by Brad Graber
Barney slid his tray next to Barbra and sat down. She dropped her shoulders, appearing smaller than her actual size. “Hey, Barney,” Barbra said, all aglow.
“Hey,” Barney acknowledged with a shake of the head.
“What are you doing after school?”
Rikki blushed. Barbra was so brazen. She acted as if Rikki wasn’t even at the table.
“Nothing,” Barney answered as he lifted a burger to his lips, registering a sour expression as he sniffed it. “God, what kind of meat do they put in these things?”
Barbra leaned up against him. “It would be fun to hang out together.”
Barney nodded without making eye contact.
“Great,” Barbra exclaimed. “Then we’re all set.”
Barney took a swig from his cola. “Are you gonna be there?” he asked Rikki.
The girls exchanged quick glances.
“I need to go straight home today,” Rikki lied.
“Yeah,” Barbra agreed, her eyes wide and focused on Rikki. “Rikki hasn’t been feeling well.”
Barney jerked his head back, giving Rikki the once-over. “You seem fine to me.”
Barbra interjected. “Well, that’s just the thing. She seems okay—but she has a doctor’s appointment.”
“Where?” Barney asked.
Rikki felt the heat rise in her face. She was never much for lying.
“Dr. Jacobi,” Barbra offered. “He’s all the way over on Union Turnpike.”
“That’s a long walk,” Barney said. “You shouldn’t walk over there alone.”
A look of panic crossed Barbra’s face.
“I’ll walk you,” Barney offered, much to Rikki’s shock. “Just to make sure you get there in one piece.”
◆
Barefoot, Lil walked across the wooden floor, stopping now and then to help a client in a particularly awkward pose find a more balanced stance. With a gentle touch to the back, a client might relax and ease the curvature of the spine. A hand to the shoulder . . . the shoulder drops. “That’s it,” she’d say in her melodic voice. “This is yoga. There’s no competition. It’s all about being one with your body. Allow yourself to ease into the pose.”
With each reminder, the group released a collective sigh. She was used to such sounds. Belching and farting were not uncommon—and happily welcome as a natural part of the human condition. When an especially loud fart sounded as she moved the class into a downward dog, she reminded everyone, “We store tension in our nerves, muscles, and most certainly, within our digestive tract. This is your time to let it all go. Here, together. This is a safe space.”
She moved through the dimly lit room. The class members now lay on their backs in silent meditation. Assuming her spot at the front, she slipped to the floor into a cross-legged position. And though she’d actively led the session, mindful of her students’ gentle breaths, she was unable to get Harry out of her mind. It had been a while since she’d met a man so special. Someone who seemed genuinely kind without being needy. She’d been surprised by his reluctance to engage sexually, but in her own indomitable way, she’d been undeterred.
He’s so sensitive and intelligent. Almost gentle, she thought, as she tried to reconcile her perceptions of a mystery writer with that of the man she’d come to know. And as she glanced about the room, trying to determine if she was ready to conclude the session, a stray thought crossed her mind. Perhaps he’s shy sexually. Or maybe he’s one of those celibate types who prefers conversation to sex. A chaste man who I’ve pushed against his will?
The thought at once seemed absurd, and yet, there was something that bothered her. She sensed his reluctance to connect. She wondered if she was projecting her own feelings onto him. After all, she was still single. She’d been reluctant to engage in a serious relationship, coming to the conclusion early on that love and marriage were really not her thing. But even though she was committed to daily yoga practice, she still sneaked a candy bar and a cigarette every now and then.
The snore of an older man in the front row grabbed her attention.
“Okay everyone, on the count of three, I want you to slowly awake. One . . . two . . . three! There. You should be feeling fresh and alert,” she said as the man up front struggled to sit up on one elbow. “It’s going to be a wonderful day, full of energy and life,” she softly said as the group mirrored her cross-legged position. She bent slightly forward at the waist and offered a “Namaste.”
◆
When the final bell rang, Rikki rushed along the hallway with the rest of the class, hoping to make it out before running into Barbra or Barney. She had no intention of spending more time with Barney, struggling to talk with him. And she certainly wanted no part in hurting Barbra’s feelings. If Barbra was determined to make a fool of herself with Barney, Rikki was only too happy to step aside.
“Hey, wait up,” Barney called from behind.
Rikki pretended she didn’t hear him.
“Hey,” he said jogging up to her side and tugging on her arm. “Wait up.”
She turned, and though she wanted to tell Barney that she was fine managing on her own, one look at him and the thought was gone.
“I told you that I’d walk with you,” he said, catching his breath. He wore a black leather jacket and a red and white scarf wrapped about his neck. He pulled on the knot of the scarf, seemingly self-conscious of the bold fashion choice. “It’s cold for the beginning of December.”
She nodded, lost in the sparkle of his eyes.
“Let’s go,” he said, breaking the awkward moment as they headed down the steps and out the doors. “Which way do you usually walk?” He looked about.
“This way,” she said, pointing in the direction she took home, forgetting about the lie, too consumed by his sudden interest and flattered by the attention.
They walked along together, not saying anything for two blocks. Rikki racked her brain to come up with a suitable topic. As they stood on the sidewalk waiting for the light to turn green, panic gripped her heart. She had to say something. They couldn’t continue to walk together in silence.
As they crossed the street, she heard a woman’s voice. When you don’t know what to say, ask the other person about themselves. Everyone loves to talk about themselves.
Rikki let out a gasp. She hadn’t been able to conjure a single memory of El in four years and yet, in the middle of 73rd Avenue, for one brief moment, El had come back to her, her voice vibrant and very much alive.
“Are you okay?” Barney asked as he pulled her across the intersection and back up on the sidewalk.
Rikki covered her mouth with the palm of her hand as she looked up at the sky. “That was the most amazing thing. I can’t believe it.”
Barney looked at her as if she was crazy. “What gives?”
“I lost my mother four years ago and I haven’t been able to remember anything about her. Nothing.”
“What?”
“It’s true,” she said, wiping a tear. “Not a thing . . . until now. I just heard her voice. Clear as if she was standing next to me. My mother,” she said, grabbing both his arms and giving him a shake, “just spoke to me. I heard her.”
Barney bit his lower lip. “I knew it,” he said pulling back and pointing a finger at her. “When we first started talking, I thought you were a little nuts. Now, I know you’re completely nuts.”
She offered a frown. “Don’t say that. It’s an awful thing to say.”
“Okay, okay.” He surrendered to her request as they continued walking. “So you really don’t remember your mother at all?” he asked in a serious tone.
“Nothing,” Rikki admitted. “The doctors said that I had some sort of shock. That I’d eventually remember. But I haven’t. Not until now.”
Barney’s eyes brightened. “Well, maybe that’s because of me. I must be good luck.”
“Maybe,” she said looking at him askance. “Or maybe it’s that photo album that I found,” Rikki said, partly to herself. “I
’ve been looking at it every morning while my grandmother sleeps.”
He sighed. “I can tell you one thing. I wish I could forget my family.”
She shifted the focus. “Tell me about your foster family. Who are they? Where do you live?”
Barney visibly recoiled. “There’s really nothing to say.” He looked straight ahead as she struggled to keep pace with his long strides. “I’m there until I’m eighteen. There are rules that I abide by, but come my eighteenth birthday, I’m on my own.”
Rikki couldn’t imagine it. No matter how challenging her relationship was with Rita, she had no doubt that she had a safe place with her grandmother. “What will you do then?”
“Go to college. I’m going to need a scholarship to make it through. It won’t be easy, but,” he said with the maturity of an adult, “I have no choice.”
His words echoed in her head. No choice. He seemed, despite his challenging family circumstances, to have figured out how to move forward. He’d owned his situation and decided to rise above it. “I wish I was more like you,” she admitted.
“Me?” He sounded surprised. “You don’t want to be like me.”
She stopped walking and turned to him. “Oh, I think you’re wrong. You know who you are and where you’re going.”
He let out a laugh. “It only seems that way. Those are words. That’s all. Words I’ve heard from social workers and counselors. I’m not even sure I believe any of it.”
“But you must,” she said with such powerful conviction that she surprised herself. “You must believe that things will get better. And that one day, you’ll have a family. And you’ll be there for your children. Protect them. Give them what you didn’t have.”
He looked down. “I’m not sure how anyone can give what they’ve never known.”
She reached for his arm and pulled him close. He looked down at her as she stood on her tiptoes and offered him a gentle kiss on the lips.
The borough of Queens disappeared as the two teenagers stood on the corner.
“You will,” she said confidently, suddenly feeling every inch a woman. “And they will be lucky to have you as a dad.”
◆
Booth Memorial Hospital was bustling with activity as father and daughter walked through the hallways hand in hand. Seymour Goldenbaum had stopped at the flower shop and purchased a huge bouquet of red roses. Little Estelle, barely two, grasped a small brown teddy bear sporting a red bow tie. She dropped the bear twice on the ride up in the elevator to the maternity floor before Seymour slipped the bear under his arm.
Rita was dozing as they entered the room. Seymour placed the bouquet on a chair tucked in the corner and slipped Estelle out of her red winter coat. He thought his daughter was pretty as a picture before he noticed that the child’s Mary Janes were slightly scuffed from the walk through the parking lot. Estelle had fallen, as children tend to do when first learning to walk, and had inverted the black shoe on the gravel.
I hope Rita doesn’t notice her shoes, he thought as he removed a hanky from his pocket and, with a little spit, tried to recapture the luster. As he wiped, Rita opened her eyes. “Guess who’s here?” he gently sang out, standing up, still holding Estelle’s little hand as if he was presenting their daughter as a gift. “It’s your little darling.”
Rita’s weary expression shifted to spontaneous joy. “Oh, sweetie,” she called, arms outstretched. “Come to Mommy.”
Little Estelle let out a joyful squeal as she wobbled over to the bed. Seymour grabbed her under the arms from behind and lifted her high in the air before bringing her slowly down to sit on the edge of the bed close to her mother. Estelle let out a cry of sheer ecstasy.
“Who’s Mommy’s love?” Rita cooed, running her palm over her daughter’s soft cheek. “Look how pretty you are,” she said, kissing her child as Estelle leaned in to her mother.
“How are you feeling?” Seymour asked, lifting the flowers to move the chair closer to the bed.
“What’s that in your hand?” Rita asked.
“Roses for you, my darling,” he said gleefully as he leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek.
“Sy, how many times have I told you about roses?” Rita scolded, a sharp edge to her tone. “I’m allergic. You know that.”
“Oh, my God.” Seymour slapped a hand to his forehead. “In all the excitement, I completely forgot. I wasn’t thinking. Okay. Not to worry. I’ll give them to the nurses. Someone should enjoy them.”
Rita made a face. “I hate to give them a gift when they never answer the damn buzzer. This morning alone, I waited fifteen minutes before someone showed up to help me to the bathroom. They don’t deserve flowers.”
“Oh, come on, honey. This is an amazing day. Let’s be happy.”
“Amazing for you,” Rita groused. “I’ve been up since three in the morning pushing that baby out. I hurt everywhere. And you show up with roses.” And then, as if on cue, she let out a roaring sneeze. So loud that little Estelle jumped.
Seymour slid a box of tissues closer to his wife. “I better get these flowers out of here,” he said, stepping out of the room momentarily and then rushing back in. “Oh, you should have seen their happy faces,” he said.
Rita didn’t appear to be listening. She was fiddling with Estelle’s top. “What’s this on her blouse?” She pulled on the white top. There was a minor discoloration.
Seymour glanced over. He’d put on Estelle’s bib and carefully fed her, and still, a spot of chocolate ice cream stared back at him. “Nothing,” he answered, raising the teddy bear up in the hope of distracting Rita. “Look. Isn’t it sweet?”
Rita was having none of it. Her expression turned dark. “Did your father feed you ice cream this morning for breakfast?” she asked her daughter.
Estelle broke into tears.
“Did you give her ice cream?” she asked Seymour.
Seymour lifted Estelle into his arms to soothe her. He used the little teddy bear to refocus the child’s attention. “It’s a special day.”
“She’s already too chubby.”
Seymour waved a hand at his wife. “She’s only two. What are you talking about? She’s a perfectly lovely child. There’s nothing wrong with her weight.”
“And that stain? Who is going to get that stain out?”
Seymour sidestepped the question. “Have you seen the baby this morning?”
“Yes,” Rita answered. “I’m going to have to go to a bottle.” She rubbed her right breast. “It was so uncomfortable.”
Seymour blushed. He didn’t like discussing such matters. “But you had no trouble with Estelle.”
“So does that mean I have to breast feed every baby? Why don’t you try it—if you’re such a big fan?”
Seymour rolled his eyes. “I guess there’s no pleasing you this morning.”
Little Estelle started to fidget so he sat down and placed her on his lap.
“I wish we hadn’t done this,” Rita admitted. “I think this is a mistake.”
Seymour’s heart sank. Rita had been miserable throughout the pregnancy. He’d just assumed that once the child was born, her spirits would lift. “We both agreed to have another child,” he reminded her.
“But a boy,” she said. “I don’t know.”
Seymour kissed Estelle on the forehead. “You thought all along it might be a boy.”
“Yes,” Rita agreed, “but thinking it and knowing it are two very different things.”
Seymour bit his lip. He wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to deal with Rita.
“I know it’s been a rough morning. It’s just the drugs talking.” He caught Estelle’s eyes and repeatedly smacked his lips, much to the baby’s delight. “Honey, maybe I should take you home. Mommy still isn’t feeling well,” he pretended to explain to Estelle, who had managed to get a paw of the teddy bear into her mouth and was happily sucking on it.
◆
Alone in her bedroom, Rikki pored over the photo album that she’d swip
ed from Rita’s trunk. Each morning, she’d awake early, and make her bed. Then she’d retrieve the album, and while Rita slept, study the photographs, carefully cleaning up any black specks that might spill from the disintegrating construction paper as she flipped through the black-and-white photographs.
She marveled at the change in Rita. She’d once been a stylish brunette with wavy hair, and a lot trimmer. A lovely figure, Rikki thought, on closer inspection.
And there were other pictures, too. A man she’d never met, holding two babies up for the camera. One, a towheaded little girl, the other, an infant wrapped in a blanket. Rikki explored the man’s face as if the picture might reveal something about his character.
So Rita did have a husband, she thought, fully aware that a man had to be in the picture to conceive children. She wondered what had happened to him and the marriage. And as she turned the pages of the album, she became keenly aware of the second child. A little boy. Younger than the little girl.
El had a brother. I have an uncle.
Rikki racked her memory. Rita had never mentioned another child.
Rikki stared into the past, mesmerized by El. An extremely photogenic girl with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a huge smile. Everyone has a childhood, Rikki thought, and yet, as page after page unfolded, it was a revelation to see her mother as a toddler, tween, and adolescent. She’d never thought of El as being any one particular age, and yet here, in this photo album, El was all ages.
The boy, too, was in a number of photos, but not nearly as many as El. Rikki studied his face in a Little League photo. He didn’t look happy. Actually, as she turned through the pages she realized that he rarely smiled.
Rikki longed to ask Rita why she’d locked the album away. Who the other child was, and why the album stopped at El’s high school graduation. There were still blank pages. Surely there must have been opportunities to take more pictures, and yet, there were none.
“Rikki,” Rita called out, gently knocking on the door. “Are you up?”
Startled, Rikki slammed the photo album shut and slid it under the bed. “Yes, I’m awake.”
Rita opened the bedroom door. “What are you doing?” she asked, noticing the bed was already made. “When did you get up?”