“Not yet,” I said. “In one more week, it will be three months.” One more week. I hoped Ed wouldn’t argue with my flimsy math. I needed another week to give myself enough time to return to Planned Parenthood to pick up my new diaphragm.
Ed shifted in the bed next to me, but I didn’t feel his hand reach for my thigh.
“Ed,” I said after a few moments of silence, “are you and Julie fighting?” The truth was, even if they were, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know. Ethel was my only real friend. I couldn’t lose her. And she had already brushed off this question. But I couldn’t stop thinking about what John had said to me earlier, and also what Jake said about my silence. I wanted to be able to tell him at our next session that I had spoken up, that I’d tried to talk to Ed, to answer a question, to fix a problem.
“Fighting?” Ed said. “Mildred, where did you get that idea?”
“I watched John earlier for Ethel and he insisted that Julie was angry with you.”
I could feel the weight of his body sigh against the mattress. “Julie is angry with me? Mildred, you are so silly to listen to a child.” Ed laughed a little, and then he rolled over.
But something about the way he said it made me think that John had actually been telling the truth, and I wondered what, exactly, he’d overheard. I couldn’t fall asleep for a long while, even after I heard Ed’s familiar snores rattling next to me.
A WEEK LATER, I picked up my small package from Planned Parenthood, and I discreetly inserted the new diaphragm every night before I got into bed. Ed moved on top of me so carefully, as if he were afraid I might break, that I felt almost bad about my deception. But not bad enough to make me take the diaphragm out.
The winter rolled on with a steady routine. Two mornings a week, I sat in Jake’s empty apartment and watched him work on the floor with David. Afterward, I found myself talking to him. At first because he wanted me to, but then because I couldn’t stop the words from coming. I heard myself say things I wouldn’t normally say to anyone. Since Jake had seen me bleeding that morning in November, I told him about the baby, the one I’d lost and mourned—strangely, given that I did not want another baby now. I told Jake more about Ethel and how nice it was to have a friend nearby. I told Jake about John’s comment, that Ed and Julie were angry with each other, and that I’d spoken up and asked Ed why. Jake let me talk and mostly just listened, but at that he stopped me. “And what did Ed say when you asked him about it?” he asked me.
“He laughed,” I told him. “And he said it was nothing.”
Jake leaned in closer, and I felt my heartbeat quicken in a way I wouldn’t have expected. There was something so intimate about this that it almost felt wrong, more than the fact that it was therapy. “Do you believe him?”
“No,” I said. “I think Ed was lying to me.”
“And why do you think that?”
I thought about the way Ed had been talking on the phone late at night more and more. He spoke in hushed tones as if he were taking great pains to make sure I wouldn’t hear what he was saying. I told this to Jake.
“Do you know who he’s talking to?” Jake asked.
“No,” I answered him.
His face was so close to mine, his eyes staring at me so intensely, that I had the strange feeling that he was about to kiss me, and then suddenly he seemed to catch himself and he sat back. “Have you thought about trying to get to know Ed’s friends better?” His voice was so calm and even, and he gently picked up his pipe the way he always did, that I wondered if I’d imagined his closeness a moment ago, and now I felt embarrassed. I put my hands to my cheeks to hide the sudden redness. But Jake seemed not to notice, as he was still talking, contemplating his pipe. “Other than Ethel, I mean. The men Ed works with?”
I thought of that night in Ethel’s apartment, how just when I’d begun to talk with Ruth and David Greenglass, Ed had grabbed my arm and embarrassed me. Did he not want me to know his friends or was he just drunk and angry that night? “I don’t know,” I said to Jake. “Ed likes having a life at work and friends separate from me, I think.”
“But you could just have them over for dinner,” Jake said. “Get to know them a little more, see for yourself how Ed and Julius and the rest of them are getting along.”
I was uncertain whether Ed would like it if I invited his friends and associates over for dinner. Yet it seemed the type of thing most women would think of naturally, an instinct that I did not seem to have as Ed’s wife, or maybe as David’s mother. It was something Lena or even Susan would scold me for not having done sooner. And then I felt a little silly for not having reached this conclusion on my own. “That’s a good idea, thanks,” I said to Jake, and I laughed a little. “Maybe I really did need this therapy for myself.”
He looked away and put his pipe back down on the table and then he picked up his pocket watch. “Look at the time,” he said quickly. “I have another appointment.”
“Oh, right, of course. I’m sorry to have kept you too long.” I expected him to say that it was okay, that he enjoyed our extra talk, but he didn’t say anything else. And then I felt certain that I had imagined our closeness. Jake was a psychotherapist, and David and I were his patients. That was all.
ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Julius and Ethel and the boys arrived first, followed soon after by Ruth and David Greenglass. I’d told Ethel to invite her other brother, Bernie, who also worked at Pitt, and his wife, Gladys, but she hadn’t been feeling well lately and they’d declined.
I felt a little thrill that I’d taken Jake’s advice and that it had worked out so well and so quickly. It wasn’t hard to get a few of the people of Ed’s world all together here in our apartment. I’d only had to tell Ethel to spread the word and to offer roasted chickens—Mr. Bergman’s finest ones, of course—and some Mogen David. And before I knew it, Julie and David Greenglass and Ed were perched on my perfect blue couch, drinking wine and involved in what appeared to be a very robust discussion that involved loud voices and excited, flailing hands. Ruth sat on one of the arms, smoking a cigarette, listening, but not saying much. Ethel was in the back bedroom, checking on the children.
“More wine?” I asked, bringing the Mogen David over to the couch. Julius declined, but Dave and Ed held their glasses forward for me to pour more. Ruth did, too. I envied her for the way she sat here among the men as if she belonged, but then she smiled at me kindly and I felt bad for feeling jealous. I thought about going to check on David, but Ethel was back there in the bedroom with them and I remembered the point of this little dinner was for me to get to know these people more, so I poured myself a glass of wine and sat on the edge of the coffee table.
“I think everything at the shop is coming around,” Julie said to David and Ed. David shrugged, and Ed drank his wine.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. Ed ignored me, but Julie shot me a kind smile.
“But you shouldn’t want for your own brother-in-law to be educated?” Ruth said pointedly to Julius, and I had the feeling this was the middle of an ongoing discussion that she’d jumped right back into. She blew a ring of smoke in his direction.
“Of course I want that for you,” Julie said, turning to David. “But I need you there to supervise the shop. Now more than ever.”
Ruth laughed bitterly. “For all the business you’re having these days.”
“Like I said,” Julie said firmly, “it’s coming around.”
Ruth raised her eyebrows.
“There is business,” Ed said, and it both surprised me and pleased me to hear him speak up, to defend Julius. Maybe John was wrong. Maybe it was David and Julius who were angry with each other and Ed wasn’t involved at all. “We have a very big opportunity coming our way, don’t we, Julie?”
Julie glanced at Ed and twirled his mustache and didn’t say anything for a moment, but then he finally said, “Yes, of course. We have plenty of opportu
nities.” He turned back to Ruth. “David will have time for night school soon.”
“Right.” Ruth put her cigarette to the side and looked for an ashtray. I picked one up off the coffee table and handed it to her and she thanked me. She put it down and stood. “Do you need any help in the kitchen, Millie?”
I was fine and the chickens were almost done, but I told her she could help me set the table.
“Leave the wine,” Ed said as I stood up. I put the bottle on the coffee table, and Ed topped off his and David’s glasses.
“What do you think they’ll do to old Alger?” Ed said to the other men.
“They’ll only use him,” David said. “Damn government can’t prove anything ever, so they blow a lot of smoke and hope to God they get lucky one of these days.”
“They are so stupid, no?” Ed laughed. “But sometimes I am very worried.” His voice grew more serious. “If America has too much power, the world will become very dangerous.”
Julie pushed his spectacles up his nose but didn’t respond to Ed’s fear. “I should check on Ethel and the boys,” he finally said, and he walked toward the back bedroom.
“You think too much,” David said to Ed, and Ed laughed again and drank some more wine.
“Don’t mind David,” Ruth said to me as I handed her a stack of plates to put out on the table, but I was still thinking about what Ed said, about his concern about America having too much power. I’d never thought of it that way before. “He was stationed at Los Alamos when he was in the army,” Ruth was saying.
“Los Alamos?” I raised my eyebrows and turned my attention to her.
“Everything was top secret, of course. He couldn’t even tell me what he was doing when he was there. But he was just a machinist; he didn’t know anything about anything anyway.” She lowered her voice. “They didn’t treat him very well—the army, I mean. Denying his leave and such. Not appreciating his skills.” I tried to digest what she’d just told me, that David had been stationed at Los Alamos. I glanced back at him, sitting there on my couch, laughing at something Ed had just said to him. With his pudgy face, curly hair, and easy demeanor, he did not strike me as a man who’d worked near the bomb even in a low-level way. “Of course Julie doesn’t appreciate his skills either,” Ruth added.
“I’m sure he does,” I said brightly. “Julie just said how much he needed David there to supervise.”
“Yeah, because he can’t find anyone else to work for pennies other than his family and . . .” Her voice caught and her cheeks turned a little red.
“And Ed?” I said.
“Yes.” She laughed a little. “I can’t figure him out, your husband. Why he stays and works at Pitt even when Julie can’t always afford to pay them their salaries.”
That was news to me. I just assumed Ed always got paid since he always gave me my weekly allowance for food and such. “Ed and Julie are friends,” I finally said. “My husband is a loyal man.” For a second, I felt something close to pride for Ed and it startled me.
“HOW DID IT GO?” Jake asked me on Tuesday after he finished therapy with David and David had lined up all his red blocks. Jake offered David lunch again. And me, too.
“But don’t you have another appointment?” I asked him, remembering the way he’d nearly thrown us out last week.
All he said was “Not today.”
He invited me to join him in the kitchen and I followed him there. I watched him pull out bread and cheese from the icebox and I offered to help. He handed me the cheese, and we assembled the sandwiches together, quickly but clumsily, our elbows bumping into each other as we were not used to this shared job, this shared space. “Sorry.” I laughed nervously as my elbow bumped him again.
But he pretended not to notice and he carried our lunches back into the other room, setting David’s down in front of him first and then bringing ours to the chairs.
It was only then that I answered him about the dinner. “It went well,” I said. “I mean, it mostly did. Ethel and Julie and the boys left early because Ethel’s back was giving her trouble. But David and Ruth Greenglass stayed for a while, and Ruth is very kind. So is David.”
“So you got to know Ed’s friends a little?” Jake asked as he finished off his sandwich. “You feel better about them now?”
“Julie and Ed seemed to be getting along quite well. Julie and David seemed to be in a little bit of a row.” But then I thought about it. “Maybe not Julie and David, but Ruth and Julie. She was mad about David’s hours at work. She wanted time for him to go back to school.”
“And that was all you talked about? Work?” Jake asked.
“Well, yes, mostly. At dinner we talked about the kids and the weather and the Dodgers, you know?” Jake pulled his watch from his pocket, and I felt I was boring him. I tried to think of something to impress him, to let him see how hard I’d tried with Ed’s friends. “Oh, I did learn that David Greenglass was at Los Alamos.” Jake leaned in closer, and I thought that maybe I shouldn’t have repeated this to him even though he’d promised nothing I said ever left this room. But he was leaning in so close now and I could smell the warmth of his pipe smoke, see the shadow of stubble on his chin. I wanted to tell him more, wanted to keep him here like this, so near to me.
So I kept talking. “He was stationed there when he was in the army. He was just a machinist. Ruth said he didn’t know anything about anything that went on there for real. And I guess he didn’t enjoy the army all that much.”
Jake nodded, and then he leaned back against his chair. He glanced at his pocket watch, and I felt the sharp sense of disappointment that our appointment was coming to an end. “I’m glad you had the dinner, Millie,” he said as he closed the lid to his watch and put it back in his pocket. “Was Ed pleased?”
“Yes,” I said, thinking of the easy way Ed had acted with both David and Julie, drinking wine on our couch. “I think he was pleased.”
“That’s good,” Jake said. “And you are making more connections, Millie.”
But I looked at Jake, at the distance between us now, and suddenly I felt more alone than ever.
THAT WINTER, on the days we weren’t with Jake, we spent a lot of afternoons with Ethel and her boys. We alternated apartments and toys, hoping to switch things up just as the boys began to feel the brunt of being cooped up through the long cold months.
In Ethel’s apartment there was the added gift of the piano, which one snowy afternoon in February I heard Ethel play for the first time.
“The first time I ever met Julie, I was singing this,” she said. “‘Ciribiribin.’ It’s an Italian love song.”
She began singing, her voice so beautiful and high and clear, the Italian words falling like confection from her lips.
“Join in,” she called to me, laughing, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide with excitement. As she sang, her entire face seemed to glow with a happiness I’d never seen from her at any other time. “Come on.” She laughed. “Sing with me.” I shook my head and grinned. I didn’t know the song. And, even if I did, my off-key voice would’ve ruined it. But I loved seeing her happy.
When Ethel was singing, all three boys stopped what they were doing, stood still, and listened. The entire world seemed to stand still. It felt like a kind of magic. Her voice was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard, and when she finished the song, I realized I was crying.
14
The morning of Barnet Greenglass’s funeral, in March, I was supposed to take David to Jake’s apartment for our biweekly appointment. But Ethel knocked on my door first thing. She was swathed in black from head to toe, a large, dramatic black hat shadowing her face, so it was hard to tell if she’d been crying already or not. I guessed that was the point.
“Ethel.” I reached across the doorway and gave her a hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I’d ridden up in the elevator with Julie two days earlier as Dav
id and I were on our way home from the playground. When I’d asked him what found him home from work in the middle of the day, he’d told me about Ethel’s father and about how he was gathering money to pay for the funeral. Ethel had been in bed since learning the news, and I hadn’t been able to express my condolences until now.
“Thanks, Millie,” she said, pulling back from the hug and straightening her hat. “Would you do me a favor? Would you mind watching the children this morning while Julie and I go to the funeral? Just for a little while.” Her voice sounded hoarse, and I supposed that she had been crying.
“Of course,” I said, though I felt disappointed at the thought of not walking over to Waterman’s Grocery this morning, climbing up the twisty stairs to Jake’s apartment. His barren living room, his kind eyes, his pipe smoke, had become familiar and quite welcome comforts in the bleakness of these winter days. I couldn’t tell Ethel that now, though. Instead, I heard myself saying, “Take all the time you need. I’m happy to help.” I couldn’t have imagined bringing David to my father’s funeral, but of course I wasn’t even yet married to Ed at the time. And there would be no way I would want or be able to bring David to the funeral if it had happened now.
It had been two months since that last afternoon I’d watched John at my apartment, and as soon as Ethel left to go back to her apartment to collect the boys I began to dread the thought of another long day with him. After seeing Ed and Julie interact for myself, I felt John was wrong, that they weren’t really angry with each other. But still, I hoped John wouldn’t bring it up again once we were alone.
Ethel returned to my apartment after a few minutes with John clinging to her dress and a tired-looking Richie yawning in her arms.
I took Richie from her and I was surprised by the sweet and gentle way he clung to my neck. He was the opposite of John in every way: easy, calm, trusting. Ethel leaned down and whispered something to John, who stared uneasily at me. “David has a new set of cars,” I said, motioning my head behind me to where David sat by the window, lining them up in rows along the floorboards. John glanced around me, then slowly walked past me into the apartment. I wouldn’t mention, of course, that Jake gave David the cars last week: red, yellow, and blue. Communication cars, Jake called them. If John or Ethel asked, I would say they were a gift from Susan, as I had told Ed. But neither one of them did. Why would they?
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