Amber said, and the salesladies smiled. Sasha was still browsing. No, I told myself, watching her hand dip into her pocket again, Sasha is still stealing. She turned and raised her eyebrows, looking at me as if to say Get on with it. I grabbed an amber-colored glass pot of something and dropped it in my coat pocket, where it sat like a grenade. I haven't done anything wrong, I told myself. Not yet. Until I walked out the door, I could still say that I'd meant to pay for it, that I'd just put it in my pocket to keep my hands free.
The clerk was piling samples into a brown paper bag for Amber: makeup remover and concealer and hand cream. Probably they'd never suspect that Amber was the kind of girl who would steal anything. A pretty girl like her, with the shiny hair and the sparkly braces and the just-right clothes, didn't look the part.
"You guys are the greatest!" Amber told the salesladies. I managed a weak smile and promised myself that as soon as I got back to temple, I'd give the cream to Tamsin and tell her that I was sorry for ditching her. Then Sasha grabbed one of my arms and Amber grabbed the other and the three of us tumbled out of the store and onto the sidewalk, with the bell on the shop door tinkling behind us.
"What'd you get?" Sasha asked. Her lips were shiny with gloss.
I pulled the glass jar out of my pocket and showed it to both of them. "Anti-aging cream?" said Sasha. Her forehead puckered.
I could have told her, You'll need it if you keep scrunching your face up like that. Instead I just said, "It's never too early to start a good anti-aging regimen," which was something I'd heard Aunt Elle say more than once.
"Huh," said Sasha. She unscrewed the lid, dipped her finger into the pot, and smoothed some lotion on her cheeks.
Amber pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and flicked it open to look at the time. "C'mon, if we hurry, we can hit Anthropologie."
"You guys go ahead," I mumbled. "My mom will freak out if I'm late."
The two of them looked at me curiously. Then they headed across the street, arms linked, laughing, with their coats unzipped and hoods bouncing on their backs, boots clicking on the pavement, two girls out walking on a spring day, two pretty not-quite-teenagers who would, of course, pay for everything they took. I stood there for a minute, my cheeks burning in spite of the chilly wind. What was the penalty for a thief? How many goats or oxen would I have had to sacrifice if I'd lived back then?
I turned the little jar of cream over in my hand. Then I pushed it deep into my pocket and hailed a cab on Walnut Street and rode back to the synagogue, where my mother would be waiting, the way she always was.
N INE
I walked home from synagogue flushed and furious and trying hard to hide it from Joy, who sauntered alongside me like she didn't have a care in the world. Bruce Guberman! In our synagogue! In the sanctuary! By my daughter's invitation!
My voice was level as I asked Joy what Bruce was doing there. Hers was just as reasonable as she hurried down the sidewalk and explained that it was an event for blended families, and Bruce was part of hers.
"Why didn't you tell me you'd invited him?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I just figured you knew he'd be there, because he's part of my family." Her logic was unassailable. I couldn't argue. Instead, I seethed, and fretted, and, as we turned onto Third Street, mentally reviewed the contents of my kitchen for possible succor. There was a quart of mint chocolate cookie ice cream that I'd stashed in the back of the freezer for an occasion just such as this. I'd take out the ice cream, let it soften, set the table, have a glass of wine...
I'd just set my purse down on the half-moon table by our front door when Peter came over and kissed me hello. "Get out your checkbook," he murmured into my ear. I pulled off my coat and sniffed the air. I could smell pot roast in the Crock-Pot where I'd left it, its rich scent of garlic and onions mixing with
The clerk was piling samples into a brown paper bag for Amber: makeup remover and concealer and hand cream. Probably they'd never suspect that Amber was the kind of girl who would steal anything. A pretty girl like her, with the shiny hair and the sparkly braces and the just-right clothes, didn't look the part.
"You guys are the greatest!" Amber told the salesladies. I managed a weak smile and promised myself that as soon as I got back to temple, I'd give the cream to Tamsin and tell her that I was sorry for ditching her. Then Sasha grabbed one of my arms and Amber grabbed the other and the three of us tumbled out of the store and onto the sidewalk, with the bell on the shop door tinkling behind us.
"What'd you get?" Sasha asked. Her lips were shiny with gloss.
I pulled the glass jar out of my pocket and showed it to both of them. "Anti-aging cream?" said Sasha. Her forehead puckered.
I could have told her, You'll need it if you keep scrunching your face up like that. Instead I just said, "It's never too early to start a good anti-aging regimen," which was something I'd heard Aunt Elle say more than once.
"Huh," said Sasha. She unscrewed the lid, dipped her finger into the pot, and smoothed some lotion on her cheeks.
Amber pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and flicked it open to look at the time. "C'mon, if we hurry, we can hit Anthropologie."
"You guys go ahead," I mumbled. "My mom will freak out if I'm late."
The two of them looked at me curiously. Then they headed across the street, arms linked, laughing, with their coats unzipped and hoods bouncing on their backs, boots clicking on the pavement, two girls out walking on a spring day, two pretty not-quite-teenagers who would, of course, pay for everything they took. I stood there for a minute, my cheeks burning in spite of the chilly wind. What was the penalty for a thief? How many goats or oxen would I have had to sacrifice if I'd lived back then?
I turned the little jar of cream over in my hand. Then I pushed it deep into my pocket and hailed a cab on Walnut Street and rode back to the synagogue, where my mother would be waiting, the way she always was.
N INE
I walked home from synagogue flushed and furious and trying hard to hide it from Joy, who sauntered alongside me like she didn't have a care in the world. Bruce Guberman! In our synagogue! In the sanctuary! By my daughter's invitation!
My voice was level as I asked Joy what Bruce was doing there. Hers was just as reasonable as she hurried down the sidewalk and explained that it was an event for blended families, and Bruce was part of hers.
"Why didn't you tell me you'd invited him?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I just figured you knew he'd be there, because he's part of my family." Her logic was unassailable. I couldn't argue. Instead, I seethed, and fretted, and, as we turned onto Third Street, mentally reviewed the contents of my kitchen for possible succor. There was a quart of mint chocolate cookie ice cream that I'd stashed in the back of the freezer for an occasion just such as this. I'd take out the ice cream, let it soften, set the table, have a glass of wine...
I'd just set my purse down on the half-moon table by our front door when Peter came over and kissed me hello. "Get out your checkbook," he murmured into my ear. I pulled off my coat and sniffed the air. I could smell pot roast in the Crock-Pot where I'd left it, its rich scent of garlic and onions mixing with
Similar Books
