As Close to Us as Breathing: A Novel by Elizabeth Poliner Page B

said, her voice flat.
    “Yes, yes, it’s me. I’m so sad for you, Ada. Do you know that I’m sad? Truly and deeply sad?”
    “Not as sad as me,” Ada whispered.
    “No. Of course not. No one could be as sad as you,” Vivie finally said.
      
     
    At Mort and Ada’s wedding, a month after the engagement dinner, Vivie kept to herself, standing in a corner where she told herself she could fall quietly if in fact she were to faint, but to her surprise her legs never gave way and her head never felt at all woozy. In another corner an elderly aunt of Mort’s—a woman she’d met once before at the store, a woman now clearly losing her wits—was sitting by herself in a chair, and Vivie dragged over another one to seat herself beside the old woman.
    “Let me get you some food,” Vivie told the woman, who nodded.
    She brought back herring and a bagel, and some slices of tomato. On another plate she brought the good stuff: wedding cake, rugelach, and grapes.
    When it appeared that the woman couldn’t hold a fork steady in her hand, Vivie took the fork and gently fed her. While she did, a relative of the woman walked over, identified the woman as “Old Rose,” patted her head, and walked away. Vivie continued to feed the woman, talking to her as she did, calling her by her name. “Eat up, Rose,” she urged, “we’re at a party.” She wiped her mouth, and, the meal done, held Rose’s hand. All the while, Rose stared ahead, vacantly. But then her mood shifted, something focused, and she turned to Vivie, her eyes comprehending.
    “I know you,” Rose told Vivie, and the limp hand inside Vivie’s came alive and gave her hand a squeeze.
    Smiling, Vivie said, “I know you too, Rose.” Then she and Rose continued silently watching. By this time Mort and Ada were being lifted in chairs. A crowd danced around them, clapping. Yet louder than their clamor was Ada’s voice, screeching with delight. In her corner with Rose, Vivie nodded her head in time with the music. She noticed that Rose did the same.
    “Care to dance?” Vivie asked the woman jokingly.
    “Not today,” Rose answered. “Come back tomorrow, won’t you?” Vivie looked her way as Rose continued, confused, “Maybe I’ll buy something from you tomorrow. Yes, I’ll have the money tomorrow…”
      
     
    In this way Vivie survived her younger sister’s wedding. She was still not speaking to Ada, still stunned by her sister’s old lies. But at least Vivie could move back home now that Ada had moved out.
    Bec was still there, finishing high school, that and dating her classmate Milton Goldberg. For some time once Vivie moved back home the days passed uneventfully. She was relieved to be there, though a certain amount of pressure was being put on her, by way of her father, to consider a long-term career. There was always teaching, Maks said. And then there was nursing.
    “I’m happy with Dr. Shapiro,” she told her father, her voice once again filled with that confidence that she didn’t quite know how she’d acquired.
    At work Frances no longer needed to bring Thomas in. But by then Vivie had made other friends. In particular, she was always eager to see a young woman named Ruth Brintler, who had begun to see Dr. Shapiro for the treatment of significant fatigue. Dr. Shapiro, Vivie learned, was having trouble finding the root cause of her symptom, as were the other doctors Ruth had seen, but Dr. Shapiro insisted she not despair. Yet Ruth was alone in the world, unmarried, without relatives nearby, supporting herself by working in a library, and she was finding that work unbearable under the weight of her exhaustion. Despair was the hardest thing not to feel, she told Vivie once. That’s when Vivie began to cook for Ruth once a week and bring the meal to her home. Ruth lived in an apartment above the Italian grocery on Middletown’s Main Street, and it was there that the two woman dined together each Tuesday evening, not talking so much as