The Two-Family House: A Novel (21 page)

The bus stopped abruptly across the street from Teddy’s house. Plows had left enormous piles of snow on both sides of the road, and the narrowed streets were full of slick patches. Natalie got off first, and Teddy followed. As he crossed in front of the bus, the
Superman
comic fell out of his textbook and fluttered to the ground. Teddy bent down for it, out of the sight of the driver.

Natalie was already at the front door when she heard the bus lurch forward. Teddy had followed her off the bus, but she didn’t sense his footsteps behind her so she turned around to call for him. When her eyes took in the body on the road, her call turned into a scream. “Teddy!”

She was still screaming his name as she ran into the road, screaming on her knees as she shook his shoulders, screaming for him to wake up as she clung to his hands, screaming at the driver as he stepped off the bus, as he took off his cap and cried into the snow. She could hear herself scream, but she still could not stop. Not when a neighbor tried to pick her up off of him, not when she shut her eyes from the glare of the ambulance and not when the long-faced medics whispered in her ear.

She was screaming his name when they took him away from her, took away Teddy, her playmate, her twin. She screamed for him still, long after he left and the pages of his comic blew by her in the wind. The winter dark came early, and she still hadn’t stopped when her mother appeared with a blanket to cover her and a hot cup of cocoa that cracked in the cold. Her mother looked surprised as the cup came apart right there in her hand, and the cocoa poured out, hot liquid hissing as it hit the cold ground.

Natalie finally stopped screaming then, to speak. “It’s broken,” she told her mother, pointing to the cup. “I know it is,” said Helen, and together they stood in the snow and they cried.

Chapter 40

ABE

The funeral was the next morning, on Friday. It was the Jewish tradition to bury the dead as quickly as possible, but Abe wished they had waited. It’s too fast, he thought.

The last time he had been to the hospital, he had driven Rose there because Teddy had been hurt in a baseball game. Abe had been the one trying to calm everyone down that day, struggling to smooth over everyone’s anger. But this time he had driven to the hospital with his brother, rushing from work after a panicked call from a neighbor. Rose was waiting for them, but there had been nothing for him to do. Nothing but to listen, incredulous, to the doctors; nothing but to wait, unbelieving, for Mort and Rose to say their goodbyes; nothing but to accompany them, in silence, out of the hospital doors without their son.

Abe didn’t like feeling helpless. When his father died, he had busied himself organizing the office, notifying clients, taking care of his mother. And when his mother died, there had been even more things to do—going through the attic, selling the house, making sure to give each one of her cousins the little tchotchkes she wanted them to have. It was easier to be busy.

But now, he had nothing to do, nothing but to show up in a suit for his nephew’s funeral.
His nephew’s funeral.
Christ. He couldn’t believe it. Teddy wasn’t even nine years old.

The truth was, Abe hadn’t really spent that much time with him. He saw his nephew on Tuesdays for dinner. But Teddy and Natalie were always busy with something—playing twenty rounds of checkers, watching that
Mickey Mouse Club
show or trying to figure out the math book Teddy lugged over every week. Teddy was a sweet kid; Abe liked him. But if Abe was being honest, he had kept his distance on purpose.

One Sunday afternoon the spring after Teddy turned six, Abe had been at the high school field playing baseball with the boys when he spotted Mort and Teddy in the parking lot across from them. Teddy had been riding one of Harry’s old bikes, but Mort had put training wheels on it. Abe had been embarrassed for Teddy, watching him ride around on a too-small bike with training wheels like a toddler. He told his boys he’d be back in a few minutes and headed over to say hello.

“Hey, Mort, Teddy, whatcha up to?”

“Hi, Uncle Abe!” Teddy had called out.

“What does it look like we’re up to?” Mort had grumbled.

“Looks like bike riding. Hey, Teddy, how about I take off those training wheels, and you give it a try without ’em?”

Teddy had considered it for a few moments. “Maybe. If Dad says it’s okay.”

“Whaddya say, Morty? Let’s get those things off and teach Teddy to ride.”

Abe hadn’t exactly waited for Mort’s answer. He had found a wrench in the tool kit he kept in the trunk of his car. A few minutes later the training wheels were off and Teddy was trying to ride without them. Abe had run alongside the bike, trying to keep Teddy’s momentum so balancing would be easier. There had been a few scrapes and scratches, but in less than an hour, Teddy had done it. He could ride the bike on his own!

Abe thought he was doing a mitzvah that afternoon, a good deed. But Mort hadn’t seen it that way. He had moved over to a bench that sat between the field and the parking lot, and ignored them both for the full hour it had taken to get Teddy riding. When they were done, Teddy had ridden the bike all around the parking lot.

“Did you see me, Dad? Wasn’t I good?”

Mort shrugged, busying himself with a day-old newspaper section someone had left on the bench. He hadn’t looked up. “Who cares what I think?”

“Didn’t you see me?”

“Ask your uncle—he’s the famous bicycle instructor.”

Teddy was too young to understand why his father was angry, but he understood that something was wrong. His smile faded and he looked like he might cry.

“C’mon, Morty,” Abe pleaded. “He did great, don’tcha think?”

But Mort wouldn’t answer. He just stared at the newspaper. Abe had a feeling in his gut like he might be sick. He sat down next to his brother on the bench, took hold of his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Listen, Mort. Stop torturing the kid and cut him a break. You wanna be mad at me for butting my nose in? Be mad at
me
. But don’t take it out on
him
. For Chrissake.”

Mort refused to respond, and Abe grew desperate. “I won’t do it again, Mort. All right? I swear it. I won’t go near him. But throw the kid a bone, Mort.
Please
.”

Mort had taken his time folding up the newspaper and finally looked at Teddy. “Your uncle is right—you learned to ride quickly. Let’s go home and show your mother and your sisters.”

Good-natured Teddy had recovered instantly. “Okay! Wait till Mom sees!” But by the time Teddy turned around to thank his uncle, Abe had already been walking away from them, back to the field where his boys were playing. “Take care!” he had called out, waving behind him. Abe wanted to get away from Teddy and Mort as quickly as he could. He hadn’t wanted to linger and risk Mort changing his mind.

For the next few years, up to the day Teddy died, Abe had kept his end of the bargain, the bargain he had struck with his brother that day at the school parking lot. He never got too close again. But on the morning of the funeral, one of the many thoughts swirling through Abe’s mind was that he wished he had spent more time with his nephew.

*   *   *

“Dad, Mom says we should get in the car. She’ll be out in a minute.” George walked into the kitchen, still tucking his shirt into his trousers. Abe got up from his seat at the kitchen table and poured his cold cup of coffee down the sink.

“How’re you doing, George?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” George was the most sensitive of his sons. Abe wanted to make sure he was all right.

“It hasn’t sunk in yet, I guess. Teddy shouldn’t have had to die like that, when he was so little.” George spoke softly, like he didn’t want anyone to hear. “I’m sad for Natalie. He was her best friend—I mean, her best friend in the whole world.”

Abe patted George on the shoulder. “I know, Georgie. It’s not going to be easy for her. We’re all going to have to help.”

He gave a solemn nod. “Do you want me to tell her we’re ready to go?”

“Let me do it, kiddo. You go round up your brothers.”

Abe hesitated for a moment after knocking on Natalie’s door, then walked into her room. She was sitting on her bed, reading one of a dozen comic books strewn across the yellow bedspread. Her eyes were red and swollen, but for the moment, at least, she had stopped crying.

“Sweetheart, we have to leave in a few minutes,” he told her.

She put down the comic book. “I know, Daddy. I don’t want to be late.”

“Did Mommy braid your hair for you?” Natalie’s hair was set in two neatly braided pigtails. Abe was surprised Helen had found the time to fix Natalie’s hair like that. She had barely spoken since the day before but she had been in the kitchen almost all night, cooking and baking.

“I did it. Teddy likes braids. He says braids look like rope.”

Her use of the present tense made Abe’s heart ache. “You did a good job.”

“Are we going to go to the cemetery after the funeral?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Is it the one where your mother and father are?

“Yes.”

Natalie’s eyes began to tear. “Do you think Grandma and Grandpa know Teddy’s coming?”

“Honey, I don’t know. It’s hard to know things like that.”

“But they’ll take care of him, won’t they?”

Abe wrapped his arms around her. “They’ll take care of him.” He held her while she cried, until the last tiny sob escaped from her lips, until he felt her exhale, long and slow, and when she finally let go and he looked at her, he saw that something within her had altered. It was like looking at a finished jigsaw puzzle with one piece missing from an undetectable place. No matter what Abe did, he knew he could never replace what had been lost.

Chapter 41

JUDITH

Black dresses made Judith think of funerals. That was why she didn’t own any. Now that she actually had a funeral to go to, she realized that what she wore—what anyone wore—didn’t matter. In the end, she chose a dark gray skirt and a navy sweater. No one would notice.

Half of the people at the funeral home were strangers to her, but all of them gave her quiet smiles or kind glances. The room was crowded, full of people shaking their heads and dabbing their eyes with tissues. One of Teddy’s teachers approached Judith to say what a special boy her brother was, but Dinah interrupted. “We’re supposed to go into the chapel,” she said. “Rabbi Hirsch wants to talk to us.”

In the front right corner of the chapel, Rabbi Hirsch was speaking quietly to her parents. He was the rabbi from their old synagogue in Brooklyn and had traveled to Long Island to be with them. Rabbi Hirsch had been at Teddy’s bris and all her cousins’ bar mitzvahs. He was in his sixties, with a full gray beard and kind gray eyes. Judith hadn’t seen him for years.

Uncle Abe, Aunt Helen and her cousins were in the chapel too, sitting on the long upholstered benches in the back. Aunt Helen’s eyes were closed and her head was resting on Uncle Abe’s shoulder. As soon as Harry saw Judith, he walked over to give her a hug. He didn’t know what to say, but she was grateful he was there. Aunt Helen hadn’t seen her come in.

“Judith, dear, come here. Your sisters too,” said the rabbi. After Judith, her sisters and her parents gathered together, Rabbi Hirsch spoke to them about
keriah,
the Jewish practice of tearing one’s clothes as part of mourning. Hei handed each of them a torn black ribbon attached to a safety pin. “Take this,” he told them “and pin it on the left side of your chest over your heart.”

Mimi objected. “I’d rather put mine on my skirt. This blouse is silk and it might get a hole and I—”

Rabbi Hirsch cut her off. “Why do we pin it
here
?” he asked her, thumping the left side of his chest with his fist. “We do it because the tear in the ribbon is a symbol, a symbol that our hearts are torn and broken in our grief. In my day, we tore our clothes. But today,” he looked at Mimi again, “we use the ribbon.”

Mimi replied, “I hope you have more of these because there are a lot of people out there—”

Rabbi Hirsch silenced Mimi for a second time. “The ribbon is not a prize that we pass around the room. It is not an accessory, to be worn wherever we like or by whomever we choose. It is worn only by the immediate family—the spouse, the parents, the siblings and the children of the deceased. No one else.” Mimi’s face reddened and the rabbi continued, “The death of your brother is a terrible tragedy. A child has no wife or children of his own to mourn him. He has only you.” Mimi was silent. She pinned the ribbon to her blouse without another word. The rest of them did the same. The rabbi told them he would begin the service in a few minutes, so Judith walked over to her aunt and uncle to tell them. “We’re almost ready to start.”

When Helen opened her eyes, they immediately went to the ribbon pinned to Judith’s sweater. “Where did you get that?”

“Rabbi Hirsch.”

Helen sprang from her seat and began barking orders at Uncle Abe. “We have to put ribbons on before the service. We need to tell the rabbi right away!”

Judith was confused. “Aunt Helen, I don’t think he has any more of them. The rabbi said…”

Her aunt wasn’t listening. “Abe, we have to get a ribbon from the rabbi
now
!”

“Shhhh, shhhh.” Abe’s voice was barely above a whisper. “The ribbon is for the immediate family, sweetheart. You know that.”

“You think
we’re
not Teddy’s family?” She was frantic now, pacing in front of them, her face flushed with distress.

He tried to soothe her. “Of course we’re his family, but only his parents and his sisters can wear the ribbon.”

“I was there when he was born! I took care of him and rocked him when he had colic! Every day I watched to make sure she didn’t neglect him!” She was yelling now, too loud for the others in the chapel to pretend not to hear.

“I know. I know how much you loved Teddy. But you’re not his mother—”

“Shut up!”
Judith gasped as she watched her aunt slap her uncle across the face. His hand went immediately to his cheek as the sound of the slap echoed off the chapel’s stone walls and floor. When she realized what she had done, Aunt Helen sat back down on the bench and began to sob.