The Last Embrace. Pam Jenoff

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СКАЧАТЬ “There are some leftover prakas—I mean cabbage rolls—in the icebox for lunch.” Aunt Bess’s family had come from Pinsk some thirty years earlier, fleeing the pogroms. She regarded herself as American, but little bits of the old country seeped through, like a white slip peeking out beneath the hem of her dress. Sometimes I felt as if I were an embarrassment to her, the immigrant niece a reminder of the world from which she’d tried so hard to distance herself. “There’s cheese for sandwiches and some potato salad,” she continued, as if rattling off a grocery list. She was forever trying to feed me. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”

      I watched as Aunt Bess padded, dingy white sandals scraping, down to the corner of Monmouth Avenue. She was not an unkind woman; she simply did not know how to do this, like a muscle stiff from lack of use. I did not dare to ask if she ever wanted kids of her own.

      I was supposed to be grateful, I knew, from the looks and not-too-low whispers of Aunt Bess’s friends. Grateful to her and Uncle Meyer for the clothes that were new, but not quite the right size, and for the secondhand books that were a few years too young for me. Grateful that they had taken me in, even though they really hadn’t had a choice. And I was grateful, but I wished they might just once ask me what I wanted, or even let me choose for myself.

      When Aunt Bess had disappeared from sight, I climbed the steps of the duplex and went inside for some calamine lotion. We had two rooms, if you counted the screened sundeck with the daybed that made me an easy target for the mosquitos as I slept, plus kitchen privileges down below. I rubbed the lotion into my legs, avoiding the scrape on my left knee. Then I straightened, licking the salt from my lips and peering out across the horizon where greenish bay water met overcast gray sky.

      My hand wrapped reflexively around the mizpah pendant, fingers feeling the engraved Hebrew: May the Lord keep watch between you and me when we are away from each other, or so Mamma had told me once when I was little and had asked about the charm around her neck. Hebrew was nonexistent in our home, and the item’s value to Mamma was sentimental, not religious. I had not taken it off since Mamma fastened it around my neck that night she put me on the ship. I pictured the other half in my father’s pocket, close to his heart. Sadness seemed to seep from the cool metal through my fingers as I thought of them and what might have happened in the weeks since I left. Had their lives had gone on much the same without me?

      The sound of a car engine interrupted my thoughts. I looked down through the screen window, surprised. Our street was narrow and not a major thruway; vehicles this time of day other than the milkman and garbage truck were scarce. A boxy black station wagon lumbered into view, with suitcases strapped to the roof that looked ready to topple off at any moment.

      The car stopped just past the duplex. I stood up, curious. The sprawling house next door with its wraparound porch had been vacant since we’d arrived three weeks earlier. Aunt Bess had sniffed at its dilapidated state, but I liked the empty place—I played under the eaves and even found a rabbit’s nest there. There had been signs in recent days that someone was working on it, though: a whiff of fresh paint coming from a suddenly open window, a pile of fresh lumber on the back porch. Once I thought I glimpsed a man through one of the windows, but when I moved closer to peer inside, he was gone.

      But there was no mistaking the arrival now. A woman got out of the driver’s seat. She was pretty, with pale skin and strawberry-blond hair I would have loved for my own, and a smattering of freckles that said she’d better keep out of the sun if she didn’t want more. Behind her, several brown-haired boys spilled out of the car and raced toward the house, shouting and laughing. At first it seemed that there were too many to count. A little one, not more than ten or so, scampered ahead. He was followed by two boys about my age. They looked nearly the same, except one wore thick glasses. I’d heard of identical twins, but these were the first I’d actually seen. A dog bounded from the car, barking noisily at their feet.

      Finally an older boy unfolded himself from the front passenger seat. He had long legs and wide shoulders, hair in a neat side part but that still curled at the edges. My stomach flipped, like the time Papa had taken me on a roller coaster at the carnival.

      A family moving in. I waited for a father to appear, but the woman and the boys began unloading things and carrying them to the house. The oldest boy lifted a case from the roof of the car, his muscles flexing under his T-shirt. One of the twins hung back, head low, until his mother went to him and said something, cajoling a smile. They laughed at a joke I could not hear.

      When the boys had finished unloading the boxes, they disappeared into the house. I looked down at the street, which seemed emptier than it had before they’d come. Then the screen door to the house next door banged open and the boys appeared once more. They jostled like puppies as they pushed outside. One of the twins carried a football, which the boys began tossing among them on the thin strip of grass that separated our two houses.

      I watched the scene play out below, wanting to go down and join them. I stepped forward, starting toward the door that led downstairs. Then I stopped. But I kept watching, fascinated. The hair of the oldest boy seemed to glow gold in the morning sun. He didn’t so much run as fly, feet barely touching the ground. He leapt for the ball and his shirt pulled free, revealing a bit of midsection. I inhaled sharply at the unfamiliar sight.

      “Hey!” a voice called out. It took a second to realize that it was directed at me. The youngest boy had his head tilted upward toward the porch, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. I stepped back from the window, but it was too late. He waved his brothers over. “A kid.”

      The others stopped playing and gathered to peer up at me. “A girl,” the oldest brother corrected. “Don’t be shy,” he coaxed in a voice too rich and hypnotic to resist. “Come down and join us. We won’t bite.”

      “We might,” the twin without the glasses taunted. I hung back. Then, curious and struck by the kindness of the oldest boy’s eyes, I opened the door and started down the steps.

      “I’m Jack,” the twin with glasses said when I’d reached the bottom. He held out his hand. Closer I could see that he had a fuller face than his brother, splashed with freckles. Long lashes blinked behind the thick lenses.

      I opened my mouth but no sound came out. “Adelia,” I croaked finally, wishing my accent was not so obvious.

      The leaner twin cocked his head. “She must be the greenhorn from Italy that Dad mentioned.” How did they know about me? I blinked, caught off guard by the rudeness of his tone. My cheeks reddened and I started to turn. Coming downstairs had been a mistake.

      “Don’t mind Liam,” said the oldest boy, his voice low and resonant. I stared up, not answering. He was even more handsome up close, with hazel eyes and a wide smile. Bright sunlight seemed to cast a halo of gold around him. “I’m Charlie.” My breath caught. I brushed my hair from my face, trying to think of something to say that would impress him, make him take notice. He cupped his hand on the head of the youngest boy standing beside him. “And this is Robbie.”

      I smiled down at Robbie, who had wide, round cheeks that seemed to cushion his eyes, and front teeth still a bit too big. He stood very straight, trying to look taller in a way that I recognized from doing it myself. “Nice to meet you,” I said solemnly.

      “Adelia,” Charlie said, as if trying my name on for size. Hearing him say it, my insides warmed. “That’s a mouthful. Is it okay if we call you Addie?”

      I nodded, liking the short, easy sound. “Si. I mean, yes.” I blushed. My knowledge of English was not awful. Mamma had insisted that I learn other languages since I was a child. I had read as much as I could since coming here, mostly Ladies’ Home Journal and the other women’s magazines Aunt Bess loved. And I had listened to the radio СКАЧАТЬ