Magnolia Wednesdays (15 page)

Vivien looked out the window. “She gave me some serious shit for bailing out on you after J.J. died. She really does see herself as your surrogate mother. As if dealing with Caroline’s version of motherhood weren’t enough.”

Melanie smiled. “Ruth’s pretty protective of the kids and me. I kind of like it. At least her bossiness comes out of love; Mother’s is pretty much all about her. Or not embarrassing her. Or making us be more like her.”

“You’ve got that right.” Vivien’s glance slid back to Melanie then away again. “But Ruth’s kind of scary in her own right. I’m kind of afraid I could wake up one morning and find a horse head in my bed or something.”

“More likely a bagel with a shmear of lox.” Melanie laughed. “Or maybe a few matzoh balls. Which are quite good by the way.”

“Well, she has it in for me,” Vivien said, forcing herself to turn and face Melanie. “And she’s not all wrong.”

“It’s all right, Vivi. You don’t have to . . .”

“No,” Vivi said. “It’s about time I apologized for taking off like that. I knew it was wrong even while I was doing it. I just didn’t know how to handle all that . . . pain. I chickened out. The only thing I could think to do was run.”

The flash of streetlight played across Melanie’s face. “It’s too late to worry about,” she said. “Besides, you’re here now. And I’m glad. It’s good for me and for the kids.”

Vivien would have felt even worse, if that were possible. She’d done so little and for all the wrong reasons. “Yeah, I’ve been a big help.”

“Hey,” Melanie chided. “Anyone who can pull Shelby out of bed in under ten minutes is worth having around. And I’ve kind of gotten used to you tagging along during the day.”

Vivien actually hung her head in shame. But Melanie didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m glad you’re taking the class. I have no doubt you can learn to belly dance.”

“You always were the positive one, Mel.” Vivi, on the other hand, had always considered herself a realist. But maybe that had just been an excuse to do what she wanted without worrying about how it impacted others.

“I bet you’ll pick up some other valuable skills while you’re here, too.” She smiled. “I’m just not sure what they might be.”

Vivien wanted to groan with frustration. Melanie should be telling her off, not letting her off the hook. Ruth Melnick had it right. She knew Vivien had her own reasons for being here. And she suspected, also quite rightly, that they were selfish ones.

15

O
N FRIDAY NIGHT just after sundown, Ruth led her family to the table for Shabbat dinner. She was thrilled to have her son Josh and daughter-in-law, Jan, there along with their youngest son, Jonathan, who was home from college for the weekend. Ruth’s greatest regret was that her two daughters, who’d gone to universities in the northeast, had married and stayed there as had their children. That left a whole branch of her family much too far away.

She’d invited Evelyn Nadoff from two doors down as well as Bernard Templeton, one of Ira’s golf buddies, whose wife was out of town. It was a mitzvah to include those who had no one with whom to share the Sabbath. Ruth wasn’t an especially religious woman, but she liked to think she did what was right.

The table was set with her own grandmother’s china and crystal. The silver she and Ira had received as wedding gifts, over fifty years ago, framed each place. She’d spent the day in the kitchen, something she rarely had reason to do anymore, and now the whole house smelled just as it should, of matzoh ball soup and brisket of beef warming in the oven. A faint hint of the chicken livers she’d sautéed as the base for the chopped liver appetizer they’d already consumed perfumed the air.

In the center of the table, silver candlesticks, also a wedding gift, held two stubby white Shabbat candles. A challah sat on a silver plate beside them. Ira’s father’s kiddush cup, which would be used to say the prayer over the wine, had been placed next to his water goblet.

Content, Ruth lit the candles, voicing the prayer that would welcome the Sabbath. She studied her husband as he made the
bruchas
over the wine and then passed pieces of the challah around so that everyone at the table could join him in the blessing over the bread.

Ruth enjoyed the serving and sharing of the meal. And so, she saw, did Ira, though he would probably never think to say so. They’d shared a lifetime together, raised three wonderful, productive children, who’d produced six lovely grandchildren, two of them boys to carry on the Melnick name. It was everything she’d been raised to do and expect. But no one had warned her of what would happen when her “job” was over and no one actually needed her anymore. Or, in the case of her husband, wanted to know her.

“Fabulous meal, Ruth.” Bernard groaned and patted his belly. “We’ll have to get a cart tomorrow morning. I’m sure I’ll still be too full to walk.”

Ruth smiled at the compliment but knew Ira’s regular foursome would walk no matter how full or how frail any of them became; it was a matter of honor. They’d been playing together every Saturday morning for the last twenty-five years, and they rarely varied their routine. They teed off at nine, played eighteen holes, then stayed for lunch at the club. Ira would be home by two P.M., settled into his club chair in the den with his feet propped up on the ottoman. There he would watch golf on TV for the rest of the afternoon. With his eyes closed.

“It’s true,” Evelyn added. “The brisket practically melted in my mouth. Delicious!”

Ruth smiled again. Her daughter-in-law, Jan, got up and began to collect the empty dinner plates. “Wait until you taste dessert,” she said. “Ruth made apple strudel and Mandelbrot with vanilla ice cream on the side.”

Evelyn and Ruth joined Jan in clearing, though Ruth was careful to give the older woman only the smallest plates and serving pieces to carry. The men’s conversation turned to business and Ruth listened with pride as Jonathan, who would be receiving his MBA from Vanderbilt in June, was invited to participate.

When the strudel had been duly admired, Ruth cut and plated slices for everyone while Jan added a scoop of ice cream. Evelyn passed the plate of Mandelbrot.

“It’s good, Nana,” Jon said between bites. “Your best strudel ever.”

“You’re a good boy,” Ruth replied, her heart swelling with love for her children and her children’s children. The grandchildren up north were also professionals, or soon would be. Two doctors, two lawyers, one accountant. Three, including Jon, were planning to come into the family bagel business. “And you’re such a hard worker.”

He grinned and nodded to Ira. “Well, Papa’s always been a huge example.”

His father feigned hurt. “So what am I, chopped liver?”

They laughed at the ancient lament.

“No,” Jonathan said. “But how many people would have passed up this latest offer from Inamatta Foods to keep working?”

Josh shook his head. His tone wasn’t quite as admiring. “Not many.”

“What offer?” Ruth’s hands stilled. She looked at her husband as a hush fell over the table. The only person who didn’t seem to notice was Evelyn, who was methodically dunking her piece of Mandelbrot into her coffee and then taking a softened bite.

“What’s he talking about, Ira?”

A flush of guilt suffused her husband’s cheeks. Josh dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin as if to prevent himself from speaking further. Jan studied her plate while Bernard added sugar to his coffee and stirred intently. It was clear Ruth and Evelyn were the only people at the table who didn’t know anything about this.

“What new offer?” Ruth asked again.

They all looked at each other. Only Jonathan didn’t seem to fully comprehend the magnitude of the topic he’d raised. “Tell me, Jon. I’m dying to hear.” She tried to keep the hurt and anger out of her voice. No point in frightening the child.

“Inamatta offered an obscene amount of money for the business, Nana. I mean,
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous
,
Pimp My Ride
, the-whole-family-could-be-living-on-their-individual-private-islands-for-the-rest-of-their- lives obscene.” He shook his head in wonder. “There aren’t many people who could turn down that kind of money for something they built from nothing.”

Ruth stood on shaky legs. She wanted to shriek and yell, wanted to demand to know why Ira would do such a thing. If it had been only family, she might have given in to the rage coursing through her. What a relief it would be to throw back her head, open her mouth, and howl. “I’m going to go put on a fresh pot of coffee,” she said through clenched teeth.

Jan started to rise, but Ruth motioned her back down. “Thanks. Ira will help me.” She looked directly at her husband as she said this. Her voice was the steely one she’d saved for the times the kids needed to be set straight. Josh actually flinched when he heard it. So did Ira.

She turned and headed to the kitchen, not even looking to see if her husband followed. When they were alone with the kitchen door closed behind them, she faced him.

“You turned down that kind of money without even mentioning it to me?” Ruth asked Ira, too upset to worry about who heard what. “After all the begging I’ve done to get you to slow down, you’ve rejected an . . . obscene . . . amount of money that could set your entire family free for life so that you can continue to be the . . . Bagel Baron?”

Like he always did when questioned, Ira stuck out his chin and prepared to dig in to defend his position. Normally Ruth worked her way in from some angle and slowly circled in on the point. In this way, she generally got what she wanted. But it was a lot of work and took way too much time. At this moment she didn’t possess the patience for subterfuge; she was far too pissed off to pretend.

“I think I deserve to know what kind of money was offered. I helped you build that business. I have shared your life for the last fifty years. You owe me that much.”

She could see in his face that he didn’t want to tell her. Actually saw him consider offering a lie of some sort. This was what happened when you’d lived with someone for three quarters of your life; you knew their habits and their processes like your own. Not that this had kept him from hiding something big from her.

“You might as well tell me, Ira. I seriously doubt either my son or grandson would refuse to fill me in.” She shook her head as if to dislodge some of the disappointment she felt. “Even Jan and Bernie know. I guess
I’m
the chopped liver in this family.”

“It wasn’t all that much, Ruth. The boy’s exaggerating.”

“Tell me.”

“Sixty-five million.” He had the nerve to puff out his chest in pride.

“You turned down sixty-five million dollars.” It was a statement, not a question. She stared into his eyes as she processed this.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re almost eighty years old. And yet you intend to spend whatever time we have left running a bagel company? You’d rather do that sixty-seventy hours a week than spend time with the people who love you? I never thought I’d say this, Ira, but you’re a fool!”

The shock on his face was nothing compared to the shock she felt. They hadn’t always agreed about things; often over the last half century she’d questioned him. They’d had their share of arguments. Most of the time they’d found a way to compromise at least enough to live to argue another day. But deep down she’d never doubted his intentions. She’d always believed he’d do what was right not just for himself but for her and the kids.

But he was like a dinosaur caught in a tar pit of his own making, stuck in the sameness of his life, afraid to evolve, to adapt, to let go of the old and try to embrace something new. “I am not going to spend what’s left of my life watching you work yourself like a slave for whatever is left of yours. I want to travel. With you, Ira. Take a class, learn something new. With you. I want to be with you. Not waving good-bye in the morning and then spending the rest of the day trying to fill my time until you come home, eat dinner, and fall asleep in front of the television. Your rut is my rut, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in it.”

“Ruth, I just . . .”

“No,” she interrupted. “I can’t think of a single legitimate excuse for hanging on to that company. You know what? I take back the word ‘fool.’ That was the wrong thing to say.”

Ira’s shoulders relaxed slightly. His chin slipped down a notch. It was clear that he thought she was going to apologize and sweep this whole mess under the rug. He was wrong.

“You’re not a fool,” she said more calmly. “You’re a coward. And I’m not prepared to spend the rest of my days with someone who’s afraid.”

She left him in the kitchen. And when she walked back into the dining room, no one asked about the coffee she’d supposedly left to make. When Ira came back with a fresh pot, Ruth ignored him. She and Evelyn and Jan cleaned up afterward and mostly Ruth just listened to their chatter. She kissed everyone good-bye when it was time and then she simply went into the master bath, where she creamed and washed her face as she’d done every night of her married life. Then she put on her nightgown, robe, and slippers; took her satin-covered pillow from the bed; and carried it to the guest bedroom. Under more normal circumstances, Ruth might have evicted Ira from their marital bed. But this was not a punishment or even a statement. She simply couldn’t sleep next to a man who thought so little of her. She could barely bring herself to stay in the same house.

“ARE YOU SURE you don’t want to come to the studio with me?” Melanie asked Vivien as she rooted through the accumulation of stuff on the kitchen counter in search of her keys. “You might enjoy the Friday-night lesson and practice party. It’s very social. On a good night we might have sixty-seventy people.” She raised her eyes heavenward, apparently offering a little prayer that this would be the case tonight. “Clay’s coming and he’s a really good dancer. I’m sure he’d be glad to take you under his wing.” She offered this as if it might be some sort of inducement. Was there any part of Melanie’s life that he had not insinuated himself into?

“Sorry,” Vivien said. “Belly dancing’s kind of growing on me, but I think one dance class a week is my limit.”

“You do fine when you concentrate, Vivi,” Melanie pointed out. She was opening drawers now, still in search of the elusive keys.

“Well, it’s hard to do too much damage when you don’t have a partner. I think we should leave well enough alone.”

“But what’ll you do after you drop the kids at the game?” Melanie asked, striking pay dirt in the vegetable bin of the refrigerator. She pulled the key ring out from between two bags of chopped lettuce and waved them triumphantly. “I hate to think of you sitting at home alone with nothing to do.”

Vivien would actually have enjoyed some time alone; the last two weeks with Melanie and the kids and the cast of characters at the dance studio was a lot more “togetherness” than Vivien was used to. “Don’t worry about me, Mel. I could get a bite out or veg in front of the TV. It’s not as if I’m out every night in New York.”