Helen had a soft spot for Judith, maybe because she was the daughter who always seemed to bear the brunt of Mort’s disapproval. Mimi and Dinah were more spirited girls, not as easily flattened by Mort’s moods.
When Judith was ten, she had won the poetry award at her elementary school’s end-of-year picnic. Helen and Rose had set up their blankets next to each other on the field. Helen still remembered what they brought for lunch that day: her cold fried chicken, Rose’s potato salad, homemade cookies and thermoses of iced tea. Helen had felt sorry for the family next to them with their limp tuna sandwiches. After eating, the boys ran off to play kickball, and Dinah followed Mimi to a patch of blacktop where she was playing jacks with some girls from her class. Only Judith remained on the blanket with them, reading one of her books. Rose looked to Helen for reassurance. She’s fine, Helen had mouthed, but she could tell Rose was worried.
After all the families had finished eating, the principal walked to the front of the school, where a makeshift podium was set up. The time had come for the awarding of prizes.
The science prize had gone to two fifth-graders for their experiment on tomato plants. The physical education prize went to Benjamin Wareham, for the third year in a row. By the time they got around to the poetry prize, most people had stopped paying attention. When Judith’s name was announced, Helen was already packing up their leftovers.
Judith hadn’t known about the award beforehand, so when her English teacher asked her to recite the poem she wrote, Judith looked nervous. After a few moments, however, she cleared her throat and began: A friend is like a shining star
That sparkles in the sky.
A friend that’s good and kind is like
A twinkle in your eye.
But when a friend betrays your trust
The shining light goes dark,
And sadness dims what once was bright
Like water on a spark.
I told a friend my secret.
My heart was open wide,
Just like a fragile seashell
That shows the pearl inside.
My friend picked up the seashell
She took the pearl in hand.
And once she had possessed it,
She strung it on a strand.
She wore the pearl around her neck
And everyone could see.
She did not keep my secret.
She was no friend to me.
The crowd clapped politely, but they were clearly surprised by the severity of the poem. People were expecting something simpler from a ten-year-old girl—something about rainbows or butterflies. Not Helen. She was impressed.
“I don’t get it,” said Harry, and Helen had glared at him.
When Judith returned to the blanket with her certificate, the first one she showed it to was Mort. “Very nice,” he said blandly.
“Mrs. Curtis said I have a real way with words, and that my imagery is extremely vivid. She said I’m the best writer in the class.”
“Who’s the best at math?” Mort asked. Rose sucked in her breath, and Judith’s smile shriveled. She dropped her certificate on the grass and ran. Rose went after her. The rest of them gathered their things and walked home in silence.
More than two years had gone by since the picnic, but Helen worried that Mort and Judith would always have a strained relationship.
“So, are you excited to go to the restaurant tonight?” Helen asked. She was trying to walk carefully on the uneven sidewalk. The air smelled like onions and potatoes from the knish cart on the corner.
Judith would have preferred to stay at home, but she knew it was Helen’s brother who had invited them. “It should be fun,” she said. “Mimi and Dinah can’t stop talking about it. Especially Mimi.”
“I can tell. Did she wear that dress to bed last night?”
Judith played along with the joke. “Nah, that would have wrinkled it.” They walked a little longer.
When they got to the drugstore, the bell on the door announced their arrival. “Hi, Mrs. Feldman,” Helen called to the woman behind the counter. Helen pulled Judith toward the cosmetics section and grabbed a sample from the counter display. “How’s this one?” she asked.
“Too orange.”
“This one?”
Judith’s eyes widened, and she started to laugh. “It’s horrible!” She looked over the choices and handed a different tube to her aunt. “Try this.”
Helen gave the tube a twist, put some on her lips and looked in the tiny hand mirror. “Perfect! You can pick my lipstick anytime.” She winked at Judith. “Should we pick one for you?” Judith shook her head. “I’d rather have a candy bar.”
“Two Hershey bars, one bottle of aspirin and this lipstick, please, Mrs. Feldman,” Judith said, piling their items by the cash register.
They walked home together, nibbling on their chocolate bars.
Helen had to ask, “Do you want to tell me why you were crying?”
“It was nothing. Just something about my book. I’m reading a biography of Amelia Earhart.”
“Did the ending upset you?”
“I already knew what happened to her. It’s just … my father didn’t like it.”
“A biography of Amelia Earhart? What didn’t he like?”
Judith sniffed. She was trying not to cry, and her voice was shaking. “He said something about how she had her head in the clouds and look where that got her and how I’d better get my head out of the clouds too.”
“Oh honey.” Helen squeezed Judith’s hand.
“He’s just so mean sometimes.” Judith wiped the tears from her cheeks on her sleeve.
“It’s all right. Shhh.” Helen patted her back. “We’re going to have a nice time tonight—you’ll sit next to me.” When they got back to the house Helen offered some advice. “When you get inside, take a few tea bags from the kitchen and run them under the faucet. Lie down on your bed and put them on your eyes. They’ll take the puffiness away.”
“Thanks, Aunt Helen.”
“Thank you for keeping me company and helping me with the lipstick. You made my day.”
“Really?” Judith was surprised.
“Really. It gets pretty lonely upstairs sometimes.”
“But whenever I hear you and the boys upstairs, it sounds like you’re having so much fun.”
“Well, it isn’t always a party, believe me. I don’t have anybody to talk to up there most of the time. The boys aren’t much for talking these days.”
Judith nodded as if she understood. She looked down at her candy wrapper.
“You can always talk to me. I mean, if you want.”
Helen was touched. “Thanks, sweetheart. I’m going to take you up on that.”
By the time she made it up the stairs to her own front door, Helen knew several things she hadn’t known half an hour earlier. On the way down the steps, she hadn’t realized how alone she had felt or how often that feeling of isolation crept into her days. She hadn’t recognized that the tasks that drove her routine had taken over and that the best parts of being a mother—the connection, the companionship—had been missing. As she stood before her door, she knew that she wanted a girl not only because of the clothes she could dress her in or the ribbons she could put in her hair. She wanted someone to laugh with, someone who could cry to her, someone she could comfort and understand. She yearned for a daughter for reasons she had not previously been able to explain. And now that she had the words to express her longing, she knew it would only be more difficult to ignore.
Chapter 10
HELEN
As they walked into the restaurant, Helen was still wondering how she had managed to get the boys ready on time. It was all a blur. Even now they were bickering and shoving each other on the sidewalk. It was only when they pushed through the heavy wooden door and stepped onto the plush green carpet of the restaurant foyer that they were silenced. The light was soothingly dim, and candles left gentle shadows on the mahogany wall panels. A large crystal chandelier hung directly overhead. Harry whistled softly. “Nice,” he said. “Think I could bring Susan here?”
“Absolutely not,” said Helen.