“I suppose. His parents were Russian Jews, Ashkenazic.”
This was a revelation. Carver was now thinking of the various low-level antisemitic remarks his father had made over the years— stuff about Jews being cheap and unfriendly. Unfriendly, huh? Maybe too friendly.
Carver looked at his mother. “Are they alive? His parents?”
Nora shook her head.
“When did they die?”
“About seven or eight years after he did.”
This chilled him. “So I could have known them.”
“Carver,” she sighed.
“I could have known his parents.”
“He was one of four kids. They had plenty of grandchildren.”
He stared at her. “My cousins?”
“God,” Nora said. “This is what we were afraid of, that you’d want to leave us. You want to go be with all those nice Jews who’d be thrilled to be reunited with you, and kiss you and bake you bread.”
This did in fact sound wonderful. “Jesus, Mom, have some fucking empathy.”
“I do! Thisisempathy, I can see it on your face. You’re fantasizing about running off with them. You’ve wanted to run away your whole life, don’t think I’m not aware of that. I’m your mother.”
“Then why didn’t I ever just do it?” Carver snapped.
Nora’s pale eyes examined his face. “Because you’re too smart. Deep down you know that wherever you go, there you are.”
“You know, those people lost their brother, and their son. It might be nice for them to see me. I mean, it’s too late for his parents, obviously.”
“Yes, it was selfish of us,” Nora said. “I know it was selfish. But genes aren’t everything, kid. To Doug’s parents, you were their grandchild. And you were, and they loved you. Don’t rob yourself of the good in your life just to punish me.”
Carver scoffed and adjusted the ice pack on his knuckles. “You robbed his family of some of the good in life. Don’t turn this around on me.”
Nora was quiet for a while. He watched her impatiently, his leg bouncing. “You’re probably right to be this angry,” she finally said. “I hear myself defending and making excuses, but I don’t know how much I believe what I’m saying. But I have to say it anyway. Okay?”
Carver hadn’t been expecting this level of self-reflection and was too grateful for it to say anything other than, “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Did Isaac want me to meet his family?”
“I think he was ambivalent. He told me that I was welcome to tell them about you after he died, if I ever wanted to, but he was okay with you being raised as Doug’s. He felt a lot of shame about our affair. He didn’t want his parents to see him as an adulterer.” She gave him a thin smile. “Especially not with someone like me.”
“Did he meet me?” he said. “I wanted to ask that earlier.”
Nora took a while to respond, again. Her golden hair was falling out of its updo; pieces were loose and the clip was sagging. “Yes,” she said. “A few times.”
“I don’t remember this.”
“You wouldn’t. The last time you were two and a half, it was a few weeks before he started chemo again. He rode you around in a wheelbarrow at a park. You laughed and laughed.”
“Did Dad know you were doing this?”
“Of course!” Nora exclaimed. Within this new context, his parents’ frequent testaments of loyalty to each other now felt insidious.
