Yeah. We could just go down to the Inn.
Grandma’s eyes were closed, her jaw slack. I hated when she fell asleep; she always looked dead at her age. I would need to tell her I was going so she wouldn’t worry when she woke up. And—I looked down at my sweats—I would have to change.
No. It wasn’t smart to go.
She gave a half snore, and her eyes popped open. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re figuring out what to bury me in. I told you I’m not dying.”
“Maybe I was just figuring out which jewelry to take.”
“Clever. But not clever enough. Your mother and aunt have a list of who gets what.”
“Because you don’t trust them or because you don’t trust your granddaughters?”
“I don’t trust any of you vultures.” I smiled. My phone buzzed in my hand, and I looked at it. “And who is that?” she asked, leaning over to try to see.
“Lily,” I lied.
“You don’t look that quickly when it’s your cousin. Tell Joe I say hi.” I stared at her, wondering if growing up that close to the ghosts of colonial witches had rubbed off on her.
She would go, I told myself. And not care about the consequences. I stood up. “I think I’m going to go out for a little bit.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She winked. “I’m going to bed. And I’m a heavy sleeper.”
“Ew, Grandma!”
She stood with effort. “Make sure you use a prophylactic. Or maybe don’t. You don’t have that much time to waste at your age.”
I watched in horror as she made her way toward her bedroom.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
January 1951
Hereford, Massachusetts
Felipe’s wedding was set for the first weekend of the New Year. Both Maria and Beatriz’s mother tried to convince them to wait until spring, when Beatriz could do the traditional walk to the church without everyone freezing in the Massachusetts winter, but the young couple was adamant that they didn’t want to wait any longer. And the mothers, eyeing Beatriz’s waistline suspiciously, reluctantly agreed.
Tony sighed when Evelyn said she was coming to the wedding. “Why are you still arguing this? If it gets back to your father, we’re sunk before I’ve even had a chance. And the old man is finally warming up to me.” Okay, maybe Tony had given Emilio a whole precious dollar to “accidentally” break one of Joseph’s store windows with a baseball while Tony was walking by so Tony could haul the culprit in by the ear and let Joseph decide his fate. Joseph remembered the young man who forced his brother to return the candy he stole （and Tony had been wise enough to choose a different brother to commit this second crime）。 Joseph, of course, said that no, the window was an accident and to let the boy go, which Tony did after a vicious scolding. He tipped his hat to Joseph and turned to leave, but the older man stopped him and offered him a Coca-Cola from his newly purchased machine.
Tony offered to pay but was told he had earned it. He would take that praise as a start. Even if the soda in question really cost him twenty times its retail value in payment to Emilio.
“I want to be there.”
“And I want you there.” He put his arm around her. They were in his car, parked by the beach, the sky gray and cold. “But it’s not worth the risk. Everyone in town knows who you are. And people talk. It would get back to your father.”
He was right, but defeat wasn’t in Evelyn’s vocabulary. She leaned into him, breathing in his smell. She had another week and a half until she returned to Boston and would miss these stolen moments.
Tony dropped her off on a deserted side street a few blocks from her house, the cold biting through her coat and wool stockings as she walked up the hill.
But as she climbed the steps, the front door opened, and Minnie Goldblatt, Ruthie’s mother, hurried out. She was bundled so heavily for the two-block walk home that Evelyn could only positively identify her from her exposed eyes and the fringe of her sheitel—the wig that peeked out from under the brim of her hat. An Orthodox Jew, Minnie kept her real hair covered when she was with anyone who wasn’t in her immediate family. And because the Goldblatts had money, instead of the kerchief that most women wore, Minnie indulged her vanity with a pair of wigs—a synthetic one that she wore for everyday and the expensive one from New York that she wore for special occasions.