The Two-Family House: A Novel (2 page)

With his task completed, Mort gathered his family to leave. At the door he let Helen kiss him on the cheek and shook Abe’s hand for a moment longer than usual. Abe and Helen looked at each other, but when Helen raised her eyebrow, Mort pretended not to notice. He guided Rose through the doorway, and, with daughters in tow, they left.

Chapter 2

ABE

Abe was a lucky man. He told himself that every morning while he dressed and every night before he went to sleep. Abe wasn’t religious but every day he thanked God for his beautiful wife, his four healthy sons, his brother and his business. Sometimes he left out his brother, but only when Mort was being a pain in the ass.

Abe was three years older than Mort, but most people thought he was younger by ten. When people thought of Abe, they pictured him either eating or laughing. It was no wonder, then, that Mort (who rarely engaged in either activity) was so often mistaken for the senior of the two.

The brothers owned a cardboard box–manufacturing company in Brooklyn. It had been their father’s company before them, and Abe had started working there in high school. He always wanted to go into the business. Mort, on the other hand, wanted to be a mathematician. Abe wasn’t sure what mathematicians did, but he knew Mort was great with numbers. When their father died unexpectedly during Mort’s sophomore year at college, their mother begged Mort to take a break from school to help Abe. She had faith in Abe, and she knew he was a good salesman. But she also knew him well enough to understand that his benevolent manner could ruin the business if left unchecked. She was afraid he would give too many orders on credit or allow too many discounts. Mort’s head for numbers was necessary. And she knew that his no-nonsense, tight-fisted nature would balance Abe’s generosity.

Months turned to a full year, and the break became permanent. Mort never returned to school. This, Abe knew, had been a horrible disappointment for his brother. It was the point at which he went from a serious but satisfied student to a grim and resentful young man. Abe felt responsible for his brother’s unhappiness. He tried to make Mort feel better about working at the company and changed its name to Box Brothers, thinking that Mort might take some pleasure in their bond of fraternity and commerce. He took Mort to lunch every week and tried to set him up with girls. Abe was dating Helen at that point, and she had a lot of girlfriends. But nothing Abe did brought a smile to his brother’s face. Mort continued to be somber and unpleasant, and the others at work avoided him.

In his heart, Abe knew that Mort blamed
him
for having to give up school. He had spoken to Mort about it only once, fifteen years ago, after their mother’s funeral. She was never the same after their father died, and despite the doctors’ insistence that nothing was wrong, she continued to shrink and wither until nothing was left. The funeral took place on a cloudy November morning at an empty cemetery. After the prayers were said; Abe and Mort each shoveled a spadeful of dirt onto the half-buried coffin. Abe was heartsick, even more for Mort than for himself. He had married Helen the year before, and aside from his mother’s illness, had enjoyed a blissful first year of marriage with her. He worried about Mort going home to an empty apartment. The clouds overhead gave way, and the rain began to fall. The three of them took shelter under a tree.

Helen had spoken first. “Come home with us, Mort. Stay for a while. You shouldn’t be by yourself today.”

“We’ll be together,” Abe added.

But Mort refused. The wind picked up, agitating the tree branches overhead like an angry child shaking a doll. Mort wouldn’t look at either of them.

“Come, Mort. Just for one night,” Helen pleaded. Abe couldn’t tell whether Mort was wincing from the wind or from pain. Either way, his brother wouldn’t speak. Mort kicked a rock into the tree trunk and dug his chin farther into the collar of his coat.

Abe took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, “It’s been three years. Three years we’ve worked together. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I couldn’t have pulled it off. But the company’s fine now. It’s going great. Our sales are high, the warehouse is paid for. We can hire a bookkeeper, an accountant, maybe. You don’t have to work there anymore. You can go back to school.”

Mort was silent.

“Go back to school,” Abe told him. “It’s what you want. You’ll be happy. You can keep taking your salary—it’ll pay for your classes. We’ll keep half the company in your name.”

Abe heard the low rumble of thunder, distant in the skies. “It’s too late for that now,” Mort said, his voice heavy with all the venom he could muster.

“Why? You’re only twenty-three years old. Nothing’s too late.”

“I’m not going back to school to make a fool of myself just so
you
can feel better!” Mort spat the words into the cold, wet air. Lightning flashed overhead, and Abe watched his brother hurry away.

Abe never stopped trying to make it up to Mort. On the surface, their family situations, fortunes and possessions were equally matched: each owned a half interest in the business, each owned a half interest in the two-family house in Brooklyn, each was married and each had several healthy children. As far as Abe was concerned, they were both blessed, with every reason for happiness. But he knew his brother didn’t see it that way.

What Abe suspected, what he pushed to the back of his mind during the day, was that Mort not only blamed him but hated him. Some nights, as he was drifting off to sleep, Abe tried to imagine the reasons why. Was he too cheerful? Too eager to show his love for family and his job? Was he too demonstrative with Mort? Did Mort dislike walking to work together every morning? Did Mort object to all of them living in the same house? Abe always thought it was nice for them, nice for their wives to have each other. But maybe Mort felt smothered.

The day after Harry’s bar mitzvah, Abe gave up this bedtime theorizing. There were too many other things to think about, and Abe was tired of Mort’s sour expression. The guy was a real pill. As a matter of fact, even on the way home from the bar mitzvah Mort had started yammering about one of their shipments, bothering him about orders on a day meant for celebration.

The Monday after the festivities, Abe decided he would walk to work on his own. He would enjoy a quiet stroll for once, unhindered by sales numbers and profit discussions, and think back over the weekend in peace. He whistled on his way, stopping every now and again to smile at a passing acquaintance.

He was almost at the corner when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Abe!” It was Mort, trying to catch up. Abe stopped at the light and waited. As soon as the light turned, he took off again, forcing Mort to match his frantic clip.

“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.