A Castle in Brooklyn(68)
Esther. Again, he scanned the highway for the exit, the pace of traffic slowing, then picking up once more as her face appeared before him, the gentle curve of her cheeks, the way she would sweep away the waves of her auburn hair as the strands fell against her face, and the eyes with their particular shade of stellar blue. More than that, there was an earnestness to them as they filled with tears as she poured out her sorrows to him. That moment brought him confidence that she felt the same way he did; that she loved him too; that she held back from reaching out to him out of respect, lest she disrupt his life; and that all that was needed was his return, the spark that would set her feelings aflame.
And yet, like tinnitus, an insistent buzz in the ear, he could not let go of Miriam, whose devotion had remained steadfast from the moment they met. And there was Debbie, of course, his dear child and the beacon of his future. It was because of them that he only recently revealed the tragedy experienced by Jacob and Esther—the loss of their only child. It had taken him years before he was able to truly rein in his feelings, to hide them from Miriam’s discerning sight.
The sun was high in the sky now as he felt his heart beating faster. He swerved only slightly into the right lane and quickly straightened the blue Celebrity to meet the line of increasing traffic. In the same way he adjusted his thinking, not quite banishing the thoughts of his wife and daughter, but letting them rest, at least for now, in the corner of his brain.
He wasn’t sure what he would do once he professed his love for Esther. But he’d never abandon them; they were as much a part of him as the blood that coursed through his veins. Yet there had always been Esther.
Later, it seemed almost like a lifetime, Zalman took a deep breath, felt the air spread like warm honey through his veins. Again, her image floated into his brain, consumed him. For the first time in his life, Zalman was not running away, not running to escape the Nazi terror or a shattered friendship. But now he was running toward something, no longer out of fear, but hope. He was ready. She was the home that he truly loved. Zalman was ready to go home.
A feeling as close to elation as Zalman had ever experienced lightened his spirit as the sun’s rays peeked beyond the oncoming hill. He fumbled for his sunglasses in the glove compartment, but just as he did, he saw the exit sign, the one he needed, about to sail past his line of vision. Zalman slowed the car slightly and began the turn, a hair’s breadth behind. He did not see the red truck emblazoned with the word MERCURY in his rearview mirror as it plowed into him, only the light of the sun, brilliant and gold. A light brighter than any he had ever seen before.
TWENTY-SIX
Francine, 1995
The two women seated in front of her looked like smiling Buddhas, the kind she had once seen in a picture book of China at the library. The shorter one was wearing a belted red dress with tiny white stars on it, which fell in folds as she sat, her legs crossed at the ankles, her round face framed by a halo of overly dyed reddish-brown hair. The other one was taller, skinny, and wore tan polyester pants and a matching sweater, her hair a steely gray, much like Francine’s. Each woman had the same red-lipped smile stretched across her face, the same Star of David dangling between their breasts. Francine knew what the gold star meant, knew they were Jewish because, years earlier, her manager at the Kroger’s, before she had gone into medical filing, had worn a similar ornament. And while there were a bunch of people Francine didn’t exactly care for, the Jews weren’t one of them.
“So you’re from Georgia, you say?” asked the one with the dye job. “That’s one place I’ve never been to. Must be hot there.”
Francine forced a laugh.
“No, not all the time, but it can get pretty hot in the summer. Sometimes even a hundred degrees.”
The women exchanged smiling glances, the gray-haired one fanning herself with one hand.
“Well, Mrs. McKee,” continued the other, “you say it’s just you and your husband living in the house. If you don’t mind my asking, don’t you think this house is a little big for only two people?”
Francine had expected the question and nodded.
“Well, it may seem so, but as I mentioned, we’re both retired now, and we’re moving here to be closer to my nephew and his family, who I’m sure will be visiting once in a while, and of course there are the other two boys and a grandson still back in Norcross who’ll be wanting to come see us now and then,” she said, adding, “Oh, I hope that’s not a problem.” She sat back, satisfied. Only one little lie, the one about having a nephew who lived in New York. That and the part about her sons “visiting.”
The women looked at one another again.
“No, it shouldn’t be, not if they’re respectful of the furniture, and the grounds, and—” began the one in the dress before the one with the gray hair interrupted, “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine, but what Esther—Mrs. Stein—is really concerned about is that you stick to the one-year lease. You see, the last tenant left suddenly, before the year was up. Nice man, very lovely family, but there was a problem.” Her friend—Mrs. Stein—her smile wavering a bit, nodded her assent.
“Oh my, no! We plan to be here for at least that long, maybe even two or three years if it comes down to it. You won’t have any problem with us.” Francine let her southern drawl curl a little longer around the last word. She watched their faces relax somewhat, their bodies ease ever so slightly against the back of the upholstered sofa.