OyMG (15 page)

CHAPTER 27

Did all hospitals smell the same? Like stale air … or old fruit? Like something good gone bad?

The smell stung my nose, bringing back memories, as if they'd been wrapped up in that scent. Memories of the last time I went to a hospital, when I was five years old and Mom had brought me to visit Bubbe. The tubes with clear liquids going in and dark liquids coming out. The machines with lights flashing red or green. The plastic breathing tubes going in her nose.

To me, that smell reminded me of death. And now it was Zeydeh in that room. Zeydeh lying in that bed.

And it was my fault.

I'd come out to the hospital garden to escape the smell—and my memories. But I couldn't. It seemed like forever since Zeydeh collapsed, but it had only been two hours. Dad called the paramedics and they were there in minutes. A concussion from the fall, they thought, possibly a fractured arm. Low blood pressure the likely cause of his fainting.

I kept waiting for Zeydeh to open his eyes, but he didn't, not in all the time it took to get him on a stretcher and out to the ambulance. Mom rode with him to the hospital, and he came to for a few seconds, but he didn't seem to know her.

He was awake now, but not really awake. Benny and I got to see him for a few minutes. He had an IV sticking from his hand with a long tube feeding him liquids. His left arm was wrapped in a splint and an ice pack rested against his head. He looked tiny in the bed, like a lumpy pile of sticks.

His eyes were open, but it was as if he were looking into his own mind. “Is the train coming?” His eyes fluttered.

“No, Dad, there's no train,” Mom said gently. “Ellie and Benny are here.”

“The train is coming,” he mumbled. Then his eyes fluttered closed.

“It's okay,” Mom told us. “He's not really awake.”

But she hadn't looked like it was okay.

Then they'd taken him for tests. Dr. Straus, Zeydeh's doctor, had come by. A concussion, he said. The CAT scan showed a subdural hematoma—a bruise on the brain. They'd monitor it closely. As long as it didn't worsen … They'd keep him overnight and see how he was in the morning. Yes, confusion was normal. Try not to worry.

But I was worried. Mom was, too. Dad pretended to be strong, but his eyes were more red than Mom's. Benny didn't say much. He had his iPod on, but I could tell it wasn't very loud, because every time the door leading to the patient rooms opened, he looked up.

The nurses were setting up a reclining chair for Mom in Zeydeh's room. Dad said he'd take us home as soon as we had word about Zeydeh's arm. But the waiting room just made waiting worse. At least the courtyard garden was empty. Even at 8:00 p.m., it was still too warm for most people to want to be outside.

I remembered I'd been to the garden before, too. There were bushes and flower beds and a few trees with twisted green trunks. A flagstone path wound around the garden and through the middle where curved benches faced a fountain. Zeydeh and I had come out here and stood by the fountain. Back then, it had been taller than me. Water poured from a spout at the top, into a wavy-edged bowl, then into another, and finally into a shallow pool. The bottom looked like solid metal from the coins that had been dropped in. I thought of all the people who had tossed in those coins. People like me, praying, hoping. Had their prayers been answered, I wondered?

Zeydeh hadn't dropped in a coin. “What does God need with money?” But he'd stood out here for a long time, staring at the fountain and holding my hand.

I looked into the sky. The hospital lights shone from every floor, a stairway of lights rising where—to heaven? No, not for Zeydeh.
Not for Zeydeh!
I blinked into the shadows, searching beyond what I could see. I squeezed my eyes shut, and my throat closed on a sob.

He can't die, God! You can't let him!
Hot tears dripped down my cheeks.
It's not his fault—none of this is. Don't make him die. Not because of me. Zeydeh was right: I didn't belong at that camp. I never should have gone. If I hadn't, none of this would have happened. He'd be home right now, making his soup.

“Ellie?”

I startled and spun around. The electric doors had slid open; I hadn't even heard. Devon stood in the doorway, as if he couldn't decide if he was coming or going. Hurriedly, I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped out, and the doors swooshed shut behind him. He walked toward me wearing a white polo over jeans. I realized I'd never seen him in jeans before. He looked really good, which for some reason made me feel worse.

“When you didn't show for the performance tonight, I got worried,” he said. “I tried calling, but you didn't answer. Finally, Megan got through to your brother, and she told me what happened. How is he?” He reached for my hand, but I folded my arms across my middle.

“I don't know. He has a concussion.”

“Your brother said he fainted?”

“I thought he was dead.” My voice caught and I turned around to face the fountain. A pebble had gotten stuck in one of the wavy edges. The water swerved and dodged, trying to find a way around the block.

“He'll be okay, Ellie.”

I watched a little pool of water gather behind the pebble. “We had a fight, Devon. A terrible fight. We argue all the time, but not like that. Never like that.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of what I'd said. If only I could go back. Take it all back.

I opened my eyes and took a careful breath. “Today at camp, he realized I was trying to hide him. My grandpa, who I'm so proud of, and I wanted him to disappear.” My voice crumbled into a million pieces, and I went on in a sob. “When I showed up to get him tonight, he was dressed like an Orthodox rabbi. He wanted to out me to your grandmother. And instead of getting mad at
her
, I got mad at him.”

“Ellie,” he said. I heard the worry in his voice and saw the shadow of his hand reaching out to me. “It's not your fault.”

I flinched from his touch. “Then whose fault is it?” I swung to face him, anger rising inside me, turning my tears into acid. “Your grandmother is the racist. Is it her fault?”

“Don't say that.”

I lifted my chin, daring him to meet my eyes. “It's true, isn't it? You can call it something else, but that's what it is.”

He turned away and stared at the fountain. I could tell he was trying to calm himself. But I didn't want him to be calm. Zeydeh was fighting for his life—how dare Devon be calm!

“I didn't come to argue, Ellie. I just wanted to be with you.”

“Well, maybe I don't want to be with you.”

The trickling water sounded loud in the sudden quiet. I could see his throat working, but then he hunched his shoulders in a shrug. “Okay. Sorry. I just …” His eyes flickered over my face and he swallowed his words. “I'll see you Monday at camp, okay?”

“I won't be at camp on Monday.”

“Oh. Oh, right,” he stammered. “You'll want to be with your grandpa. I'll tell Grandmother. She'll understand. Even if you don't do your oratory, she'll understand.”

“How sweet,” I said, my voice dripping sarcasm. “Will she understand when she finds out I'm Jewish?”

“Half Jewish.”

“Why do you always say that?” I demanded. “Does that make it okay for you? What if I was one hundred percent Jewish, then what?” I planted my hands on my hips. “Or is your grandmother not the only anti-Semitic person in your family?”

“What?” he gasped. “You're the one who talked about being half and half.”

“Maybe there is no half and half. In Nazi Germany there wasn't. I'd have died in a concentration camp for being ‘half and half.' ”

He gestured with a hand. “This isn't World War II.”

I almost laughed. That was my line. How many times had I said that to Zeydeh? “You're right, Devon, it's not. Which is why I shouldn't have had to lie.”

He shoved a hand through his hair, gripping his scalp with obvious frustration. “You're the one who wanted the scholarship. I just told you things to help.”

“You said it was no big deal.”

“I didn't think it was.”

“Well, it is!” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard. “Why couldn't you have stood up for me?”

He held up his hands. “What was I supposed to do?”

“I don't know,” I cried. “Maybe you could have told your grandmother your girlfriend is Jewish and to get over herself.”

“Ellie—”

“Forget it.” I cut off the excuse I could hear coming. “How could I expect you to stand up for me when you won't even stand up for yourself?”

His jaw pulsed. “What does that mean?”

“You know what it means. You just follow along, do whatever they tell you.”

“You could have spoken up, too, you know.” Now he looked as mad as I felt. “But you wanted the money.”

His words stung. Because they were true.

“Not anymore,” I said, my voice feeling raw. “I wouldn't take a dime from your grandmother.”

He paused. “What about Benedict's?”

I glanced up toward the line of windows. In one of those lit rooms, Zeydeh was lying in a bed. “My grandpa wanted me to tell your grandmother the truth,” I said, “and I'm going to. Then, I'm done with it all. Benedict's. The scholarship.”

You
.

I couldn't say it out loud. Instead, I whispered, “All of it.”

His eyes were dark shadows—for once they were almost black and ugly. “Fine. I won't bother arguing.” His voice was full of sarcasm. “It's not like I stand up for myself, anyway.” Then he backed toward the hospital doors. “If you have something to say to my grandmother, great.” He stepped on the rubber mat in front of the door, tripping the automatic sensors. The glass doors slid open. Lights spilled from the lobby, shadowing a figure as it moved toward the opening. Then she stepped outside.

“You can tell her now,” Devon said. “She's the one who drove me here.” He turned and walked back inside, leaving me alone with the night and Doris Yeats.

CHAPTER 28

“Hello, Ellie,” she said. Her expression oozed concern. “How is your grandfather?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. “He's still with the doctors.”

Her heels clicked on the flagstone as she stepped farther into the garden. “I can only imagine how worried you must be. Devon was beside himself when I stopped at Benedict's tonight. He just had to see you.” She wore a peach skirt and a dressy white blouse that shimmered like crystals of snow. While I'd been fighting with Zeydeh, she'd been at a party.

“Can I do anything for you or your family?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I just need to tell you something. About my grandpa.” Now that the moment was here, I couldn't work up even a little fear over this conversation. I just wanted it over.

“Of course,” she said.

I wove my fingers through my hair and tucked it behind my ears. “You once asked me about him, remember? You asked me his name.”

She nodded.

“I told you it was Samuel Morris. But that was only half of it. His whole name is Samuel Morris Levine.” I raised my chin. “I didn't tell you because he's Jewish. Because I'm Jewish. It wasn't all a total lie,” I couldn't help adding. “My dad was raised Lutheran. But I was raised Jewish.”

Her blue eyes had turned darker than the sky.

It didn't matter. I was almost done. “I did it because I wanted the scholarship, and Devon said I'd have a better chance if you only knew the Lutheran half.”

Her throat worked up and down, but she didn't say anything.

“Anyway.” I shrugged. “I'm pulling my application for the scholarship. I don't want it anymore.”

I steeled myself for her to get mad or mean or both. But instead she took a step closer. Light circled her hair like a silver halo. “If that's how you feel,” she said softly. “But for the record, I already knew you were Jewish. In fact, it's one of the reasons I wanted you to have the scholarship.”

I must have looked ready to faint, because she gestured to the cement bench. “Why don't we sit down?”

She sat on one end, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt over her knees. I sat on the other end, knock-kneed and gripping the bench for balance. “I don't understand.”

She looked toward the lit entrance to the hospital. “This really isn't the place, but perhaps now is as good a time as any.” She smiled gently. “First of all, Ellie, I'm not a racist.”

My grip loosened, along with my stomach muscles. I felt like I could take a full breath for the first time in days.

“Racism is ignorance. I hope you'll agree I'm not an ignorant person.”

“I know that.”

“I grew up with Jews, Ellie.” She smiled comfortingly. “I speak from experience. They're truly not like the rest of us, and they don't want to be.”

An icy shiver shot through me, freezing my breath. I heard the words, but I couldn't make sense of them.

“You're young and naive,” she said, “and you've been filled with stories. Of course, you're confused. What I'm saying to you now you'll need to think about. I understand that. I want you to know I understand a lot of things. I've been watching you,” she added. “I think you're starting to see there's more in this world. There's a greater truth. Another path.”

I clutched the bench harder. It was still warm from the sun and the heat felt good against my numb fingers. If only I could figure out the soft smile, the kind voice.

“You and I are a lot alike, Ellie. In fact, I see myself in you.” Her smile widened. “I was also a competitor. A hard worker. I didn't grow up wealthy, but I was determined. We're similar in other ways, as well. You and I are both strong enough to know ourselves. To be honest with ourselves.”

When would this start making sense?

“There's a reason you wrote ‘Christian' on that application. I think it was a cry from deep within yourself. Maybe not consciously done, but nonetheless.”

I gasped, words finally coming from my cold lips. “You think I want to be Christian?”

She smiled as if she knew more than I did. “Your mother's phone call only confirmed it.”

Confusion spun through me. I felt dizzy. “What do you mean, my mother's phone call?”

“The message she left, informing me quite clearly of your Jewish background.”

“You said you didn't get the message.” I remembered Devon hinting that something wasn't right. But it hadn't made sense for her to lie. It still didn't.

“I admit, I was angry at first. But I'd seen you in church just the previous day,” she went on. “I watched you pray, Ellie. I could feel there was a connection for you. It started to make sense.”

“No. You don't understand. I was just trying to fit in! For the scholarship.”

Diamond earrings flashed like prisms as she tilted her head. “Perhaps that's how it began. But I wonder if that's all it really is. I've seen the way you and Devon connect. The way you've fit in so well with the group from Benedict's. You didn't just keep your faith secret from me. You kept it from your classmates and your teacher. Believe me, I understand. Why would you want to identify yourself as one of those people?”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You're just saying that because of a bad business deal with someone Jewish. Devon told me.”

She smiled a little. “Is that what he said?”

“But my family is really nice,” I said. “If you got to know them—my grandpa is terrible at business. He can't even balance his checkbook. My dad has to do it.”

Her smooth hand squeezed mine. “It's very sweet, Ellie, your defending your family. I commend you for it. But you cannot defend an entire race. Certainly not to me,” she added. “I know exactly what they're like. Arrogant and self-important. Wrapping themselves in the mantle of ‘the chosen people.' ” Her eyes narrowed as if she were seeing a long way off.

I rubbed the ache at my temples. “I don't understand why you say things like that. Why you think that way.”

She studied me for so long, I had to look down. “You think I'm being unfair, don't you? You might be surprised, Ellie.” Her lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “Yes, I think you might be very surprised.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that once, a very long time ago, I fancied myself in love with a Jew.”

I gaped in surprise. “You were in love?”

“I imagined myself so,” she said with a nod. “As young girls will.” She laughed as if it was funny, but there was nothing funny about the intense look in her eyes. Goose bumps prickled on my bare arms.

“He was a boy I met in college,” she explained. “A Jewish boy. I ignored my natural apprehensions and allowed myself to become involved. We even talked of an engagement.”

“He broke it off?” I guessed, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

She looked at me, her eyes sparking blue fire. “Certainly not. He was very much in love. It was his parents who opposed the relationship. They didn't consider me suitable,” she said with icy precision. “Can you imagine? No shiksa was good enough for their son. You must know that word
,
Ellie. As a non-Jew, I was unacceptable.” She laughed again, a harsh sound that felt like sandpaper over my skin.

“I'm so sorry.”

“Do not. Be. Sorry,” she snapped. “On the contrary.” She paused, and I could see her take a long, deep breath. Her voice level again, she said, “I owe them a great debt of thanks for opening my eyes. And it has been one of the pleasures of my life to know I've succeeded in every way beyond that family.”

“But that was just one family,” I said. “And they were wrong.”

“No, they were right,” she corrected. “They belong with their own kind. Just as we belong with ours.”

They? We? Ours?

A hospital helicopter flew over us. The noise roared in my head like a living thing. I covered my ears, but the confusion was inside me.

Their kind. Our kind.

What kind was I?

The helicopter faded, and I think Mrs. Yeats said more, but I wasn't sure what. Then she reached for my hand again. “I want to help you. If you attend Benedict's, I know I can.”

She pressed her hand over mine, waiting for me to say something, but I couldn't think what to say. I couldn't think.

She seemed to understand. “There's no need for you to say anything right now.” She stood up, her expression full of understanding. “It's a lot to take in, and especially when you're terribly worried about your grandfather, as you should be. I'll pray for his health. And for you.”

I closed my eyes. Wished I could escape into the blackness behind my lids. But her voice flowed around me. Through me.

“Don't worry about camp this week. Assuming your grandfather is recovered sufficiently, I'll see you Thursday night for the oratory final. I realize your speech won't be polished, but I don't want you to worry about that. You understand?” She paused. “Your performance is only a formality, Ellie. The scholarship is yours.”