“A little while.”
“You should have woken me.”
“I think not,” said Esther.
“I feel like a sloth for sleeping in the middle of the afternoon.” She yawned. “How’s Gussie?”
“She’s well,” said Esther as she stood and walked over to the window. “Of course, she misses her mother.”
Fannie doubted that. Gussie had Florence, who was far more fun. Three days ago, when Florence had brought Gussie to visit, it had been impossible to lure the girl out of her sister’s lap.
“How do you like the new room? Isn’t it lovely?” Fannie asked, waving at her new surrounds. She was appreciative of the south-facing window, clad in pretty, floral curtains. The furniture was the same as that of her old hospital room except that, in this room, the bed and dressing table were painted a chocolate brown. “Is it Father I’ve got to thank for this?”
“Yes, well,” said Esther. “There was such a parade of women in and out of that room, we didn’t know how you were getting any rest. And the visiting hours were atrocious.”
“What does Pop care what the visiting hours are? He doesn’t visit.”
Esther gave Fannie her very best exasperated look. “It’d take more than decent visiting hours to get your father near a hospital.”
“Well, it was very kind of him. When I woke up this morning and Dorothy told me they were moving me to a private room, I couldn’t believe it. I must have asked her three times to check she had the right patient.”
“Dorothy?” Esther asked, turning away from the window to study Fannie once more.
“Geller. She’s a nurse on the obstetrics ward. A real busybody. Very short and squat with an extremely nasal voice. She went to school with Florence. Is always going on about it.”
“Be careful or she’ll hear you.”
“I don’t care if she does. You should have seen her fawning all over Florence the other day,” said Fannie, giving her best Dorothy impression, “?‘What a feat, Florence! Swimming around the whole island! Whatever will you do next?’?”
“Does she really talk like that?”
“Yes. And Florence was just soaking it up.”
Her mother stared out the window. Was she even listening?
“What’s Florence up to today? She didn’t want to come with you?” Fannie asked, well aware that she was poking at her sister. Florence could hold a grudge as long as Fannie could, and Fannie knew she wouldn’t come for a visit so soon after they’d had it out. Fannie was curious what Florence had told their mother, if anything, about her last visit. Did Esther know they’d argued?
Esther coughed. “She’s out for a swim. With Stuart.”
“All she ever does is swim.”
Esther walked over to the dressing table and repositioned Fannie’s hairbrushes and face cream, her back to Fannie, until the arrangement was to her liking. Florence must have already told Esther her side of the story, must have already won her allegiance. It was so obvious. Fannie’s mother could barely make eye contact with her.
“All I suggested was that she postpone the trip, not cancel it. I would have thought she’dwantto be close by.”
“Of course she would. Does.”
Esther began refolding an already folded blanket at the foot of thebed, neatening the corners and tightening the lines. Sometimes Fannie found her mother exhausting to be around. Esther was always busy, always moving. Both her house on Atlantic Avenue and the apartment above the bakery were neat as pins. She was a talented cook and an accomplished seamstress, too particular to hire help even after she and Joseph reached the point where they could finally afford it. Fannie didn’t think she’d ever seen her mother pick up a magazine.
On Fannie’s best days, she didn’t accomplish half as much as her mother did. Fannie served Isaac and Gussie overcooked meat and mushy vegetables and could barely keep up with the dusting, let alone the laundry. In the evenings, when Isaac asked her how she’d spent her day, Fannie wanted to be able to rattle off a list of errands and other household achievements, but the truth was that entire afternoons passed in which she couldn’t move from the sofa. Fannie so frequently felt overwhelmed—by what, exactly, she didn’t know—that she had begun to wonder if she was even related to the girl she’d been before she married.
“Apparently, Florence doesn’t want anything to do with me—or the baby,” Fannie told Esther.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, I don’t understand why she’d choose to leave for France in July, knowing I’m due in August.”
“Your sister loves you. She adores Gussie,” said her mother, then she paused before adding, “and she’ll adore this baby, too.”
