toward the water and the whispering.
My dream was so vivid that it left a residue on my consciousness in the morning, like the grease on my fingers from the pizza. While Sam was in the shower, I left Theresa a voicemail message: “It’s Barbara, I’m sorry to do this to you again, but….” I told her that we were seeking a second opinion on Lili’s ankle injury. I could have easily said that I was attending a funeral, but I wasn’t prepared to negotiate either her questions or her sympathy. I asked her to meet me at noon to finish setting up the room. We’d have plenty of time before tomorrow, our first day of school.
After Sam and Lili left the house, I dressed in a modest black suit. My mother’s suggestion from the day before to wear a hat returned uninvited, like a garlic belch. I didn’t own a hat.
I couldn’t eat a bite of my yogurt or concentrate on today’s article about Walter Ellis’s capture. Mrs. Kessler’s funeral was scheduled for ten o’clock, and I waited until half past nine to get into my car and head toward the Schines’. I ached to say a formal goodbye to Mrs. Kessler, but something more powerful was pulling me to the mansion. I avoided driving by the Schines’ whenever possible, and when Sam took a route that passed it, I’d turn my head. My hands clutched the steering wheel too tightly as I drove by the palatial estates hugging the lake. The radio was still tuned to oneof Lili’s pop stations, and I shut it off. My nerves couldn’t handle the cloying electronic drums and insipid lyrics.
As I neared the Schines’, the tugging sensation from my dream heightened. Traffic was backed up for a block behind their long driveway. This was no surprise; Mrs. Kessler had taught many of us who had grown up in the shul. As I waited for the oncoming traffic to let up, I reached into the glove compartment for my big sunglasses that Sheri had convinced me to buy. She said they made me look like an auburn Jackie O.
I made the turn into the driveway, half expecting my car to implode the moment the wheels hit Schine property. The sun was starting to burn a layer of fog off the lake. My body hummed from the part in my hair to my toenails. The Tudor house looked bigger than ever to me. The Schines had converted the Shabbos goy’s carriage house to an annex to accommodate their growing congregation. I’d read about the project in the Wisconsin Jewish Chronicle . The Schines still lived on the top floor of the mansion, though, and Tzippy’s old shade was down.
A man in a bright orange vest directed me to the front lawn, to an empty space in a new row he’d marked off with cones.
I got out of the car and started walking across the lawn to the house. My high heels dug into the grass, so I had to step on my tiptoes. When we were children, Tzippy and I used to take off our shoes and socks and sprint barefoot on this grass, racing each other from the house to the driveway. I always won, even when Tzippy cheated.
The lake breeze blew strands of hair toward my face, and I self-consciously tucked them behind my ears. My mother was right; I should have worn a hat.
I was just about to put my fingers to the mezuzah at the front door when I felt someone behind me. I turned around to face Mrs. Pincus, one of the Brisket Ladies. She’d grown fatter and walked with a cane, but it was her. I hadn’t set eyes on her since I was buying diapers for Lili at the Kohl’s on Oakland Avenue. We pretended we hadn’t seen each other, but in the second I caught herstaring at me, I recognized her pity for June Pupnick’s daughter. My mother had become Mr. Isen of Brookfield. I never shopped at that Kohl’s again.
“Barbara,” Mrs. Pincus said, and the pity had not left her eyes. I was older now than she was when we’d first met, but she clearly couldn’t separate me from the girl whose mother had disgraced the community.
I dabbed at the corner of my mouth. “Hello, Mrs. Pincus.”
“Are you coming inside?”
My dream was so vivid that it left a residue on my consciousness in the morning, like the grease on my fingers from the pizza. While Sam was in the shower, I left Theresa a voicemail message: “It’s Barbara, I’m sorry to do this to you again, but….” I told her that we were seeking a second opinion on Lili’s ankle injury. I could have easily said that I was attending a funeral, but I wasn’t prepared to negotiate either her questions or her sympathy. I asked her to meet me at noon to finish setting up the room. We’d have plenty of time before tomorrow, our first day of school.
After Sam and Lili left the house, I dressed in a modest black suit. My mother’s suggestion from the day before to wear a hat returned uninvited, like a garlic belch. I didn’t own a hat.
I couldn’t eat a bite of my yogurt or concentrate on today’s article about Walter Ellis’s capture. Mrs. Kessler’s funeral was scheduled for ten o’clock, and I waited until half past nine to get into my car and head toward the Schines’. I ached to say a formal goodbye to Mrs. Kessler, but something more powerful was pulling me to the mansion. I avoided driving by the Schines’ whenever possible, and when Sam took a route that passed it, I’d turn my head. My hands clutched the steering wheel too tightly as I drove by the palatial estates hugging the lake. The radio was still tuned to oneof Lili’s pop stations, and I shut it off. My nerves couldn’t handle the cloying electronic drums and insipid lyrics.
As I neared the Schines’, the tugging sensation from my dream heightened. Traffic was backed up for a block behind their long driveway. This was no surprise; Mrs. Kessler had taught many of us who had grown up in the shul. As I waited for the oncoming traffic to let up, I reached into the glove compartment for my big sunglasses that Sheri had convinced me to buy. She said they made me look like an auburn Jackie O.
I made the turn into the driveway, half expecting my car to implode the moment the wheels hit Schine property. The sun was starting to burn a layer of fog off the lake. My body hummed from the part in my hair to my toenails. The Tudor house looked bigger than ever to me. The Schines had converted the Shabbos goy’s carriage house to an annex to accommodate their growing congregation. I’d read about the project in the Wisconsin Jewish Chronicle . The Schines still lived on the top floor of the mansion, though, and Tzippy’s old shade was down.
A man in a bright orange vest directed me to the front lawn, to an empty space in a new row he’d marked off with cones.
I got out of the car and started walking across the lawn to the house. My high heels dug into the grass, so I had to step on my tiptoes. When we were children, Tzippy and I used to take off our shoes and socks and sprint barefoot on this grass, racing each other from the house to the driveway. I always won, even when Tzippy cheated.
The lake breeze blew strands of hair toward my face, and I self-consciously tucked them behind my ears. My mother was right; I should have worn a hat.
I was just about to put my fingers to the mezuzah at the front door when I felt someone behind me. I turned around to face Mrs. Pincus, one of the Brisket Ladies. She’d grown fatter and walked with a cane, but it was her. I hadn’t set eyes on her since I was buying diapers for Lili at the Kohl’s on Oakland Avenue. We pretended we hadn’t seen each other, but in the second I caught herstaring at me, I recognized her pity for June Pupnick’s daughter. My mother had become Mr. Isen of Brookfield. I never shopped at that Kohl’s again.
“Barbara,” Mrs. Pincus said, and the pity had not left her eyes. I was older now than she was when we’d first met, but she clearly couldn’t separate me from the girl whose mother had disgraced the community.
I dabbed at the corner of my mouth. “Hello, Mrs. Pincus.”
“Are you coming inside?”
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