tonight. She’s twelve, so she’s almost always at a sleepover.”
“My sons are long gone,” said Kathleen. “It’s just me and my husband, who’s here somewhere.”
“Frank’s here, too.” Joyce looked around the room. “Actually, I’m kind of mystified
that we’re here at all. Normally at this hour, I’d be in bed with a book.”
“Oh? And what are you reading?”
“I’m about to start the new Amy Tan. And you?” Joyce asked, approving of Kathleen’s
elegant posture, her thick, white hair and the darkest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
“I’m just finishing the latest of the Harry Potter books — belatedly for me. It’s
work as well as pleasure; I’m a children’s librarian.”
“Ah, a librarian.” Joyce put her hand over her heart and bowed her head. “May I kiss
the hem of your garment?” She grinned. “I can’t tell you the number of times librarians
have saved my deadline.”
“You’re a writer?”
“For women’s magazines, mostly.”
The trays were being cleared as the two of them started for the door, where Buddy
waited with a dark-haired man, who held out a jacket to Kathleen’s new acquaintance.
The women turned to each other and laughed. “This is my husband, Buddy Levine. I’m
Kathleen.”
“Joyce Tabachnik. This is Frank.”
“You mean you don’t even know each other’s names?” Buddy asked. “You’ve been over
there gabbing like you were long-lost cousins.”
The four of them walked out of the synagogue and paused on the steep stairs to the
street. The building had served the town’s Jews for a century, but it would always
look like the foursquare New England church it was built to be. Below them, the lights
of the docks and the big fishing boats were mirrored in black water.
Joyce took a deep breath and said, “God, it smells good up here.” Kathleen shivered
and Buddy rushed over to help her into her sweater. They said their good-byes.
“Nice people,” Buddy said as he and Kathleen got into their car.
“Nice people,” said Frank as he and Joyce pulled out of the parking lot.
A FEW DAYS LATER , Kathleen thought she saw Joyce ahead of her in the produce aisle at the Star Market,
but she then caught sight of the Naked Coed Golf T-shirt. The woman she had talked
to at temple wouldn’t wear such a thing in her own bathroom, much less in public.
Kathleen wondered if Joyce would trade an insider’s tour of Gloucester in exchange
for a trip to the mall. The corduroy jumper she had worn to services that night must
be fifteen years old.
Joyce had walked past the same bananas earlier the same day, keeping an eye out for
Kathleen. “That’s what I want to look like when I grow up,” she had told Frank on
their way home from services. Joyce thought about calling Kathleen but worried that
she might not want to have coffee with the author of a romance novel — though of course
she hadn’t mentioned Magnolia’s Heart when they’d talked.
The following week, Joyce heard her name as she walked into Tomaso’s. “I was hoping
to run into you. I see you already know about one of Gloucester’s crown jewels,” Kathleen
said, opening her arms in adoration of the crowded Main Street storefront. Mismatched
metal shelves held tomatoes, pasta, oil, and tuna with unfamiliar Italian labels crowding
out the American brands. Dean Martin crooned from unseen speakers.
While the women behind the counter took orders, Kathleen explained the merits of the
special sandwiches, named for neighborhoods and saints. “The calzone always sells
out early in the summer.”
Joyce nodded and inhaled the store’s heady mixture of yeast, sawdust, and salami.
A grim-faced woman wearing orange lipstick and a green T-shirt asked for their order.
“Hi, Ginny,” Kathleen said. “How are the grandkids?”
Ginny’s frown dissolved as she pointed to a photograph taped to the counter. “The
best.”
Kathleen
“My sons are long gone,” said Kathleen. “It’s just me and my husband, who’s here somewhere.”
“Frank’s here, too.” Joyce looked around the room. “Actually, I’m kind of mystified
that we’re here at all. Normally at this hour, I’d be in bed with a book.”
“Oh? And what are you reading?”
“I’m about to start the new Amy Tan. And you?” Joyce asked, approving of Kathleen’s
elegant posture, her thick, white hair and the darkest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
“I’m just finishing the latest of the Harry Potter books — belatedly for me. It’s
work as well as pleasure; I’m a children’s librarian.”
“Ah, a librarian.” Joyce put her hand over her heart and bowed her head. “May I kiss
the hem of your garment?” She grinned. “I can’t tell you the number of times librarians
have saved my deadline.”
“You’re a writer?”
“For women’s magazines, mostly.”
The trays were being cleared as the two of them started for the door, where Buddy
waited with a dark-haired man, who held out a jacket to Kathleen’s new acquaintance.
The women turned to each other and laughed. “This is my husband, Buddy Levine. I’m
Kathleen.”
“Joyce Tabachnik. This is Frank.”
“You mean you don’t even know each other’s names?” Buddy asked. “You’ve been over
there gabbing like you were long-lost cousins.”
The four of them walked out of the synagogue and paused on the steep stairs to the
street. The building had served the town’s Jews for a century, but it would always
look like the foursquare New England church it was built to be. Below them, the lights
of the docks and the big fishing boats were mirrored in black water.
Joyce took a deep breath and said, “God, it smells good up here.” Kathleen shivered
and Buddy rushed over to help her into her sweater. They said their good-byes.
“Nice people,” Buddy said as he and Kathleen got into their car.
“Nice people,” said Frank as he and Joyce pulled out of the parking lot.
A FEW DAYS LATER , Kathleen thought she saw Joyce ahead of her in the produce aisle at the Star Market,
but she then caught sight of the Naked Coed Golf T-shirt. The woman she had talked
to at temple wouldn’t wear such a thing in her own bathroom, much less in public.
Kathleen wondered if Joyce would trade an insider’s tour of Gloucester in exchange
for a trip to the mall. The corduroy jumper she had worn to services that night must
be fifteen years old.
Joyce had walked past the same bananas earlier the same day, keeping an eye out for
Kathleen. “That’s what I want to look like when I grow up,” she had told Frank on
their way home from services. Joyce thought about calling Kathleen but worried that
she might not want to have coffee with the author of a romance novel — though of course
she hadn’t mentioned Magnolia’s Heart when they’d talked.
The following week, Joyce heard her name as she walked into Tomaso’s. “I was hoping
to run into you. I see you already know about one of Gloucester’s crown jewels,” Kathleen
said, opening her arms in adoration of the crowded Main Street storefront. Mismatched
metal shelves held tomatoes, pasta, oil, and tuna with unfamiliar Italian labels crowding
out the American brands. Dean Martin crooned from unseen speakers.
While the women behind the counter took orders, Kathleen explained the merits of the
special sandwiches, named for neighborhoods and saints. “The calzone always sells
out early in the summer.”
Joyce nodded and inhaled the store’s heady mixture of yeast, sawdust, and salami.
A grim-faced woman wearing orange lipstick and a green T-shirt asked for their order.
“Hi, Ginny,” Kathleen said. “How are the grandkids?”
Ginny’s frown dissolved as she pointed to a photograph taped to the counter. “The
best.”
Kathleen
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