The Two-Family House(5)
“You look like you’re going to pass out. Sit down.” He pulled a chair over for her and bent down to look at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She had closed her eyes to give herself time to think, to find an acceptable answer to the question. There was no time. She had a house full of guests, platters to bring out, people to feed, a party to run. What could she possibly say? That in watching her son flirt with a girl, she was suddenly terrified, overcome with emotions she could not fully describe? That her knees caved in when she found she could no longer define her role in Harry’s life? That the emptiness she felt at that moment was a faceless guest, unwanted and sour, who had snuck into her home and ruined her celebration?
When she didn’t answer, Abe told her not to move. “I’m getting you something to drink,” he insisted. But he didn’t have to. Rose was already there, with tea and a plate. Helen drank the tea and took a few bites. She felt better, and she shook off the emptiness. She was hostess once again.
It had been a wonderful party. The food was delicious. The cake, which Helen made herself, was a spectacle of sugar and love. But no matter how many compliments she received, Helen still hadn’t been able to breathe in as much air as she needed. Harry was hers no longer, and the realization of the change had been a terrible blow.
Now, the morning after the celebration, Helen was faced with only a day of housework to look forward to. Her heart ached a little as she filled up her coffee mug. She cut a few slivers off the end of one of the pound cakes, gulped down her coffee and took out her apron. It was time to start cleaning.
When the kitchen was done, the living room was next. Helen wiped and dusted, collapsed folding chairs and card tables, and moved small pieces of furniture back to their proper places. She didn’t want to wake anyone with the vacuum, but when she ran her broom underneath the sofa, she found a tiny blue sock that had gotten swept up with the crumbs. She tucked it into her apron pocket and made a mental note to call Alice, her cousin Shep’s wife, to let her know she had it. She would put it in the wash tomorrow.
It was only when Helen opened the windows to air out the living room that she thought of it. The idea floated in with the crisp morning breeze, erasing the staleness that had filled her lungs. A new resolve elated her, and she stopped for a moment to savor it. She was only thirty-five, for heaven’s sake. Why not?
After that, the rest of her morning chores flew by. By the time the boys woke up, clamoring for food, Helen was giddy with newfound purpose. Abe wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later. “You made a beautiful party,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her, already recalling his favorite moments of the previous day. She returned the kiss and played along, but Helen had no interest in reminiscing. The bar mitzvah was behind her, and her heart was hungry for what would come next.
Chapter 4
ROSE
(August 1947)
Rose took the second loaf of bread out of the oven and placed it on top of the stove. The smell made her stomach turn, but she took a deep breath and tried to force the sensation into retreat. She felt awful.
Rose never imagined she would get pregnant again. She assumed that part of her life was over and that Dinah, just turned five, would always be the baby of the family. But she could no longer ignore her condition. And as each day passed, the realization that she was going to have to tell Mort invaded her thoughts more frequently. A month ago, the thought of telling him was like the sighting of a distant ship: a black speck on a remote horizon. Thinking of it that way calmed her. Over the past few weeks, however, an overwhelming sense of dread transformed the picture: the ship grew closer, filling the frame, and no amount of coaxing could turn it back around. Today, she could think of nothing else, and so after the children left for the park, she kept herself busy baking bread.
“Something smells good in there! Open up!” It was Helen at the door, all smiles and pink cheeks. Not just pink, Rose saw, but bright red and dripping with perspiration. She puffed her way inside and saw the loaves cooling on the stove.
“You’re baking bread in this heat? It’s like a sauna in here, Rose. Open a window!”
Rose slid open the window over the sink. The August morning was hot and still, with no breeze. “I felt like baking bread.”
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
“I needed to keep busy. One is for you. Sit. You can taste it for me.”
Rose set one of the loaves on the table with a plate for Helen and the butter dish. She found the jar of blueberry preserves she had made a few weeks ago and put that down too.
“Oh good, your jam! Don’t you want a plate?”
“I can’t eat in this heat.”
Rose poured two cups of coffee and sat down. She couldn’t help smiling as she watched Helen attack the bread. First Helen cut off the end. She sliced a generous piece from the middle, slathered it with butter and jam, and popped it in her mouth, leaving the end piece on the table. “It’s so good, Rose,” Helen practically moaned. “I swear I could eat the whole thing right now.”
“Don’t you like the end?”
“What?”
“The heel—you don’t like that part? That’s Mimi’s favorite.”
Helen chuckled. She put down the butter knife she was holding and began to laugh harder. When her laughter turned into a coughing fit, Rose jumped up to get her a glass of water. After a few sips, the coughing stopped.