FOUR

Debbie Rabin was not the same after she lost her best friend. Eden Avery had been closer than a sister, as friends often are. The dedication of Eden’s Garden, a year after Eden’s death, served only to remind Debbie of her bereavement. Her brother Josh had loved Eden in a different way and might well have married her but for the tragic event that had taken her life. His loss had monopolized their parents’ sympathy and support during those months of mourning, and he had derived strength from his contribution to the living memorial at Cresheim Valley Hospital, where she died.

But nobody seemed to have appreciated the depth of Debbie’s grief. She recalled her own words at the memorial service: “I shall never understand why she had to be taken from me. It’s so unfair. It just isn’t fair.” Occasionally, petulantly, she resented the attention lavished on Josh, on Eden’s parents, even on Doctor McCrae, all of whom had found solace in the reconciliation they had worked so hard to bring about. Debbie had had no part in that process, and wasn’t that unfair too?

Then she would chide herself. What must it be like to lose your only child in the flower of youth, or to see your dream of a blissful future as husband and wife together reduced to ruins? In reality, Debbie’s loss didn’t compare with the Averys’ or Josh’s, and it was time she stopped feeling sorry for herself — or, worse, being jealous of those to whom Eden had meant more than to her.

Doctor McCrae was another matter. Debbie had had only a dim concept of the significance of Eden’s allergy to penicillin, but Doctor McCrae had come along and showed her in the most convincing way how dangerous it was. He had not spoken at the memorial service — of course not! — although he had been there unobtrusively. She had first seen him close-up at the Garden’s dedication ceremony a year later, and there she had found him sincerely remorseful, introspective, humble, and, to her surprise, altogether attractive. Later she had to remind herself of the weight he carried on his conscience, and of the impossibility of entertaining closer acquaintance. He was also at least eight years her senior.

Still, that awakening gave her the impetus to accept her loss and look to her future. She started going out, and instinctively she found herself judging her dating relationships by the criteria she had laid out for Eden on the day Josh left for Ithaca: dating (enjoying shared activity), going steady (being possessive), and being in love (feeling an urge to give). Ruefully she consigned one boy after another to the first category. It wasn’t until half way through her sophomore year at Oberlin College, the same campus where her parents had met, that she became interested in Connor Flynn, an outgoing, seemingly carefree business major with a limp, finding him fun to have a conversation with.

Naturally they probed each other’s history. He went first.

“Where’s your home?” he asked.

“Philadelphia.”

“Mine’s New York. I should say now. My parents just moved there when my dad got a fat promotion.”

“To New York from where?”

“You’d never guess,” he said with a broad grin.

“Then I won’t even try,” she said with a broader grin. “Idaho? Alaska? Peru?”

“Nowhere near! I was born in Philadelphia, and I came straight to Oberlin from there. Now we can compare zip codes.”

“OK, mine is 19119.”

“Where’s that?”

“Mount Airy. Actually West Mount Airy. Yours?

“19111. Fox Chase. Miles from yours. Are you a Phillies fan?”

“I might be if I cared about baseball. My brother is, for sure.”

“I used to root for them, but now I’m a New Yorker and, mostly to please my dad, I root for the Yankees.”

Debbie thought they now knew enough about each other’s baseball preferences, and it was time to get to more serious matters.

“What happened to your leg? You’re limping.”

“You just noticed?”

“I noticed it by the time you’d taken two steps, but I was afraid you’d think me intrusive if I’d brought it up then.”

He looked at her a few seconds. “You’re tactful. I appreciate that, but I’m not sensitive about the injury.”

“In that case, tell me more.”

“Car accident.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t act like it bothers you, but it must be a handicap.”

He smiled. “You really are tactful! Aren’t you going to ask who caused the accident?”

She laughed outright. “I’m waiting for you to bring it up!  But maybe you’re angry at whoever did it, and don’t like to talk about it, or to offend a friend.”

“I’ve got no one to blame but myself,” he answered, serious now. “And it could have been worse.”

She waited for him to continue: “Tom, riding shotgun, hit his head on the windshield, and he got a pretty bad concussion. That also could have been worse. I guess I’m lucky.”

“Go on. How did it happen?”

“I wouldn’t say I was drunk, but I’d had a couple of beers, and I shouldn’t have been driving. But Dad drinks and drives all the time, and I didn’t have the good sense not to. At the time I’d only had my license for three months. I got careless, passed a car on a two-lane road and squeezed back into my lane when there wasn’t enough room. Rear-ended a van. My knee smashed into the dashboard. Fractured the kneecap. They had to put hardware in to hold the fragments in place, but I’ll probably always have a limp.”

Debbie felt a shock of nausea at the image of that crash. “Oh God! And to think what could have happened if you hadn’t been wearing seatbelts.”

“We weren’t.”

“You could have been killed!” Her voice rose, causing students at the next table to turn their heads.

“That’s what the trooper said. But what did he know? Judging by his belly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d knocked back a couple of beers himself.”

“Did he haul you in for a blood sample?”

“Just Breathalyzer. It was borderline, so he gave me a warning.”

“And you’ve been more careful ever since!”

“I’m taking the Fifth on that.”

“Just promise you won’t do anything that silly again,” she said.

“I promise.” They drained their cups and left, hand in hand. Debbie thought there was a casual, almost flippant tone in his promise, which bothered her. For one thing, she didn’t want him to get into further accidents — particularly if drunk driving was involved. And there was a less tangible though no less troublesome worry, his seeming contempt for authority. She liked Con, but if he could not take the law or its enforcers seriously, what did that say about his potential as a husband or father? He’d already alluded to the kind of paternal influence he’d been exposed to. Would he pass those values on to his children? Would those children follow their father’s example and drive under the influence? The implications made her uneasy. But then, she reminded herself, she was way ahead of herself.

Midterms were approaching, and they spent more time apart preparing. The week before the exams they met again in the coffee shop. 

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“As ready as I ever will be,” he answered. “I don’t like cramming for exams. I forget it all once they’re over.”

An exaggeration, maybe, but she knew from personal experience that he was not totally wrong. Nevertheless, the fact was, and surely Con knew, that a student’s academic record was important in determining his further education and his chances of a successful career. Two weeks later they compared results. He had received a C-minus in statistics.

“Isn’t statistics important for a business major?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess so, but I’ll survive.”

“Maybe you should have studied,” she ventured.

“Maybe I should have, ha-ha.”

She felt a chill. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. She tried not to show how upset she was. Not only because she would have come across as tactless, but also because he had done so poorly; because he either didn’t care or couldn’t admit caring; because his attitude diminished him in her eyes. She wondered, was she right to take him seriously? He sensed her conflict and tried to reassure her.

“I’m sure I’d have done better with Professor Hadley. But her class was full, so I ended up with Kim.”

“Isn’t Kim a good teacher?”

“It’s not that,” he said.

“Then what is it?”

“These Chinese guys grade on a curve, with the Chinese students always at the top.”

Now she was really shocked. “Can you prove that?”

“I just know.”

She had no reply other than the obvious for that assertion. “Don’t look so serious,” he continued. “I’m only kidding. The Chinese send their best students over here, so no wonder they end up on top. They ought to have special classes for them. Give us stupid Americans a break.”

“Oh come on. I don’t believe you really mean that. Maybe the Asians — Kim sounds like a Korean name, by the way — maybe they do send their best students, but don’t forget, Oberlin’s pretty selective about American applicants too. Both you and I must have impressed the admissions committee, so let’s dispense with the excuses.”

“I don’t know whether I’d have got in but for the fact that my mother went here, and I told them on my application.”

“Did she really? My mother did too, and my father. In fact, they met at Oberlin. So if you’re right I had double preference.”

That satisfied him. He’d been admitted on the strength of only one parent’s alumna status.

Eventually their conversation faded into history. To her pleasant surprise, he also took it on himself to study harder. His final grades for the semester were an improvement over the midterms. Believing that she possessed the ability to influence him for the better, and that she would be important to him, she saw possibilities she had all but abandoned.

On the first day of summer recess they rode together on the bus to New York City. As they waited for their luggage to be unloaded, he said, “I’d like you to meet my parents. How about coming to Brooklyn sometime during the summer?”

“If you’re willing to come to Philadelphia to meet mine.”

“It’s a deal. Who goes first?”

“We can decide later. We have a few months.”

“And can I meet your brother too?”

“He’s starting medical school in the fall, and he might stay the summer in Ithaca working in Dr. Ellsworth’s lab. But I’m sure he’ll be down to visit, so we can time your trip to meet his. He’s a great guy; you’ll like him. His girlfriend died a couple of years ago, and he’s still mourning. I am too,” she added after a pause, “she was my best friend. Her name was Eden. Lovely name, isn’t it?” Debbie felt her voice was on the verge of breaking, and she found a way to change the conversation. “It’s about time for the Philadelphia bus to board. I’ll tell you everything when I see you. Bye.”

Con was so taken back by what he’d just witnessed, and the effort it cost Debbie to control her emotions, that he stood mute. Hearing no sound from him, she turned back and hugged him. “Bye again!” with a smile this time.

The call came next morning. Esther picked up the phone.

“Hello, Rabin residence.”

“May I speak with Debbie?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“I’m Debbie’s mother. Who’s calling?” Actually Debbie had prepared her mother for the call.

“This is Connor Flynn, a friend of Debbie’s from Oberlin. Well, actually I’m from Brooklyn, but we met in college.”

Up to then, based on Debbie’s occasional remarks, he’d just been Con. Now Flynn: that didn’t sound Jewish — unless it was an anglicized version of Fein, Feinberg, or something like that. But did it matter? Eden hadn’t been Jewish either, but all of the Rabins had been totally charmed by her. She had been like a third child.

“Let me see if I can find her,” Esther said after what must have seemed like an indecorous silence.

Debbie came to the phone in answer to her mother’s call. Without asking who it was, she said lightly: “Didn’t we just say good-bye?”

“That was yesterday; this is today. When can we get together?”

“Make a suggestion.”

“Can you spend a weekend?”

“I probably can, if you have acceptable sleeping arrangements.”

“My parents would insist on it.”

“All right, I’ll check with mine. I’ve never heard their opinions about such things. But wait, Josh and Eden. They were up in Ithaca together. I think my parents will be fine. Call me after lunch.”

True to expectation, both sets of parents asked what their children had in mind, and allowed themselves to be convinced that the relationship hadn’t reached the point where there might be cause for concern.

“I assume we’ll get a chance to meet him too,” Esther added.

“I’d love for you to,” Debbie answered eagerly. “And I’d love for Josh to, as well. When is he coming?”

“He hasn’t told us yet. He’s spending the summer up there, you know, but he promised us at least a week. As soon as he tells us when, I’ll let you know, so you can coordinate with Con.”

The phone rang at 1:30. This time Debbie picked it up. Without introduction, Con asked: “Feel like going to a ballgame?”

“Sure, why not? No, wait a minute: what kind of ballgame?”

“Ha ha! OK, baseball. The Yanks are playing the Blue Jays on the sixteenth. That’s Saturday. So you stay over and on Sunday we’ll go to the beach. You like the beach?”

“Love it. We used to go to Ocean City every summer.”

“We’ll go to Rockaway, far from the madding crowd. Better than Ocean City — and way better than Coney Island.”

“Where do I sleep?”

“In our guest room. And you can close the door. Then my folks won’t need to worry about what we’re up to. They’re pretty strict about that. It’s a religious thing.”

“Well,” Debbie said, “I think it’s best for us too. I doubt Josh and Eden ever did anything, and they were really smitten with each other.”

Con caught himself just in time. Debbie might be sensitive about any comparison with Eden. So he simply said, “OK,” then wished he’d said it with more enthusiasm.

“How do I get around New York City?”

“I’ll meet you at the Port Authority Terminal. See if you can find a bus that gets there no later than eleven-thirty, then we’ll grab lunch and go straight to Yankee Stadium. The subway system’s complicated, and it’s quite a long ride.”

“That’ll be lovely. Hold a sec while I check the bus schedule. . . Here we are: eleven-thirty-five! Close enough?”

Con decided that they had time to walk crosstown from Eighth Avenue to the East Side, where they had lunch in a delicatessen before taking the Lexington Avenue subway to the stadium.

The New York Yankees had a bad season in 1990, and the date Con chose to host Debbie fell right in the middle of a losing streak against the Toronto Blue Jays. Coincidentally, on that very weekend the Phillies won three in a row against the Chicago Cubs. But neither Con nor Debbie knew those statistics as they were unfolding — and they could hardly have cared less. A sunny Saturday afternoon in the ballpark, surrounded by uninhibited fans, was the ideal setting for them to cheer, boo, drink beer, and hold hands.

After the game the subway, predictably, was crowded and they were forced to stand. Squeezed against each other, they were silent and avoided prolonged eye contact until the change of trains at Union Square released them from their confinement. They sat the rest of the way and allowed themselves knowing smiles.

“This section is called Ditmas Park,” Con explained as they emerged from the Newkirk Plaza station. “Just a couple of blocks to our home. I don’t know what we’re having for dinner, but Mom likes to entertain. You’re not kosher by any chance, are you?”

“No, we enjoy the Jewish holidays, and there are some things we don’t eat, but we’re not strict about the dietary laws.”

“I’m glad. My parents don’t even know that I’m dating a Jewish girl.”

“Is that a problem?” Debbie asked, slowing down.

“I’m sure it isn’t. After all, we’re not about to announce our engagement. There are a lot of Jews in our neighborhood — Hassidim, in fact. My parents aren’t crazy about them, especially my father. He sometimes makes snide remarks about their clothes.”

This time Debbie stopped. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“It’s never been a problem between you and me, and I didn’t — I don’t expect it to be a problem with them. I just thought I’d tell you in case it comes up.”

Debbie was more than a little annoyed. “I don’t know what upsets me more, that you didn’t tell them about me or that you didn’t tell me about their feelings.”

“Would you have refused to meet them if I’d told you?”

“No, I don’t think so. But I’d have been prepared. Obviously I have to meet them if we’re going to continue going together.”

He took her hand. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. It was thoughtless of me. But I’m sure they’ll like you. I told them you’re my girlfriend. How can they not like you?”

“Easy, if they don’t like Jews.”

“Mom’s very friendly with our neighbor, Mrs. Hirsch.”

“And your father?”

“Most of his friends are at the showroom. He works in a Buick dealership.”

“How about Mr. Hirsch?”

“He’s a butcher. He and Dad don’t have much in common.”

They turned the corner into Dekoven Court. “Almost there,” Con announced.

Debbie looked with astonishment down the cul-de-sac of imposing detached three-story houses sheltered by trees that reached to the rooftops or higher. Her mind backpedaled to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which she had read in junior high school. Betty Smith mustn’t have visited this part of Brooklyn, she thought. The people living here, including the Flynns, were obviously well to do.

They mounted the recently painted steps to the porch, to be met by Mrs. Flynn, who seemed to have been watching the sidewalk for their approach. Smiling broadly, Gladys welcomed her son’s girlfriend with a warm hug. “Such a pleasure to meet you. We’ve heard so much about you, and it’s all good!” Right away Debbie’s apprehension vanished.

The sound of their voices brought Mr. Flynn from within. Looking at all three together, Debbie saw the physical resemblance between Con and both parents. Mike came forward with arm outstretched and shook Debbie’s hand. “Pleasure, I’m sure,” he said. “Did you cheer for our Yankees?”

“I did, Mr. Flynn, but it wasn’t good enough. They lost.”

“They’ve been losing all season,” Mike said with a hint of disgust. “We should move to Philadelphia, where they know how to play baseball.”

“My brother’s the authority in our family,” Debbie said, laughing, “and I think he’d say that over the long haul the Yanks have a much better record than the Phils.”

“In the old days, meaning before 1955, the Yanks were practically unbeatable. Not so anymore.”

“Why’s that?” Debbie unwittingly was about to open a can of worms.

“Think 1947,” he said, “and think Brooklyn Dodgers. Your brother will know, if he’s familiar with the history of the game.”

Gladys could hardly contain her irritation. How little it took to set Mike off! Even in the presence of a guest they’d so looked forward to meeting. “Let’s go inside and eat.” She led the way without waiting for anyone to react.

Debbie would have loved to comment on the beautiful woodwork in the house but felt inhibited by the tension just revealed between Con’s parents. After a delicious dinner of lamb chops, during which Mike’s only words were a number of requests for another beer, both Con and Debbie offered to help with the dishes, but Gladys declined.

“Con, why don’t you and Debbie take a walk around the neighborhood? It’s a lovely evening. And when you come back, we’ll have ice cream.”

They set out in silence. Debbie felt sorry for Con, who must have been embarrassed by his parents’ performance. Con felt sorry for Debbie, whose first impression of his parents could not have been pleasant. But she took his hand and said, “Your mother made us a lovely dinner, and I really wanted to help with the dishes, but I think she wanted us out of the house —”

“— so she could give Dad a talking to. He’s got a weakness for booze and, let’s say, for certain issues.”

“You mean that Brooklyn Dodgers stuff?”

“Yeah. The Dodgers had already left Brooklyn before I was born, but the way he told it, years later, you’d think they’d abandoned him personally when they went to L.A.”

“Is that — the move to L.A. — what you meant by ‘certain issues’?”

“No. My Dad’s ‘certain issue’ is Jackie Robinson, what he represents and what he’s come to stand for. The Yanks didn’t integrate until 1955 — a couple of years after winning five consecutive World Championships. After that they still won more than their share, but never five in a row. To hear Dad tell it, the reason was that they integrated the team.”

“That doesn’t sound logical! He couldn’t possibly mean it,” Debbie said.

“You’re a model of tact, Debbie. Fact is, in some respects Dad can be a total asshole. And he drinks too much.”

And so do you sometimes, Debbie thought ruefully, but now was not the time to remind him. As for his father’s other shortcoming, didn’t Con’s remarks about Asian students at the midterms begin to sound familiar? Had the apple really fallen that far from the tree?

“I’m ready for ice cream,” Con said suddenly. “Shall we go back?”

Debbie was glad of the change of subject. “OK, let’s.”

They found Mike sitting alone on the porch, a can of beer in his hand.

“Nice walk?” he asked.

“Just perfect, Mr. Flynn,” Debbie answered. “And so many people still on the streets. This neighborhood’s really lively.”

“Yeah, you have to close the windows if you want to get any sleep around here. The noise goes on till all hours, especially Saturday nights.”

“Anyway, Debbie,” Con said, “your room is at the back of the house, so you won’t hear much from the street.”

They were about to go inside when Mike called them back. “Sit down just a moment, guys,” he said. “I’m sorry for the way I acted before. That was no way to talk in front of a lady, especially my son’s lady. I guess I’m too much into baseball. I used to be a Dodgers fan, and when they still played here I never cared for the Yanks. But by the time the Dodgers left the Yanks weren’t what they used to be either. So I easily get upset.”

Con had heard his father’s outbursts and apologies before and had promised himself that he would not be like that. Then came Con’s snide remarks about Asian students. Debbie had called him on his prejudice. In the aftermath of that conversation he realized what an effort it took to break away from his father. Just when he thought he’d established some independence of thinking, the old habit came out of hiding.

Debbie, had she asked herself at the time, would have guessed where Con’s pattern of thinking originated. Now she knew for sure. It was always the parents, with unfettered access to their children’s minds in the early, formative years. What she could not know was whether Con would ever master his xenophobic inheritance, and that uncertainty gnawed at her. Tolerance was ingrained in her own family, and it was sincere and effortless. Could she sustain a comfortable long-term relationship with Con? Would her family accept him with his attitude? Was she walking into a trap?

Logic told her that she should be contemptuous of Mike — hate him, in fact, for threatening her vision of a future with Con. But logic wasn’t the only force impinging on her mind. She rather liked Mike, his boyish enthusiasm for baseball — which perhaps he had also passed along to his son. She liked the chivalrous manner in which he had begun the present conversation, a trait more likely to endear him to others than antagonize them. Here, she reasoned, was a man who was mourning the decline of a favorite sport as he’d known it. It wasn’t just the screaming racial overtones; it was the departure of the team he used to root for. Feeling that loss personally didn’t sound so strange to her. She’d seen Josh jump out of his chair in joy or disgust at sports events. She thought she might even get along with Mike.

And then she remembered that she was Jewish. How would Mike feel about that?

Her head was spinning. She excused herself and went up to her room in the back of the house. The street noise was barely audible there, but the silence was wasted on her. She couldn’t sleep.