As her anger snowballed, it gathered fear and sadness. She was an adult and they thought they could make decisions for her; they thought she’d hand over her and Abe’s baby and go to college a carefree coed. Betty knew that was an impossibility for her heart, but could they force her? Not if she had Abe by her side.
Not if they were married.
That night Betty forced herself to stay awake well past midnight. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only way, and once Abe knew he’d be glad she’d awakened him. She crept down the stairs in her bare feet in the dark, padded to Zaide’s office, and shut the door behind her without making more than a faint click. She would have to whisper, but the switchboard wouldn’t be crowded with voices. Nor would she likely know the overnight operator.
Betty carried the phone behind the desk, where she sat on the floor, guarded by bookcases. She lifted the receiver to her ear and placed her index finger into zero.
The office light turned on, blinding her.
“Go to bed, Betty.” It was Tillie, unglamorous with her hair in a kerchief and no makeup. “Just hang up and I won’t tell your grandparents.”
Betty stood in defeat, but just for the moment. “You couldn’t be a good mother so you don’t want me to be one? Is that why you’re stopping me? You say you love my father. Well, I love Abe. I don’t care if it’s not perfect, or expected, or right.”
“You should care. It won’t be good for the baby to be raised under those conditions.”
Betty seethed. This woman who had ostensibly dumped her was suddenly concerned with propriety and conditions? How did Tillie know what was right for Betty or a baby?
“I know you won’t find this hard to believe, but when we had you, Joe and I weren’t ready to be parents. That’s why you grew up here. It was best for you. Don’t you think it was hard for us? That it’s still hard?”
“No, I don’t.” Even if it were true, it was too late for Betty to ever believe it.
“That just shows you how little you know about being a mother,” Tillie said.
Was Tillie claiming to love Betty? That made her feel as nauseated as morning sickness. “You don’t really believe you’re fit to be anyone’s mother, do you?”
Tillie snatched the phone from Betty. “You should have gotten knocked up by a Jewish boy. At least then we’d be planning a wedding.”
The next morning Betty faced facts. Nannie stopped Georgia from sending a telegram. Tillie thwarted her telephone call. A letter to Abe would arrive after she’d left for Staten Island, but at least he would know about the baby. Abe could come and rescue them both. Staten Island was all the way out east. He’d have to drive or take the train, leave his mother, miss classes.
But what if weeks or months passed and he didn’t come? What if it wasn’t just the distance that stood between them but the fact that he didn’t love her anymore? Had he ever?
Didn’t he wonder where her letters were? The last letter she’d written was a few days before the pageant. Wasn’t he worried? Even curious?
Sadness washed over Betty. She wanted to climb into bed and never get out again. But this wasn’t only about her anymore. There was a baby inside her who needed a father—and to make that happen, she’d need a husband.
Betty walked to her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper.
She clomped down the stairs and through the living room, folded paper in her hand. As she glared at her mother, swear words tickled Betty’s lips. But that would accomplish nothing. Maybe Tillie and Joe were the ones suffering from exhaustion, since they’d been charged as her guards, or maybe it was Betty’s self-assuredness, but neither of them rose from their seats, asked where she was going, or tried to stop her. She pushed through the front door and allowed it to slam behind her.
A minute later she sat on a beach bench and slowed her breathing.
Betty smoothed her green polka-dot dress, glad she’d chosen something feminine and cheerful, yet modest. Glad it still fit. She combed her fingers through her hair and rested her hand on her stomach.
I’m doing this for you.
Betty tapped on the door of Stern’s Summer Resort cabin 7A. It was one of the most premium cabins on the property, its wood siding painted to match the sand, with two small bedrooms, and a sitting room that faced the lake. She noticed the movement of the panel curtains and remembered when her worst days were washing and pinning the lace.
A moment later the door opened.
“Hey, Betty Boop. I was hoping I’d get to see you before we left.”
No matter what happened next, everything would be different from now on, even what she called him. “Hi, Marvin. Are you alone?”
“Yes. My mother’s playing cards.”
“I guessed she might be.”
“I’ve been asking about you, but your grandparents won’t let anyone see you. Are you feeling better?”
“No.” Betty held out her hand and looked into his eyes. They were light brown rimmed in amber.
Marvin pressed his palm against Betty’s and wove his fingers through hers. “Tell me what happened.”
The grasp did not resemble Abe’s but was strong just the same. Betty held on tight and stepped inside the cabin she’d cleaned beside Zaide, just a few months earlier. She sat on the edge of the settee, hands on her knees to keep them from knocking.
Marvin didn’t wait for her to speak. “Fall semester must be starting soon.”
“Don’t play along with the charade, please. You’ve always been honest with me.”
“I wasn’t sure you liked that about me.”
“I think it’s what I like best.”
“You’re not going to Barnard, I take it.”
“You know I’m not. There must be gossip.”
“I don’t listen to gossip, not when it comes to you. If you tell me you’re going to Barnard, well then, you’re going to Barnard.”
“I wish I
