Ronnie smiled, remembering as she swam, until her thoughts drifted from her grandchildren to her children. She’d always believed the major crisis of Sarah’s life had happened years ago, when Sarah had been eighteen and had to decide whether to pursue a career as a pianist. Sarah had been in agony, struggling to make up her mind. One morning she’d say, “That’s it, I’m done,” and that afternoon she’d be back at the grand piano they’d bought when she was twelve, playing the same bars of a Chopin nocturne or a moody Beethoven concerto over and over and over again. “I’ve worked so hard. I don’t want to just quit on myself!” she’d told Ronnie, and Ronnie hugged her, telling Sarah she’d support her no matter what she chose, never voicing her own secret wish, that Sarah would stick with it, that she’d be recognized as one of the best young pianists in the world, rewarded with all the fame and glory, the accolades and the newspaper profiles, the applause of crowds and the admiration of strangers. A version of the world that Ronnie herself had walked away from, before Sarah had even been born.
Sarah had chosen the safer path. She’d gone off to Wellesley glowing the way only a teenage girl who has, for the first time, been told I love you by someone who wasn’t a relative could glow. Less than a week later, that boy had broken Sarah’s heart. Ronnie, remembering, kicked at the water a little harder than was necessary, telling herself what she’d told herself then: that maybe that heartbreak had been a good thing, a distraction from Sarah’s previous sorrow.
Sarah had gotten over it, eventually. She’d dated other boys; she’d moved to New York City, and eventually she’d met Eli. Ronnie had liked Eli, but she’d worried about Sarah trying to make a life with an older man, a man who’d already been married and had a daughter. She worried, too, that Sarah was throwing herself into marriage and motherhood and a ready-made family mostly because it was a prescribed path with clear landmarks and borders, and that’s what she wanted after abandoning music, where her journey would have been just as regimented, the steps just as clear: the competitions and the recitals, the lessons and the master classes and the practice, practice, practice.
Lee had been Eli’s booster from the start. “He’s old,” Ronnie would say. “He’s seasoned,” Lee would reply. “And I think Sarah could be good for Ruby. They’ll be good for each other.” She’ll be happy, Lee had said, and he’d been right. At least, that’s what Ronnie had always believed, although lately she’d been worried. When the stay-at-home orders came, Sarah said she loved having Ruby home again; she was glad that the boys were safe （“and thank God they’re old enough to not need me every second of the day,” she’d added, and Ronnie had shuddered, thinking of the women trying to work remotely in a house or apartment with infants or toddlers or preschool-aged children who did need attention every waking moment, and with husbands who might not see helping out as part of their job）。 When Ronnie asked, Sarah would talk about how Eli seemed distant and distracted, which didn’t sound like the son-in-law Ronnie knew. And when Ronnie didn’t ask, Sarah didn’t bring up her husband at all… which, more than anything Sarah did say, suggested trouble.
And Sam! Her baby, her darling, who’d finally fallen in love and gotten married, only to lose his wife so quickly. His wife and his home, Ronnie thought as she kicked, kicked, kicked through the water, wondering if she’d need a second trip across the pond to calm down. How could God or fate or the world be so awful to Sam?
Ronnie paused, treading water to catch her breath. When she set off again, she swam at a more sedate pace, reminding herself that the world was not a rancid bag of garbage. At least, it wasn’t just that. There was happiness, too. Like Ruby’s wedding! A simcha, a happy occasion. A bittersweet one, too; the sign she’d been waiting for that it was time to let go of her dream house, and all the hopes she’d had for it. The Summer Palace, Lee had called it when he’d teased her, but they’d been happy there, the four of them. Then Ronnie and Lee had been happy there, together, and they’d been happy with Ruby when she’d come to visit. Now it was just Ronnie, alone, all the time, even though she imagined she could still hear her husband’s voice, could still almost see him, out of the corner of her eye, doing the crossword puzzle at the picnic table, or standing at the deck with his hands on the railing, admiring the sunset. She had to be realistic. The house might be her heart’s true home, but it was far too big for just one person. The children and grandchildren she’d hoped would come and fill it weren’t going to materialize. And the time would come when she wouldn’t be able to manage the stairs, when she’d need her bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen all on the same level.