Fannie sighed. Sometimes there was no moving beyond the roles each of them played. Her father, a quiet supporter. Her mother, an assured arbiter. What was Fannie’s role? Did she even have one anymore? Had she ever had one?
“Fannie?” Esther said, too loudly, into the telephone.
“Hello, Mother.”
“You’re not meant to be out of bed. Where are you?”
“The nurses’ lounge,” said Fannie, eyeing Dorothy. Dorothy had stopped eating her sandwich and was watching Fannie intently. “One of the nurses was sweet enough to let me use the phone.” She flashed Dorothy a smile.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, walking all the way to the lounge in your condition.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” said Fannie, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “I actually called to speak to Florence. Can you put her on?”
The phone line went quiet, and for a moment, Fannie wondered if they’d lost their connection. “Mother?”
“What?”
“Can I speak to Florence?”
“Yes, oh, you know what? I think she just stepped out.”
“I thought you were in the middle of dinner? Pop said Gussie’s eating rice pudding.”
“She had some errands that couldn’t wait,” her mother said, then paused, as if she were reading Fannie’s mind. “I think she said she was going to stop by the hospital, too. To say good-bye.”
“Well, she doesn’t have much time. Visitors’ hours end at nine.”
“Right.”
Was Florence really so angry with Fannie that she’d ignored her apology letter? Then put off a visit until the last hour of the last day she was in Atlantic City? She and Florence had fought—surely—but they’d gotten in terrible arguments before and had always managed to patch things up quickly enough.
“You know how she is,” her mother said, with what sounded like forced enthusiasm. “Just leaves things to the last minute. I’m sure she’ll be by soon.”
Fannie glanced over at Dorothy, who was looking more uncomfortable by the second. She had thrown the crusts of her sandwich away and was wiping down the tabletop with her unused napkin.
“Which train is she catching tomorrow?”
Now it was her mother’s turn to sigh. “I can’t recall.”
“You can’t recall?” Fannie’s mother had never failed to recall anything in her entire life. She could recall the moment Fannie had lost her first tooth, the number of matzo balls she’d made for last year’s Seder, and the name of every flower she’d ever planted in the beds at the Atlantic Avenue house. But she could also recall more practical things—the telephone extensions of every member of Beth Kehillah’s women’s committee and the names of anyone who had ever been late paying on an account at Adler’s, at least in the years before she stopped working behind the counter.
“It’s either the Pennsylvania Railroad or the Central of New Jersey, the two twenty-five p.m. or the four thirty-five p.m.,” said Fannie. “Which is it?”
Fannie was so distracted by the conversation that she failed to notice Mary enter the room. When she tapped her on the shoulder, Fannie nearly dropped the handset.
“I need you to finish up this call,” she said, before turning her attention to Dorothy. “Who’s she talking to?”
Esther was saying something about the train schedule but Fannie had stopped listening. Was Mary angry at her or Dorothy? It was hard to tell. “Mother,” she said. “I think I have to go. Tell Florence I’m counting on her to come by. Really.”
She replaced the handset on the receiver. Her back ached and her feet felt like bricks. Maybe her mother was right and she shouldn’t have gotten out of bed.
“Sorry,” she said to Mary. “I just needed to speak with my sister.”
“This phone’s not for patient use,” Mary said, shooting Dorothy a withering look. There was still a small dab of mayonnaise on the nurse’s top lip. “Dorothy, will you get her back to bed?”
No one on the hospital’s staff had ever spoken to Fannie in such a stern voice, and for a brief moment, she felt almost guilty for implicating Dorothy.
Dorothy got to her feet slowly, as if she’d rather be doing anything else, and gave Mary a wide berth as she guided Fannie out of the lounge. As they walked down the hall, she muttered to herself. Fannie thought she heard her say, “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” but that hardly made any sense. Doing what? And who was the “we”—surely not Dorothy and Fannie?
