Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead (29 page)

“Maybe . . . It’s just that it’s times like this I miss my dad so much. He always knew what to say to make things better. And 258

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it’s crazy because he’s gone almost five years now, but still . . .

Every time the phone rings, I think it’s him calling to check on the kids or tell me who he likes for the Mets this season. I’m so mad he’s gone.”

“Maybe he’s not gone. Maybe he’s the reason you’re getting all this good news.”

“I would love to think that.” She blew her nose. “I really would

. . . Do you remember the morning I had to rescue you at the train station?”

“It rings a bell.”

“Well, he was definitely around me that day for sure.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that was the morning that Richard and Artie left for the airport and I was so stressed out I couldn’t fall back asleep.

I kept asking my dad to send me a sign that he was with me but got nothing. Then a few hours later you call, and I had to totally rearrange my schedule to get you, and I had no idea where I was going, and I was so mad that I was having to do you this favor because I mean, what had you ever done for me? And then like out of nowhere, I start getting these messages . . . like about not judging the bad things that happened because they could turn out to be good things in disguise.”

“You keep saying that.” Beth checked her cell phone.

“You don’t agree?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I do. Look at Aaron. Everyone taking care of him died of drug overdoses within a few months of each other, which is horrible. But it turned out it was the only reason Artie got him back. And now for the first time, this kid has a chance for a decent future.

“And take the two of us. All these years we’ve done nothing but piss each other off and hurt each other’s feelings, then something bad happens to you, I get forced into helping, and now Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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look. We’re becoming friends and working on a business deal together.”

“Only because I’m such a magnanimous, forgiving person.”

“Huh?”

“I still can’t believe you told Nadine everything.”

“I swear it just happened.”

“You sound like Richard.”

“I’m sorry but it’s true. She was egging me on and on, telling me how you were telling everyone what a mess I was, and that Stacie and Jamie were going to be fat forever because of me, and I just lost it.”

“That’s ridiculous. I haven’t said anything like that in weeks.”

“But you admit to doing that before?”

“All the time. That’s why I couldn’t be too pissed off at you . . .

more surprised than anything.”

“Damn!” Mindy winced. “I wish I’d known before I threw out half my dinner from Akari.”

“It’s a start.” Beth offered Mindy gum. “Anyway, when you first brought up that whole good thing–bad thing, I thought it was bullshit. My mother’s entire family was wiped out in the Holocaust, and all I ever heard growing up was good was good and bad was evil.”

“I know,” Mindy said. “My grandmother’s family, the same thing—not that she ever told us much. Just bits and pieces.”

“Where was your grandmother from?”

“Poland. But when the Nazis started coming into power, her family moved to Vienna, thinking they would never invade Austria, but they were wrong. I know that her father was arrested for practicing medicine and sent to a death camp, and her mother went into hiding with her and her younger brother. And the only reason this family took them in was because my grandmother could sew. She made these exquisite lace tablecloths that sold for a lot of money. Of course the family took all of it, then kicked them 260

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out because they said it was getting too dangerous to let them stay.

Anyway, long story short, my grandmother was one of the only ones in her family to survive. And the amazing thing is, until her dementia kicked in, she was one of the happiest people I knew. She made the most out of every day, always looked for the silver lining, never complained.

“That’s why I get so mad at myself. . . . I have more money and freedom than she could have ever have dreamed of, but does that stop me from bitching about how hard my life is? It’s awful how much we’ve come to expect, and the kids are even worse. They really think the world owes them something.”

“Tell me about it,” Beth said. “Mine are so overindulged it’s nauseating.”

“Get this,” Mindy nodded. “The other night I’m watching
Grey’s Anatomy
, which my kids know I have to watch in peace.

Anyway, Stacie barges in and says I have to see the new Tiffany catalog because there’s a necklace she wants for her birthday, which mind you is eight months away, and I said, are you out of your mind? I wouldn’t spend seven hundred dollars on a necklace for me let alone for you and she actually cried and said, ‘But Mom, I really want that. Don’t you want to get me things I really want?’”

“Glad it’s not just at my house.”

“That’s what I’m saying. It’s not just the kids. I’m no better.

You’d think that having a grandmother whose life was spared because she made it out on that Kindertransport, I would understand what’s important and what’s bullshit.”

“The Kindertransport?” Beth stopped fidgeting.

“Ever heard of it? I’m always surprised how few people know about it.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it. That’s how my mother got out of Vienna.”

“Vienna? Really? I thought she was German.”

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“My dad is, my mother was from Austria. But yes, I know the whole story about the children who got out of Europe after Brit-ain agreed to let them enter the country unaccompanied. That’s how she escaped, and she was a baby practically. The story is unbelievable. Do you know what year your grandmother left?”

“I have no idea,” Mindy said. “But I could probably figure it out. At my Sweet Sixteen I remember her telling me how she spent her sixteenth birthday leaving the Kindertransport and getting put on a ship to England. And now she’s eighty-six. Do you have paper and a pen?”

“You can’t do simple arithmetic in your head?”

“Not anymore. It’s too clogged with nonsense like the inspiring, real-life stories of the
American Idol
finalists.”

“Whatever.” Beth handed her a Gucci pen and a Coach memo holder. Mindy stared as if she were looking at the queen’s gold.

“What?”

“This is the difference between us. If you asked me for a pen and paper, I’d be handing you an ATM receipt and one of those little pencils from the miniature golf course.”

“What can I say?” Beth laughed. “I travel first class. Just figure it out and then figure out my mother’s, too. If I remember she had just turned four, and her birthday is in December. And this year she’ll be seventy-four.”

“She was four years old and she was all alone?” Mindy clutched her heart. “Oh my God. We don’t let our kids get three steps ahead of us at the mall.”

“She never told me much, and my father was totally Silent Sam. I just know it’s an absolute miracle that either of them survived.”

“Unbelievable.” Mindy did the math. “Okay, my grandmother’s birthday is also in December, so if she was sixteen, then that would have made it . . . December 1938.”

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“Interesting,” Beth said. “I remember my mom saying how cold she was when she first arrived, so it could have been December. She was brought to some refugee camp in a coastal area that was nice in the summer but the winters were freezing.”

“I wonder if their paths ever crossed.” Mindy laid her hand on her heart. “Think about it . . . Both of them might have left from Vienna in December 1938.”

“Not likely. There were hundreds of children who left then, and there was too big an age difference.”

It is a fact of modern life that a phone call can rock your world.

Your ex-wife has passed. Your estranged son wants to meet you.

Your estranged next-door neighbor needs your help. The bank has turned down your loan application, an old life insurance policy remained in force, you’ve been chosen by a company to handle a creative project, your sister-in-law is an idiot, and your son has been accused of a crime.

But no phone call could compare to the one Beth made to her mother while she and Mindy sat on the runway waiting for their f light to take off.

“Mother, do you know the name Gittle Sole . . . Wait, hold on.

I have to ask Mindy again. . . . What was her last name?”

“Soloweichyk.”

“Mother, did you hear? Her name was Gittle Soloweichyk?”

“What’s she saying?” Mindy could barely breathe.

“Nothing yet . . . Hold on, I’ll put her on speaker phone.” She hit the button. “Mom? You still there? I put you on speaker phone so Mindy can hear, too.”

“Ver did you hear that name, Batya?” she asked. “Ver in God’s name . . . ?”

Mindy and Beth locked eyes. Wait. She recognized it?

“Mom, we’ve gotta do this fast because we’re about to take off, Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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but Mindy was saying something about her grandmother being on the Kindertransport, so, of course, I told her about you. Not that I was actually thinking you would know the name.”

“I know it!” she cried out. “I know it!”

“Oh my God! Are you sure?” Beth and Mindy held hands.

“Sure I’m sure. Even efter seventy years, you think I could forget? Gittle vas like a mother to me. I was a baby, Batya. Just four years old. You’ve heard the story. My mother put me on the train ven I vas asleep. Then I vake up and all around me are strangers . . . end I’m crying I vant my mother, end this girl hends me bread and says to me in Yiddish, ‘Come to me little beauty. I em your mother now.’”

“Oh my God. And that was Gittle?”

“That vas Gittle. She vas no bigger than a child herself, Batya.

But she took care of me on the train from Vienna, and then the ship all the vay to England. End another baby, too. A little boy, Oskar, but he died from fever. . . .”

“Mrs. Goldberg, it’s Mindy. And you’re sure this Gittle’s last name was Soloweichyk?”

“Yes, yes . . . she made up little songs so ve could remember all the names.”

“And what happened after you got to England?” Beth asked.

“Did you stay together?”

“No, no . . . Vee ver taken all over. The older children vent to the hostels if they didn’t have femily, and the younger ones like me vent to these holiday camps and vaited for foster femilies to take us. Vee got separated right avay. I vould ask people, do you know ver is Gittle Soloweichyk? One man told me she vent to Palestine, but I didn’t know if thet vas true.”

“Mom, they want us to turn off our phones now because we’re taking off, but maybe you should buckle your seatbelt, too. . . . I know where your Gittle is. . . .”

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“She’s alife?”

“Yes! She lives in a nursing home in Queens.”

“Oh my God in heaven. Mindy, darlink, vat is her name now?”

“Well, when she came to America, she changed her name to Jenny Solomon.” Mindy wiped her eyes. “Then she married Abraham Baumann.”

“Jenny Baumann . . . Oh, I em so happy right now! Thank you, darlinks, thank you.”

“Bye, Mom, love you, talk to you when we land.” Beth ended the call.

“This is so unbelievable.” Mindy was shaking. “She had this whole story.”

“I know, but do you honestly think it could be the same person? There must have been lots of little Gittles. Wait—how old is your grandmother?”

“Eighty-six.”

“And my mom is seventy-four.”

“So that would mean,” Mindy looked at her math, “your mom would have been four, and my grandmother would have been sixteen . . . and bingo! That’s what they told us.”

“Then maybe it is true.” Beth blew into a tissue. “But it’s so crazy.”

“Also known as
bashert
. Fate. God’s will. Ultimate Jewish geography: two girls, twelve years apart, one born in Poland, the other in Austria, both end up being taken to England with the older one caring for the younger one like she’s the mother, then they get there, get separated, and never see each other again.”

“Until seventy years later,” Beth continued, “next-door neighbors on Long Island who barely speak find out that they would never have been born if not for the fact that God spared the lives of Gittle and Ruchel,” Beth wept. “There are no words . . .”

“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” The woman Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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seated next to Mindy leaned over. “That was quite an amazing story.”

“I know.” Beth wiped her nose. “We’re in shock.”

“You know what I can’t get over?” Mindy sighed. “That it took seventy years to discover something so important to our families.”

“Seventy years?” The woman smiled. “What a coincidence.

That’s how long it takes for a carob tree to bear fruit.”

Twenty-three

Mindy and Beth did not know how they were supposed to go from making a sudden, shocking discovery about their family’s histories to handling the hassles of modern travel: long waits at the baggage carousel, longer waits in the ladies’ rooms, and a line out the door at the car rental counter.

It was as if they’d just spent hours watching a disturbing film about the Holocaust, then walked out into the bright sunshine and remembered it was no longer 1942. They were free to go about their business.

Still, Beth was so lost in thought, she forgot to have a hissy fit when the car rental agent informed her they were out of premium cars. Mindy was in such a daze she realized she left her carry-on bag with the business cards hanging on the hook in the bathroom stall, though she told Beth that her weak bladder was the reason for the return trip to the ladies’ room. That, and she had to call Artie.

He had only left for Portland with Aaron yesterday, but what a heavy news day he was missing. Ricky’s little bombshell that Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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Aaron might have been molested by a clown. The shocking call from Dana that she was on the outs with Ira and that Stan was her new best friend. But mostly the startling revelation that she and Beth had a shared history that was of epic proportions.