Who was this man she married who had forgotten all the work she did in New York? Who didn’t believe her? It wasn’t the Asher she remembered. “But I think my friend needs me.”
“What did she say?”
Ruth closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “She said it was none of my business.”
Asher chuckled. He was making fun of Ruth.
Her face heated.
He pulled her closer. “That’s what I love about you. Your big heart. Your passion to help others.”
She was wrong. He wasn’t making fun of her. So she tried to bask in his compliment. But was he suggesting she put aside her worry about Carrie?
He didn’t get it. Didn’t understand. Thank God.
In the morning, shadows woke Ruth. Fall sunlight felt its way through bare branches to create movement that danced across the pink walls and flowing curtains. Nature showed off sometimes, even in a neighborhood that consisted of as much stone and concrete as grass and trees. She had so much studying to do. How did she let herself get so distracted?
Ruth reveled in the view from her bedroom window, which overlooked a tree-lined street instead of a New York neighbor’s fire escape.
Escape.
That’s what Carrie needed to do. Maybe Ruth could talk her into taking a little vacation. Getting away from Eli could help clarify things for her—help her see things for what they were.
Asher had already left for the day. Ruth swept her foot to the left, feeling the cool sheets instead of his thick, hairy calf, confirming that she was alone. She reveled in her solitude for a moment, claiming the bed as hers.
She loved her husband, loved sharing this bed and benefiting from the warmth of his bulky body, but time to herself had always been elusive. First living with her father and brothers, then with other girls at Barnard and after that Columbia, now with Asher and his parents.
Ruth didn’t want to live alone, but she craved—she missed—having something that belonged just to her, like the bar exam. Ruth sprang from bed. What was she doing lying around? She had to prepare for her friends. She would worry about study time later.
She needed to go to the bakery, set the table, find blocks and toys for little Heidi, brew the coffee, and, of course, dress in something simple and hostess-like. Simple and hostess-like. If only she owned an outfit like that. She made a mental note to shop for one.
She had her fingers crossed that today would go well. She’d invited all the girls for coffee before her argument with Carrie, and now she wasn’t sure if Carrie would show up. They’d ended yesterday on a negative note, to say the least.
Carrie’s and Lillian’s faces tumbled into Ruth’s thoughts and twisted her heart into a jumble of sadness and disappointment. If Carrie didn’t show, what was she going to say to Irene and Harriet about her absence? She couldn’t tell them that Carrie didn’t want Ruth in her life.
Carrie might spread rumors about her to cover up her own problem.
She might make Ruth out to be the villain the way Lillian suggested she was. Carrie could easily paint her as a gossip who spoke out of turn about things she knew nothing about. And Lillian might corroborate this.
Ruth knew the truth, but she seemed to have made a mess.
Lillian Diamond had turned away from the situation like one of those graceful and beautiful pink flamingoes Ruth had seen at the zoo. Dozens of people had lined the fence to watch the birds, who were blind to all the activity around them. Maybe they didn’t know any better.
Dressed in a green floral A-line and her brown run-to-the-store shoes, Ruth donned her wristwatch and a pair of earrings, then left the attic.
The cool air pressed her into a soft gallop down the steps. Chill swooshed around her legs, the thin nylon stockings covering them providing little protection against the cold. If Leon was anything like her frugal father, it would be closer to Chanukah than Rosh Hashanah before the radiators hissed with heat.
As she moved from the second-floor landing to the staircase and down to the foyer, a gentle sweetness tickled Ruth’s nose. Shirley must be baking, which wasn’t unusual. She served dessert after dinner every night. That was in addition to always having ice cream and Oreos around—two of Asher’s favorites, tastes he’d acquired when he lived on campus. His mother always had plenty of homemade goodies available too. Rice pudding, apple cake, cherry turnovers, cinnamon curls, chocolate chip cookies.
Ruth grew up loving bakeries. With one at the bottom of their building on Seventy-Eighth Street, bakeries and the smell of baking were a part of home. She didn’t need to learn to bake; the Ostermans baked for her. She wouldn’t mind treating Asher to nostalgic and delicious desserts when they had their own home. Ruth hoped baking was something she would be good at—something she could ask Shirley to teach her.
Something they could bond over.
Ruth stepped into the kitchen and the aroma and stared at the sight that accosted her. Today’s baking had been for her benefit. Shirley had arranged perfect pastries on a platter, which sat in the middle of the kitchen table.
So much for taking charge of having coffee with her friends.
Ruth’s smile might have looked genuine, but it had the intention of hiding her disappointment.
“Good morning,” she said. “Something smells wonderful.” She had to admit, everything looked and smelled mouthwatering.
“Asher told me your friends are coming for coffee, so I made kamish bread.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Ruth would have preferred to eat Liss’s cinnamon buns. Soft. Flaky. Loaded with cinnamon and butter and drizzled with a creamy, white sugar topping. “I asked Asher to tell you I’d get up and go to Liss’s.”
“I thought homemade would look better. Be better.”
Better for whom?
“Oh, okay.” But it wasn’t. After her dreadful day yesterday, Ruth had wanted at least one thing to go as she’d planned today, and the only thing she had control over was the darn cinnamon buns.
Ruth remained determined to help Carrie. She looked forward to having guests in her home this morning. If she ever needed allies, it was now. Could these girls, all domestic and homespun, step up and be who she needed them to be? Ruth didn’t consider it betraying a confidence when her friend was in danger.
The mission ahead darkened her thoughts. Maybe she should tell her mother-in-law. Feel things out in advance. Get guidance.
But would Shirley react as Lillian had? As Asher had?
It was risky. Besides, if there was one thing Shirley Appelbaum didn’t need to know about, it was Ruth’s troubles. She had nearly two weeks to go before Rosh Hashanah. Before they would break the news of the bar exam, and of her career choice to be a working attorney. She needed her mother-in-law to think highly of her by the time she and Asher told her.
“I didn’t mean to overstep,” Shirley said. “I know you don’t bake.”
Of course Shirley knew she didn’t bake. Another of Ruth’s shortcomings in housewifery.
“What time are the girls coming?”
“Ten.”
“So late?”
Ruth nodded. Yesterday, on the walk home, when she invited the girls over, she hadn’t thought to ask if there was a specific time that was considered appropriate. She should have suspected there were rules about coffee too. She’d gone to Carrie’s at eight thirty, but she’d assumed that was because Eli had just left for work.