The False Friend (12 page)

Becky’s smile was the same strange amalgam it had always been, half happy/half distracted as if her brain, while relaying the command to her mouth, had been called away on more pressing business. An intervening lifetime had not changed Celia’s impression that Becky was one of the smartest people she would ever know.

“So,” Celia said. “How long have you—” She groped for a word.

“—been religious?” Becky offered.

Celia sipped her water. With her spoon she nudged her matzoh ball to the center of its bowl. “Actually,” she stalled, “I was going to ask how long you had been living in Scranton.”

“Then you’re trying to be polite,” Becky replied. “Which is
nice, but unnecessary. After today we won’t see each other again, so let’s only bother to ask exactly what we want to know.”

Celia nodded. It was all coming back—the forthrightness, the showy preference for straight talk. Celia remembered a tour received within minutes of her first visit to Becky’s home at some irreclaimable point in third grade, highlighted by Becky’s pride in her unmade sheets (“It’s my room, I’m the only one who has to see them”) and the
Penthouse
magazine Mr. Miller kept under his side of the box frame (“Kind of obvious, isn’t it?”). Becky was becoming familiar again, the mantle of middle age displaced by the girl inside.

“I discovered Chabad toward the end of high school,” Becky said. “Everyone was talking about college except for me and Leanne—don’t look so surprised.”

“I’m not,” Celia attempted.

“You are,” Becky corrected.

“You were such a good student.”

“Not by then,” Becky said. “By the time Leanne and I were sixteen … Let’s just say that among our many common interests Leanne had a car, I wanted to get away, and we both liked to sneak off to find college students who would get us high.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I was deep into a dedicated career of delinquency when I met a Jewish boy who had been going to the Chabad on campus. I started going there with him and it was the first thing to make sense in a long, long time. That was where I met Shimon—and the rest, as they say, is history.” She shrugged. “It’s not as crazy as you think. How old were we when we knew each other? Ten? Eleven?”

Celia nodded.

“I was so incredibly anxious back then. The night before a spelling test, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. On days I brought home perfect scores, my parents didn’t seem to fight as much.” She glanced at Celia. “You’re so easily shocked. It’s probably a good thing you’re only seeing me again now that I’m an old-fashioned Jewish housewife.” Becky smiled, her face a map of happy lines. “Hey, do you remember the time we decided to be archaeologists and dig for prehistoric bones in your backyard? We found a piece of a broken plate beneath a bush and decided it was from Colonial times. You said I could have it if I would be your best friend.”

Celia nodded. She wasn’t sure.

Becky sighed. “I kept that plate for a long, long time.”

Celia wanted to ask if the wig itched, if Becky was ever allowed to show off her knees, if she remembered their third-grade teacher saying she could become the country’s first female president.

“So,” Celia offered. “Your husband’s name is Shimon?”

Becky nodded. “He teaches at the yeshiva. Plus he writes poetry. Not as good as yours”—she smiled—“but not bad. Do you still write?”

Celia shrugged. “Not really. I kept it up through college, but then—”

“Oh Celia,” Becky chided. “You could have been a contender.”

Celia laughed. “I was never that serious.”

Becky shook her head. “You were! You had us all convinced. Mrs. Hogue was always putting your poems on the bulletin board. My desk was right next to that board, and I read
them over and over again, but creativity isn’t something you can study for. I was sure you were going to be the next Longfellow.” She glanced at Celia’s hands. “One of several surprises, I suppose. I thought you’d be married.”

Celia remembered admiring Becky for using the word
urinate
instead of
tinkle
, for pointing out when their teacher had food stuck between her teeth. Until now, Celia had never considered the origins of her own attraction to directness, Huck’s desirability partly based on a seed sown in third grade.

“I have a boyfriend,” Celia said. “We live in Chicago. He’s a high school teacher—”

“Just like Shimon!”

Celia nodded. “And I work for the city.”

“And you come back to Jensenville to visit,” Becky said, her eyes far away. “Tell your mother I say hello. She was always so nice to me. Now tell me about Leanne. The last time she and I were in touch she wasn’t doing so well. Is she better these days?”

“I don’t know,” Celia said. “I’ve just had the one e-mail.”

“I choose to take that as a promising sign,” Becky said. “I’m not sure I can say we were good
for
each other, but we were certainly good
to
each other. Completely loyal—we’d learned the importance of that.” Becky shook her head. “So please tell her that the number she has for me still works. Tell her that she’s welcome to call me anytime.” The waiter brought a platter layered with slices of dark pink fish. “Okay,” Becky continued. “Now tell me why we’re here.”

For the third time since Becky had arrived, Celia tried not to look surprised.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Becky continued. “I didn’t have to agree to come, after all. But I am curious. You didn’t sound like someone calling on a whim. And you don’t actually have business here. This is Scranton, after all. Now tell me, what can I do for you?”

Celia paled. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I was afraid if I told you over the phone, I’d scare you away.” She looked at the food on her plate, the soup in her bowl, the face of the person she had once sworn to like best of all. “I’d like to talk about what happened,” she began.

Becky nodded. “I used to wonder if it haunted you.” Her eyes searched Celia’s face. “Do you know I actually wrote a speech? An eloquent denunciation and exculpation I planned to deliver when you asked to be my friend again. I made a minor career out of avoiding you in middle school, waiting for you to seek me out and plead for my forgiveness. But you never did.”

“I managed to block it out for a long, long time,” Celia said.

“Really?” Becky said. “That’s a neat trick. I’m still ashamed by our cruelty, and that’s after having apologized to Leanne twenty years ago!”

Two women gazed at each other from across a chasm, each waiting for the other to recognize what lay on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” Celia said, “but I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Becky looked at Celia, her mouth hanging open. “I mean all the ways you and Djuna tortured that poor girl! The daily ratings, the dress code.” She shook her head. “When Leanne
and I were first becoming friends,
real
friends, you were one of the main things we talked about. For what it’s worth, I defended you. I told Leanne you were different before Djuna came along, that Djuna was a bad influence. Of course, you weren’t the only one at fault. Josie and I let it happen. We never tried to stop you.”

Celia remembered giggling in the bathroom; she remembered notes passed between desks. She had a vague sense of something, a familiar strain from a forgotten tune.

“I thought I was protecting myself,” Becky continued. “I was afraid that if I tried to defend Leanne, I would be next. The day I knew I had to say something, the day you really took things too far, it was over. And do you know that part of me was secretly glad? I thought it served her right, getting into that car. A terrible thing to think, I know. When I look at Chaya, my oldest, and realize how young we all were—no one deserves what happened to Djuna … not even Djuna.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

“What do you remember about that day?” Celia began.

“No,” Becky countered. “You tell me what
you
remember. After all these years of wondering, I think I deserve to know. You saw more than any of us except Djuna herself, and I have a feeling she won’t be looking me up.”

At a table across the room, two younger versions of Becky—both pregnant, both with children impatient to be fed—dealt out bagels with the sangfroid of blackjack dealers. The older children passed out napkins, their faces mirroring the mothers’ bored efficiency.

Celia closed her eyes and took a breath.

“I remember it was a pretty day,” she began. “The kind where it was hard to focus on anything except being outside. When the five of us started walking—”

“I was so terrified,” Becky said. “I mean, we were
not
supposed to be there. It was like a highway, that road. No sidewalks. All those cars. Going there was the sort of thing a bad kid did. And at that point I was not a bad kid.”

“Djuna and I were ahead of the rest of you,” Celia continued. “We were arguing about I don’t know what, and right when we were about to round a curve, Djuna ran ahead—”

“You were fighting about Leanne,” Becky interrupted. “I’d never seen Djuna angrier, which, given your fights, is saying a lot. We were at one of the bigger curves in the road, though there wasn’t any railing anywhere … just the road, then gravel, and then trees. You told the rest of us to wait while you went after her, and you had us so well trained that for a while we actually did it.”

“Djuna went into the woods after we came around the curve,” Celia said. “I followed her in, but before I could get to her, she fell. I watched it happen, and when Djuna didn’t get right back up, I went back out the way we’d come. I just left her there.”

Becky had a look on her face that Celia couldn’t read.

“Becky,” Celia said. “I lied to you that day. I told you that Djuna got into a car, but she didn’t. She never came out of those woods.”

Becky exhaled a long, tired breath, the fraternal twin of the sound Celia had heard over the phone. Celia realized
that smoking was the habit Becky indulged when she was alone.

“I wish I could be more specific,” Celia continued, “but I can’t. All I know is that she must have fallen into a hole of some sort. Because of the way it happened. She was there one moment, and then the next, she was gone and I didn’t—”

“Celia.”

Celia felt as if she’d been yanked from a dream.

“You remember my father?” Becky asked. She studied Celia from across the table. “Stupid question. Of course you remember him. Well, somehow, he doesn’t seem to remember ever hitting my mother.”

Celia gestured as if to push Becky’s words away with her hands.

“I know!” Becky exclaimed. “Can you believe it? About five years ago, I talked to him. First time since I was thirteen. What he remembers is the time he picked up a lamp and threw it against the wall. Heirloom lamp. Belonged to my mother’s grandmother. He feels terrible about it. The wrong way to end a marriage that had to end some way, he told me.” Becky smiled. “I didn’t try to correct him. No point. Plus, he didn’t ask for my opinion. But in this instance you
have
asked, so I’ll tell you this: I remember standing by the side of the road while you and Djuna went off to argue. Leanne wasn’t wearing a single one of the right colors. Before, she’d always tried to have something—lavender socks, a pink belt. But that day, it was like she had been deliberately trying to take things too far. You haven’t mentioned the haircut, but that’s fine with me; it makes
me sick to think of it. Let’s skip ahead. Until that afternoon, at least when it came to Leanne, you and Djuna had always been a united front. You having second thoughts when we got to the road … well, it really pissed Djuna off. You and she had just gone around the curve. Leanne was with me and Josie, staring in your direction with this almost hungry look.” Becky shook her head. “That was when I decided to say something. And when I was spared from having to.”

Becky stared at Celia as if she had forgotten where she was. “If I had come around that curve just a little earlier I would have seen Djuna getting in. That would have been harder to live with, I think, because I might have been stuck thinking I could have done something about it. As it was, the car was already pulling away. When the policeman asked me, all I could tell him was ‘brown.’ You told us she’d gotten a ride home. You said that we had to go straight to her house to make sure. I wasn’t sure why, but you said it with such certainty that I didn’t bother to argue. I spent that walk thinking it was a new beginning, that you and I could finally be friends like before. I was so impressed that you’d stood up to her, that we’d both reached a breaking point at the same time. When we got to Djuna’s, I was going to invite you back to my house, right in front of her. Then we arrived, and Mrs. Pearson answered the door, and of course Djuna wasn’t there. That was when you said you hadn’t recognized the driver and I understood why we’d made the walk. It was the word
stranger
that did it. Use that word with
car
and it only means one thing. The mind is good at selective forgetting—Yoshi, the baby, isn’t six months yet and already his birth is fuzzy in my mind—but I still remember standing on
Djuna’s front walk, not even knowing I’d peed my pants until I felt it against my leg. Even now, when I think back to you on that road, I’m still impressed. If it had been me, I think I would have gone too. Knowing it was a terrible idea, I would have gotten in that car because Djuna already had. I’ve always wondered how you managed not to do it. I’ve wondered about that more than I care to admit.”

“Becky,” Celia said. “There was no car.”

She had meant to say it quietly, but the women at a neighboring table turned to look. Becky smiled and said something in a language Celia didn’t understand. The women laughed. Becky’s gaze canvassed the dining room before her mouth relaxed again. When she looked at Celia, her eyes were soft.

“Listen, Celia,” she said. “Because I have a simple answer for you.” Becky leaned toward her, and in the angle of Becky’s neck Celia glimpsed a girl seeking artifacts in upturned soil. “Tell Leanne that you’re sorry. An apology is a powerful thing. It’s the advice I would have given my father, if he had ever asked.”

Becky gazed at her watch, then stood and offered her hand. When Celia rose too, Becky cupped Celia’s face and kissed her on both cheeks. “
Zei gezunt
, Celia. Be well.” By the time Celia noticed the money for the bill, it was too late to give any of it back.