Esther knew she would never move past Florence’s death—not really—but if she could distance herself from the apartment, where her daughter had most recently lived, she thought she might be able to think more clearly. By Labor Day, she’d have returned Gussie to her parents and Anna would also be gone. Esther craved an empty house and, more than anything, the chance to be alone with her grief.
“Joseph,” Esther called down the hallway to the living room, where she knew her husband had to be hiding behind a newspaper. “Would you mind going downstairs and getting me a few of the packing crates?”
She listened for a response but didn’t hear so much as the rustle of a page.
“I thought I might pack up some of Florence’s things.”
He still didn’t answer her—she was sure her request had surprised him—but a moment later she heard the click of the latch on the front door and his footsteps on the stairs. She moved into the bedroom her girls had once shared and tried to ignore the evidence that Anna was now the room’s only occupant.
Esther took a deep breath and began opening the drawers of her daughter’s dresser. She scooped up the clothes and undergarments and swimsuits and moved them, in big armloads, over to the bed, where she could get a better look at everything. In the jumble, she spotted Florence’s old Ambassador Club suit—so well-worn the black wool looked gray. She held the suit to her face as she considered the pile of clothes in front of her. What would she do with all these things? Keep them? She doubted Fannie would fit into any of them, not after a second baby. She stopped herself. Third baby. Anna had a slim waist and could probably wear almost everything but giving Florence’s clothes to her was out of the question.
Joseph appeared in the doorway, carrying a stack of three empty crates. He set them down on the floor beside Florence’s bed. “Do you want help?”
Esther placed the swimsuit on top of the dresser and looked around the room. What she wanted was her daughter back. She thought about telling him that but instead she just said, “I’m fine.”
She moved one crate onto the bed, reached for a camisole, refolded it, then placed it at the bottom of the crate. Did Joseph plan to hover in the doorway all afternoon? She wished he would leave her alone but, to her disappointment, he wandered over to the dresser, opened a drawer, and removed a pair of motorcycle goggles Florence had retrofitted for her swim around the island.
“It was a smart idea,” he said. “Dipping the goggles in paraffin.” The wax had begun to flake off in large chunks, and he picked at a piece that hadn’t yet pulled away from the leather.
Esther let out a short sigh. “A lot of good it did her.”
“She made it around Absecon Island.”
“And that should please me?”
“It pleased her.”
Esther held on to the crate in front of her with both hands.
“You’d do it all again?” she asked, tentatively. “Teach her to swim, encourage the practicing and the competitions? Knowing how this all ends?”
“Of course not.” He moved around to the other side of the bed, picked up a pair of stockings, and began to fold them. Her heart sank. He clearly intended to stay.
“Not like that,” she said, reaching for another pair of stockings just like the ones between his fingers. “Fold them in half first. Then roll them.”
Joseph looked at her, his eyes so full of pity it made her want to scream, but did as he was told.
He bungled three pairs before he spoke again. “There wasn’t any part of you that enjoyed watching what she could do in the water?”
Esther unfurled the hosiery Joseph had folded and refolded it to her liking. Had Esther gotten something out of Florence’s swims? She had certainly never enjoyed the helpless feeling she got when her daughter was out in the open water. But, in small ways, Esther supposed she had enjoyed Florence’s triumphs. She had liked complaining to the grocer that her daughter was eating her out of house and home. He would weigh a big bunch of bananas or a bag of glossy oranges and cluck agreeably. She liked the way the mothers of the younger girls in the Ambassador Club always made a point of asking, whenever they bumped into Esther, how Florence was doing at Wellesley. Esther would recite as many lines from Florence’s letters as she could remember, fully aware that the news would be reported back to the girls on the team. She wondered whether, if she ran into those women now, she would tell them to keep their precious daughters out of the water. She could picture Florence rolling her eyes at that.
“I am allowed to miss her, too,” Joseph said quietly.
Esther could feel a quiet rage building inside her. How dare Joseph try to twist this moment inside out until it was about something else altogether. The words were out of her mouth before she could consider what she was saying: “At least you have Anna.”
Joseph looked confused. “What does that mean?”
“How did you phrase it again?” She tossed the rolled-up stockings into the crate and moved over to Anna’s dresser, where she yanked open the bottom drawer and grabbed at the thick stack of papers.
“Esther, those aren’t yours.”
She flipped through the pages frantically,
