As Close to Us as Breathing: A Novel (29 page)

Nina nodded. The conversation had suddenly become an intimate one between just the two of them.

“So?” Nina asked.

“Oh, sweetheart, but it’s
good!
” Vivie answered, pronouncing the last word just the way her mother, Risel, always had.

Nina broke into a relieved, delighted smile, and she spun around, her arms out wide, her hair lifting off her bare back.

“Now get the hell out of here,” Ada said, yelping as she did and laughing, and pretty soon Vivie and Bec yelped and laughed as well, forming that particular high-spirited chorus of three that I’d heard a million times at least, and it was to this familiar clamor that we took off, out the back this time, past Davy playing jacks by himself on the steps.

Nina and I were still on Merwin Avenue, having only just left the cottage minutes before, when a car, passing us, honked. Then another did. Each of the cars was driven by a teenage boy, someone Howard’s age or close to it. With both honks Nina and I turned to each other, surprised.

We were just rounding the corner to Beach Avenue and nearing Anchor Beach when we were not only honked at but also approached. The car slowed, swerved toward us, and the front-seat passenger leaned his head out the window. “Hey, gorgeous. What’s up?” he called to Nina. This time Nina didn’t turn to me but simply walked on, her head held high. I reached out, instinctively, for Nina’s hand, alarmed by the car’s proximity and by the man—so much older than Howard—leering from the open window. But to my consternation Nina wanted nothing to do with me. She shook herself free of my grip, then put distance between us, at least two strides. “Wait up!” I wailed, and because of my dismay Nina finally stopped and glared at the man in the car, and strangely enough that was all it took to get the driver to gun the engine and drive off.

“Come on, Molly,” she said, laughing and motioning for me to catch up.

As we approached the crowd at Anchor Beach, Nina uncharacteristically strode forward, right into the thick of it. She homed in on Sal’s Good Humor truck, which was drawing its usual profitable after-dinner business. The evening temperature was comfortable, almost cool. The sea breezes, common enough, were noteworthy only for the strange smell they carried, a combination of the salty sea scent and the sweetness of any number of perfumes rising from the bodies of so many girls and young women. When we stopped several yards from Sal’s truck, Nina began scanning the crowd, searching.

“Look!” she said after a moment, pointing to a foursome in the distance that included Howard and Mark Fishbaum. They were standing some distance from us, on the rock outcropping there. Two girls were with them: Megan O’Donnell and another I couldn’t identify.

“So?” I couldn’t see what was so remarkable. Of course Howard would be talking to a girl. And we’d already seen him kiss Megan O’Donnell.

“Oh, nothing,” Nina said. “Just thought you might want to know where Howard was.” But she wasn’t looking at Howard, I saw; she was obviously more interested in Mark.

When my friends Melissa Bornstein and Anna Weiss approached us, we chatted with them until Sal, calling from several yards away, interrupted.

“Jiminy Cricket. Nina Cohen. Is that really you?”

Nina darted toward Sal. Craving an ice cream, I left Melissa and Anna behind too.

“Sweethearts,” Sal said to us, though in fact he pointed only at Nina, who already stood directly in front of him, first in line, aggressively beating out the Weinstein twins. “Hey, hey,” Sal said to calm us all, and then he winked at Nina. She doubled over at the waist, collapsing in an embarrassed but happy fit of laughter. Amused, Sal asked, “What’ll it be tonight, sweet potato?” He puffed his cigar while looking at Nina with a kind of fatherly approval, and it wasn’t lost on me that this far into summer he knew us better than our fathers, in a way that was more like our mothers and Bec. Soon he began to beam, much like Bec had earlier. Finally he said proudly, “You’re some lady, Nina Cohen. I always knew it. Yes, I did.” She collapsed a second time. Once upright, she spun around.

“What’ll it be? Something special? Strawberry?” Sal said this because he knew she always ordered chocolate.

But Nina shook her head; she wasn’t going to eat tonight, she explained, not when the ice cream could melt and drip onto her dress.

I, on the other hand,
was
eating, and I practically threw my change at Sal.

“Here you go, sweet potato,” he sang, handing me my usual toasted almond. Then he warned, “Don’t drip on her. She’s a real beauty tonight. Molly Leibritsky, you keep your ice cream to yourself.”

From behind us, the Weinstein twins were pushing forward. “Bye-bye, apple pie,” Sal said, winking once more as he waved us off to keep the line moving.

“Bye-bye, apple pie,” we called back, and I added, laughing,
“Sal Baby.”

After we’d parted from Sal, Nina was the one to note that Howard and Mark were still talking to Megan and the other girl. From the look on Nina’s face I could see that she was trying to figure how to work her way over toward them. Her arms were crossed, like those of the girl beside Megan, who, even from this distance, looked angry, her arms twisted over her chest, her head turned not toward Howard or Mark but resolutely toward the horizon line. It wasn’t often that someone Irish like Megan spent time at Anchor Beach with someone Jewish like Howard, and I wondered if the girl beside Megan was also Irish.

But my thoughts were interrupted when I suddenly jerked forward, losing the grip on my ice cream. When I spun around to see who had bumped me—it felt deliberate—there was Arthur Weinstein, smirking.

“Hey, sorry,” he said. He glanced from me to my ice cream, melting on the sidewalk.

“Look where you’re going,” I complained.

“Hey,
sorry,
” he repeated, growing irritated.

“And I said look where you’re going.”

“Well, who are
you?
” he asked, nearly as hostile now as I was. As he began a mocking imitation of me, empty-handed and upset, his brother Jimmy tried to pull him away.

But Nina stepped in first. “Who the hell are
you?
” she said, her voice a bark.

Shocked by the sharpness, the twins took off.

Watching them, Nina muttered a contemptuous “Idiots,” then wrapped an arm around my shoulder. But a moment later, her mood brightening, she said, “I know! Let’s go tell Howard.”

It seemed a risky strategy, telling Howard something he was likely to care little about—something about me—but I nevertheless followed Nina. As we approached the foursome I could see that the angry girl, in dungarees and a loose blouse, had unfolded her arms, but her face was still stern. Megan, wearing a floral print skirt, was dressed more specially, almost as nicely as Nina. She wasn’t angry in the least but laughed as she pointed to a majestic sailboat skimming along the horizon.

“Like that?” she was asking as we approached.

“A little smaller,” Howard answered. “Our boat’s a touch smaller.”

The Sailfish was in fact puny.

“Come on,” the girl in pants said to Megan. “We should go home.”

“Already?” Howard asked, his voice anxious.

Nina and I had fully approached them and now stood just outside their circle.

Spotting us, Howard looked surprisingly relieved. “This is my little sister,” he told the girls, pointing at me, grinning. For once my presence was useful to Howard; he could delay Megan’s departure by introducing me. “This is Molly. And this—” He looked at Nina. For a moment he almost lost his footing. “This is my cousin Nina.”

Nina forced a smile, said hello, and glanced at each of the girls. Her gaze, so confident just minutes before, had become more or less focused on the ground, then Mark Fishbaum’s knees, and then his face. “Hi, Mark,” she added coolly, though I knew she felt anything but cool.

“Hey, Nina. Watcha reading?” Mark answered, and both he and Howard chuckled at that.

When Nina dropped her head again, Mark said gently, “Only kidding. Nice dress. Really.”

I could see Nina’s relief. The evening still held promise. She raised her head and gave Mark a flash of a smile. Howard then introduced Megan to us, formally, as if we’d never seen her before, and then he introduced her sister Sheila, the angry one beside her. “This one,” Howard noted, nodding toward Megan, “works with me at Treat’s. She’s the checkout girl.”

Nina and I glanced at each other, clearly wondering why Howard couldn’t remember that we’d all met before.

“We
know,
” Nina said. She turned to Megan briefly.

“How soon he forgets,” Megan remarked, grinning back at Nina.

“I remember,” Howard snapped, glancing Megan’s way, reddening.

“Did you see what happened to Molly?” The question asked, Nina glanced again at Mark, then at no one in particular.

“What happened?” Howard said, clearly annoyed. He’d never meant for us to actually get involved in the conversation.

Nina caught Howard’s eye and they shared a short, hostile stare-down, the kind they were so prone to at the cottage.

“You didn’t see Arthur Weinstein knock Molly?” Nina finally added.

Before anyone answered, Sheila suddenly turned to Megan, glaring at her. “We should
go.
Megan, I feel
weird,
” she said, imploring her sister.

“
You
go,” Megan said.

“I
am,
” Sheila answered. She took a few steps but then turned back to say “Bye,” raising her hand in an impulse of manners she apparently couldn’t resist.

“Good riddance,” I heard Megan mutter. To Howard she said, “Sorry about that. I know you worked hard to bring us all together.”

Nina then told them about my ice cream.

“So?” Howard asked. He couldn’t have sounded more indifferent.

But Megan was sympathetic. “That’s a letdown,” she said to me. “Nice dress,” she then told Nina, turning her way.

Nina smiled and Megan smiled back. In a shy voice Nina said, “My aunt made it for me. Can you believe it?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Howard mumbled, but Nina ignored him.

“She’s a dressmaker,” Nina determinedly explained to Megan. “A very good one. She probably made this in about three days.”

“I made my skirt,” Megan responded. “But it took three weeks, not three days.”

“Nice,” Nina said, more relaxed, even animated. “Hey, you should come over and meet my aunt Bec. She’s working on dresses now. One for my mother, the other for Molly’s.”

“That would be
my
mother too,” Howard noted with impatience. “And I’ll be the one inviting Megan over.” He looked at her then quickly away. “When the time is right,” he added quietly.

Nina reached out and put a hand on Megan’s arm. “I can be her buddy too,” she said, staring at Howard.

“Are you kidding me?” Howard’s eyes narrowed.

“Girlfriends!” Megan said, willing enough to tease Howard further.

“Exactly,” Nina agreed. “Girlfriends!” With that she took a step closer toward Megan then carefully placed her arm over Megan’s shoulder.

Scowling, Howard looked from Megan to Mark to me and then to Nina.

“Dyke,”
he finally muttered her way.

The word was spoken quietly, but we all heard it clearly enough.

Nina froze. As she lifted her arm off Megan, so much faster than she’d placed it there, she turned pink, first in the face, then along her neck and exposed chest.

“Howard,” Megan said. “That’s disgusting!”

“Yeah, Howard. Low blow,” Mark added.

I remained quiet, uncertain what the word meant.

When Nina spoke, her voice was tense and shrill. “You don’t deserve her. What you deserve, Howard, is a paper doll!” Her voice cracked on “doll” and her eyes began to tear.

“Oh, come on,” Howard said, still annoyed but trying, too, to calm her. He approached Nina, touching her flaming cheeks, and said sweetly, “Laugh, Nina, laugh. I know you want to.” He repeated into her ear, “Laugh, Nina, laugh,” many times over until she was both crying and hiccupping with unwanted laughter. This was one of Howard’s tricks: he could make you crack up just when you wanted to kill him. Obviously if you laughed you weren’t feeling bad anymore, he seemed to figure. But what he didn’t grasp, I knew from my own experience, was that the forced and unwanted laughter made you feel completely out of control.

I stepped toward Nina and touched her arm to comfort her. Unlike earlier in the evening, she didn’t mind my touch this time; she even stepped toward me.

She was laughing and crying, though she didn’t want to be doing either. All she wanted, I thought, was a response from Mark like she’d gotten from everyone else that night: Sal, the men who’d passed us by as we walked to Anchor Beach, our mothers and Bec.

But then, as if they had a will of their own, Nina’s eyes turned curiously away from Mark and toward Megan.

“Come on!” she called, her face burning even more intensely. Whatever her eyes were seeking, she clearly wasn’t ready for it. She grabbed my arm as she turned herself around.

I followed her as she walked, slowly at first, as controlled as she could be, away from Mark, Howard, and Megan, and then, picking up the pace, toward home. When Nina finally caught sight of our cottage, she broke into a full-fledged bawl and began to run.

“Nina!” I called, chasing her. “Nina!”

But she didn’t turn and wait. Rather, she ran full speed, past and around a series of neighbors’ cottages, up our front steps, and, just as she was about to open the screen door, she ran right into it when my mother happened to open it a second before. In the time we’d been away the three women had moved from the kitchen table to the front porch, and Ada was bringing her sisters a freshly made pot of coffee.

When Nina hit the door, her forehead banging into it right along its edge, her dark hair rising from the back of her head, my mother let loose the pot of coffee, which landed just off the porch in the bushes. Her hands free, my mother caught in them a spiraling, screaming Nina.