Read Online Never Too Late for Love by Warren Adler - Free Book Online
Authors: Warren Adler
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name is Yetta?"
The woman smiled.
"How did you know that?"
"You got a Cousin Irma?"
"My God! Yes. Cousin Irma from Philadelphia."
"And a sister Molly."
"I can't believe it."
"And an Irving in Barcelona."
"My brother. He's traveling in Spain. Maybe we're related?"
"Maybe." Sarah shrugged. "Actually, I'm
getting your mail, your telephone calls. I expect in a little while that you'll
get mine."
"The Shankowitz girls. I could see where that could be
a problem."
Yetta seemed thoughtful. She pointed a finger at Sarah.
"You know, I'll bet maybe we are related. Maybe our husbands were cousins.
What was your husband's name?"
Sarah continued to squirm now. She rubbed her finger joints
as the pain shot through her hands.
"You'd be surprised how we're related," Sarah
said. It was not easy, she thought. Thankfully, she could see the beginnings of
confusion on Yetta's face, the first flush of realization.
"You're her?" Yetta whispered. Sarah nodded.
"I'm her."
"Oh my God." Yetta's hands went, birdlike, to her
hair, fussing with it. "I can't believe it. I had no idea." Sarah
felt the edge of indignation and stood up.
"If you think this was easy..." Sarah began, but
her voice trailed off. Yetta was visibly agitated. Her face had become grayer,
suddenly more drawn.
"You said he was dead a long time."
"I lied. But not completely. To me, he was dead."
"I can't believe it. We both land here in this
place."
Sarah shrugged.
"What was I supposed to do? Tear up the check?"
Yetta was having a difficult time recovering. She nodded
and continued to fuss with her hair. It was obvious that she wanted Sarah to
leave.
"It's all right," Sarah said quietly, letting
herself out of the door and walking quickly toward the bus stop. She regretted
the confrontation. I could have given the check back to the mailman. I could
have merely called her on the telephone. You're a dumb yenta, she told herself.
Besides, what was so special about her, she thought. A raving beauty, she
wasn't. And those glasses, a regular cockeyed Jennie. And a skinny merink on
top of it. By the time she reached her own place, Sarah had convinced herself
that she had been the better of the two bargains. But who needed her in Sunset Village?
Late that afternoon, the telephone rang.
"This is Sarah?" the voice asked. It was Yetta.
"Yes."
"I want to apologize. It was rude. You did a wonderful
thing. But it was such a shock. I was stupid."
"I figured you needed the check," Sarah said,
feeling an odd sense of superiority. Yetta paused.
"Look, he was a nice man. But he wasn't such a good
provider. There was no insurance. No nothing. Perfect he wasn't."
"You're telling me." There were questions to be
raised, Sarah thought. Old curiosities resurrected. Apparently such thoughts
were in Yetta's mind.
"We'll see each other again?"
"It's a small world here," Sarah said.
"And how is your son?"
"He's fine. He called me New Year's."
"He's a nice boy. I haven't seen him since Nat
died."
"A very nice boy. He calls me often." She paused.
"He's very busy."
"Give him regards."
"Of course."
That night, the old life with Nat came to her again with
full recall. But her image of him was suddenly different. She could not summon
the same degree of enmity; the old hate had cooled. What was the real story? In
the morning, she called Yetta.
"I'm going shopping this morning. Would you like to
come?"
"I could use some things," Yetta said. They met
on the bus and got off at the stop near the Safeway, walking together through
the aisles sharing a shopping cart.
"Nat liked All-Bran," Yetta said, reaching for a
box of Rice Crispies.
"I remember. He was always constipated."
"That was always his main problem."
"That and snoring."
"He always snored?"
"From the beginning."
Later, putting the purchases in Yetta's refrigerator while
Yetta made coffee, Sarah said, "You had the problem with the salt?"
"My God, the salt."
"There was always too much salt. I used to say, 'I
never cook
The woman smiled.
"How did you know that?"
"You got a Cousin Irma?"
"My God! Yes. Cousin Irma from Philadelphia."
"And a sister Molly."
"I can't believe it."
"And an Irving in Barcelona."
"My brother. He's traveling in Spain. Maybe we're related?"
"Maybe." Sarah shrugged. "Actually, I'm
getting your mail, your telephone calls. I expect in a little while that you'll
get mine."
"The Shankowitz girls. I could see where that could be
a problem."
Yetta seemed thoughtful. She pointed a finger at Sarah.
"You know, I'll bet maybe we are related. Maybe our husbands were cousins.
What was your husband's name?"
Sarah continued to squirm now. She rubbed her finger joints
as the pain shot through her hands.
"You'd be surprised how we're related," Sarah
said. It was not easy, she thought. Thankfully, she could see the beginnings of
confusion on Yetta's face, the first flush of realization.
"You're her?" Yetta whispered. Sarah nodded.
"I'm her."
"Oh my God." Yetta's hands went, birdlike, to her
hair, fussing with it. "I can't believe it. I had no idea." Sarah
felt the edge of indignation and stood up.
"If you think this was easy..." Sarah began, but
her voice trailed off. Yetta was visibly agitated. Her face had become grayer,
suddenly more drawn.
"You said he was dead a long time."
"I lied. But not completely. To me, he was dead."
"I can't believe it. We both land here in this
place."
Sarah shrugged.
"What was I supposed to do? Tear up the check?"
Yetta was having a difficult time recovering. She nodded
and continued to fuss with her hair. It was obvious that she wanted Sarah to
leave.
"It's all right," Sarah said quietly, letting
herself out of the door and walking quickly toward the bus stop. She regretted
the confrontation. I could have given the check back to the mailman. I could
have merely called her on the telephone. You're a dumb yenta, she told herself.
Besides, what was so special about her, she thought. A raving beauty, she
wasn't. And those glasses, a regular cockeyed Jennie. And a skinny merink on
top of it. By the time she reached her own place, Sarah had convinced herself
that she had been the better of the two bargains. But who needed her in Sunset Village?
Late that afternoon, the telephone rang.
"This is Sarah?" the voice asked. It was Yetta.
"Yes."
"I want to apologize. It was rude. You did a wonderful
thing. But it was such a shock. I was stupid."
"I figured you needed the check," Sarah said,
feeling an odd sense of superiority. Yetta paused.
"Look, he was a nice man. But he wasn't such a good
provider. There was no insurance. No nothing. Perfect he wasn't."
"You're telling me." There were questions to be
raised, Sarah thought. Old curiosities resurrected. Apparently such thoughts
were in Yetta's mind.
"We'll see each other again?"
"It's a small world here," Sarah said.
"And how is your son?"
"He's fine. He called me New Year's."
"He's a nice boy. I haven't seen him since Nat
died."
"A very nice boy. He calls me often." She paused.
"He's very busy."
"Give him regards."
"Of course."
That night, the old life with Nat came to her again with
full recall. But her image of him was suddenly different. She could not summon
the same degree of enmity; the old hate had cooled. What was the real story? In
the morning, she called Yetta.
"I'm going shopping this morning. Would you like to
come?"
"I could use some things," Yetta said. They met
on the bus and got off at the stop near the Safeway, walking together through
the aisles sharing a shopping cart.
"Nat liked All-Bran," Yetta said, reaching for a
box of Rice Crispies.
"I remember. He was always constipated."
"That was always his main problem."
"That and snoring."
"He always snored?"
"From the beginning."
Later, putting the purchases in Yetta's refrigerator while
Yetta made coffee, Sarah said, "You had the problem with the salt?"
"My God, the salt."
"There was always too much salt. I used to say, 'I
never cook
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