Read Online Being Esther by Miriam Karmel - Free Book Online Page B

herself as Dr. Levenson. The two of them are probably in cahoots.
    At her last appointment Esther could tell, by the nutty brown dome of his head, that Dr. Levenson had been somewhere warm. “You’ve been traveling,” she’d said.
    â€œAcapulco,” he replied, as he peered into her eyes. “Next winter we’re going to the Galapagos. To see the turtles. The kids are old enough now.”
    After switching on the light, he cleared his throat and looked down at his tasseled loafers. “Esther.” He cleared his throat again, paused, and still looking down at his feet, he said, “You shouldn’t be driving.”
    When Esther replied that she didn’t drive much, and never at night, he said, “That’s good. That’s good.” He let a few seconds pass. “But I’m talking about the daytime, too.”
    There he was, the picture of health, full of pronouncements and sunshine. His tan would fade soon enough, but next winter he’ll swim with the turtles and acquire a fresh glow. Dr. Levenson was a good man. Still, Esther resented the assurance with which he spoke of the future. What’s more, he knew nothing about her past.
    The day Marty brought the car home he tooted the horn until she had to go out front and see who was making such a racket. There he was, sitting behind the wheel of a silver convertible, sporting dark glasses and a fedora. “Come on Essie.” He tapped the horn in a syncopated riff. “Let’s go for a spin.”
    He drove for miles, hugging the lakeshore, winding downSheridan Road, snaking through the ravines all the way to Winnetka, where he pulled into a spot overlooking the beach. After shutting the engine, he pulled her close and kissed her. Seventy-something years old, and he was taking her to a lovers’ lane.
    â€œWe couldn’t do this when we were teenagers, Essie.”
    â€œWho had cars?” she said, then kissed him back.
    After Ceely leaves, Esther dumps the cereal into the garbage and rinses out the bowl. Then, as she crosses to the refrigerator, she imagines hearing Marty’s critical voice. How many times had he warned her? “That’s the first place burglars look.”
    It’s as good as any, she thinks, as she opens the freezer door.
    Yet as she reaches into the back of the freezer she pauses, afraid that her husband was right. But then her hand finds it. It’s there. She pulls out the ice cream carton and sighs, satisfied that no burglar would ever think to look here.
    She shuffles to the table, holding the carton as if it were filled with quails’ eggs. She sets it down, pauses. Still spooked by her husband’s ghost, she glances quickly over her shoulder, then chides herself for being ridiculous. Gingerly, she lifts the lid. The ring is there. A star sapphire. A gift from Marty the year he lost his way. “Men stray,” her mother had said, as if she were reporting some immutable law—gravity, relativity, the orbit of the planets around the sun. Esther has never felt comfortable wearing the ring.
    The pearls are there, too. She fingers the strand, recalling how they’d looked around her mother’s neck, the way they rested just above the cleavage that she didn’t try to conceal.
    She fishes out the keys. They’re cold. She wraps her hand around them and squeezes hard, relishing the feeling as they dig into her flesh. She squeezes harder, until the cold metal cuts into her, awakening her senses, like pinching herself to be sure she isn’t dreaming.

O ne morning, while Esther is reading the obituaries, Ceely phones to say she’s running out to the supermarket. “I don’t need a thing,” Esther says. “I’m going to the desert.”
    â€œThe desert!” Ceely has a way of repeating Esther’s statements as if she were pacifying a child with an overactive imagination. “The desert.” She