Florence Adler Swims Forever(53)

The problem, which Esther could have foreseen if she’d considered the situation more carefully, was that she now had to prepare Gussie to answer questions on a wide range of topics instead of just one. Fannie might ask Gussie about Florence, but she might also ask about her health, her recent trip to Alliance, her friends, or—heaven forbid—her newfound talent for twirling.

Through the bedroom door, Esther could hear the scraping sound of a chair being dragged across the kitchen floor. She pictured Gussie, still in her nightgown, reaching for the plates Esther kept in the drainboard above the sink. A moment later, she heard the lid of the bread bin bang open. Gussie was such a capable girl, always had been. Esther listened for the sound of the Hoosier drawer opening, the clang of silverware. Could Gussie be coached? What choice did Esther have other than to believe that she could?

Esther swung her feet to the floor and reached for her dressing gown. Maybe she’d make oatmeal for the two of them, and Anna, if she was up. Gussie liked hers garnished with a big pat of butter and plenty of brown sugar but Esther could do better than that. She’d slice the fat, ripe peaches she had bought at Wagenheim’s two days ago. This morning called for something extra sweet.



* * *



Gussie skipped up the steps of the hospital’s Ohio Avenue entrance and would have skidded across the lobby’s floor, on her way to the stairs, had Esther not grabbed her by the collar of her sundress and pointed at a chair.

“Sit,” Esther said.

“Nana, I know.”

“None of that. Sit.”

Gussie rolled her eyes, a habit that was new and also completely infuriating.

“Let’s go over everything one more time.”

“Give mother a kiss, tell her I’ve missed her. Don’t say anything else.”

“You may, of course, speak to your mother. But if she asks you about Florence—”

“Don’t tell her she’s dead.”

Esther stared at her granddaughter. Children could be so mean. She remembered thinking so when she was raising her own girls. They were often too honest, the words they chose too blunt. Their worlds were big and bold and colorful but they were not yet able to distinguish that colors had values, that words had nuance. They described the people around them as old or young, ugly or beautiful, fat or thin, never recognizing that there were kinder, gentler, more forgiving words that lay in between. Sometimes, when Gussie talked about Florence’s death, so matter-of-factly, Esther couldn’t help but feel like she’d been cut open, left exposed.

“Right, don’t tell her she’s—gone. If she asks, we’ll say she’s very busy getting ready for her trip to France. She’s swimming a lot. Busy shopping.”

“We can say she swam to New York!”

“No, certainly not. Don’t make up anything.”

“But it’s all made up.”

“Don’t be smart,” warned Esther, already second-guessing her decision to bring Gussie along. “It’s best if you don’t say anything about Florence. If your mother asks about her, just let me answer.”

Was she really going to let Gussie into that hospital room? Fannie’s due date was still more than a month away. If the baby was born now, there could be no guarantees. Not that there ever were with these matters.

“And remember,” said Esther, wagging a finger at Gussie, “if I tell you to go wait in the hallway, you go with no—”

“Mrs. Adler?”

Esther whipped her head around to find Fannie’s doctor standing no more than five feet behind her.

“Dr. Rosenthal,” she said, standing up straight. The man was too attractive to be single but she hadn’t heard the first thing about a wife. It was a wonder any of the nurses on the maternity ward got anything done.

“I thought that was you.”

It was almost ten o’clock in the morning. By now, he must have completed his rounds. “How’s Fannie today?”

“May I speak to you privately?”

Esther’s breath caught in her chest. She nodded, held out a hand to indicate that Gussie should stay where she was, and followed the doctor toward the far corner of the lobby, out of her granddaughter’s earshot. “Is everything all right?”

“Fannie’s blood pressure is a little higher than we’d like it to be.”

“Higher than normal?”

“Not so much that we’re panicking. It’s quite common for it to creep up in the late stages of pregnancy. But we’re watching it carefully.”

“And if it doesn’t change?”

“It could be an indicator of more serious problems.”

“Meaning?”

“The baby would need to come out,” he said, quietly.

Esther studied the floor tiles, trying to make sense of what he’d just said.

“I wondered—she still hasn’t been told about her sister, correct?”

“Correct.”

“I didn’t think so, and I obviously wasn’t going to ask her. But I did wonder if the two things might be related.”

Esther needed to sit down. She looked around for a chair but they were all out of arm’s reach. Was Dr. Rosenthal suggesting that Fannie might have learned of her sister’s death but kept the news to herself? In all of Esther’s plotting, she had never considered that possibility. She had always imagined that, if Fannie inadvertently learned of Florence’s drowning, the first phone call she’d place would be to her mother. That Esther would get the chance to explain.