Young Jane Young(79)

You try to track her down using her phone, but she is savvy with technology – she is your official Young Person in the Office – and she has her phone turned off.

You remember that you can track her down using her iPad. The iPad doesn’t have GPS, but when it connects with Wi-Fi, her location appears on a map.

The blinking dot pulses like your heart.

She is in Florida.

In Miami.

She has gone to find the congressman.

You call the Miami Police, and you tell them her location.

You are about to leave for the airport, but then you don’t. In the best-case scenario, it will take you seven or eight hours to fly there, and you know someone who is much closer.

You call your mother. You’re in a panic, but as soon as your mother answers the phone, you relax. When your mother is worrying about something, it means that you won’t have to.

“Mom,” you say. “I need you to go get Ruby. She’s at the police station.”

“Of course,” your mother says.

You tell her which police station and the name of the police officer she should ask for. You begin to explain what happened, but your mother cuts you off. “We’ll sort it out later,” she says. “I should get going.”

“Thank you,” you say.

“You’re welcome. What else am I doing today?” she says.

“You probably had things.”

“Roz and I are going to the movies. That’s about it,” she says. “This will be better than the movies.”

“What movie?” you ask. You want her to get to Ruby, but for some reason, you are reluctant to hang up.

“The one where the British woman has the bad American accent. Something to do with Jews. Roz picked it. There’s a Q&A. Maybe we can still make it? Does Ruby like that kind of thing?”

“She does,” you say.

“Will you fly down to meet us? It would be good to see you. Grandma asks about you.”

“Give Grandma my love. I think about her all the time.”

“So come down. Come see us,” your mother says.

“I will,” you say. “But I can’t leave town right now.”

“No? Not even to come get Ruby?”

“Would it be possible for you to fly up here with her?” You pause. “The thing is, I’m running for mayor. The election’s next week, and the last debate’s tonight.”

“Mayor?” your mother says. Her voice sounds soft and warm and relieved and filled with awe and pride. Her voice sounds like a firefly looks on a summer night. “Aviva Grossman! A thing like that!”

“I probably won’t win,” you say. “They found out about me. It was only a matter of time.”

“Did you explain to them?” your mother says. “Did you tell it from your side?”

“There’s no defending me,” you say. “I made those choices. I did those things.”

“What did you do? It was sex. He was ancient. You were a girl. It was a bunch of narishkeit,” your mother says. “Everyone in Florida behaved like little babies.”

“Even so.”

“Don’t worry about Ruby,” your mother says. “You have to stay. You have to fight.”



At the debate, your opponent leans into the ancient scandal and your double identity. You let him, and you don’t even hold it against him. For the most part, he has behaved admirably. You know the thing about his wife, and you think about using it, but you decide against it. It’s cheap, and she is beside the point. Honestly, who cares what the wife did? Who even wants to be mayor if you have to ruin some woman’s life to do it?

You see her in the audience when the debate is over. She looks at you and she mouths, “Thank you.”

Mrs. Morgan comes up to you.

“How did we do?” you ask.

“It’ll be close,” she says.

“Are you sorry you bet on me?” you ask. “I did warn you.”

“Never! I bet on people, and I particularly bet on smart women. This was your starter election – get your scandal out of the way. Now they know what happened, and they’re used to you. If we lose this one, we’ll run again. We’ll run for something bigger.”

“You’re crazy,” you say.

“Maybe I am. But I’ve got a bigger checkbook than anyone in this town. And the biggest checkbook wins.”

“That isn’t always true,” you say.

“Fine, but the biggest checkbook can always go the most rounds.”



When your mother arrives in Allison Springs with your daughter, you crush them into you. You want to melt their flesh into your flesh. You want to bond your bones to their bones.

You make Ruby go to school. She has missed enough school. “We’ll discuss this later,” you say.

Ruby doesn’t protest.

After you drop Ruby off, you show your mother around town. “Such a pretty town,” she says. “It looks like a movie set.”

You show her your business, what you have built. “So impressive,” she says. “All these people work for you?”

You show your mother to your guest room. “This is lovely, Aviva,” she says. “Frette linen, like a hotel.”