“Damn it, Miri! Don’t push me. And don’t you dare ask Nana or anyone else about inviting Mason.”
So when the doorbell rang, Miri was more than glad to get away from Rusty. She wasn’t sure who she expected to find on the other side of the front door, but certainly not this woman in slacks and a matching wool coat with a big fox collar. A yellow Cadillac was parked in front of the house. Miri had never seen a yellow Cadillac on her street. The only yellow Cadillac she knew of belonged to one of the Levy brothers, who owned the department store on Broad Street.
“Are you Miriam?” the woman asked. Her voice was smoky, her lipstick red, not a strand of her dark hair moved in the wind.
“Do I know you?” Miri asked. No one called her Miriam.
“I’m Frekki Strasser but my maiden name was Monsky. I believe I’m your aunt.”
Miri grabbed hold of the door to steady herself.
Rusty called from the upstairs window, “Who is it, Miri?” Jazzy music floated down from Rusty’s radio.
When Miri didn’t answer, the woman called, “A voice from your past.”
Miri didn’t turn, didn’t take her eyes off the woman, but she could hear her mother’s footsteps on the stairs. Rusty had been vacuuming. Her hair was carelessly tied back. She was in an old shirt with the flaps hanging out, worn slacks and beat-up moccasins.
The woman held out her gloved hand. “Hello, Rusty. It’s Frekki Monsky Strasser.”
“Frekki?” Rusty went pale. She made no move to shake Frekki’s hand, which floated in midair, until Frekki shoved it into her coat pocket.
Rusty stood in front of Miri as if to protect her from this stranger. “What are you doing here?”
“Unexpected events…” Now she used the same gloved hand to gesture toward the sky, and Miri knew it wasn’t God she was talking about. “Well, it made me stop and think, I have a niece, I should know her.”
Rusty turned to Miri. “Go upstairs.”
“But I—”
“Right now.”
Miri moved toward the vestibule as Rusty said, “How did you know I have a daughter?”
“It’s not a secret, is it?”
“Fifteen years later you decide you want to know my daughter?”
“Better late than never,” Frekki said.
“I’m not sure that’s always the case.” Rusty turned back to Miri. “I said go upstairs. Now.”
Irene appeared at the door wrapped in a shawl. “What’s all this?”
“Hello, Mrs. Ammerman.” The woman held out her hand again. “Frekki Monsky.”
Irene’s hand went to her chest. “You have the nerve to show up here, at my house?”
“Now, Mrs. Ammerman—”
“Don’t you now, Mrs. Ammerman me!”
Miri had never heard such anger in her grandmother’s voice.
This time Rusty shouted, “Go upstairs, Miri!”
“I’m going to get Nana a pill.”
“I don’t need a pill,” Irene said.
“Yes, you do,” Miri told her. “I can tell.”
“Why don’t you invite me in?” Frekki said. “I mean no harm and it’s freezing out here.”
“That looks like a warm coat to me,” Rusty said, hugging herself.
Miri came back with Irene’s pill, but Irene waved her away.
“All right,” Frekki said. “If that’s how it’s going to be…” She pulled a creamy envelope out of her purse. “This is for Miriam. An invitation to lunch and a show at the Paper Mill Playhouse. I hope you’ll be reasonable about this, Rusty. I live in South Orange now. I’m married to a doctor. I’m in a position to be a positive influence in Miriam’s life.”
Miri felt sick to her stomach. But at the same time, excited.
Frekki
Frekki’s husband, J.J., had a cousin in Elizabeth who owned Strasser Sports. How many times had she brought the boys to their store for their team uniforms, for the expert in athletic shoes, said to be the best in the state, to fit them properly? More than ten years of shopping trips for summer camp, and to make sure they had the best equipment for baseball, basketball, football, never mind the hockey skates, the cleats. They’d built a special closet in the finished basement just for the boys’ athletic equipment.
In September, during the annual trek to Elizabeth, Sherry Strasser, the cousin’s wife, invited Frekki to lunch. “Leave the boys at the store and come out with me.”
The boys, who were now seventeen and nineteen, were capable of looking after themselves, so she’d accepted Sherry’s invitation to lunch at Dorothy Dennis, a ladies’ tearoom. “We don’t get to see you often enough,” Sherry said.
“I know. J.J. and I were just saying the same thing.”
After their sandwich plates had been cleared and the tea served, Sherry said, “The store is so busy this time of year I help out as much as I can, and last week I saw a young girl, maybe fifteen, with eyes exactly like your brother’s.”
Frekki wasn’t sure how to respond.
“She’s friends with the Osner girl. You know the Osners, don’t you? He’s a dentist.”