“Mommy?” Natalie’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Should I put Aunt Rose next to George?”
“That’s perfect, honey. Put her there and you can put Judith between us.”
Natalie switched two of the cards. “All done!”
Helen pulled her in close for a hug and kissed her on the top of her head. She breathed in her daughter’s scent—a mixture of cinnamon gum and Ivory soap. “I am so thankful for you,” she whispered in Natalie’s ear. Natalie kissed her cheek and promptly wiggled out of the embrace. Then she made a quick dash for the platter of pumpkin bread at the center of the table. “I’m thankful for pumpkin bread,” she said. She crammed half the piece in her mouth, waved to her mother and skipped out of the room.
Chapter 38
JUDITH
Judith was uncomfortable sitting between her mother and Aunt Helen. It was reminiscent of the dinner they shared so many years ago at that Italian restaurant in Manhattan—the place where the owner was a “friend” of Helen’s brother Sol. Judith remembered her mother and aunt quarreling over where she should sit at the table that night.
Back then, when Judith was only twelve, she assumed that Uncle Sol’s restaurant “friend” was just that. She never wondered why he agreed to give so many strangers a free seven-course meal. Harry had explained the truth of it to her on one of their first train rides together into the city for classes, and Judith had been angry at herself for being so naive. How could she not have realized that the man owed Sol money? Harry had shrugged and told her not to worry about it. You were little, he had told her. What does a little girl know about bookies? Still, the realization bothered her. What else had she overlooked?
A few weeks later on another train ride, Judith had finally summoned the courage to ask Harry the question that still plagued her: Do you know why our moms don’t get along anymore? But Harry had no insight to offer on the topic. In fact, he seemed barely aware of it.
* * *
“Who wants dark meat?” Uncle Abe was passing around a platter of turkey.
“Me!” Natalie was trying to take one of the wings before her brothers grabbed them both.
“I’ll take that, thank you.” It was Judith’s father, gallantly skewering a wing from the platter with his knife and placing it on Natalie’s plate. “There you are,” he told his niece.
“Thanks, Uncle Mort!” Natalie beamed.
When did those two become friends?
“Cranberry sauce?” Judith turned toward her mother to accept the crystal bowl, but her mother’s eyes were focused on the turkey wing occupying Natalie’s plate. Judith didn’t care for cranberry sauce and immediately turned to her aunt to pass it along, but Aunt Helen’s eyes were fixed in the same direction. Both women were clearly unhappy with the show of friendship between Natalie and Mort. The bowl was getting heavy and Judith wanted to put it down.
“Aunt Helen?” There was no answer. Judith tried to tap her aunt’s shoulder, but she needed two hands for the bowl. “Um, Aunt Helen?”
“Mom!” It was Harry, shouting from across the table. Aunt Helen almost jumped out of her seat. “Harry, why are you screaming?”
“Judith’s been trying to give you the cranberry sauce for half an hour already.”
“What? Oh honey, I’m sorry. Here, let me take it from you.”
Judith handed over the bowl and gave Harry a grateful smile. He twirled his pointer finger in a circular motion near his right ear to show he thought his mother was crazy, and Judith suppressed her giggle with coughing. Her mother promptly patted her on the back.
“You should cut your meat in smaller pieces,” Rose said to her. And then, in a slightly quieter voice, but still well above a whisper, “The meat is dry enough to choke on.”
Judith felt her aunt stiffen. “Something wrong with the turkey, Rose?”
“I like the turkey, Mom,” George called out nervously, shoveling a piece in his mouth for effect. “Ish derishous,” he insisted, still chewing.
“Aunt Helen is a really good cook,” Teddy said, thoroughly unaware of the gathering tension. “The turkey is much better than what we usually have on Thanksgiving.”
“Thank you, boys,” Helen said.
“No one really cares how dry the turkey is,” Judith’s mother spoke up again. “I’m sure there will be plenty of desserts later for the children to fill up on.”
Judith saw Harry’s eyes widen across the table. Now do you see what I’m talking about? she wanted to say to him. Judith froze in her seat between the two women. Only after Helen left the table and retreated to the kitchen did Judith spot the unmistakable upward curl at the left corner of her mother’s mouth. Disgusted, Judith jumped up from her seat and followed her aunt into the kitchen.
Helen was standing at the sink, scrubbing at the roasting pan like her life depended on it. “Want some help?” Judith asked.
“Thanks, honey, but I think this needs to soak.” She took off her rubber gloves and filled the pan with Joy and hot water. “You should head back in there and finish your dinner.”
“I’m finished.”
“I guess your mother was right about the turkey.”
“No! Everything’s delicious! I meant—”
“I’m just joking, sweetheart. Don’t worry. Come. Sit down.” Judith perched herself on one of the yellow vinyl chairs around the round Formica table and Helen sat down next to her.
“Aunt Helen, I’m so sorry. What my mother said…”
“Oh Judy. I’m used to it by now.” She clasped her niece’s hand and squeezed.
“But it wasn’t always this way. You used to be best friends.”
“I’m surprised you remember.”
“Of course I remember. It hasn’t been that long.”
“It feels like a long time to me.” Aunt Helen sounded tired. There were dark circles under her eyes and her skin looked sallow. Most of her lipstick had rubbed off except for a spot on one of her front teeth. Judith didn’t know what to say next. Suddenly her aunt didn’t just seem tired. She looked old. Under the unforgiving light of the dull suburban kitchen, Judith finally understood the irreversible nature of whatever had occurred between the two women and the toll it had taken. Even the most skillful tailor couldn’t hide a seam once a cloth was torn in two.
Judith decided to put away her thoughts and focus on helping her aunt. “Why don’t I start a pot of coffee and get the pies warmed in the oven. The others must be almost finished with dinner in there. Should I check on them?”
Helen slipped on an apron. “Sure, honey. You know I made those apple pies just for you, right?”
“Thanks, Aunt Helen.” She gave her a kiss on the cheek and walked through the swinging kitchen door back into the dining room. Harry helped her clear the plates, and for the rest of the evening Judith avoided speaking to anyone but him. Harry acted like nothing had happened—they talked about school and the paper he had to write for his class Monday morning. Later on Judith sat with him in the kitchen, where her mother wouldn’t see, and ate two pieces of Aunt Helen’s apple pie. When the evening was over, she went home with her family, took off her coat and immediately went to her bedroom.
It was the last Thanksgiving Judith would ever spend with her mother.
Chapter 39
NATALIE
(December 1956)
Natalie had been told the story of the blizzard that struck on the day she was born at least a dozen times. Of course she couldn’t remember it. The heaviest snowstorm she ever experienced came a few weeks before her ninth birthday. The weathermen didn’t call it a blizzard, but they did say fifteen inches of snow came down.
After two days of sledding and snowball fights with her brothers, Natalie was ready to go back to school. Miss Murray gave them extra homework because of the two days they had missed, but Natalie didn’t mind. It was Thursday, so she was in a good mood. At least she could do the homework with Teddy.
When they boarded the bus after school, Mr. Luther, the balding drive
r, hollered for everyone to sit down. Teddy pulled a comic book out from inside one of his textbooks and Natalie frowned. “Teddy, you weren’t reading that in school again, were you?”
Teddy looked guilty, but he couldn’t lie to her. “Just for a minute. It’s the new Superman!”
“Teddy! What if Miss Henshaw catches you again? You’ll have to stay inside at recess for a week.”
He grinned. “Do you really think I’d mind?”
“I know, but you don’t want her to call your parents, do you?”
He closed the comic book. “I guess not. Hey, have you seen your uncle Sol lately?” Sol always brought Natalie candy and comics from his newsstand when he came over, and Natalie always gave the comics to Teddy when she was done with them.
“They had dinner with us on Friday night, but all he brought was the new Little Dot.” Natalie made a face.
“Why does he bring you those? They’re so stupid. And why does she like dots so much, anyway?”
Natalie shrugged. “Who knows? Usually he brings me Casper the Friendly Ghost, at least. But he didn’t this time. No Superman either.”
“Too bad.” Teddy looked glum.
“He did bring one good thing.” Natalie reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out two red boxes, each no more than two inches wide. She handed one of them to Teddy.
“Red Hots! Thanks!” Teddy was already tearing into the box of tiny cinnamon candies. After he poured half the box in his mouth, he opened it as wide as he could to show her.
“That’s disgusting,” she told him. But she laughed anyway.
The bus stopped abruptly across the street from Teddy’s house. Plows had left enormous piles of snow on both sides of the road, and the narrowed streets were full of slick patches. Natalie got off first, and Teddy followed. As he crossed in front of the bus, the Superman comic fell out of his textbook and fluttered to the ground. Teddy bent down for it, out of the sight of the driver.
Natalie was already at the front door when she heard the bus lurch forward. Teddy had followed her off the bus, but she didn’t sense his footsteps behind her so she turned around to call for him. When her eyes took in the body on the road, her call turned into a scream. “Teddy!”
She was still screaming his name as she ran into the road, screaming on her knees as she shook his shoulders, screaming for him to wake up as she clung to his hands, screaming at the driver as he stepped off the bus, as he took off his cap and cried into the snow. She could hear herself scream, but she still could not stop. Not when a neighbor tried to pick her up off of him, not when she shut her eyes from the glare of the ambulance and not when the long-faced medics whispered in her ear.
She was screaming his name when they took him away from her, took away Teddy, her playmate, her twin. She screamed for him still, long after he left and the pages of his comic blew by her in the wind. The winter dark came early, and she still hadn’t stopped when her mother appeared with a blanket to cover her and a hot cup of cocoa that cracked in the cold. Her mother looked surprised as the cup came apart right there in her hand, and the cocoa poured out, hot liquid hissing as it hit the cold ground.
Natalie finally stopped screaming then, to speak. “It’s broken,” she told her mother, pointing to the cup. “I know it is,” said Helen, and together they stood in the snow and they cried.
Chapter 40
ABE
The funeral was the next morning, on Friday. It was the Jewish tradition to bury the dead as quickly as possible, but Abe wished they had waited. It’s too fast, he thought.
The last time he had been to the hospital, he had driven Rose there because Teddy had been hurt in a baseball game. Abe had been the one trying to calm everyone down that day, struggling to smooth over everyone’s anger. But this time he had driven to the hospital with his brother, rushing from work after a panicked call from a neighbor. Rose was waiting for them, but there had been nothing for him to do. Nothing but to listen, incredulous, to the doctors; nothing but to wait, unbelieving, for Mort and Rose to say their goodbyes; nothing but to accompany them, in silence, out of the hospital doors without their son.
Abe didn’t like feeling helpless. When his father died, he had busied himself organizing the office, notifying clients, taking care of his mother. And when his mother died, there had been even more things to do—going through the attic, selling the house, making sure to give each one of her cousins the little tchotchkes she wanted them to have. It was easier to be busy.
But now, he had nothing to do, nothing but to show up in a suit for his nephew’s funeral. His nephew’s funeral. Christ. He couldn’t believe it. Teddy wasn’t even nine years old.
The truth was, Abe hadn’t really spent that much time with him. He saw his nephew on Tuesdays for dinner. But Teddy and Natalie were always busy with something—playing twenty rounds of checkers, watching that Mickey Mouse Club show or trying to figure out the math book Teddy lugged over every week. Teddy was a sweet kid; Abe liked him. But if Abe was being honest, he had kept his distance on purpose.
One Sunday afternoon the spring after Teddy turned six, Abe had been at the high school field playing baseball with the boys when he spotted Mort and Teddy in the parking lot across from them. Teddy had been riding one of Harry’s old bikes, but Mort had put training wheels on it. Abe had been embarrassed for Teddy, watching him ride around on a too-small bike with training wheels like a toddler. He told his boys he’d be back in a few minutes and headed over to say hello.
“Hey, Mort, Teddy, whatcha up to?”
“Hi, Uncle Abe!” Teddy had called out.
“What does it look like we’re up to?” Mort had grumbled.
“Looks like bike riding. Hey, Teddy, how about I take off those training wheels, and you give it a try without ’em?”
Teddy had considered it for a few moments. “Maybe. If Dad says it’s okay.”
“Whaddya say, Morty? Let’s get those things off and teach Teddy to ride.”
Abe hadn’t exactly waited for Mort’s answer. He had found a wrench in the tool kit he kept in the trunk of his car. A few minutes later the training wheels were off and Teddy was trying to ride without them. Abe had run alongside the bike, trying to keep Teddy’s momentum so balancing would be easier. There had been a few scrapes and scratches, but in less than an hour, Teddy had done it. He could ride the bike on his own!
Abe thought he was doing a mitzvah that afternoon, a good deed. But Mort hadn’t seen it that way. He had moved over to a bench that sat between the field and the parking lot, and ignored them both for the full hour it had taken to get Teddy riding. When they were done, Teddy had ridden the bike all around the parking lot.
“Did you see me, Dad? Wasn’t I good?”
Mort shrugged, busying himself with a day-old newspaper section someone had left on the bench. He hadn’t looked up. “Who cares what I think?”
“Didn’t you see me?”
“Ask your uncle—he’s the famous bicycle instructor.”
Teddy was too young to understand why his father was angry, but he understood that something was wrong. His smile faded and he looked like he might cry.
“C’mon, Morty,” Abe pleaded. “He did great, don’tcha think?”
But Mort wouldn’t answer. He just stared at the newspaper. Abe had a feeling in his gut like he might be sick. He sat down next to his brother on the bench, took hold of his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Listen, Mort. Stop torturing the kid and cut him a break. You wanna be mad at me for butting my nose in? Be mad at me. But don’t take it out on him. For Chrissake.”
Mort refused to respond, and Abe grew desperate. “I won’t do it again, Mort. All right? I swear it. I won’t go near him. But throw the kid a bone, Mort. Please.”
Mort had taken his time folding up the newspaper and finally looked at Teddy. “Your uncle is right—you learned to ride quickly. Let’s go home and show your mother and your sisters.”
Good-natured Teddy had recovered instantly. “Okay
! Wait till Mom sees!” But by the time Teddy turned around to thank his uncle, Abe had already been walking away from them, back to the field where his boys were playing. “Take care!” he had called out, waving behind him. Abe wanted to get away from Teddy and Mort as quickly as he could. He hadn’t wanted to linger and risk Mort changing his mind.
For the next few years, up to the day Teddy died, Abe had kept his end of the bargain, the bargain he had struck with his brother that day at the school parking lot. He never got too close again. But on the morning of the funeral, one of the many thoughts swirling through Abe’s mind was that he wished he had spent more time with his nephew.
* * *
“Dad, Mom says we should get in the car. She’ll be out in a minute.” George walked into the kitchen, still tucking his shirt into his trousers. Abe got up from his seat at the kitchen table and poured his cold cup of coffee down the sink.
“How’re you doing, George?”
“Me?”
“Yeah.” George was the most sensitive of his sons. Abe wanted to make sure he was all right.
“It hasn’t sunk in yet, I guess. Teddy shouldn’t have had to die like that, when he was so little.” George spoke softly, like he didn’t want anyone to hear. “I’m sad for Natalie. He was her best friend—I mean, her best friend in the whole world.”
Abe patted George on the shoulder. “I know, Georgie. It’s not going to be easy for her. We’re all going to have to help.”
He gave a solemn nod. “Do you want me to tell her we’re ready to go?”
“Let me do it, kiddo. You go round up your brothers.”
Abe hesitated for a moment after knocking on Natalie’s door, then walked into her room. She was sitting on her bed, reading one of a dozen comic books strewn across the yellow bedspread. Her eyes were red and swollen, but for the moment, at least, she had stopped crying.
“Sweetheart, we have to leave in a few minutes,” he told her.
She put down the comic book. “I know, Daddy. I don’t want to be late.”
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