July 1934
Gussie
When Gussie pressed her ear to the bathroom door, she thought she could hear her grandmother crying. The noise sounded a bit like the call of a baby fox, or at least what Gussie imagined a baby fox might sound like. For a moment, Gussie allowed herself to imagine a small woodland creature, skating across the hexagonal tile floor and making its home among her grandmother’s bath salts and her grandfather’s foot powder. Both the existence of a baby fox in the bathroom and the idea that her grandmother might be crying seemed equally preposterous.
Gussie turned the glass doorknob and slowly pushed open the door. The bathroom had filled with steam, and it took Gussie a moment to locate her grandmother, who was lying in the big claw-foot tub. When Esther saw Gussie, she sniffed and wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands.
“Are you sad about Florence?” Gussie asked in a small voice.
Esther contorted her mouth into something that resembled a smile but didn’t make her eyes squint. “Yes, very.”
It was difficult not to stare at her grandmother’s breasts, which bobbed along the surface of the water, big and floppy with nipples the size and color of gingersnap cookies. Gussie wondered if her own chest would ever develop to such a degree. The thought of carrying something so large around with her, everywhere she went, was a terrifying prospect. When Esther noticed Gussie studying her chest, she shifted in the tub and submerged the buoys beneath the cloudy bathwater.
“Grab the stool over there,” Esther said. “You can keep me company while I finish up.”
Next to the commode was a small three-legged stool that Esther sat on when she gave Gussie baths. Gussie picked it up and positioned it close to the tub. She liked it when her grandmother took baths because it was easy to get and keep her full attention. Now, more than usual, she had questions she needed answered.
“What happens to people when they die?” Gussie asked when she was a few minutes into her vigil.
Her grandmother seemed startled by the question. After several seconds passed, she whispered, “Oh, darling. I wish I knew.”
“Do we go to heaven?”
Her grandmother cleared her throat. “It’s a good question, but Jews believe it’s not the most important question.”
“What is the most important question?”
“Whether you’ve been a good person. Done good things for other people.”
“Florence used to take me for pickles on Heinz Pier, which was a very good thing.”
Her grandmother’s eyes grew wet again. “Yes,” was all she said before she slipped farther down into the tub, allowing her ears to sink below the waterline. Her grandmother’s hair looked darker when it was wet, and Gussie liked the way it moved in the water.
“Nana,” said Gussie, trying to be heard through the water. “Nana.”
“Hmm?”
“What about Hyram? He didn’t have a chance to do good things.” At the mention of Hyram’s name, her grandmother surfaced, tilting her head to clear her ears. Gussie repeated her question.
“Babies are always doing good things. Hyram made your parents happy and you happy. That’s enough.”
Had Hyram made Gussie happy? She wasn’t so sure.
“Can I shampoo your hair?” Gussie asked.
“I’ve already shampooed it but I’ll take a little crème rinse.”
Gussie’s heart fluttered. Nothing thrilled her more than getting the chance to do things she wasn’t normally allowed to do, and washing her grandmother’s hair fell squarely in that category. Esther sat up in the tub, water streaming from her head and shoulders, and Gussie grabbed the glass bottle of Breck from the little shelf that sat nearby. She untwisted the cap and concentrated on pouring a modest dollop of the concoction into her hand. The crème felt cool in her palm and smelled of coconut. She rubbed it between her hands before working it through her grandmother’s hair, which was surprisingly long when wet.
“My mother doesn’t use crème rinse.”
“Your mother has such lovely hair, she probably doesn’t need to.”
Gussie pulled her fingers through her grandmother’s hair, working quietly for several minutes. She was particularly careful when she got to the tangled pieces, which Gussie knew, from personal experience, could make a person yelp.
“Would you like me to take you to see your mother?” Esther asked.
It had been weeks since Gussie had been to the hospital. Her grandmother said it was because children weren’t often allowed on the maternity ward, and her father said it was because they’d all been so busy, but Gussie knew the real reason was because no one trusted her to keep a secret.
This frustrated Gussie. Even before her induction into the Florence Adler Swims Forever Society, she had been extremely good at keeping secrets. She never told anyone when her parents argued in their bedroom at night or when her father muttered not-nice things about her grandparents under his breath. On the days when her mother was too sad to get off the sofa, Gussie never let on to her grandmother. She hadn’t breathed a word about Anna borrowing Florence’s bathing suit, even after Gussie went looking for it and found it damp and draped behind the radiator. And, most important of all, Gussie had never told a living soul about her own plan to marry Stuart.
“Remember, if we went, you wouldn’t be able to say a word about Florence,” warned Esther as she stepped out of the tub and toweled herself off.
Gussie trailed Esther into her bedroom, uttering promises as she went. The way her grandmother had talked, she assumed they’d go to the hospital as soon as Esther had
