“Is she pregnant?”

“No.”

“Then why do you have to get married so soon? Wait a while.”

“I've waited thirty-five years, that's long enough.”

She sighed, and looked at him mournfully. “Have you met her parents?”

“No. They're dead.” For a moment, Ruth almost looked sorry for her, but she would never have admitted it to Bernie. Instead, she sat and suffered in silence, and it was only when coffee was served that he remembered the gift he had brought her. He handed it across the table, and she shook her head and refused to take it.

“This is not a night I want to remember.”

“Take it anyway. You'll like it.” He felt like throwing it at her, and reluctantly she took the box and put it on the seat next to her, like a bomb rigged to go off within the hour.

“I don't understand how you can do this.”

“Because it's the best thing I've ever done.” It suddenly depressed him to think of how difficult his mother was. It would have been so much simpler if she could be happy for him, and congratulate him. He sighed and sat back against the banquette after he took a sip of coffee. “I take it you don't want to come to the wedding.”

She started to cry again, using her napkin to dab at her eyes instead of her hankie. She looked at her husband as though Bernie weren't there. “He doesn't even want us at his wedding.” She cried harder and louder and Bernie thought he had never been as exhausted.

“Mom, I didn't say that. I just assumed …”

“Don't assume anything!” she snapped at him, recovering momentarily and then lapsing back into playing Camille for her husband. “I just can't believe this has happened.” Lou patted her hand and looked at his son.

“It's difficult for her, but she'll get used to it eventually.”

“What about you, Dad?” Bernie looked at him directly. “Is it all right with you?” It was crazy, but in a way he wanted his father's blessing. “She's a wonderful girl.”

“I hope she makes you happy.” His father smiled at him, and patted Ruth's hand again. “I think I'll take your mother home now. She's had a hard night.” She glared at both of them, and began to open the package Bernie had brought her. She had the box open and the handbag out of the tissue paper a moment later.

“It's very nice.” Her lack of enthusiasm was easily discerned as she looked at her son, attempting to convey the extent of the emotional damage he had caused her. If she could have sued him, she would have. “I never wear beige.” Except every other day, but Bernie did not point that out to her. He knew that the next time he saw her she would be wearing the bag.

“I'm sorry. I thought you'd like it.”

She nodded, as though humoring him, and Bernie insisted on picking up the check, and as they all walked out of the restaurant, she grabbed his arm. “When are you coming back to New York?”

“Not until spring. I leave for Europe tomorrow, and I'm flying back to San Francisco from Paris.” He felt less than pleased with her after what she had just put him through, and he was not warm toward her.

“You can't stop in New York for one night?” She looked crushed.

“I don't have time. I have to be back at the store for an important meeting. I'll see you at the wedding, if you come.”

She didn't answer at first, and then she looked at him just before she entered the revolving door. “I want you to come home for Thanksgiving. This will be the last time.” And with those words, she passed through the revolving door and emerged again on the street, where she waited for Bernie.

“I'm not going to prison, Mother. I'm getting married, so this is not the last anything. And hopefully, next year, I'll be living in New York again, and we can all have Thanksgiving together.”

“You and that girl? What's her name again?” She looked at him mournfully, pretending to have a memory lapse, when he knew perfectly well that she could have recited every single detail she'd heard about “that girl,” and probably described the photographs in detail too.

“Her name is Liz. And she's going to be my wife. Try to remember that.” He kissed her and hailed a cab. He didn't want to delay their departure a moment longer. And they had to pick up their car, which they'd parked near his father's office.

“You won't come for Thanksgiving?” She hung out of the cab, crying at him again as he shook his head, and physically pushed her inside to her seat, in the guise of assistance.

“I can't. I'll talk to you when I get back from Paris.”

“I have to talk to you about the wedding.” She was hanging out the window and the driver was starting to snarl.

“There's nothing left to say. It's on December twenty-ninth, at Temple Emanuel, and the reception is at a little hotel she loves in Sausalito.” His mother would have asked him if she was a hippie but she didn't have time as Lou gave the driver the address of his office.

“I don't have anything to wear.”

“Go to the store and pick something you like. I'll take care of it for you.”

And then she suddenly realized what he had said. They were getting married at the temple. “She's willing to get married in temple?” She looked surprised. She didn't think Catholics did things like that, but she was divorced anyway. Maybe she'd been excommunicated or something like that.

“Yes. She's willing to get married in temple. You'll like her, Mom.” He touched his mother's hand, and she smiled at him, her eyes still damp.

“Mazel tov.” And with that, she pulled back into the cab, and they roared off thundering over the potholes, as he heaved a huge sigh of relief. He had done it.





Chapter 10

They spent Thanksgiving at Liz' apartment with Jane, and Liz' friend, Tracy. She was a pleasant woman in her early forties. Her children were grown and gone. One was at Yale and wasn't coming home for the holidays, the other, a daughter, was married and lived in Philadelphia. Her husband had died fourteen years before, and she was one of those cheerful, strong people whom misfortune had struck often and hard, and yet managed not to be a downer. She grew plants and loved to cook, she had cats, and a large Labrador, and she lived in a tiny apartment in Sausalito. She and Liz had become friends when Liz had first begun to teach, and she had helped her with Jane frequently during those first difficult years when Liz was saddled with a very young child and no money. Sometimes she babysat for her just so she could scrape a few dollars together and go to a movie. And there was nobody happier than Tracy over Liz' sudden good fortune. She had already agreed to be matron of honor at the wedding, and Bernie was surprised at how much he liked her.

She was tall and spare and wore Birkenstock shoes, and she came from Washington State, and had never been to New York. She was a warm earthy person, totally foreign to his more sophisticated ways, and she thought he was the best thing to have ever happened to Liz. And he was perfect for her. Perfect in the way her husband had been before he died. Like two people carved from the same piece of wood, made to fit, made to blend, made to be together. She had never found anyone like him again, and she had stopped trying a long time since. She was content with her simple life in Sausalito, a few good friends, and the children she taught. And she was saving money to go to Philadelphia to see her grandchild.

“Can't we help her, Liz?” Bernie asked her once. It embarrassed him to drive an expensive car, buy expensive clothes, give Liz an eight-carat diamond ring and Jane a four hundred dollar antique doll for her birthday when Tracy was literally saving pennies to see a grandchild she had never seen in Philadelphia. “It's just not right.”

“I don't think she'd take anything from us.” It still amazed her to no longer have to worry, although she was adamant with Bernie that she would take no money from him before the wedding. But he was burying her in extravagant presents.

“Won't she at least take a loan?” And finally, unable to stand it any longer, he had broached the subject with Tracy after they cleared the table on Thanksgiving. It was a quiet moment while Liz put Jane to bed, and he looked at her as they sat by the fire.

“I don't know how to ask you this, Tracy.” In some ways, it was worse than battling his mother, because he knew how proud Tracy was. But he liked her enough to at least try it.

“You want to go to bed with me, Bernie? I'd be delighted.” She had a wonderful sense of humor and her face was still that of a very young girl. She had one of those fresh, clear-skinned, blue-eyed faces that never grew old, like old nuns, and certain women in England. And like them, she always had dirt under her nails from her garden. She often brought them roses, and lettuce and carrots, and tomatoes.

“Actually, I was thinking of something else.” He took a deep breath and plunged in, and a moment later she was in tears and silently reached out to him and held his hand tight in her own. She had strong cool hands that had held two children and a husband she loved, and she was the kind of woman one wished had been one's mother.

“You know, if it were something else …like a dress, or a car, or a house, I'd turn you down flat…but I want to see that baby so much … I'd only take it as a loan.” And she insisted on traveling standby to save him money. And finally, unable to stand it any longer, he went to the airlines himself, bought her a business-class ticket on a flight to Philadelphia, and they saw her off the week before Christmas. It was their wedding gift to her, and it meant everything to her. And she promised to be home on the twenty-seventh, two days before the wedding.

Christmas was hectic for all of them. He managed to take Jane to see Santa Claus at the store, and they celebrated Chanukah too that year. But they were so busy moving into the new house that everything seemed doubly hectic. Bernie moved into it on the twenty-third, and Jane on the twenty-seventh. Tracy came back that night and they picked her up at the airport, and she just beamed, and cried as she hugged all three of them and told them about the baby.