doing damage in increments. A few times getting caught; most of the time not.

  That day in October at the Pennypinch had been different, though. That day she’d gone to the Pennypinch wanting to take something from Careena and her parents, wanting to wipe the holier-than-thouness off their faces, to rattle their McMansion world. Wanting
to pay Careena back for Pinny’s birthday, and the dance tryouts, wanting to keep her from making Pinny look like a fool ever again.

  When Ray walked into the store, Careena smiled from behind the counter, where she stood beside her mother.

  “Ray!” Mrs. Baddour clasped her manicured nails together in a miniclap. “It’s always lovely to see you.”

  “Ray.” Careena’s voice dripped friendliness. “We got a fresh batch of clothes in this morning. I’d be happy to show you—”

  “Don’t need you to,” Ray muttered, breezing by. She headed for the back of the store, where odds and ends were stuffed helter-skelter on shelves, and clothing racks bulged against the walls. Crumpled, water-stained shoe boxes, probably decades old, teetered in crooked towers along the walls. Everything in the store was tossed together so chaotically that Ray had the impression that Careena and her mother touched the merchandise as little as possible, wanting to avoid contamination. Mrs. Baddour did her Christian duty to help the needy, but only up to a point.

  She didn’t notice Careena following her until she brushed her arm in a customer-service “I’m here to help” way.

  “So…can I do something for you?” she asked reluctantly, and Ray guessed her mom had sent her back here on a do-gooder mission that Careena wanted no part of.

  “Actually, you can,” Ray said, mirroring Careena’s smile. She drew out each word as she stared at Careena. “Leave…Pinny…alone.”

  Careena blushed, whipping toward a rack of clothes, focusing on organizing them. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You do.” Ray stepped in front of her. “She’s not some…some project to add to your community-service tally for your college applications.”

  “Of course not!” Careena gave a tight, awkward laugh. “She’s great! She helped me so much with the election and everything. I like her—”

  Ray snorted. “Not enough to come to her party.”