“Land?”
“Jim gave me a tip on a parcel of land. Near Lake Okeechobee. About a hundred acres off Conners Highway.”
“You want to buy land in Florida?”
“Prices are low.”
“Didn’t Florida go bust?”
“That’s why it’s such a good investment.”
“Isaac,” she said slowly, trying to get his full attention, “we can’t even pay for this room.”
“Yes, well—”
“And what about a house? Or paying back my father?”
“This deal is what’s going to get us there. I’ll hold on to the land for a few years and when we go to sell, I’ll make a good profit.”
“Please tell me you haven’t already signed.”
“All I’ve bought is the binder.”
“Is it refundable?”
Isaac looked at her like she didn’t have a clue in her head. “A binder is a deposit.”
“That you can or can’t get back?”
“I’ve got forty-five days to get together the rest of the money.”
“You’re not answering my question,” Fannie persisted. “If you don’t raise the rest of the money or if your wife loses her mind, can you get it back?”
“No.”
Fannie suddenly felt short of breath.
“But, Fan, I’ll raise the money.”
She grabbed hold of her stomach with both hands and tried to concentrate on taking deep, slow breaths, like the kind she took when Bette or one of the other nurses took her blood pressure. Had sheer irritation ever sent a woman into early labor?
“Fan?”
She was reluctant to meet Isaac’s gaze, scared that if she did, she might say something she’d later regret. Eventually, she let out a long sigh and turned to face her husband. “I can’t talk about this now.”
Her head pounded. Dr. Rosenthal had warned her to pay attention to her body’s signals. Headaches, stomach pains, and swelling in the legs could all be signs that something was wrong. Of course, those symptoms could also be signs that she was eight months pregnant and feeling extremely anxious and put out. She leaned back against her pillows, permanently propped upright, and closed her eyes. When she did so, did the pressure subside? She thought it did.
“I want to—” Isaac started to say, but Fannie held up a hand to stop him. She was so tired of his big ideas, of never having a cent to their name. With her eyes shut tight, she could pretend he wasn’t in the room, wasn’t in the process of throwing over their life.
Fannie breathed slowly, in and out.
Eventually she fell asleep but, when she did, she dreamed she was in the Florida wetlands. The baby, so newly born, was missing, and Fannie waded through brackish water, calling its name at the top of her lungs. The mud along the bank was thick, and her feet couldn’t get good purchase. Eventually she was forced to swim but the weight of her wet nightgown slowed her progress, as did the alligators that nipped at the hem. After what felt like hours of swimming but was probably only minutes, Fannie discovered the baby, afloat atop a giant lily pad. The baby was motionless and pale and shimmered in the hot sun, as if it had been submerged in the water for several hours first. Three vultures circled overhead. Fannie screamed, trying to ward off the birds, but now she couldn’t recall the baby’s name. In her confusion, she screamed, “Florence!”
All day, Fannie had waited for her sister to walk through the door of her hospital room, and all day, she’d been disappointed when one nurse or another bustled in instead. If Florence’s ship was leaving from Chelsea Piers on the tenth, it was likely she’d take the train up to New York on the ninth and stay overnight, somewhere close to the port. If that was indeed the plan, then today was Florence’s last day in Atlantic City, and by extension, the last day she might reasonably pay her sister a visit. Fannie looked at the small clock that sat on her bedside table. It was nearly seven o’clock in the evening.
“Selfish, selfish, selfish,” Fannie muttered under her breath as she heaved herself out of bed. Her feet were beginning to feel heavy, a sensation she thought she remembered from her first pregnancy.
There was only one thing to do. She’d borrow the telephone in the nurses’ lounge and call the apartment. Ask to speak to Florence directly. It was dinnertime. Everyone was sure to be at home. In fact, it was likely her mother had cooked a big meal, a special send-off for the Channel swimmer. She imagined the table laid with her mother’s Adams Ironstone Calyx Ware and silver-plated cutlery. Sometimes, on special occasions, her mother filled a vase with fresh-cut cornflowers. Were they in bloom now? Fannie couldn’t remember.
