THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN. THERE SHE WAS, STRUGGLING to extract the key, a shopping bag weighing down her arm. I thought I was dreaming. I sat up. She saw me, dropped the bag, kicked the door shut, ran to me.
“Where have you been all night? I was worried sick. I almost called the police.”
Her fingers circled my arms. I felt the crescents of her nails bite into my skin. She wasn’t a dream—she was real, and she was back.
Something loosed inside me that had been holding tight all day, all night, all week, all summer. I sighed so deeply I got dizzy. I dropped my head against her shoulder. “Are you really home, Naomi?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? Where have you been, that’s what I want to know.” She held me at arm’s length, looked me up and down. “You look like you haven’t slept in days. And is that Amelia’s hair you’ve got on? When did you start wearing that old wig again?”
I pulled it off and dropped it on the floor. My scalp felt liberated. She bent to pick it up. “Leave it,” I said. “I’m done with it now.”
“Just let me put it away.”
I swatted at her hand. “I said leave it!”
“Rachel, what’s the matter with you?”
It wasn’t how I’d envisioned welcoming her home. She couldn’t tell from the way I was acting, but seeing her put me over the moon. Her skin was dry from the Florida sun, little wrinkles reached out from the corners of her eyes, and her dark hair was streaked with gray, but I could still see in her face the girl she used to be. She was even more beautiful than she was at eighteen, all those years ago. I wanted to tell her all this, but just the thought of it threatened tears.
“Nothing. Everything.” I cleared my throat. “When did you get back?”
“Yesterday. Uncle Jacob was feeling so much better, I changed my ticket and came back early.”
“Yesterday?” I couldn’t believe it. At any time during my long and terrible night, I could have walked away from Mildred Solomon, hailed a taxi, and been in bed beside her. I could hardly wrap my mind around it. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming home, Naomi?” My voice was heavy with regret. “I called and called but no one answered.”
“I wanted to surprise you is all. Is that such a crime? Anyway, the last couple of days were pretty hectic. Uncle Jacob’s neighbor had us over for a farewell dinner, and he wanted me to go with him to his lawyer’s office before I left. Listen to this—he gave us the apartment, Rachel.”
She expected excitement, but my mood was too dark. “Gave it to you, you mean.”
“Well, technically, sure, he signed it over to me. But isn’t that great? It’s not just a free sublet anymore. You know he made plenty when he sold his old workshop to the developer, that’s why he never charged us for taking over the apartment when he moved down to Miami. I guess being so sick got him thinking, though. He always meant to leave it to me, but he didn’t want me to have to pay an inheritance tax, so he decided to give me the apartment now.”
“So we don’t have to live here, then? We could sell it, move back to the Village?”
She smiled at me, like a teacher whose pupil has finally figured the solution to a problem. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Now you tell me, where have you been all night? I thought you were working, so I called the Old Hebrews Home, just to ask when you’d be getting off, but the receptionist said you weren’t on shift yesterday.”
I was trying to understand. “What time was that, when you called?”
“As soon as I got home, around one o’clock. And later, when you still weren’t home, I called back to ask for Flo, to see if she knew where you were, but she wasn’t scheduled last night.”
I tucked a gray-streaked strand behind her ear. “We switched shifts is all. Flo worked yesterday and I worked last night. It was kind of last-minute, I guess the receptionist didn’t know.”
She rolled her eyes. “How could I not have thought of that? I knew I was being silly, worried you were hurt or something. I thought you must have stayed in Manhattan. I was about to start calling around to our friends to see if they’d heard from you.”
“You should have asked the switchboard to put you through to Fifth if you wanted to talk to me. I’ve told you a hundred times not to worry about Gloria.”
“Oh well, you’re here now. Let’s start over, okay? Rachel, surprise, I’m back!”
I had to laugh. “Oh, Naomi, I’m so happy to see you!” We kissed then, and held each other. I felt myself fit into the contours of her body. The soft pressure where our breasts met reminded me what was in store and I pulled away.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? What’s the matter, Rachel?”
Where to start—back at the Infant Home, with everything I now knew had happened to me there? I was too tired to go back to that beginning. I could buy some time, simply say I was upset because a patient died on my shift, but she’d know I wasn’t telling the whole truth. I recoiled from confessing what I had done in the night. Rules of right and wrong didn’t seem to apply as I helped Mildred Solomon die, but in the light of day, what if mercy sounded like murder?
I drew a breath. I’d start at Dr. Feldman’s office. It was only yesterday morning. Mildred Solomon could come into the story later. I needed only to begin with the ache I felt, the lump I found. I parted my lips but couldn’t make myself say the word. Cancer—it sounded like a curse. The tumor would have to speak for itself, I decided. I pulled the straps of my slip off my shoulders, reached behind my back to unclasp my bra. I pulled her hand close to the diseased breast, preparing myself for her reaction.
Her hand shaped itself to the familiar roundness. “Oh, Rachel, I know, it’s been so long.” She leaned me back against the couch. Her lips found my temple, my cheek, my chin, then traveled down my neck and shoulder, settling on the lifted nipple with a moan.
I intended to push her away, to tell her no, that wasn’t what I meant. But in the moment it took my hands to find her shoulders, the sensation spreading from my nipple had shivered into knees and fingertips, sparked between my legs. A moment ago, I was so exhausted my body seemed made more of water than bone. Now it was reanimated by desire, with an agenda of its own.
I realized how much I wanted this, one last time without her knowing. Giving myself over to my body, I pulled her closer. Her left hand gathered in the small of my back, arching my chest. The right followed the line of my leg until her fingers found their favorite place. I closed my eyes and watched the colored lights swim across my vision.
Her kisses traveled from my knee to my navel and back down again, cheek and teeth nuzzling the curves of my thigh. Then she draped my leg over the back of the couch and dipped her head. Her tongue and fingers explored my inner landscape, navigating its furrows, cresting its ridges, circling its outcroppings. There is a place where the roof of a cave becomes the floor of a sea, yielding yet rough. She found it. I imagined myself a mounted butterfly, wings flapping open and closed, pushing against the pin that fixed me. My ears were filled with the roar of surf. I came in waves that shuddered my muscles.
She pulled herself on top of me, kissed me. I licked her lips, greedy for the ocean taste on her mouth. She rocked against me until she came, her cry muffled in my shoulder. Shifting her weight, she settled her head into the crook of my arm. Our feet twisted together. I felt myself lifted from my body on a rising tide of sleep. As oblivion welcomed me, I wondered if this was what dying would feel like.
I WOKE ALONE in darkness, a sheet tucked around me on the couch. I was amazed at the number of hours I’d slept—she must have tiptoed around the apartment all day. I didn’t blame her for finally going to bed. The couch was no place for a good night’s sleep, as the ache in my hip and the stiffness in my neck were telling me. Back when I was working shifts, Naomi would arrive home from teaching at exactly four o’clock every day, never sure if I’d be awake and eager to talk or sound asleep from working all night. I taught her to leave me as she found me, to follow her own routine whatever schedule I was on.
I was glad for the time to myself. Wrapped in the sheet, I got to my feet and padded to the bathroom. I paused by her bedroom door to reassure myself she really was there. I discerned her warm shape in the bed, heard the silly sound of her snore. I resisted the urge to curl myself around her like a puppy. Now that my rested mind was alert and calm, I needed to gather my thoughts before we spoke again. I closed the door so my wanderings wouldn’t wake her.
I showered in cool water, rinsing off the sweat and worry of the past two days. I avoided touching my breast, didn’t lift my arm too high—the gestures that had allowed me to hide the truth from myself for who knows how many months. I was so much happier then, not knowing. But my ignorance hadn’t slowed the renegade cells, mindlessly dividing and multiplying whether I was aware of them or not. If Mildred Solomon had stayed downstairs, how long would my ignorance have lasted—until the metastasized cells ulcerated my breast?
I still blamed Mildred Solomon’s selfish ambition for my cancer, still cursed the X-rays for causing this tumor, but I had to acknowledge it was her arrival on Fifth that had prodded me to discover what had been done to me. If I hadn’t found Dr. Feldman’s article, how large would my tumor have grown before I felt it? Past the point of surgery, I had to concede. It made my head ache to balance both thoughts at once: that I had Mildred Solomon to thank for revealing the cancer she herself had given me.
The bathroom mirror reflected my body back to me. I let my hands follow its curves and hollows, cupping and scooping out, the sheen of my smooth skin showing every dimple and imperfection, every swell and touch of pink. I imagined my scars after the surgery, bandoliers of stitches crossing my chest. I’d look like Frankenstein’s monster. Then Naomi’s voice popped into my head, as if she were standing behind me and speaking over my shoulder, saying no, not a monster—an Amazonian warrior. Ridiculous, yet the idea did make me straighten my spine. Why not let her name it? The reality would be the same either way. My body had already sacrificed so much in the name of science, and for no good reason. This time, there would be a reward for the flesh it gave up to the surgeon’s knife: Rachel Rabinowitz, alive awhile longer.
My stomach growled and I had to laugh at my digestion, ignorant of its fate, concerned only with the now. Tying a robe around myself, I went into the kitchen. I put up the percolator and looked to see if Naomi had gotten milk at the grocer’s. She had, and more: the open refrigerator revealed a treasure of pastrami and coleslaw; a paper bag on the counter yielded hard rolls seeded with poppy. I ate at the table, my eyes following the swirls in the Formica as I reveled in the taste and texture of food in my mouth.
I took the coffee onto the balcony. The sky was dark enough to show a few stars despite the competing glow of streetlamps. It put me in a philosophical mood, and I gazed for a long time, my mind entertaining half-understood concepts like relativity, distance, and time. That I could see a star meant that its light had journeyed from the far reaches of the universe to land, on this night, at this moment, in my eye. A haphazard coincidence—or had I always been its destination, my upturned face on this Coney Island balcony foretold millennia ago? No, that way of thinking wasn’t for me. Like Mr. Mendelsohn, I didn’t believe in destiny or fate. Other people found comfort in imagining God pulling the strings on their lives, but it would drive me crazy trying to figure out His inscrutable reasons for everything.
In the coming months, so much would be beyond my power, but there were things I could look forward to. Moving back to the Village for one. There wouldn’t be time, before my surgery, for Naomi to sell this place, but she and I could take a day to go apartment hunting around Washington Square, put a deposit down on a place with bright windows and water that wasn’t brown. We’d move as soon as I felt up to it. Our old friends would start dropping by again, the two of us free in their presence to be ourselves. We’d go out to our favorite restaurants, the occasional patron off the street clueless as to the true meaning of so many tables occupied by pairs of women. We’d stroll the narrow sidewalks, searching out those couples of men walking slightly too close together, the backs of their hands touching as if by accident. When Naomi’s uncle moved to Florida she had convinced me it was a good idea to move out here, and I had to admit the money we’d saved would come in handy now, but she knew what it meant to me—had come to realize what it meant to her, too—to know we weren’t alone in the world.
There was something else I’d been putting off for too long. After we moved, once I had my strength back, I would go visit my brother in Israel. I knew Naomi wouldn’t like me to be so far away, but she’d have to let me grab my chance to see Sam and Judith and Ayal before it was too late. I wanted to meet this woman who was my sister, to feel the weight of my nephew on my lap. I thought of the wall they had built around their kibbutz, topped with barbed wire and patrolled by soldiers, men and women both. I hoped peace would come soon. I hated to think of Ayal growing up behind walls the way we had. Sam ought to know better than anyone that no child should grow up that way.
I guessed I’d return to work after that, though I knew as soon as the thought crossed my mind that I could never go back to the Old Hebrews Home, not even for one last shift. Not that I feared discovery for what I’d done to Mildred Solomon—knowing their routines and regulations, I was certain I’d never be suspected. I could even imagine facing Gloria and Flo again. After all, wasn’t I practiced in telling them falsehoods? No, it was simpler than that. I was done with Homes. Instead I’d look for a position in an office, like Betty had with Dr. Feldman: more paperwork than caretaking, no heavy lifting of patients in and out of bed. I wished I could tell the truth about myself so I wouldn’t have to waste my energy on lies, but one false word could ruin me and Naomi both. It was such a little thing to say roommate or friend instead of lover or wife. I’d try not to let it tax me so.
The stars were starting to fade as darkness loosened its grip on the sky. An engine idled in the street below as a stack of morning papers was tossed onto the sidewalk in front of our building. The custodian would come out soon, bring in the stack, cut the twine, walk the halls, drop the news on our doorsteps. I looked out at the emerging shape of the Wonder Wheel and cast my mind into the future. Dr. Feldman said the operation could buy me five years, maybe more. I swore to myself I’d live them well.
I went inside and put up a fresh pot of coffee. It was about time I told Naomi everything, no waiting for morning. I carried two cups into the bedroom, set them on the nightstand, stroked her arm to wake her.
“What time is it?” she mumbled, sitting up.
“It’s early. I made coffee.”
“I can smell it.” She switched on the light and lifted the rim to her lips, blowing at it before sipping. We looked at each other—me clean and smooth, her frowzy from sleep. It still seemed a miracle to have her back again. When our cups were empty, I took a deep breath. There’d be no more avoiding the tears that were in store for us today.
“I have to talk to you about something, Naomi.”
My tone must have alerted her. “What is it, is something wrong?”
The word—cancer—caught in my throat, that hard C stuck like a swallowed bone. I struggled to push it out, stuttering like Mr. Bogan. I fished around for something to take the place of the word I meant to say, something that would meet the level of concern in her eyes.
“Colorado,” I said, avoiding it yet again. “Do you remember back when I ran away from the Home, to Colorado?”
“Sure.” She frowned, wondering, no doubt, where this conversation was going.
“There’s something I never told you about that.” It was so many years ago it couldn’t possibly matter anymore, and yet I felt that wave of shame. “When I took your money, I didn’t know anything about my account. I had no idea you’d get paid back. The truth is, I stole it. I stole from you.”
Naomi considered me for a long moment, as if trying to puzzle out the face in a Picasso portrait. “I never wanted to believe that, but maybe I always knew. I mean, that’s what I thought at first, and it made me feel so terrible, like you used me and then tossed me away when you were done with me. It made me feel as bad about myself as I did about you. But when Nurse Dreyer arranged for me to get paid back, it was the only thing that made sense, to think you meant it all along. I mean, it was the only thing that fit with how I felt about you, how I thought you felt about me.”
“It did fit, more than what I did. I look back on it now and it’s like I was a hypnotized version of myself. I was so desperate to find Sam, to find my family, it blocked out everything else. Even you.”
“So when you came back, you must have expected me to be mad at you.”
“I didn’t think you could ever forgive me. I thought I’d ruined any chance I had to be with you.”
“But you came back anyway.” She cupped the back of my naked scalp. “That was brave of you.”
How much confession did one conversation require? Instead of explaining the haphazard coincidence of how I came to be on the carousel at that moment on that day, I simply nodded.
“I would have forgiven you, you know that, if you had just asked.”
“But I never did. I let you believe a lie all these years.”
“It’s not too late, is it? Ask me now.”
“Naomi, I’m so sorry I stole your money. I’m sorry I lied to you. Please forgive me.”
She smiled and kissed me. “Done. Now, is there any more coffee? Or was there something else you wanted to talk about?”
I was drawing my breath when I heard a dull thud as the newspaper hit our apartment door. “Just a minute, I want to check something.” I ran out for the paper, found the time for sunrise, checked the clock. Less than an hour away. It would be my last reprieve before telling her everything.
I came back into the bedroom and tugged at her arm. “Listen, we’ll talk more later, but I want you to get up. I want you to come to the beach with me.”
“To the beach? But it’s still dark out.”
“No, it isn’t, it’s getting light. I want to see the sunrise. Please?”
“Why don’t you just come to bed?” She pulled back the sheets, inviting me in. Any other day I’d have been tempted.
“It’ll be my birthday present, this sunrise, okay? It’s all I want.”
Naomi pouted. “That not fair, you’re bribing me.”
“I know.” I tugged her out of bed, shoved her toward the bathroom. “Just throw something on.” I exchanged my robe for shorts and a top, not even bothering with a wig. “We have to hurry.”
We could see well enough in the shadowless dawn, the silvery light coming ahead of the sun like a crier. The boardwalk was deserted. Our sandals slapped over the wood planks and down the steps to the beach. Barefoot now, the freshly raked sand sifted through our toes. We sat down near the water, the horizon a distant line. The heat wave had broken and the air off the ocean was fresh. I hadn’t thought to grab a sweater.
“Here, share mine,” she said. We each thrust an arm through a sleeve, the cotton knit stretched across our two backs.
The planet turned toward the sun as it always does. We lay back on the sand as color claimed the sky: first pink, then lavender, and finally, blue.