17
I told Ruth she could go for a walk while the new stove was delivered.
“What about your job?”
“I took the day off. The hospital can function without me once in a while.”
She patted my hand. “You shouldn’t take so much time off—they could let you go. I can take care of getting the stove installed.”
I looked at her hand on mine and then moved my own on top of hers, patting gently.
“Honestly, I only started working because I was so bored with the children in school. I’ll probably stop when summer rolls around anyway.
” Which wasn’t even a little bit true. I would cut my hours for the summer months, certainly, but I enjoyed the satisfaction of the job so much more than Ruth could ever understand.
Yes, of course, I made a difference as a mother.
The most important difference. But I couldn’t see that every day.
At the hospital, I could. And that sense of purpose had been a lifeline when grief felt overwhelming.
She removed her hand from under mine and resumed her patting in a power struggle that was becoming amusing. “You won’t need to, with me around. I can watch the children while you work this summer.”
“Oh no,” I said, reversing the pat again. “I wouldn’t dream of missing a summer with them. I only get eighteen of them after all—as you well remember, I’m sure.”
She pulled her hand back, and I felt a stab of guilt. That had been a low blow. “I’m sorry,” I said.
Ruth nodded crisply and said she would take Pepper to the park.
Pepper was sleeping on a towel in the corner, still worn out from her walk to school on little puppy legs.
“She seems so comfortable,” I said. “Maybe you want to relax? Or give your sister a call? I don’t mind the long-distance charge.”
“No,” she said. “The children’s drawers are too full. I’ll go clear out the clothes that are too small for them.”
Too much too soon, I chided myself as I watched her scoop up the sleeping puppy and carry her up the stairs. Then I went into the kitchen, where Eddie was squatting by the wall, his bad left eye closed, as he studied his handiwork.
“It looks great,” I said. “Once it’s painted, you’ll never know there was a hole.”
His eye sprang open as he turned to look at me. “Not bad,” he said, standing up and dusting off his pants. “It’ll take overnight to dry, but the painter can come back tomorrow. Or I can paint it this weekend if his price isn’t right.”
“You’ve done more than enough, Eddie. Thank you.” I leaned up and gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek.
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It’s no trouble,” he said.
“Whatever will I do when you get married, and your wife wants you doing work around your own house?”
Eddie shrugged, looking down at his feet. “I think you’re safe on that front for a while.”
“I wish I still had any single girlfriends. I’d set you up.” I did know a couple of divorcées, but that wouldn’t do. While they’d be happy to snap him up in a second, he deserved someone unjaded.
“It’s a bachelor’s life for me, I’m afraid. I don’t mind though. I’ve got Janet’s kids and Bobby and Susie. And being a fun uncle is a lot less work.”
I smiled at him affectionately. “That’s certainly true. Can I make you a cup of coffee?” I glanced at my watch. “Or some lunch? It’ll have to be sandwiches until that new stove arrives.” There was a knock at the door. “Speak of the devil.”
“Why don’t I stay while it gets installed?” Eddie asked.
As delightful as that sounded, especially with a load of ironing calling my name, I didn’t want Ruth to think I couldn’t handle an appliance being delivered. “No, I’ve kept you long enough. Unless you want that sandwich.”
The rap at the door came again, and I passed him to open it.
“Mrs. Feldman?” the deliveryman asked. I replied in the affirmative, and he called to another man back at the truck, who began wheeling the new stove on a dolly.
“I don’t love leaving you here alone with two strange men,” Eddie said.
“I’m not alone. I’ve got Ruth upstairs. A few minutes with her and they’ll be running for the door. In fact, I may have to call you for help later if they don’t finish the installation in their rush to get away from her.”
Eddie looked at me curiously. “She’s not so bad, you know.”
“I know,” I said, after directing the deliverymen to the kitchen.
“She’s not. But I don’t want her living here.
I sent my own mother home—I don’t want someone else’s, even Harry’s, encroaching on my space.
I want to be able to put on a face mask and watch whatever I want on television after the kids go to sleep.
And I want to cook whatever I want to cook without someone telling me I did it wrong.
And make my own decisions and redecorate when and how I want. ”
“All reasonable,” Eddie agreed. “But does that mean you’ll never get married again?”
I tilted my head. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.
Somehow, I still thought of myself as married.
And the idea of developing feelings strong enough to even want to go on a date again seemed too foreign to comprehend.
“I have no idea. But I certainly won’t with Ruth living .
.. here ...” I trailed off as a lightning bolt of a realization struck me.
That was the real reason she was here, wasn’t it?
To keep me from getting married again? But what about that fireman last night?
“My two options if I want her to leave willingly,” I said, thinking out loud, “are to either get married or else convince her that I’m not planning to marry anyone else.”
I looked at Eddie, and he held his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m not part of this.”
“I’m not marrying you ,” I said, nudging him playfully with my shoulder. “You’re practically my brother. Although ... a fake engagement might do the trick. She did say you were ‘a good one.’ Granted that was because the dog liked you, but still.”
“You know what?” Eddie looked away and shook his head. “On second thought, you seem to have things under control here. I better go check on the store.”
Eddie turned to go, and I wondered if I had offended him. I put a hand on his arm, and he looked down at it. “I’m just teasing,” I said. His left eye twitched. I had clearly said something wrong. “Seriously, Eddie, thank you.”
“Any time,” he said with a nod. Then he poked his head back into the kitchen. “Any problems?” he asked the deliverymen.
“We just finished up,” the first man said.
Eddie reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, but I put a hand on his arm.
“Don’t be silly,” I said, going to the hall for my purse, where I pulled out two dollar bills.
I handed one to each man and thanked them.
Then I looked back at Eddie. “Unless you’re actually going to pretend to marry me.
Then you can take care of tipping them.”
Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“You couldn’t if you tried.” I smiled at him, and he left with the deliverymen, while I went and peeked in the new oven.
I decided to test it out by making a challah for when the kids came home from school.
It wasn’t a Friday, but Harry used to rub his hands together in excitement when he came home and saw a fresh-baked challah.
Cooking felt like work—it hadn’t when Harry and I first got married.
Back then, I delighted in making meals for my husband.
I practically floated through the kitchen, adding spices and seasonings that could have been as simple as salt and pepper and still impressed him after growing up with Ruth’s cooking.
But once we had kids, cooking became a chore—a never-ending one like laundry.
Every bite of food that met a turned-up nose or got flung to the floor made the whole process less and less gratifying.
But baking—when the kids weren’t home to “help,” at least—was enjoyable.
The act of measuring the ingredients, then kneading the dough to activate the yeast, was soothing in a way that cooking no longer was.
I loved the rhythmic motion of flouring the tabletop, kneading the dough, flipping it, and kneading again.
I set it aside to rise, cleaning up as it did. I didn’t even pretend it was Ruth’s face when it was time to punch the dough down before the second rise. Instead I switched on the radio and sat at the kitchen table with the newspaper, enjoying the luxury of reading more than just headlines.
When the timer went off, I expertly braided the dough, brushed it with egg yolk, and placed it in the new oven. The smell of fresh bread filled the house but also filled something in my soul that I hadn’t realized I needed.
By the time I pulled the challah out to cool, perfectly golden without needing to adjust the temperature multiple times, I was glad I had the new oven.
I could have lived without the hole in the wall or a fireman coming for dinner, but maybe it was a blessing in disguise.
If I was overly sentimental about everything Harry had ever touched, I was on the path toward becoming Miss Havisham.
And while my wedding dress was lovely, I wasn’t sure I still fit into it after two kids.
Eddie’s question replayed in my head, and I realized that it was true. I didn’t have any desire to remarry. Or date. Harry had my whole heart. But I didn’t know if that was a permanent condition or if what Ruth said about puppies making hearts grow so loss seemed less would apply to me as well.
I was only thirty-two. I still had a lot of life left to live.
Had there been a catch in his voice when he asked that though? I thought back to the way he’d said it, and yes, there was something—
The doorbell rang, breaking my reverie, and I went to greet the painter.