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Authors: Jillian Cantor
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wouldn’t see our mess. Up on the eleventh floor we didn’t get wayward visitors, unexpected guests, or salesmen. So I felt certain this woman had knocked on the wrong door by mistake until she glanced at me, frowned again, and said, “Mrs. Stein?”
“Yes,” I managed, startled that she had, in fact, come to the right place. I noticed she was holding a thick notebook and a pen. “Can I help you?” I asked again, my tone sharper than before.
“I’m Zelda Weiss from the Jewish Children’s Home.” She paused. “Your husband called us.”
“Yes?” I managed to say again.
“He felt your son might benefit from being placed in our care.”
I know what you’ve been doing,
Ed had said, his fingers marking my arm with their forcefulness, and now he was exacting his revenge? Zelda Weiss was standing at my doorway at such an early hour because she wanted to take David. Ed wanted David sent away.
I stepped back and slammed the door, latching the chain. I pressed my back against the door, and I could hear my ragged breaths rattling in my chest. I wouldn’t let her in. I wouldn’t let her near David.
“Mrs. Stein.” She rapped on the door again. “I would just like to talk with you about your husband’s . . . concerns about . . . We can help you, you know.”
I pressed my back harder against the door, and I watched my coffee cup tremble in my unsteady hands. From the back room I heard the sounds of David awakening now. Surely he would not have slept through my slamming of the door. I could hear him kicking the wall, the steady, uneasy thumps reverberating in my brain.It was his way. His way of saying that he was awake and he needed me. I understood it. I understood him. And no matter what Ed or anyone else thought, he would not be better off with someone else.
“Mrs. Stein!” Zelda Weiss called again through the door, her voice sounding tighter, stretched by impatience. “I am going to slide my card under the door . . . I’ll be back later in the week. Perhaps it will be a better time for you. And we can talk then.”
I watched the card come across the floor and then I picked it up. It would never be a better time and I would never talk to her. I ripped the card up and threw the ugly pieces in the trash, and then I walked into the bedroom and grabbed ahold of David.
“Good morning, love,” I said into his unruly curls, my curls.
My
son. “Mommy is here.” I held on tight, even when he struggled to break free of my grasp.
THOUGH IT WASN ’ T Friday and I didn’t need any meat, I got David dressed and walked with him toward Market Street and Mr. Bergman’s shop. If anyone would understand, or would have the desire to help, it would be him. I had considered calling my mother or Susan, but I worried they might agree with Ed, that they might tell me now, with David already three, I was holding on to nothing. I pictured the cool look in my sister’s hazel eyes as she might tell me that sometimes you had to be willing to let go. But I wasn’t. I wouldn’t. I never would.
I held on to David’s hand extra-tight as we walked. And I talked and talked, enough for the both of us. I smiled and hugged him along the way as I thought about how Dr. Greenberg said I was too cold. That
I
was the reason David refused to be normal.
I remembered Ed had been to see Dr. Greenberg for his yearly physical last week, and now I wondered what Dr. Greenberg had said to him. Had he told Ed what he had told me, that he believed David might do better in
another environment
, or had he simply told Ed about the diaphragm? Probably both. And I felt even more certain Ed had called Zelda Weiss to get even.
As we walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that David and I were being followed, that someone—Zelda Weiss?—was watching us, judging me. I glanced uneasily behind my shoulder, and for a moment I thought I recognized a man on the street, that doctor from last night, Jake. But then I turned around again and he
“Yes,” I managed, startled that she had, in fact, come to the right place. I noticed she was holding a thick notebook and a pen. “Can I help you?” I asked again, my tone sharper than before.
“I’m Zelda Weiss from the Jewish Children’s Home.” She paused. “Your husband called us.”
“Yes?” I managed to say again.
“He felt your son might benefit from being placed in our care.”
I know what you’ve been doing,
Ed had said, his fingers marking my arm with their forcefulness, and now he was exacting his revenge? Zelda Weiss was standing at my doorway at such an early hour because she wanted to take David. Ed wanted David sent away.
I stepped back and slammed the door, latching the chain. I pressed my back against the door, and I could hear my ragged breaths rattling in my chest. I wouldn’t let her in. I wouldn’t let her near David.
“Mrs. Stein.” She rapped on the door again. “I would just like to talk with you about your husband’s . . . concerns about . . . We can help you, you know.”
I pressed my back harder against the door, and I watched my coffee cup tremble in my unsteady hands. From the back room I heard the sounds of David awakening now. Surely he would not have slept through my slamming of the door. I could hear him kicking the wall, the steady, uneasy thumps reverberating in my brain.It was his way. His way of saying that he was awake and he needed me. I understood it. I understood him. And no matter what Ed or anyone else thought, he would not be better off with someone else.
“Mrs. Stein!” Zelda Weiss called again through the door, her voice sounding tighter, stretched by impatience. “I am going to slide my card under the door . . . I’ll be back later in the week. Perhaps it will be a better time for you. And we can talk then.”
I watched the card come across the floor and then I picked it up. It would never be a better time and I would never talk to her. I ripped the card up and threw the ugly pieces in the trash, and then I walked into the bedroom and grabbed ahold of David.
“Good morning, love,” I said into his unruly curls, my curls.
My
son. “Mommy is here.” I held on tight, even when he struggled to break free of my grasp.
THOUGH IT WASN ’ T Friday and I didn’t need any meat, I got David dressed and walked with him toward Market Street and Mr. Bergman’s shop. If anyone would understand, or would have the desire to help, it would be him. I had considered calling my mother or Susan, but I worried they might agree with Ed, that they might tell me now, with David already three, I was holding on to nothing. I pictured the cool look in my sister’s hazel eyes as she might tell me that sometimes you had to be willing to let go. But I wasn’t. I wouldn’t. I never would.
I held on to David’s hand extra-tight as we walked. And I talked and talked, enough for the both of us. I smiled and hugged him along the way as I thought about how Dr. Greenberg said I was too cold. That
I
was the reason David refused to be normal.
I remembered Ed had been to see Dr. Greenberg for his yearly physical last week, and now I wondered what Dr. Greenberg had said to him. Had he told Ed what he had told me, that he believed David might do better in
another environment
, or had he simply told Ed about the diaphragm? Probably both. And I felt even more certain Ed had called Zelda Weiss to get even.
As we walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that David and I were being followed, that someone—Zelda Weiss?—was watching us, judging me. I glanced uneasily behind my shoulder, and for a moment I thought I recognized a man on the street, that doctor from last night, Jake. But then I turned around again and he
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