Florence Adler Swims Forever(86)
“Is that their uniform?” Anna asked, nodding her head toward the bathing suits all three girls were wearing.
“Yes,” said Gussie, giving Anna a curious look. It was an odd question, and Anna seemed struck by the answer.
There was still time to cheer on the finishers in the middle of the pack, and most definitely the stragglers, so Gussie and Anna spent the next quarter of an hour screaming at the breaking waves and the people who rode into shore on them.
As Gussie cheered, she thought she could hear Stuart’s voice, strong and deep, over the collective shouts of the crowd but she didn’t dare turn around to find him. Partly, she worried she’d upset the peace—so newly established—between Anna and her. And partly, she didn’t like the idea of looking at a person who didn’t want to look at her.
When the last of the swimmers had reached the shore, the race’s dignitaries began testing the megaphone and clearing their throats. A man in a three-piece suit stepped gingerly onto the podium, which was just a large wooden box decorated with flowers and bunting. “Who’s that?” Gussie whispered to Anna as the crowd surged forward but she simply shrugged.
Now it was harder to ignore Stuart, who stood directly in Gussie’s sight line. She caught his eye, and he gave her a small wave and a half smile. Her heart swelled. Maybe he had liked the marriage proposal just fine and she had worried for nothing.
Gussie looked over at the podium where last year’s winners—three men and two women—had gathered. Were they going to be asked to announce the awards? Distribute the medals? Gussie felt Florence’s absence sorely then and reached for Anna’s hand, expecting a gentle squeeze of acknowledgment.
But Anna wasn’t paying any attention to Gussie, and her hand hung limp by her side. Anna was looking at Stuart, and when Gussie turned back to him, she realized that his eyes, which looked sad and maybe slightly confused, were locked on Anna’s.
Surely Stuart didn’t love Anna? In Gussie’s opinion, Anna wasn’t always even all that likable. Stuart had told Gussie on the beach that day that she was free to marry someone her own age but he hadn’t said anything about himself. She hadn’t even considered the fact that Stuart might fall in love first, before Gussie had a chance to grow up. Her heart started to beat hard in her chest and she crouched down in the sand so she could think more clearly.
Gussie was so distracted that she might have ignored all the speeches entirely but for the mention of her aunt’s name. Florence Adler. She looked up at the podium. What had the man with the megaphone said? Now he was asking people to bow their heads, to observe a moment of silence.
“What did he just say?” Gussie whispered, rising to her feet.
“He said the committee wanted to honor Florence’s memory.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, rubbing her cheek, which still stung.
Anna was already pulling her in the direction of the apartment. “It means everybody knows.”
Esther
After Anna and Gussie had left for the pageant swim and Isaac had made his own hasty escape, Esther washed and dried the breakfast dishes and put them away.
In a fortnight, the renters would be gone, back to Philadelphia, and she and Joseph could move back into the house on Atlantic Avenue. For several years, Joseph had advocated keeping a set of pots and pans, some dishes and flatware, even some sheets and towels at the apartment. But each summer, when it came time to close up the apartment, Esther packed everything up anyway. She preferred to believe that, by the following year, they might be able to say no to the rental income and see what the summer breezes felt like on their own front porch.
Esther knew she would never move past Florence’s death—not really—but if she could distance herself from the apartment, where her daughter had most recently lived, she thought she might be able to think more clearly. By Labor Day, she’d have returned Gussie to her parents and Anna would also be gone. Esther craved an empty house and, more than anything, the chance to be alone with her grief.
“Joseph,” Esther called down the hallway to the living room, where she knew her husband had to be hiding behind a newspaper. “Would you mind going downstairs and getting me a few of the packing crates?”
She listened for a response but didn’t hear so much as the rustle of a page.
“I thought I might pack up some of Florence’s things.”
He still didn’t answer her—she was sure her request had surprised him—but a moment later she heard the click of the latch on the front door and his footsteps on the stairs. She moved into the bedroom her girls had once shared and tried to ignore the evidence that Anna was now the room’s only occupant.
Esther took a deep breath and began opening the drawers of her daughter’s dresser. She scooped up the clothes and undergarments and swimsuits and moved them, in big armloads, over to the bed, where she could get a better look at everything. In the jumble, she spotted Florence’s old Ambassador Club suit—so well-worn the black wool looked gray. She held the suit to her face as she considered the pile of clothes in front of her. What would she do with all these things? Keep them? She doubted Fannie would fit into any of them, not after a second baby. She stopped herself. Third baby. Anna had a slim waist and could probably wear almost everything but giving Florence’s clothes to her was out of the question.