Read Online Being Esther by Miriam Karmel - Free Book Online

social?
    But Ceely isn’t listening. “You’ll have fun,” she insists, as if Esther might confuse Cedar Shores with a Princess cruise to the Bahamas. Ceely is like a yappy dog, the kind that won’t let go once it sinks its teeth into your calf. “I forgot! There’s concierge service. Twenty-four hours a day.”
    â€œWell, I have Milo,” Esther sniffs.
    â€œMilo?” Ceely cries, in disbelief.
    â€œDo you have a problem with Milo? Last week he fixed the toilet when it wouldn’t stop running. And he has such nice manner. He takes his Cubs hat off whenever he sees me.”
    After Marty died, Esther worried that she relied too much on Milo. More and more she called on him to repair the things that once she might have overlooked—running toilets, clanging radiators. She enjoyed watching him work, the way he held the light-bulbs with the tips of his fingers, as if he were handling quails’ eggs. She noted the way he set a faded beach towel on her kitchen floor and arranged his tools on it, before tending to the leaky faucet. He hummed while he worked, but rarely spoke. Perhaps he was reluctant to speak a language he could not command. Yet when he misappropriated verb tenses and turned simple declarative sentences into questions, Esther gently corrected him and he didn’t mind. At first, Esther thought he might be Russian, but then, through the grapevine, she learned that Milo Belic, his wife Lena, and his mother, had moved to Chicago from Serbia three years ago. It was rumored that in Belgrade he had worked as a lawyer or a doctor.
    Now Ceely is saying, “It’s not your faucets that concern me.”
    â€œThen I don’t know what you’re worried about.” Esther slapsa six of hearts on a seven of diamonds. “Besides, he used to be a doctor.”
    â€œHe used to be a paramedic.” Ceely exaggerates the words and rolls her eyes.
    â€œDoctor. Paramedic.” Esther shrugs. “And another thing.” She pauses to set a nine of spades on red hearts. “What was last Thursday about? You showed up out of the blue, hustled me into the car, and drove me to that place with the mauve napkins. You wouldn’t even give me time to change.”
    â€œYou looked fine, Ma.”
    â€œI suppose for a place like that, I looked fine. But nobody would have mistaken me for Zsa Zsa Gabor.”
    â€œTrust me. You looked fine. We were just going to check it out.”
    â€œAha!” Esther slaps down an eight of diamonds. “So you admit it. You kidnapped me.”
    â€œKidnapped?” Ceely rolls her eyes. “We had a date. Don’t you remember?”
    â€œI remember plenty. I remember staying up all night with you when you had the croup. And how about that episode in Vermont?” Esther doesn’t mention the time Ceely moved back home to find herself, having had enough of that commune in Vermont. Papers and books, suede boots and turtleneck sweaters were strewn from one corner of the house to the other. For three months, Ceely camped out at the dining room table translating poems by Fernando Pessoa, a writer Esther has never understood, not even in English. But why bring all that up now?
    â€œI won!” Esther cries, as she sets down another card. Then she sweeps up the deck and as she sets up a new game she volunteers that Mrs. Singh was mugged. “There. I hope you’re satisfied.”
    â€œSatisfied?” Ceely cocks her head to one side, as if trying to make sense of a child’s musings. “I wouldn’t say that. But it goesto prove that the neighborhood isn’t safe. You’ll be much better off moving.”
    â€œSafe, schmafe,” Esther says. “Now sit a minute.”
    Ignoring her, Ceely draws a box of All-Bran from the bag as if she’d pulled a rabbit from a hat. “Ta-da!”
    Esther sighs and rolls her eyes. How many times has she told Ceely that she likes Lucky