Some Other Child

by Buchbinder, Sharon

  He raced to the edge of his electric fence and ran back and forth, hurling himself at the invisible wall.

  Was he was barking at deer? In the past, as many as ten females and a buck with a huge rack grazed in the front yard. Hostas, daylilies, tulips, and thornless bushes were full course banquets for the deer, enraging many of her neighbors. Sarah went outside to where Winston was bounding back and forth and peered at the front yard in the pre-dawn light. Not a single deer. A white van idled in the cul-de-sac.

  Why was there a truck in front of Aunt Ida’s house at this hour? She could see no sign on the side, nor could she read the license plate from where she stood. The driver’s window was cracked open and a thin line of smoke curled out through the gap.

  Sarah walked across the front lawn to see what the driver wanted. As she got within five feet of the vehicle, the driver put the car into gear and took off.

  Odd. Shrugging, she whistled for Winston and headed toward the back yard, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Something about her mother’s fall wasn’t making any sense. A branch stuck out of the bushes. The color was different from the test of the branches.

  Wait. That’s not a branch. It’s Mom’s cane with the dog head handle.

  Brushing off mud, she picked the walking stick up and examined it.

  The rope Winston had been tied with was still on the tree. Where had that come from? One of the three lines of rope for the clothesline flapped in the breeze. It had been cut. The police? She’d ask Mike the next time she saw him. Right now, she needed to check on her mother’s condition and speak with her sister.

  The ICU nurses informed her that her mother was the same, looking rested and warm. Her sister was with a patient, unavailable to talk.

  Sarah opened the refrigerator, hoping to find something to eat, instead she found wilted lettuce, limp carrots, and an ancient jar of dill pickles. They joined the groceries she’d had to toss out from the night before.

  Sarah’s phone chirped.

  “Did I wake you?” Aunt Ida asked.

  “No, I’ve been up since five-thirty.”

  Aunt Ida sighed. “Me, too. I tossed and turned all night. Are you hungry?”

  “I thought I’d lose my appetite with everything going on, but I’m starving. And my cupboards are bare.”

  “How about we go to the deli for breakfast?”

  “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

  The traffic was only slightly backed up going into the parking lot, but she had to stop. An enormous Cadillac had parked at the end of the row, and someone was being dropped off at the back door. Sarah watched as a young black woman climbed out of an ancient Toyota and assisted an elderly woman with plum colored hair. The older woman looked familiar to Sarah, but she couldn’t place her. Then it was Sarah’s turn to block traffic as her elderly passenger disembarked.

  She found Aunt Ida sitting on a cracked vinyl banquette, in a booth across from the woman with the purple hair. The smell of toast filled the restaurant. Sarah’s stomach growled. As she sat down and grabbed the menu, the woman called across the aisle.

  “Is that you, Ida Mae Katz?” She hacked and coughed.

  The gravelly voice and smoker’s cough clinched it. Sarah suppressed a groan. The woman with the plum colored hair was Dan’s mother. Sarah had meant to call Gertrude when she moved to Baltimore, but with everything going on in her life, she’d forgotten. Well, maybe repressed was a better word.

  Aunt Ida waggled her eyebrows at Sarah and turned in her chair to face the other woman. “Yes, it’s me. How are you, Gertrude? How’s the Whispering Willows Retirement Community? Have you won any Mah Jong games lately?”

  “The only thing they whisper about at The Willows is the food. It stinks. No flavor. Bland and blah. That’s why I’m here. And, no, I haven’t won any Mah Jong games lately. Have you?” She fixed a piercing gaze on Sarah. “Nu, do I know you?”

  Sarah felt like a deer surrounded by hunters at a salt lick.

  “Hello, Mrs. Rosen. We met once a while ago when I was dating your son, Dan.” She was going to kill Aunt Ida. “Gee, Aunt Ida, why didn’t you tell me you knew Mrs. Rosen?”

  “Slipped my mind. We just started playing Mah Jong together on Tuesdays at the Senior Center.”

  “Ahh,” she whispered, “You knew she was going to be here today, didn’t you?”

  Aunt Ida winked, and continued her conversation. “So, Gertrude, how’s your son?”

  Gert hacked. “Do you see any grandchildren with me?”

  “No.”

  “That’s how he is. No grandchildren for me and I’m not getting any younger. I’m beginning to wonder if he’ll ever get married. I sure hope he’s not gay. It happens, you know. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the ass?”

  Sarah’s mouth opened and closed. She could personally attest to his sexual preference, but didn’t think this was the time or place to announce it.

  “Tisk, tisk. That would be a shame. But, Gert, I thought he had a new girlfriend.”

  “Bobbi the Bitch? Phooey!”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Perhaps we could get him back together with Sarah.”

  Sarah almost fell out of her chair. What was Aunt Ida doing? In the midst of all the craziness surrounding her mother’s accident, the little old lady had been matchmaking.

  Gertrude looked Sarah over like a side of beef and said, “You’ve gotten a little zaftig, haven’t you?”

  Sarah couldn’t remember what that word meant, but she knew it wasn’t a compliment.

  Aunt Ida said, “Not zaftig—gesund.”

  “She’s very gesund.”

  “And your son, he’s perfect?”

  “Oy, the abuse I take from you,” Gertrude slapped her palm on the table and turned her piercing gaze on Sarah. “So, Sarah, I can’t remember so good. What’s your age? You’re not Jewish, are you? You don’t look Jewish.”

  On all but one brief occasion, Sarah had avoided meeting Dan’s family during their short engagement because she feared this question. What exactly did Jewish look like? She never understood the expression. To her eyes, Jews came in all sizes, shapes, and hair colors. Yet to Jewish eyes, she looked alien, non-Jewish, goy.

  “I’m thirty and you’re right, I’m not Jewish.” She decided not to add that she had planned to convert when she was engaged to Dan.

  “Hmph. Macht’s nicht zu mir! Doesn’t matter to me. So, have you ever been married? Any children?”

  Sarah wondered if the next question would be if she’d ever been arrested, or convicted of a misdemeanor or a felony. She made a pre-emptive strike.

  “Never married. No kids. I’m a nurse and I finished my PhD in Public Health. I work at Hopkins in Pediatrics Research. I live with my mother, but she’s in the hospital because she had an accident. She’s in a coma. I have a dog and a cat. Have I missed anything?”

  “Oy! You’re a feisty one. I like that!” Gertrude shook a well-manicured index finger at Sarah. “Give me your number. We’ll meet for bagels and lox. I’ll bring Dan when he comes into town for a visit.”

  Sarah gave her the cell number.

  “Hey,” Gertrude bellowed in the direction of a passing waitress. “How about some service here?”

  Sarah leaned over and lowered her voice. “God will get you for this, Aunt Ida. You set me up. Why’d you do that? Do I look desperate? And by the way, I just figured it out. She called me fat.”

  “Zaftig means ‘plump.’ I said you were healthy.” Her mischievous smile made Sarah laugh.

  The whole thing was absurd. Sarah was certain the probability of Gertrude calling her for bagels and lox with Dan was zip, zero, zilch, and bubkes.

  A server arrived, and Gertrude was mollified with a cup of coffee. The only noise coming from her side of the aisle was an occasional sigh and a rattling smoker’s cough. Aunt Ida shook her head when Sarah glanced in Gertrude’s direction.

  “Don’t look at her, or we’ll be here the rest of the day. She sighs when
she wants attention. She’s been very lonely since she lost her husband. When she’s in a mood like this, she’ll talk your ear off.”

  “By the way,” Sarah said, “there was a white van in front of your house early this morning. I thought it was odd.”

  Wrinkling her forehead, Aunt Ida said, “Betty’s brother, Patrick, he’s an electrician with a white van. He’s done some work around the house for me. Sometimes he drops Betty off, but it’s not her day to work. Must have been some other contractor.”

  Sarah looked down at the joke paper placemat labeled “Dictionary of Basic Yiddish.” She was struggling with kloppen kop on vant, which they translated as “asking the landlord to paint” when the steaming omelet arrived, the aroma of onions tantalizing her nose and putting her appetite in overdrive.

  “My taste buds are singing, Aunt Ida. Can you hear them?”

  “Mine, too.”

  The server kept the hot coffee coming. After a leisurely meal, Sarah went to get the car while Aunt Ida paid the bill.

  A white van pulled into the parking lot as Sarah turned the key in the ignition. The driver’s side door opened and a man in a maintenance uniform climbed out. A sign on its side panel read “Jacob’s Heating and Plumbing.”

  As she drove around the block past the old Maryland State Police Crime Laboratory, she spotted another white van. When she took a right onto Sudbrook Lane, there was another one, and yet another when she pulled up in front of the restaurant. White vans everywhere. They must breed like rabbits, she thought.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you get ready?” Sarah asked when she walked Aunt Ida at her door.

  “You could put some boxes in the trunk of my car. Look in the kitchen.”

  Sarah followed her into the house. “Do you have a list of all the hotels you’ll be staying at, just in case?”

  “It’s next to that Gee-chazerei for Detective Engelman.” The bottle sat on the kitchen counter next to the telephone, with a note attached: “GHB. Give to Det. Engelman.” No mistaking that for almond extract.

  “Look at the time. Aunt Ida, I’m heading over to visit Mom. I know you have a lot to do, so if you don’t want to come, that’s okay. I’ll take those boxes on my way out.”

  “As long as I’m still in town, I’m coming with you. Before we go, could I ask you to do one more thing? I’m concerned the CD player in my car might not be working. I haven’t used it in a while and I have to be able to listen to my audio books. Could you check it for me?”

  “Sure.” Sarah went outside and put the boxes in the trunk. A new bumper sticker was taped to the rear window. She stopped to take a closer look. It read in large, colorful, pseudo-Hebrew print, “Mah Jong Maven.” Sarah played with the CD player and cued up the first chapter of a murder mystery. As she pressed the play button, and listened to the actor’s resonant voice, despite her heavy jacket and scarf, she shivered with an unexpected chill. Her heart raced and for a moment she had an ominous feeling, as if something bad was about to happen.

  Not possible. Her mother was in a coma and her finances were in the toilet. What else could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter Five

  Exhausted, despite having caught some shuteye for a few hours, Sarah stood in the doorway to her mother’s room, listened to Dr. Merrill and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “Your mother’s vital signs are stable. We’ve ordered an EEG to see what her brain activity looks like,” Dr. Merrill said. “If she’d wake up, then we could say she was on the road to recovery.”

  “And, if she stays in the coma, then what?”

  “We transfer her to a medical unit or a nursing home.” She paused. “But, we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves. Let’s see what the EEG shows. Any other questions? No? I’ll see you later.”

  “Well, Mom, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” Sarah said in a weak imitation of Oliver Hardy. She sank into a chair alongside Aunt Ida. The older woman stared at Ethel as if her friend would wake up and ask where her damn tea was. Beeping and occasional overhead pages punctuated the silence.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without your mother when I was younger. I was so alone,” the older woman whispered, not taking her eyes off Ethel.

  Sarah held her breath, half-afraid Aunt Ida would stop speaking and half-afraid of what she would learn. She knew they went back decades, but neither Ethel nor Ida had ever spoken of their earlier days together. Sarah had always thought it was odd. Most good friends will say, “Remember when…?” and then amuse listeners with a funny story from youth. Not a single naughty or nostalgic tale had ever been shared with Sarah. Not one.

  “You asked me a question, and I wasn’t honest with you, Sarah.” She spoke louder. “Ethel, if you can hear me, I’m sorry.”

  Her mother's pale face nearly blended in with the pillowslips. She didn’t move or make a sound, but the heart monitor beeped as if to say, “Please go on. I’m alive. I can hear you.”

  Sarah didn’t want to push Aunt Ida—nor did she want to push herself. Maybe it was better to leave things in the past. Now was not the time for a shocking revelation “Aunt Ida, if you don’t want to---”

  “Let me finish.”

  That was a command, not a request. Sarah snapped her mouth shut.

  Aunt Ida pulled a handkerchief out of her handbag and blew her nose.

  “My stepfather—got me pregnant.” She spoke in little bursts, between sobs. “Sent me away—Florence Crittenton Home. DC.—Met your mother. We were young, teenagers. She was like my sister. She-she looked out for me.”

  Sarah squeezed Aunt Ida’s hand and glanced at her mother. No response.

  “We went outside for a walk. My step-father showed up. Said he was going to kill me. Like he killed my kitten. And my mother.” The elderly woman took a deep breath.

  Despite her fear of shattering, Sarah couldn’t take her eyes off Aunt Ida. Riveted by the older woman’s words, Sarah swallowed hard and whispered, “What happened?”

  “Ethel stepped between us. Hit him on the chin. He fell. Hit his head. Blood everywhere. We ran.”

  “She saved your life.” Sarah looked at her mother with a mixture of new-found awe, respect, and shock. Ethel had never been an easy woman. Her mouth was mean whether sober or drunk. Yet her loyalty to Ida was absolute. Her mother had killed a man to protect her best friend. Did Ethel have other secrets? What could be worse than that?

  “Sisters forever,” Aunt Ida whispered and broke down in tears.

  Sarah leaned over and hugged her dear, sweet Aunt Ida and wept with her. “Thank you.”

  After a while, Aunt Ida regained control of herself. Her voice was firmer when she spoke.

  “I helped her escape from the home. It was like a prison. She was unhappy. She wanted to be with your father.” The older woman sighed.“We lost touch. I met Jack. Love at first sight. A handyman.” She smiled. “Who knew he’d become so wealthy?”

  Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and she dabbed her paper-thin skin with her crumpled handkerchief.

  “Your mother married an abusive drunk. She wrote to me, but he sent all my letters back. “Return to Sender.” Beneath all my happiness was this great sorrow that she was suffering. I hoped to see her again before I died.”

  “What happened?” Sarah knew her father had been a mean drunk. She heard the stories over and over from her mother.

  “She found me when Jack passed away. She was working for the federal government, living in Washington, D.C. Saw the story on the news.”

  Aunt Ida waved at the television in the room.

  “They showed our wedding photo and she recognized me. When she came to the memorial service, she told me she’d been looking for me for years.”

  Aunt Ida dabbed at her nose.

  “One of the happiest days in my life. She said it was an amazing coincidence. I said, ‘There are no coincidences.’”

  Aunt Ida turned and gripped Sarah’s hands with surprising strength.


  “Sarahlei, never, never, ever give up hope. I almost gave up on ever seeing your mother again, and she reappeared in my life just when I desperately needed her. I was grief-stricken when my darling Jack died, and no matter how awful your mother’s behavior can be, she’s my best friend, my sister forever. She loves you. Don’t give up on your mother, don’t give up on yourself, and, for God’s sake, don’t give up on the love of your life, Dan.”

  Sarah stood up and hugged Aunt Ida. “Thank you for sharing this story with me.” She was crying, too. She turned toward her mother, “Mom, you have a hell of a good friend here. I hope you know that.”

  The heart monitor attached to her mother began to beep louder. It had been registering seventy beats per minute, but now showed ninety beats per minute. Just as Sarah was about to call for a nurse, Ethel’s heart rate dropped back down to seventy-five.

  Hearing was the last sense to go. Somewhere, deep inside, Sarah knew her mother had heard everything. Did she approve? Or did the heart rate monitor reflect her internal agitation?

  Aunt Ida looked exhausted. “Sarahlei, do you mind taking me home, please? I have to get up early and I need some rest.”

  Sarah went to her mother’s bedside and smoothed Ethel’s hair away from her brow. At one time, her mother had been young, healthy, vibrant. And she’d accidentally killed a man to save Aunt Ida. Troubled youth, troubled adulthood. Was that all coming to an end soon? Sarah hoped not. Despite her bad girl days and drunken debacles, her mother deserved compassion. “Stay out of trouble. Don’t go out drinking with the nurses after work.”

  As she rose, Sarah could have sworn she saw Ethel’s lips turn up in a smirk. She stopped and looked again. It was only a trick of the fluorescent lighting.

  * * * *

  Back at home, Sarah reviewed her to do list: pick up Mitzi; call BGE; get to work; tell everyone what was going on in her life. A sign flashed in her mind: Proceed with caution: Ugly Monday ahead.

  She let Winston out, fed the whirling dervish, Neferkitty, and set the timer on the coffee pot for five in the morning. Then she remembered she hadn’t heard from her sister. A tiny envelope appeared on her cell phone. She pulled out the instruction manual and read, “Occasionally, there will be areas where your cell phone will not be accessible.”