Debbie and Con, back in Oberlin for registration, faced each other across a tiny table in a tiny coffee shop half a block from Tappan Square. Their reciprocal weekend visits had left much to talk about, which they had only hinted at in telephone calls. It was better not to be overheard.
Over breakfast they smiled at each other until Debbie broke the silence:
“OK, who goes first?”
“You!” Con said triumphantly.
“Why me?”
“You asked; I answered.”
“OK,” she said in mock resignation. “I’m not that much of a baseball fan, but I really enjoyed the afternoon at the beach. I mean, it’s not that far from Philadelphia to the Jersey shore, but going there always included a reminder from my dad about the danger of sun exposure. Cancer. Especially when you’re light-skinned, like me.”
“Mine can’t get enough of it. Sunshine, that is, not cancer. He thinks he can sell more cars if he’s tanned. There’s something about a tan: it suggests confidence, power, money, leisure, quality.”
“Do you think he actually does sell more?”
“I don’t know.”
“OK, so much for tans. Let’s get back to the visits. I definitely had the impression that he didn’t care for me. But your mother was just lovely. I assumed your father’s disapproval was religious — he seemed to notice that I didn’t take bacon with my pancakes — but your mother’s Catholic too, isn’t she? And I never felt that she was watching me.”
There was a long silence, during which Con’s eyes were fixed on a far distant place and Debbie’s were fixed on his. Finally he said, “Let’s take a walk.” He paid the tab and they walked to the end of the block. Crossing the street, they entered the park and were pleased to note that few others were about. A hundred feet away was a vacant bench. “Do you want to sit there?” Con asked.
“No, let’s walk for a while. We’ve been sitting for the last half hour,” Debbie answered.
“Did you ever try reading clouds?” Debbie asked after they’d walked for a while in silence.
“What’s that?” Evidently Con was cloud-illiterate.
“Well, look at that one over there,” she said, pointing to a solitary white cloud. “What does it remind you of?”
“Well, let me see. How about a dog? Crossbred, mother Chihuahua and father Saint Bernard.”
“What do those crossbreeds look like?”
“No idea. They probably don’t exist. Would be interesting though.”
“Here’s one that does: How about a Lab — purebred?”
“I like them. . . . just like you.”
By this time the cloud was becoming distorted by air currents, and as they gazed up it slowly disappeared.
“How does that happen?” Con asked.
“Just a minute!” Debbie exclaimed. “What you just said, that was ambiguous.”
“How so?”
“Well, did you mean I also like Labs, or you also like me?”
“I couldn’t possibly mean the first, could I? We’ve never talked about dogs, so I can’t know what kind you like.”
“Oh. OK, never mind. Let’s get back to the disappearing cloud. I think it just evaporates. Or the wind blows the droplets apart.”
“Too bad we can’t have clouds for pets; you don’t have to clean up after them. But we could have a Lab.”
Debbie stopped and turned to him. “There you go again! We? Pets? What are you saying?”
“Sorry,” Con answered sheepishly. “I should have thought before I spoke.” Silence. “But I’ve been thinking: We visited each other’s homes, even traveled a couple of hours each way. We do have something to talk about.”
“Yes,” Debbie answered. “Starting with what motivated us. I mean, when we meet each other’s families, are we looking to get to know the families or are we feeling them out to see if they like us?”
“Both, I would say,” Con answered. “And I know exactly where you’re going with this. You have misgivings about my father. I can’t help how he feels, but I don’t share his feelings. I’m twenty years old. I’m allowed to make up my own mind who to be friends with.”
“Friends. If that’s all we were, we wouldn’t have to worry about your father’s opinion, would we?”
“True enough. And we’re obviously more than that; that’s why my father does matter. And that’s why I want you to understand, he’s he and I’m me, and we’re not the same person.”
Debbie did not comment. She was not sure whether she could be comforted by Con’s disclaimer. Teenagers, even twenty-year-olds, could talk a big line about their independence without realizing how unrealistic their boasts were. She was willing to believe he meant what he said but less sure about whether he would change his mind in the long run or under stress. He, in turn, was discouraged by her silence but he was afraid to press her.
“Let’s talk about your folks instead. I think they liked me, and I certainly felt very comfortable with them. ”
“I know, and I’m really happy about that. But still, you won’t want to alienate your parents. Suppose we did get serious and make your dad angry, and then things didn’t work out between us. Where would that leave you?”
“I’d have to admit my mistake. Mom would forgive me, and if Dad didn’t that would be his problem. He might even gloat, and then I could just hate him without feeling guilty.”
“Easy to say.” Pause. “But let’s get back to my family. I shouldn’t have got off the subject.” And she gave his hand a squeeze.
“I loved them, all three. They’re so warm and accepting. And Josh is a real prince of a guy. I simply can’t imagine what he went through, losing his girlfriend like that. Obviously she was more than a girlfriend. And on top of that, he seemed to be on friendly terms with that doctor who was responsible for her death.”
“Josh found a way to forgive Calvin,” Debbie said. “We all did. And we’ve never regretted it. Forgiveness has brought a calm to Josh that’s allowed him to get on with his life. It’s so much better than nursing anger forever. I’ve had plenty of time to think about this, because Eden was my best friend too. I wish you’d been at the memorial service and heard Josh speak. At that time I was angrier than he was, if that’s possible, but now I know he was right.”
“You went through a lot too, I know,” Con said. “It must have changed you.”
“Yes, I learned a lot dealing with my loss. I feel a lot wiser, as if losing my best friend made me twenty years older.”
They found a bench beneath a tree and sat down, avoiding the telltale dried white spots that should have warned them of the danger lurking overhead. But so absorbed were they in their conversation that they paid no heed. Soon enough he felt the impact on the back of his left hand as it covered her right. “Is this an omen?” he asked her, his expression registering a mixture of amusement and disgust.
“Of what?” she asked, trying not to laugh.
“How about this:” he answered, wiping his hand with a paper napkin that he’d taken from the coffee shop. “When misfortune threatens to descend on you, I’ll be there to protect you.”
She didn’t know what to believe, the seriousness of his words or the comedic circumstances in which he’d spoken them. “I could live with that,” she said, hoping for clarification.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, turning to her with a searching look.
“What’s the question?” The twinkle in her eye belied her professed puzzlement.
“I’d feel silly getting down on my knee in front of you, right here where everyone could see me.”
“Not to mention the paparazzi hiding behind the trees!” Now she couldn’t help laughing.
“You’re making fun of me!”
“Do you have a ring with you?”
“No, but I could get one real quick.”
“See! You came unprepared. But seriously, aren’t you being just a tad impetuous? Have you really thought this through? How well do we really know each other? And what would we be getting into? How about your family, particularly your dad?”
“How about yours?”
“I’m not worried about them,” Debbie said. “They like you. But it’s your parents that I’m not sure about. Even your mother, who was very warm and friendly to me, I don’t know how she’d react to the idea of your actually marrying a Jew.”
“My mother decided long ago not to blame the Jews for crucifying Jesus.”
“And your father?”
“He’d rather not talk about it.”
“So he’s keeping his options open?”
“I don’t know, Debbie. What I do know is, I don’t really care what he thinks about the crucifixion. That happened two thousand years ago, and neither you nor I had anything to do with it. We’re living in the twentieth century.”
At that point the bird in the tree reminded them again of its presence.
“Let’s walk,” Con said. “It’s safer.”
“I agree, safety first,” Debbie said with a smile as they got up, holding hands.
“And you,” Con continued, “shouldn’t be worrying about my father either.”
As they reached the opposite side of Tappan Square, Debbie said, “Let’s talk about it later. We should go and register for our courses. How about we meet right here at, say, twelve o’clock? We can find a place for lunch.”
They met for lunch that day and many more, and still Debbie hesitated. A disconcerting memory plagued her repeatedly, that of Con attributing his poor grade on that midterm exam to the Asian instructor favoring Asian students. If nothing had happened between them since then to remind her of the event, she would have forgotten and forgiven. But meeting his father had made that all but impossible. Now she had to deal with the possibility that intolerance ran through his family. Not genetically, of course — she knew better than to believe that — but Con had been listening to his bigoted father all his life, including those all-important formative years of his early childhood. Even if he refuted those attitudes as an adult, couldn’t they emerge from his subconscious mind in an unguarded moment? And there was no target more inviting than religion.
Were those midterms a harbinger of even more disturbing prejudices surfacing under stress?
Who was the real Con, the spontaneous or the self-corrected? Who, for that matter, was anybody? Wasn’t one of the attributes of an educated person the capacity to know right from wrong and, thus armed, to control the emergence of evil impulses from deep down? And if those impulses emerged nonetheless, would that mark a person as incorrigibly narrow-minded or as a good one suffering a fleeting lapse of conscience?
She wanted to believe the best of Con. He was charming and obviously fond of her. But try as she might, she couldn’t quite banish her doubts.
Would moving out of his home change him?
❖❖❖❖❖
Esther Rabin was a petite woman with a big heart and a powerful, analytic mind. A competent statistician in her office, she was fully devoted to her family at home. She had divined Josh’s infatuation with Eden Avery before Josh himself was aware of the depth of his feelings. She knew that both of them would return changed from the weekend in Ithaca following Josh’s freshman year at Cornell.
As Debbie’s one-time classmate — until that attack of rheumatic fever set her back a year — and perpetual best friend thereafter, Eden had spent many an hour at the Rabins’ home, and the whole family loved her as one of their own. The Averys were not Jewish, yet Eden had sat and eaten in the Rabins’ sukkah, full of wonder at the beauty of that festival, which the Rabins celebrated more for its aesthetics than to satisfy any religious obligation.
Josh had walked Eden home that evening and had returned with a look on his face that begged explanation. That was the evening the relationship between the two teenagers was transformed. There had followed hockey, soccer, and the welcome home from the Rabins’ trip to Europe before Josh went off to college. Esther would never forget the way Eden had thrown herself at Josh that morning. Eventual marriage seemed like a real possibility, and none of the Rabins cared in the least about the religious difference. They would have unhesitatingly welcomed Eden to their family.
Then Eden died because of an intern’s carelessness, and it fell to Esther to comfort her son and help him through his grief. Debbie was witness to the story from beginning to end — had, in fact, played the role of older, wiser sister even though the two girls were the same age. For a while she had resented that Josh got unconditional sympathy for Eden’s death while she, best friend Debbie, seemed all but forgotten. But a more generous spirit had prevailed and now she readily turned to her mother for help with her dilemma.
That Con had grown up in a Catholic home didn’t bother her; the glimmerings of racial and ethnic intolerance in him were the problem. Already she had seen Asian-Americans, African-Americans, and Jews targeted.
“Mom, what shall I do?” she asked the last day before returning to Oberlin.
“If you take marriage seriously — and I’m sure you do — take your time.”
“But how will I know?”
“Try to look beyond the present. Imagine life with your chosen one years from now. Try to picture what kind of example he will set for your children. That’s serious stuff, and you won’t get the answers from present-day infatuation. Yes, be guided by your feelings, but give it a lot of thought too.”
“Did Josh know?”
Esther had expected that. “If I said yes, you’d ask how he knew. In my opinion, he was in so deep emotionally he never stepped back to ask the question. Obviously you’re not in that situation, but don’t forget, we all knew Edie. You knew her. She’d been your best friend practically since we came to Philadelphia. All of us felt comfortable with her. More than comfortable, we all absolutely loved her. But what do we know of Con? He certainly seemed like a charming young man, and I’d have to say I quite liked him. But all we have is one short visit. So the best answer I can give you is to take your time. My goodness, you still have two more years in college. Why not just keep dating him and see what happens? And by all means invite him again to Philadelphia if you like. Maybe he can stay longer next time and give us a chance to get to know him.”
Debbie understood that that was all the advice she was going to get, and she didn’t expect any different from her father, who tended to approach all questions from a scientific point of view. She thought she might ask Josh but, agreeing with her mother’s appraisal, dismissed him as having nothing useful to offer.
Both Debbie and Con joined the Thanksgiving weekend exodus from Oberlin to visit their families. On Sunday morning Debbie took an early bus to New York City, where the fist surprise of the day greeted her when she was barely inside the Flynns’ home.
“Ah, it’s Debbie, I believe!” The voice was Mike’s, accompanied by a blast of exhaled air carrying unmistakable evidence of a morning pick-me-up. “Come in, old girl. Young Con’s awaiting you. Ha ha, you like my choice of words — old, young?”
Just then Con appeared, not a moment too soon to stop her from seeking the security of the Brooklyn streets. “Dad, Mom’s around the back looking for you.” Luckily Dad did not question his son’s directive, and as soon as he was gone Con apologized to Debbie.
“I’m sorry you had to see him like that,” he said.
“I’m not,” Debbie answered, seeing opportunity where Con had seen only danger. “I need to know these things.”
This declaration cheered Con, for it demonstrated Debbie’s concern. But before he could tell her so, Mike burst on the scene again. “Trying to get me out of the way, were you?”
As respectfully as he could, Con reminded his father that they had a visitor, and that he was making a fool of himself. Then he took Debbie’s arm and steered her into the kitchen, where they found Gladys in tears.
“I’m sorry, Debbie,” she said. “I was so looking forward to seeing you again. And this is what you find when you visit your boyfriend! I’m so sorry!”
Debbie was at a loss. Most of all she’d have liked to throw her arms around Gladys and console her. But that seemed inappropriate, considering her own age and that she hardly knew the older woman. Neither did she know what to say.
With a sniffle and drying her eyes on her apron, Gladys signaled she would just as soon change the subject. At that point Mike entered the kitchen, seemingly contrite for his behavior. Gladys looked at him for a while, then asked: “Are you in any shape for church?”
“I think church will do me good,” he answered quietly. “But I wouldn’t want to drag Con along now that he has a visitor. There’s probably a temple somewhere in the neighborhood.”
Debbie had learned to say nothing.
Gladys turned to Con. “You don’t have to go either place. Walk the neighborhood, or tell each other about your Thanksgiving.” And, grabbing Mike by the arm, she pushed him through the living room and out the house. “We’ll be back around one. And we want both of you to stay for dinner. I hope you have time and still get back to Oberlin tonight.”
Once his parents had left, Con sighed deeply and looked at Debbie apologetically. Debbie tried to reassure him. “Don’t look so sad! None of this is your fault.”
“It’s my family,” Con replied, “and it reflects on me even if you don’t blame me. When I think of how your parents acted, and how good it made me feel, I can’t help but wonder how seeing my father drunk before church on Sunday morning, and listening to his nasty remarks, affected your opinion of me.”
“It didn’t,” Debbie said softly, stretching out an arm to him invitingly. “He’s he and you’re you, just like you told me.”
“You’re kind. Luckily our children will only get half their inheritance from me.”
And you only got half your inheritance from your father, she thought to herself, unsure how he would turn out once out of his parents’ home. As for challenging his assumption about marriage and family, she let it go until he was less preoccupied.
“We’ll have to leave right after dinner,” he said, changing the subject. “I’ll go upstairs and get my stuff together.”
Watching him limp across the room, she thought that his father had already left an ineradicable imprint on him. But she didn’t want to dwell on it; after all, teenage boys did reckless things no matter what their parents had tried to teach them.
On the coffee table in the center of the living room lay a photo album entitled The Flynns, Past and Present. As a guest, she thought nothing of leafing through this collection. It was well organized: older black-and-whites followed by newer ones in color. On the fourth page her eyes caught a familiar image that she would not have expected to see in the personal collection of any family she knew, far less the family of her boyfriend.
She heard irregular footsteps on the stairs and quickly turned half a dozen pages before Con’s faced appeared. Composing herself, she hoped he would not notice her pallor or the trembling of her hands.
She had seen the picture; she could not unsee it. Neither could she forget, change, pretend, or imagine any alternative to having seen it. Worst of all, she could not share her heart-pounding discovery with Con. Not now. Sooner or later she would have to deal with it, but she was not ready.