Florence Adler Swims Forever(92)

“I see Mrs. Simons, at the plant. She has a husband but is also a skilled secretary and an extremely competent logistician. She seems happy. Or maybe fulfilled is a better word.”

Had Fannie ever felt fulfilled? Perhaps that first day she had held Gussie in her arms. Most days she hardly felt anything at all. It had gone on like this for so long, even before Hyram’s death, that she had forgotten there was any other way to feel.

“Once this baby is a little older,” said Joseph, “I wonder if you might want to come work for me.”

“At the store?”

“No. In the office. At the plant.”

It was a thrilling idea in theory but in practice it might be a great deal more discouraging. “Alongside Isaac?” she asked, trying to imagine how she’d navigate her marriage if there were no natural boundaries, no quiet places to seek refuge. She pictured packing two lunch pails each morning. At midday, when they took their break, Isaac would eat his pickle and hers, too.

“Perhaps.”

“I wonder if Isaac would like that?”

“Does it matter?” her father asked quietly.

Fannie didn’t have a quick answer to that. Nothing witty or sharp. She certainly couldn’t act taken aback, not when they both knew that Esther was turning over every stone in Atlantic City, looking for her husband. She wished her mother had come to the hospital first. Fannie might have given her some places to look. Or told her not to bother.

“You’re a smart girl. Always have been,” said Joseph.

Truth be told, Fannie didn’t even really know what people did in offices. In secretarial school, she had learned how to write memorandums and business letters and how to answer a phone but she had quit before they’d gotten to anything very tricky.

“I don’t know anything about business.”

“You’ll learn.”





Joseph


When Dr. Rosenthal returned to check on Fannie at a quarter to three, Joseph stood and excused himself. “I’ll wait in the corridor,” he said, although he wasn’t sure either of them heard him.

He worried he wasn’t doing a very good impression of Esther, who would—were she here—know what questions to ask Dr. Rosenthal and what to say to reassure Fannie. Both his girls had been born in the apartment over the store, and on each occasion, he’d done nothing more than pace the living room and say a prayer when the midwife brought word of a healthy daughter, and more importantly, a healthy wife. Shehecheyanu.

He heard his wife’s footsteps in the stairwell before she appeared in the corridor. From where he stood, outside Fannie’s room, he could fully appreciate her approach—the sure clip of her heels, the hard-set chin, the way her eyes were, perhaps for the first time in two months, open wide. Only her mouth, pinched at both sides, gave her away. She was afraid.

“Did you find him?” he asked when she was close enough that he could use a loud whisper.

“I gave up and left a note on the door of their apartment.”

“Where the hell could he be?”

“They haven’t moved her?”

“Not yet. I think soon.” He studied his wife’s anxious face.

They stood in silence for several minutes, still unsure of what to say to each other in the aftermath of their argument. When Joseph could stand it no longer, he spoke. “Bub, Mrs. Simons came to see me this afternoon.”

A look of concern flashed across Esther’s face. He knew she liked Mrs. Simons, always had.

“She’s fine,” said Joseph. “It’s Isaac.”

“What now?”

“She thinks he’s been stealing money from the company.”

Esther didn’t look surprised. Just tired. “How?”

“He brought on a few new accounts this month. In Northfield. Opened lines of credit for each of them. But Mrs. Simons says they’ve actually been paying for their orders in cash.”

“And she thinks Isaac’s been pocketing their payments?”

“She’s certain of it.”

She closed her eyes, kneaded the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “Have you talked to him?”

“Not yet.”

“What will you—”

The door opened and Dr. Rosenthal stepped into the hallway.

Esther looked up. “How is she?” she asked him.

“I want to give her a few more hours, see if she progresses on her own,” he said. “If she does, then we’ll move her.”

“May I see her?” Esther asked.

“Yes, but be quick. She needs to rest. You two should probably get some sleep as well.”

“Isaac may be on his way over,” said Esther, and Dr. Rosenthal cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I’ll wait for him downstairs,” offered Joseph. He reached for his wife’s hand and squeezed it, nodded at the door of Fannie’s room. “Go.”

Esther didn’t squeeze his hand back, didn’t turn to look at him. As he watched her disappear into the room, he was struck, for the first time, by the full weight of their decision to keep Florence’s death from Fannie. It was exhausting to sit with Fannie, to so carefully consider every word, every facial expression. He had agreed to his wife’s plan but had not helped her see it through. It was no wonder she was angry all the time.