This time, I wore a gauzy pink dress and heeled sandals. Instead of sneaking through the house, I arrived early and hung out with Noah and cousins during setup. And instead of early summer flowers, we were deep in August, everything lush and green, soaked with color like the world couldn’t hold itself back.
Yet I couldn’t forget how fall would soon arrive. In the morning, Noah would leave for Cambridge, and soon I’d return to South Hadley. I tried to picture the world cold again. It seemed impossible winter would ever come here, where the sun seeped so thoroughly through to my bones. Perspiration beaded on my skin, and the heady perfume of flowers soaked the air. Yet I could feel the seasons readying to turn, the world shifting.Myworld shifting.
“Stay close,” Noah said as the guests started arriving, scanning the incoming adults from our safety within the pack of cousins.
“What happens if I don’t?”
“I won’t be able to protect you from conversations about whether or not snakeskin print is in or out.”
I blinked. “Which is it?”
“Okay, maybe I should leave you to those conversations.”
But none of the conversations were so mundane—or maybe they were, but I hardly noticed, because each time we merged into a new group of people, Noah said,“This is my girlfriend, Abigail,” and by the time I’d come down from the high—hisgirlfriend—we’d moved on to the next group.
I did stick to his side, and closely, because I didn’t want to lose a moment of this night, even if we had to share it with other people. But at one point I found myself across a circle from him—and the next thing I knew, Noah’s mom stood before me.
“Abby. I’m so glad you came.”
Mrs. Barbanel was probably the only member of the Barbanel clan who might be happy to see me, so I returned her tentative smile. “Hi, Mrs. Barbanel. Everything is so nice.”
“Oh, no thanks to me. Noah’s grandmother does all of it.” She tilted her head, rather birdlike. “Noah tells me he’s going to take a biological diversity class next year.”
I tensed, afraid of being politely reamed out.
“It sounds nice,” she added, to my surprise. “He was telling me about the program and he’s very excited about it. He’s always been fascinated by nature. His grandmother taught him all about gardening, every summer we came here.”
“Oh?” I squeaked.
She smiled. “She tried to teach me, when I first married Harry, but the outdoors isn’t really my thing. She was thrilled when Noah showed interest. It’s a bit of a family tradition—my husband’s grandmother taught Helen.” Mrs. Barbanel’s clear, steady gaze made me wonder how much she knew about this summer. “It was one of the few things the two shared.”
“I’m glad,” I said, and I meant it. Because even though most of my support belonged to O’ma, part of me hurt for Helen, for anyone made to feel like a second choice. Because of course she’d wanted to fit in; of course she wanted her mother-in-law’s approval. And my heart hurt for Eva Barbanel, too, who used to show my grandmother the flowers she planted. Had Eva felt like she’d lost a daughter when O’ma left Edward?
The sun sank into the sea, and the moon intensified, a perfect pearl in the sky. The night whirled on in laughter and conversation. At a little past ten, I stopped by the hedges on my way back from the bathroom and breathed in the night air, taking in the scene. People filled the lawn, adults, teenagers, the occasional child. A palpable joy and delight in summer traveled like a current between guests. Even the windows glowed with a cozy, warm light. For the first time, Golden Doors looked like a home to me.
I pulled out my phone to capture the moment, framing Noah where he stood with a group against the house. An email alert flashed across the top of my screen: a new message in my exchange about the Holtzman House. I sucked in a breath, and surprise and anticipation jolted through me as I tapped the email open.
Dear Abigail,
Hi, my name’s Megan Wolfe and I’m the collections intern at the New York Jewish Archives. I was forwarded your request for photos from 1939 from the Holtzman House. I’ve digitized the collection of images from those years and attached the file. I hope this contains what you’re looking for! Please let me know if there’s anything else we can help you with.
I was going to send this intern a gift basket.
Noah was still talking with people halfway across the lawn, laughing with two men in seersucker. He wouldn’t miss me for a few more minutes. I opened the PDF.
The pictures loaded slowly, so I scrolled the same way, taking in each one. Children and teenagers, girls my age holding toddler boys, solemn expressions, heavy coats, old-fashioned hats, the rare smile—
And there she was. O’ma. I wouldn’t have recognized her if I hadn’t already seen a picture of her in the Barbanel scrapbooks, which had showed me what she looked like at only four years old. She wore a heavy jacket and a cloche hat.
And—
My breath caught in my chest, like my heart had snagged on a rib bone. I enlarged the photo, bringing my phone closer. A furrow dug deep between my brows.
There, resting across her collarbone, hung the necklace.
But. She was four years old. Why would a four-year-old be wearing a necklace? And—she didn’thavethe necklace yet. She hadn’t met Edward yet. Edward gave her the necklace.
Unless he hadn’t.
