The Two-Family House: A Novel Read online

  “I don’t want to talk about the shipment, Mort.”

  “Of course.” Mort was being uncharacteristically agreeable.

  “I just wanted to tell you…,” said Mort. He stopped to catch his breath. They were walking much faster than usual. “I just wanted to tell you congratulations on the bar mitzvah.”

  Abe stopped walking. The morning sun came out on the other side of a passing cloud overhead, and Abe’s face widened into a happy grin. Forgiveness came easily to him. He grabbed his brother’s shoulder and patted him on the back. “Let’s get to work,” he said.

  Chapter 3

  HELEN

  The day after Harry’s bar mitzvah, Helen woke early. When the clock ticked toward 5:00 a.m., she decided it was reasonable to get out of bed. Abe and the boys wouldn’t be up for hours, and she would have some time to herself. She walked down the hall to the kitchen, treading softly so as not to wake Rose’s family below. Helen often thought she and Abe should live on the bottom floor, especially considering the amount of jumping and stomping that went on in her apartment. She was certain one of her boys was going to end up crashing through the floorboards into Rose’s living room one of these days; she just hoped he would end up on the couch.

  Helen turned on the light in the kitchen and cringed. There was still so much to clean up from the party. Rows of glasses, left overnight to dry, had to be boxed. Covered plates of cookies and pastries had to be frozen or given away. If they stayed on the counter, the boys would devour them all before lunchtime and have stomachaches for the rest of the day. Helen measured out the coffee for the pot and sat down at the table, waiting for it to brew.

  Thank goodness the day before had been a success. Earlier in the week the rabbi had spoken to her quietly, taking her aside to express his concerns. The rabbi didn’t usually talk to the mothers, so Helen knew it was important. He assured her that Harry was a wonderful boy, but that she shouldn’t expect too much. He tried to tell Helen what she already knew. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too disappointing for Abe.

  The night before the service, Abe practiced with Harry at the dining room table. Over and over Harry repeated the prayers, just as he had done for months. Harry never got upset when he made a mistake, but he never really improved either. It was, Helen knew, impossible to get upset with Harry because he never got upset with himself. He never uttered obscenities or threw his books or even frowned. He knew the bar mitzvah was something he had to get through, and he was determined to manage it with as little upset as possible. Harry instinctively avoided anything unpleasant.

  Girls were not unpleasant for Harry. Even at thirteen, he knew how to talk to them. It was a puzzling thing, Helen thought, to be the mother of such a boy. She saw how the older girls, girls of fifteen already, looked at Harry. And even more surprising was the way he looked back at them, meeting their gazes, as if he had answers to questions they had not even thought of.

  Helen watched Harry as if she were two people. As his mother she was proud of him, proud of his looks, his confidence. But when she watched him as the young girl she once was, she ached for the girls whose hearts he might break one day. Part of her wanted to warn them against his charms, shoo them away for their own sakes and take their side against him. But the mother side of her held this part back, and she was unable to set any obstacle in front of him. That was why she bought him a tie for the bar mitzvah that set off the color of his blue eyes exactly. And why she never let the barber give him buzz cuts in the summertime.

  On the morning of the bar mitzvah, all eyes had been on Harry. The congregation was accustomed to awkward, gangly bar-mitzvah boys, boys made self-conscious by their first burst of hormones and newly grown acne. But Harry had stood in front of the congregation that morning with all the confidence of a rabbi, even if he had none of the knowledge of one. There were many mistakes, of course, but Harry never hesitated for a moment. When it was over, everyone agreed it had been a lovely service. And his father, who heard every mistake with his ears but not with his heart, was beaming.

  Family and friends came back to their house for a luncheon that turned into dinner. There had been congratulations for all involved, even Harry’s three younger brothers, who didn’t quite know what to make of the half-strangers speaking to them. Harry shook each hand and kissed each cheek, accepting the compliments and gifts of every guest.

  Halfway through the party, a small group of girls from Harry’s class came over to him, giggling. One of them, a pretty blonde named Susan, stood closer than was necessary. “You did great today,” Susan said. She whispered something in Harry’s ear that Helen couldn’t hear and Harry smiled. When he whispered something back, the girl blushed.

  Helen’s heart, so recently filled with pride, had suddenly deflated. What had Harry said to that girl? She felt disconnected from him in a way she had never experienced and grabbed at the dining room table for support. She found herself breathless, unable to collect enough air in the crowded space.

  “Helen? Are you all right?” It was Abe, at her side in an instant.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You look like you’re going to pass out. Sit down.” He pulled a chair over for her and bent down to look at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She had closed her eyes to give herself time to think, to find an acceptable answer to the question. There was no time. She had a house full of guests, platters to bring out, people to feed, a party to run. What could she possibly say? That in watching her son flirt with a girl, she was suddenly terrified, overcome with emotions she could not fully describe? That her knees caved in when she found she could no longer define her role in Harry’s life? That the emptiness she felt at that moment was a faceless guest, unwanted and sour, who had snuck into her home and ruined her celebration?

  When she didn’t answer, Abe told her not to move. “I’m getting you something to drink,” he insisted. But he didn’t have to. Rose was already there, with tea and a plate. Helen drank the tea and took a few bites. She felt better, and she shook off the emptiness. She was hostess once again.

  It had been a wonderful party. The food was delicious. The cake, which Helen made herself, was a spectacle of sugar and love. But no matter how many compliments she received, Helen still hadn’t been able to breathe in as much air as she needed. Harry was hers no longer, and the realization of the change had been a terrible blow.

  Now, the morning after the celebration, Helen was faced with only a day of housework to look forward to. Her heart ached a little as she filled up her coffee mug. She cut a few slivers off the end of one of the pound cakes, gulped down her coffee and took out her apron. It was time to start cleaning.

  When the kitchen was done, the living room was next. Helen wiped and dusted, collapsed folding chairs and card tables, and moved small pieces of furniture back to their proper places. She didn’t want to wake anyone with the vacuum, but when she ran her broom underneath the sofa, she found a tiny blue sock that had gotten swept up with the crumbs. She tucked it into her apron pocket and made a mental note to call Alice, her cousin Shep’s wife, to let her know she had it. She would put it in the wash tomorrow.

  It was only when Helen opened the windows to air out the living room that she thought of it. The idea floated in with the crisp morning breeze, erasing the staleness that had filled her lungs. A new resolve elated her, and she stopped for a moment to savor it. She was only thirty-five, for heaven’s sake. Why not?

  After that, the rest of her morning chores flew by. By the time the boys woke up, clamoring for food, Helen was giddy with newfound purpose. Abe wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later. “You made a beautiful party,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her, already recalling his favorite moments of the previous day. She returned the kiss and played along, but Helen had no interest in reminiscing. The bar mitzvah was behind her, and her heart was hungry for what would come next.

  Chapter 4

  ROSE

  (August 1947)

  Rose
took the second loaf of bread out of the oven and placed it on top of the stove. The smell made her stomach turn, but she took a deep breath and tried to force the sensation into retreat. She felt awful.

  Rose never imagined she would get pregnant again. She assumed that part of her life was over and that Dinah, just turned five, would always be the baby of the family. But she could no longer ignore her condition. And as each day passed, the realization that she was going to have to tell Mort invaded her thoughts more frequently. A month ago, the thought of telling him was like the sighting of a distant ship: a black speck on a remote horizon. Thinking of it that way calmed her. Over the past few weeks, however, an overwhelming sense of dread transformed the picture: the ship grew closer, filling the frame, and no amount of coaxing could turn it back around. Today, she could think of nothing else, and so after the children left for the park, she kept herself busy baking bread.

  “Something smells good in there! Open up!” It was Helen at the door, all smiles and pink cheeks. Not just pink, Rose saw, but bright red and dripping with perspiration. She puffed her way inside and saw the loaves cooling on the stove.

  “You’re baking bread in this heat? It’s like a sauna in here, Rose. Open a window!”

  Rose slid open the window over the sink. The August morning was hot and still, with no breeze. “I felt like baking bread.”

  “For heaven’s sake, why?”

  “I needed to keep busy. One is for you. Sit. You can taste it for me.”

  Rose set one of the loaves on the table with a plate for Helen and the butter dish. She found the jar of blueberry preserves she had made a few weeks ago and put that down too.

  “Oh good, your jam! Don’t you want a plate?”

  “I can’t eat in this heat.”

  Rose poured two cups of coffee and sat down. She couldn’t help smiling as she watched Helen attack the bread. First Helen cut off the end. She sliced a generous piece from the middle, slathered it with butter and jam, and popped it in her mouth, leaving the end piece on the table. “It’s so good, Rose,” Helen practically moaned. “I swear I could eat the whole thing right now.”

  “Don’t you like the end?”

  “What?”

  “The heel—you don’t like that part? That’s Mimi’s favorite.”

  Helen chuckled. She put down the butter knife she was holding and began to laugh harder. When her laughter turned into a coughing fit, Rose jumped up to get her a glass of water. After a few sips, the coughing stopped.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You never met my grandmother; she died before I met Abe. Anyway, she was from the old country, very stubborn, very superstitious. You couldn’t put a hat on the bed, you couldn’t eat only one olive—she believed all that stuff. She used to say that if a pregnant woman wanted a girl, she should never eat the end of the bread, only the middle. And if she wanted a boy, she should only eat the end.”

  “You’re pregnant?” Rose was stunned.

  “Don’t you see what a horse I am? I’m busting out of my dresses! I’m due the first week of January. Five months to go. I thought for sure you knew.”

  Rose had been so preoccupied with her own pregnancy that she hadn’t even noticed Helen’s. Of all the babies born to the two women—the upstairs boys and the downstairs girls—Rose and Helen had never been pregnant at the exact same time. There had been a few months of overlap here and there but nothing like this. They were both due in January. “Have you told Abe?” Rose asked.

  “Just yesterday. I wanted to wait until it was safe. Boy, was he surprised! You’d think he would have guessed, but men never pay attention.”

  “I guess they don’t,” Rose admitted. She filled their coffee cups again and thought how lucky she was to have Helen for her sister-in-law. When Helen was beside her she felt braver, resilient. They would go through this together. Rose felt the terrible feeling in her stomach dissipate. She reached across the table for the bread knife and cut the other end off the loaf. She took the end Helen had cut and the newly cut piece and placed them both in front of her on the table. Then she took a bite from each one.

  “You too?” Helen jumped up and put her arms around her sister-in-law. She patted Rose’s stomach. “But you’re slimmer than ever! You’re not showing at all!” Together they went over their symptoms and ailments from the past few months. Rose had been exhausted and Helen had craved sweets.

  Slice by slice, Helen polished off the middle of the loaf while Rose nibbled only on the ends. She wanted to believe Helen’s superstition would work. She wanted to believe she had some control. She wanted, more than anything, to believe that what lay ahead of her would be better than what had come before. But as she chewed the ends of the loaf she had baked, the dry bits of crust only stuck to her tongue and the crumbs felt like dust in her mouth.

  Chapter 5

  ABE

  Abe couldn’t believe it when Helen told him she was pregnant. “Are you sure?” he stuttered. He had left the office early that afternoon because of the heat. Now he was home, sweating even more than he had at work.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Did you see the doctor?” A stream of perspiration was making its way down the side of his cheek, directly in front of his ear.

  “Abe!” she scolded. “Of course I did!”

  Abe sat down on the couch. He put his head down and tried to breathe.

  “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you happy?”

  His head was still down. “I’m happy, I’m happy,” he muttered. “It’s good.”

  “Then why do you look like you’re having a heart attack?”

  Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at her. “I’m just surprised, is all. It’s a big shock. It’s enough to give anybody a heart attack if you want to know the truth.”

  Helen sat down next to him and took his hand. “I’m not an old woman yet. It can’t be that much of a shock. What’s the matter?”

  “Mmm.” His eyes were closed and he was dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief.

  “Stop it!” Helen shook him by the arm. Then she stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Are you happy or not?”

  Abe stood up too, a little shaky at first, and managed a smile. “Sweetheart, of course I’m happy. We’ll have a beautiful baby.” Helen popped a kiss on his cheek and promptly pushed him back down. “Sit. I’m going to get you a glass of water. You look green. I can’t raise five children alone, you know. I don’t want you to have a real heart attack.”

  Abe closed his eyes again and tried to relax. He should have seen it coming. The way she was looking at her cousin’s baby a few months ago—like a kid drooling over a lollipop! That look in her eye, the frantic way she pulled him into bed. He should have known. And here was the result: just when they were able to enjoy themselves a little and get a couple nights of sleep, they were heading back to diapers and midnight feedings.

  Abe knew his initial misgivings would fade. He’d get used to the idea and get excited about it, just like all the other times. In fact, he told himself, he might as well get excited about it soon, because Helen wasn’t going to tolerate any other kind of reaction from him.

  “Drink this. I let the water run so it’s cold. Here.” She handed him the glass just as he was getting up.

  “Where are you going? I thought you felt sick?”

  “I’m okay. I’m going to head to the park and hit a few balls with the boys, grab them all and bring them home for dinner in an hour. How’s that?”

  “Fine. But come home if you don’t feel well. And tell them not to pound on the stairs when they come home—it sounds like a pack of animals stampeding!”

  “Sure.” He paused. “How do you feel?”

  “Good. Tired. Fat.” She let Abe take her in his arms. “A new baby will be good for us,” she told him. “I read in a magazine that having babies keeps women young.”

  Abe was skeptical. “Yeah? What did it say about men? Because all this is making me old.”

 
; She pulled away and shook her fist at him in mock frustration. “Go to the park already! Go to your pack of animals!”

  Abe blew her a kiss and shut the door behind him. He felt like he could breathe again. He wondered if he should tell the boys the news at the park. No, better to do it with Helen at dinner. He’d wait.

  Chapter 6

  MORT

  Mort’s sandwich sat on top of a brown paper bag on his desk, uneaten. He wasn’t happy. Something was off with the collections for last month, and he was going through the orders one by one until the numbers made sense to him. He had been at it for several hours already, and he was getting frustrated. Why am I the only one who pays attention to this? He knew Abe took care of sales and handled the guys in the warehouse. But as far as Mort was concerned, none of that was business. That was just hand-holding and schmoozing. The only thing that really mattered was the numbers. If the numbers didn’t make sense, the business didn’t make sense.

  Mort sharpened his pencil and took down a different book from the shelf on his wall. Mort and Abe had adjacent offices in the back left corner of their building. They were windowless, sparsely furnished and identical in size and shape. But that was where the similarities ended.

  For one thing, Mort’s office door was kept closed at all times. His desk, bare except for a single black-and-white photo of Rose on their wedding day, was pushed against the far wall. When Mort sat down, he faced the wall with his back to the door. This position suited him best and provided the least amount of distraction.

  In contrast, Abe’s office was a hodgepodge of clutter and inefficiency. Mort couldn’t understand how Abe got any work done there, with his desk smack in the center of the room, facing an open door all day long. Abe’s desk was so littered with photos of Helen and the boys that there was barely room for the phone. Plus, Abe never threw anything away, so every card he had ever received was either on the desk, taped to the wall or in a pile on the floor in the corner. Mort considered the ever-growing pile a fire hazard.