Atonement

On Yom Kippur, while her mother fasted and waited for sundown, her father poked at the smoked fish and ate both sesame bagels. When Veronica’s grandmother was alive, sundown was when temple let out. Now it was whenever The New York Times said. This year it reported that sundown was at 6:27 p.m.

By three o’clock, Mrs. Morgan was hungry and antsy. She asked what time it was every five minutes. “It’s three oh five, Marion,” Mr. Morgan said between bites of whitefish salad. Veronica wasn’t allowed to fast until she was an adult. Not that she was sure she would fast when she was. She had a mother who did one thing and a father who did something else. It was really hard to say how she was going to turn out, but in the meantime she had the opportunity and the encouragement to think about it. Know thyself—that was basically her parents’ mantra. Marion and Marvin Morgan both agreed on that.

Veronica lit a candle in her room and focused on her breathing like they did at Morning Meeting. Oxygen was a relaxant, Mrs. Harrison always said, but getting her breath deep and calm wasn’t easy. She closed her eyes and tried to open her heart and mind.

Her mother knocked.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Were you praying?”

Veronica looked at her mother like she was crazy.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come read with me while I try not to think about food.”

Veronica and Cadbury spent the rest of the afternoon curled up at her mother’s feet on the couch, perfectly content. She pondered her mother’s question. Maybe she was praying, although until her mother asked, she wouldn’t have thought of it that way.