“And do you think you’ll get married?” Georgia asked.
Betty nodded. There was no other option.
“But you said he wasn’t Jewish,” Doris said.
“You sound like Nannie. She’ll change her mind. She’ll have to.”
Georgia opened her mouth wide enough to let out a scream, but she stayed silent.
Betty knew Irish married Irish. Italian married Italian. Catholics married Catholics (as long as their grandparents came from the same country). And Jews married Jews.
“I don’t care,” Betty said. “It doesn’t feel wrong, even though it goes against everything I was raised to think is right.”
Georgia set her hands on her knees and inhaled a deep breath. “I understand completely. Sometimes the connection is stronger than any logic or good sense.”
“Yes!”
“You’re bonkers!” Doris said.
“Just wait till you fall in love,” Georgia said. “It doesn’t always happen according to plan.”
At that moment Georgia’s ease dissolved into a wistful sadness—which was not at all like the Georgia Betty knew.
Doris hugged Betty. “I have to get back, but I’ll visit tomorrow.”
Betty nodded.
“And if anyone asks—I know—you’re suffering from exhaustion,” Doris said.
She scampered down the steps, and Betty knew she had rattled her friend but that Doris would guard the secret with her life. She turned to look at Georgia.
“Please tell me what’s going on with you,” Betty said.
Georgia shook her head in a perpetual no. “You have enough going on.”
“I have a feeling it’s going to be all about me as soon as my grandparents know about my situation. Distract me. Tell me about your guy. I know there is one, Georgia. He’s making you sad. Who is he?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s too awful. You’ll hate me.”
“I just told you I’m having a baby. You can tell me anything. Nothing will ever make me hate you.”
“You’re not going to like what I say.”
“Let me decide for myself. Do you love him?”
Georgia nodded. “Oh yes.”
“Does he love you back?”
“I think so.”
I think so was never the right answer.
“Did you go all the way?”
Georgia’s faced flushed crimson.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought you knew and didn’t say anything because you didn’t approve.”
“How would I know?”
“Because you saw us together.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It wasn’t Marv and Eleanor on the dunes that night. I couldn’t believe you didn’t recognize the sweater.”
It had been aquamarine, with pearl buttons, folded neatly. The way someone trained in a department store would fold a sweater. Georgia’s family’s department store. A tingle skittered across Betty’s shoulders and up her neck.
“Oh my God. That was you. It was you we saw on the ground having . . . You’re in love with Marv Peck?”
Georgia slapped Betty’s arm. “It wasn’t Marv.” Georgia glanced side to side and behind her. “It was Sam Bloomfield,” she whispered.
“Sam Bloomfield?” Betty whisper-yelled, trying to match the name with a face. “You mean MISTER Bloomfield? Oh my God, he’s old!”
“He’s not old, he’s thirty-two. He’s mature and sophisticated. I love him.”
“He’s married! He has children. And one on the way. Oh, Georgia. You’re too smart to do that.”
“Apparently not.”
“The Bloomfields left,” Betty said. “They’re not coming back until next year. How did you leave it?”
“He told me he cared for me, and it was fun, but it was over.” Georgia laid her head on Betty’s lap, and Betty stroked her hair.
A few months earlier, Betty might have silently held up Georgia to a traditional standard, but that measure was no longer relevant. Disparaging thoughts about Sam Bloomfield ran through her mind, but her friend didn’t need to hear them. Betty just wrapped her arms around Georgia and rocked.
“I guess we both lost our first loves,” Georgia said.
Betty released Georgia. “I did not lose Abe. He doesn’t know.” For the first time since that morning, adrenaline rushed through her. “Georgia, take me to see him. Drive me to Detroit. Or drive me to a bus and I’ll take a bus to Detroit. As soon as he sees me and he knows about the baby, everything will be fine.”
“Betty, you haven’t had a telephone call or letter in two weeks.”
“Two weeks isn’t so long.”
“Two weeks is too long.”
“But everything has changed.”
“Has it? Abe doesn’t know that. But he knew how important Miss South Haven was to you and he didn’t show up.”
“So, he was busy.”
“Too busy to send a postcard or a telegram to wish you good luck?”
“But he loves me—he wouldn’t just stop.”
“Betty, he did stop. He might care for you but he’s not showing it, he’s not here. That’s a choice. It doesn’t take long to jot off a postcard, even if he can’t call.”
Betty’s stomach churned—from fear or from the baby, she didn’t know. What she did know was this baby would never have to wonder about love, or wish for it. Betty loved him or her already.
But maybe Abe’s love was like her parents’ love, contingent on convenience, conditional and logistical.
Or, for some reason she had yet to understand, perhaps Betty was the kind of girl who was easy to leave behind.
Chapter 25
BETTY
Georgia skedaddled out of Betty’s house as soon as they heard rumblings downstairs. She promised to return the next day.
Betty huddled on her bed with pillows and blankets and a lifetime of stuffed animals. Precisely where the baby lay inside her, she didn’t know. Instead of patting her stomach, she rubbed wide circles, to cover all her bases.
What was her family doing downstairs? How long were they going to keep her waiting? Were they expecting her to present herself? Who willingly walks into a fire?
Maybe her grandparents were contacting Abe. The act of marrying a non-Jewish boy was something they’d overlook, come to accept in time, but having a baby without a husband just wasn’t done. She had heard about married college students. They could set up house in Ann Arbor while Abe finished school, and then it would be Betty’s turn. They could even marry in Detroit, if that was easier for Abe’s mother. She had just lost a son, but now she’d gain a daughter-in-law, a grandchild. Betty knew she and the baby wouldn’t
