Betty strode through the dimmed kitchen, its cleared and cleaned surfaces streak-free and shining like mirrors. The dishwasher, mixers, and electric knives were silent. No pounding of dough against the stainless-steel worktable, no banging of pots and pans on the burners and into the oven, no splattering of soup. The only hint that this room served as a bustling kitchen producing thousands of meals per week were the hooks hung with lonely aprons and chef coats that jostled as Betty moved past them. They wouldn’t be worn again until morning.
That night there would be no midnight buffet, despite Mrs. Gallbladder’s annual petition. Mabel and Chef Gavin were off to enjoy the holiday. An empty kitchen meant there was no one to slow her down with comments or questions, although it also meant there were no warm cookies, sips of soup, or ends of brisket to snatch from the fleishig—meat only—cutting board.
Betty ran from the kitchen, around the naked tables in the dining room, then diagonally across the lobby. She sidestepped the center marble table and did not topple Nannie’s grand display of white hydrangeas and American flags. At last, Betty leaned with her back and pushed open the elephant-size doors that led to the beach side of the main house. “The money side,” Zaide called it in private.
Betty exhaled as she stepped onto the veranda. Nannie forbade them to call it a patio. A patio was plain—a veranda you could charge for! Whatever name they called it, this location on her family’s property overlooked a giant slice of North Beach and the expanse of her lake. Any spot on it offered unobstructed views of the South Pier and the lighthouse, and therefore of tonight’s fireworks.
Betty tossed her hair back over her right shoulder, then her left.
Someone tugged at the bucket. “Can I help you with those?”
Betty turned to Marv. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.” She twisted the bucket from his grip. He reached in and withdrew a handful of sparklers. She pushed images of Marv and Eleanor on the dunes, in the sand, with their clothes off, from her mind. It was their business, not hers, but she couldn’t help but think he could do better.
Betty and Marv spread out the sparklers across one side of the table, next to a plate piled high with vanilla-frosted star-shaped sugar cookies and a bowl of red licorice whips. The other end of the table was set with pitchers of lemonade and iced tea, along with a full bar. It was the one night every summer Zaide acted as bartender. Betty grabbed a swizzle stick and twirled it in her fingers like a miniature baton.
Marv leaned on the balustrade and looked out toward the beach. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”
She thought back to the night on the dunes. I’ve seen plenty of you. “I’ve been here. Just busy, I guess. Where’s Eleanor?”
Marv jutted his chin toward the beach. “With your boyfriend.”
Betty sneered. “She’s not with him; they’re playing volleyball.”
“Things okay with you two?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“I don’t know, the night he didn’t show up, I just assumed . . .”
“He did show up, so don’t assume.” Betty tossed the swizzle stick back onto the table and walked away. Why was he needling her?
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” Marv was following her. “I care about you. That’s all.”
Betty looked at Marv. “Do me a favor and care about your girlfriend. Not me.”
“She’s not really my girlfriend.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.” Betty marched forward, alarmed by Marv’s arrogance. She might not be crazy about Eleanor, but if he was willing to have sex with her on the dunes, the least he could do was refer to her as his girlfriend. Betty pushed through the doors and stopped quickly, before colliding with Mr. and Mrs. Bloomfield.
“Oh my.” Mrs. Bloomfield laughed. Even flustered, Tammy Bloomfield glowed with rosy cheeks and sparkling green eyes.
Mr. Bloomfield’s glasses fell askew from the near collision.
“I’m so sorry,” Betty said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Marv stood next to her.
“Rushing away from the best seat in town for the fireworks?” Mr. Bloomfield asked.
“A bunch of us are going up to the dunes,” Marv said. He looked at Betty and raised his eyebrows.
The dunes? Really?
“Getting away from the adults for a little privacy, I suppose.” Mr. Bloomfield chuckled.
“Sam, don’t tease them.” Mrs. Bloomfield patted her protruding stomach. “You kids have fun while you can.”
The three Bloomfield girls barreled past and out onto the veranda. That seemed to signal to the swarms of guests walking through the lobby. People migrated in their direction, eager for fireworks and Zaide’s cocktails.
Mrs. Bloomfield pointed toward the doors. “I’d better go make sure they don’t burn the place down. Sam, are you coming?”
“I’m right behind you.” Mr. Bloomfield stayed in place as his wife walked outside.
Betty didn’t know what to say or how to extricate herself from this awkward moment. Marv should have been looking for Eleanor, and Mr. Bloomfield should have been looking after his wife.
“I’m going to check on some things for my grandparents.” Nannie and Zaide stood on the far side of the lobby, chatting with some of the guests. Betty needed to skedaddle before they saw her. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“She’s meeting her boyfriend,” Marv said.
“And I don’t want to be late. This only happens once.”
“Go,” Mr. Bloomfield said. “Tammy was right. Enjoy it all while you can.” He slapped Marv’s upper arm. “Before you know it, you’ll have a wife and kids, and fun won’t be so easy to come by.”
Mr. Bloomfield was a rat. Betty walked away and ducked out the front door. Twilight had set the sky alight. She wasn’t sure fireworks could make any improvements.
Abe was right where he said he’d be—perched atop the hood of his car. Betty
