missing. Where were her parts? They had been disappeared by some
unknown force. She turned her head right and noticed the lake, a handful of pristine
sailboats gliding in the wind. Usually she never looked past the traffic speeding
by on Lake Shore Drive. Carly had gone sailing with her rich, cerebral fiancé two
weeks ago and had invited her along, and Edie had declined the offer before Carly
had even finished her sentence. She was going to be an orphan soon: her father was
dying, she was sure of it. His first test had been inconclusive, but deep in her heart
she knew that all those Pall Malls had taken their toll, and it was not nickels or
dimes her father would pay. Do orphans even go sailing?
Other law students exited the building, books in hand. They were all going to do better
than her in class, in life. She had so much work to do, and she couldn’t catch up;
she was, for the first time ever, only a merely adequate student. She didn’t even
know what kind of lawyer she wanted to become. She should know by now what she was
going to be someday. Why was she going to eat pizza with a stranger?
She wore her hair down, a good idea, the dark curls a tantalizing contrast with her
green dress, and she had dug out a small bottle of lip gloss from the bottom of her
underwear drawer, where it had fallen six months before and where she had not so accidentally
forgotten about it, as if even the slightest lick of makeup would slow her down.
And then there he was, in a suit (it was his only suit, but she didn’t know that yet),
and he was smiling (his happiest days were behind him the minute he met her, but he
didn’t know that yet), and tall, much taller than Edie, so that she felt even smaller,
and he walked confidently, like he liked what he had swinging between his legs. And
the curly hair she had been told about was indeed thick and dark, just like her own
hair, and so he instantly felt familiar to her. A different kind of woman might not
have wanted the familiar. Five years down the line, who knows? Maybe Edie would have
become that kind of woman, who wanted nothing to do with someone who came from the
same place. He might have been from New York City, but he was just the same as she
was. As her father hovered on the edge of something terrible, as he dwindled down
into a pale, bony version of his former self, as he threatened to disappear entirely,
here was a man who was tall and healthy and full of something Edie found herself wanting
to devour.
“Let’s go,” she said.
But how far did they make it? One block, two blocks, and then they were approaching
the hospital. And then how many steps past the hospital until she felt her gut pull
her back toward her father? Even though he had encouraged her to go meet this young,
single, Jewish man. “The test results will be the same no matter what time of day,”
he told her. But she stiffened like stone on the corner of St. Clair Street, the wind
pushing back at her dress and her hair, frozen and alive at the same time.
Here was what she wanted to say to this Richard, making his jokes, touching her elbow: Did you know that my father translated three books of Russian poetry into English?
For fun, he did it. It wasn’t even his job. He just loved poetry. I have the books.
I can show them to you. The titles are embossed in gold.
Here is what she would have said to this Richard, looking at her lips: All he ever did was love my mother and help people.
Here is what she would have said if she felt like herself, whatever that meant anymore: A life well spent, do you know anything about that?
Instead she said, “My father is sick.” Still looking at him, she pointed her hand
faintly in the direction of the hospital.
And he said, “I heard.”
“I can’t eat,” she said.
“You gotta eat,” he said kindly, and now both of his hands were on her arms. “I’m
going to take care of this,” he
unknown force. She turned her head right and noticed the lake, a handful of pristine
sailboats gliding in the wind. Usually she never looked past the traffic speeding
by on Lake Shore Drive. Carly had gone sailing with her rich, cerebral fiancé two
weeks ago and had invited her along, and Edie had declined the offer before Carly
had even finished her sentence. She was going to be an orphan soon: her father was
dying, she was sure of it. His first test had been inconclusive, but deep in her heart
she knew that all those Pall Malls had taken their toll, and it was not nickels or
dimes her father would pay. Do orphans even go sailing?
Other law students exited the building, books in hand. They were all going to do better
than her in class, in life. She had so much work to do, and she couldn’t catch up;
she was, for the first time ever, only a merely adequate student. She didn’t even
know what kind of lawyer she wanted to become. She should know by now what she was
going to be someday. Why was she going to eat pizza with a stranger?
She wore her hair down, a good idea, the dark curls a tantalizing contrast with her
green dress, and she had dug out a small bottle of lip gloss from the bottom of her
underwear drawer, where it had fallen six months before and where she had not so accidentally
forgotten about it, as if even the slightest lick of makeup would slow her down.
And then there he was, in a suit (it was his only suit, but she didn’t know that yet),
and he was smiling (his happiest days were behind him the minute he met her, but he
didn’t know that yet), and tall, much taller than Edie, so that she felt even smaller,
and he walked confidently, like he liked what he had swinging between his legs. And
the curly hair she had been told about was indeed thick and dark, just like her own
hair, and so he instantly felt familiar to her. A different kind of woman might not
have wanted the familiar. Five years down the line, who knows? Maybe Edie would have
become that kind of woman, who wanted nothing to do with someone who came from the
same place. He might have been from New York City, but he was just the same as she
was. As her father hovered on the edge of something terrible, as he dwindled down
into a pale, bony version of his former self, as he threatened to disappear entirely,
here was a man who was tall and healthy and full of something Edie found herself wanting
to devour.
“Let’s go,” she said.
But how far did they make it? One block, two blocks, and then they were approaching
the hospital. And then how many steps past the hospital until she felt her gut pull
her back toward her father? Even though he had encouraged her to go meet this young,
single, Jewish man. “The test results will be the same no matter what time of day,”
he told her. But she stiffened like stone on the corner of St. Clair Street, the wind
pushing back at her dress and her hair, frozen and alive at the same time.
Here was what she wanted to say to this Richard, making his jokes, touching her elbow: Did you know that my father translated three books of Russian poetry into English?
For fun, he did it. It wasn’t even his job. He just loved poetry. I have the books.
I can show them to you. The titles are embossed in gold.
Here is what she would have said to this Richard, looking at her lips: All he ever did was love my mother and help people.
Here is what she would have said if she felt like herself, whatever that meant anymore: A life well spent, do you know anything about that?
Instead she said, “My father is sick.” Still looking at him, she pointed her hand
faintly in the direction of the hospital.
And he said, “I heard.”
“I can’t eat,” she said.
“You gotta eat,” he said kindly, and now both of his hands were on her arms. “I’m
going to take care of this,” he
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