The Last Embrace (8 page)

“Wait here.” I walked to the living room and picked up the chess set that the Connallys had given me. I'd left it here for the occasional game with Jack, since neither my aunt nor uncle played.

Robbie's eyes widened as I lowered the chess set into his hideaway. “Dad says I'm too young.”

“Not at all. I started playing when I was seven.” I held up the first piece. “This is the pawn and it moves a single space straight ahead, but diagonally...”

From outside the closet there came a clattering. At first, I thought it was Jack, coming to see where I had gone. But Mr. Connally's voice, low and urgent, rose from the entranceway. “What on earth?” I unfolded myself from the closet, meeting Jack as he came down the stairs. We found Mr. Connally in the kitchen with his wife. His usually jovial expression was dark as a storm and he did not greet me. A rock formed in my stomach. “What's happened?”

Grim-faced, he turned on the radio: “The Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, by air... The attack also was made on all military and naval activities on the principal island of Oahu...”

“America will enter the war for sure now,” Jack said.

My heart lifted: surely the United States would declare war on the Germans, too. But Mrs. Connally was gripping the counter, knuckles white. “What's wrong?” I asked, forgetting not to be forward. “Don't you want the Americans to help? I know that the Quakers don't believe in fighting but surely now that it's for good reason...”

“It's not that,” Mrs. Connally replied quietly.

“Then what?”

“Our boys are too young,” Mr. Connally soothed, reading her unspoken thought. “And it will be over quickly.”

“Yes, of course.”

Charlie ran in breathless, still wearing shoulder pads under his practice jersey. “The Japs bombed...” He stopped, realizing we had already heard. We stood huddled for several minutes, listening to the reports of the devastation in Hawaii, ships destroyed, casualties possibly in the thousands. I had seen the edges of war in Italy, homes burned and shop windows smashed, people arrested. But the scope of the damage described on the radio was simply unfathomable.

Charlie cleared his throat. “Will you go down to the enlistment center with me tomorrow, Dad?” he asked. His mother's face seemed to fold with horror, as though her worst nightmare had come true.

“You'll be eighteen soon,” his father said grudgingly. “I suppose you'll need to register.”

Charlie shook his head. “Not just register. I want to join up.” My heart stopped. Charlie could not go to war.

“Charlie, no. You need to finish school. You may not even get drafted.”

“You don't understand. I want to go now.” His eyes burned bright with an idealism that made me love him even more. “There's a chance to make a difference and really help.”

Liam slammed through the door. “Mom, I was just...” Then, seeing us gathered, he stopped short. “What gives?”

“The Japanese attacked our base in Hawaii,” Mrs. Connally said. “And your brother wants to enlist.” She did not have to say which one.

Liam rolled his eyes. “Figures.”

“There's no need to enlist. The war won't last long,” Mrs. Connally said. This was the first time I had seen the Connallys disagree. As much as I wanted to be part of their family, I felt like an intruder listening in.

“Exactly. I want to go now, while I can help.” As the debate went back and forth like a ping-pong match, I watched Liam. He was looking at Charlie, rapt, his face a strange mix of adoration and resentment.

“But what about college?” his mother persisted. “You were just talking about a football scholarship.” Charlie bit his lip, trying to reconcile his dreams.

“It's out of the question, Charlie,” Mr. Connally added firmly.

“But this is my decision.”

“What if you just registered for now?” Liam spoke up unexpectedly, before his parents could respond. All heads turned in his direction. Usually it was Jack that made peace. “I mean, that way as soon as you graduate you can go.”

“I don't want to wait to enlist,” Charlie replied sharply.

“And we don't want you to go at all,” his father shot back. His suggestion rejected by both sides, Liam slunk from the room.

Mrs. Connally turned toward me, Jack and Robbie. “Kids, would you excuse us, please?”

As we left the kitchen, I saw Robbie eyeing his hideaway, wanting to escape. The family quarrels were perhaps hardest on him. I put my arm around him. “Come on.” At the front door, I looked back at the stair closet, wondering if it would be useful as a bomb shelter. Uneasily, I shooed the thought away and followed Jack out onto the porch. Clouds had formed, turning the air cold and blustery. I scanned the street. Where had Liam gone? I wanted to find him and tell him I thought his suggestion had been a fine one, but he was nowhere to be seen. Pigeons huddled on the rooftops across the street. Jack pulled a pack of Juicy Fruit from his pocket and offered both of us a stick. I unwrapped it and popped it in my mouth, the syrupy sweetness a contrast to the somber mood. “Why is your mom so against the war?”

He shrugged. “She doesn't believe it solves anything.”

Anger rose within me. It was so easy to sit here thousands of miles away and say that. “Is your dad a pacifist, too?”

“Injured,” Jack replied. “The army won't take him.” I was puzzled. Mr. Connally looked just fine to me. “He had such a hard time during the Depression,” Jack added. I didn't understand what that had to do with being able to fight.

Before I could ask further about their father, the door to the house opened and Charlie walked out, slamming it behind him.

“Charlie, I...” I began, searching for the words. I wanted America to go to war. But not him. “Please wait.” But he walked straight past and stormed off, not seeing me, leaving me feeling small and cold.

The smell of marsh grass baked in the late-August sun rose from the ground as I walked down the steps from our rooms at the beach house, brushing at some sand that lingered on my knee. A faint breeze, cooler than the day before, threatened to lift the hem of my pale yellow sundress, then set it down with a swirl.

I ran my fingers over the shell bracelet which Robbie had won for me from a boardwalk ring toss a few weeks earlier. It was hard to believe summer had come and gone again. We had arrived just before the Fourth of July, a day after the Connallys. Here there was no rushing home across the city after dinner, or worrying about the long walk between neighborhoods. Instead we had fallen back into our familiar routine of leisurely days on the beach and jitney rides up to the boardwalk some evenings. It was as if we had never left.

But everything was not the same. The country had been at war for more than eight months now. Life had changed in a thousand small ways, from the blackout curtains that lined the windows to the things like white sugar and sometimes butter that we were all meant do without for the war effort.

One day, just after the war had broken out, my name was called over the intercom when I was in Mrs. Lowenstein's class, asking me to come to the principal's office. This had never happened before and I hurried down the linoleum corridor, trying to figure out what I had done wrong. I was surprised to find my aunt and uncle waiting for me. They seldom ventured beyond the neighborhood. “We need you to come with us,” Aunt Bess said. They were both wearing their best clothes and their expressions were somber.

My apprehension rose. “Is it my parents? Have you had word?” Uncle Meyer shook his head and I followed them as we boarded the trolley downtown. Immigration and Naturalization, read a sign over the door of the office building at Fifth and Market to which Uncle Meyer led us.

Despite my uncle's denial, hope flickered in me for a second: perhaps my parents were coming after all and we needed to get them visas. I turned to Aunt Bess questioningly. “Your citizenship paperwork came through,” she said. Annoyance rose in me. They had not asked if I wanted to be American; they had just presumed and filed the application without asking me. For a minute, I considered refusing. “It will make things easier,” Aunt Bess added. Easier for whom?

We sat in a waiting room with a dozen other people where a clock ticked above a water fountain. Finally, my name was called and we walked into an office. Would I have to take a test like I'd heard about in civics class? But the bald man behind the desk just asked me to repeat after him words I did not quite hear over the buzz in my ears, something about defending the Constitution. “Congratulations.” He handed me a certificate with coarse dry hands. Was that it? My heart sank a bit as I passed the paper to Aunt Bess, who folded it neatly and tucked it in her purse.

“That was wonderful,” Aunt Bess said, hugging me as though I had won an award, though I had in fact done nothing at all. “Wonderful.” I was not so sure. More and more lately, I had wanted to be like the Connallys and others here in America. I even dreamed in English, a transition that had happened so subtly I couldn't say when. But now a small piece of me slipped away permanently, widening the gulf between me and my parents and the world I had left behind.

After leaving the immigration office, we went for a late lunch at Famous Deli and ate our corned-beef sandwiches silently. “Now that I'm not an Italian citizen anymore...” I began.

“Shhh,” Aunt Bess said, sneaking quick glances in both directions. I understood then the rush to naturalize me. With war raging overseas, people were growing more suspicious of foreigners here by the day. It was important to simply fit in, especially for a girl from Italy, which had declared war on America just days after Germany. Even on Porter Street, the chatter between porches that had mostly been Yiddish had become almost all English.

“I'm American now,” I'd told the Connallys when I'd visited them afterward.

“Congratulations!” Jack exclaimed brightly.

“Great,” Liam, on a rare evening home, remarked wryly. “You're just like everyone else.” His words echoed my own misgivings. It was as if the part of me he'd admired—the part that was different—was gone.

The shore had changed, too—Atlantic City and the surrounding towns seemed to have been swallowed by the war. Fresh-faced young men in crisp new uniforms were everywhere and Convention Hall had been taken over as a training center. “Camp Boardwalk,” they called it. In the morning, troops marched and drilled in neat lines before scores of onlookers. Though bathers still took to the beaches, they scanned the horizon as if a German U-boat might appear at any second.

“Maybe we shouldn't go to the shore this summer,” Mrs. Connally had fretted in early spring. Hearing that, my heart sank. The long summer days at the shore without the Connallys were unthinkable.

“The Germans won't attack the coast,” her husband replied gently. He spoke with confidence, certain the war could not possibly reach America. But I had thought that once in Italy, too. Now newspaper stories ran pictures of fighting in the cities and villages, ordinary people arrested. My parents were smart, I told myself. They would have left and gone into hiding if things got too bad. It did little to ease my fears.

Thankfully the Connallys had come. I crossed the yard and Beau bounded out around the side of the wrapped porch in greeting. I knocked, not waiting for a response before opening the door. Though it was dinnertime, the smell of bacon and eggs filled the air. Boxes were strewn across the floor, much as they had been the day I'd met them. But this time they were packing to leave. At the base of the stairwell stood a small trunk. A lump formed in my throat at the bag that would go with Charlie when I would not.

They were all gathered in the kitchen, Robbie and the twins picking at the dishes their mother was cooking before she could swat their hands away. A radio played on the counter, President Roosevelt talking about how each American could help the war effort. “Addie, we've got eggs!” Robbie exclaimed, excited about the dinner he once might have scoffed at. I ruffled his hair, noting Mrs. Connally's pained expression over his head. With rationing it was hard to get enough food for four growing boys, and even the ordinary things had become occasional treats.

Charlie sat at the table with his father, sharing sections of the newspaper. He wore a white T-shirt and his hair was still damp from his post-beach shower. Though I had seen him just an hour earlier, my stomach jumped.

Charlie looked up and his eyes seemed to hold mine just a beat longer than usual. “Hello, Addie,” he said. Did I imagine the odd twinge to his voice? There were moments, just a few, where I wondered if he might like me as well. Like back in the city last winter, when I had gone with all of the boys to see
The Wizard of Oz
downtown at the Stanley. About three-quarters of the way through the movie, right about when Dorothy tried to go home in a hot-air balloon, something brushed my hand in the darkness and I lifted it, thinking it was a fly. Charlie's fingers hovered just above mine, then settled on them lightly. I wondered if it was intentional, but he stared intently at the movie, seeming not to notice. I did not breathe for fear of interrupting the moment. A few minutes later the lights came on and he stood, leaving me confused. As we made our way down the street to Horn & Hardart for hot cocoa, I searched his face for an explanation. But his expression was impassive and conversation ordinary, so ordinary I might have imagined it.

Things like that made me think that maybe he could like me, too. Why not? He was only a year and a bit older. But then he would retreat into his world of senior friends and dances and football, and I knew he would never feel the same way about me. He had spoken to me less recently, too, avoiding my eyes in a way reminiscent of Liam. I had wondered more than once if he was angry, though about what I could not fathom.

“Sit, sit,” Mrs. Connally urged, setting a plate before me. Guilt nagged at me as I inhaled the savory bacon smell. My aunt and uncle kept kosher at home. They didn't ask what I ate at school or with the Connallys, but I felt fairly sure they hadn't contemplated anything so
trayf
. My stomach grumbled. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. I took a bite.

“We're going to the boardwalk while Mom and Dad pack up,” Jack offered. He'd gone a bit pimply around the chin, an awkward phase that the other boys seemed to have been spared. “I promised Robbie one last carousel ride.”

“Two,” Robbie corrected.

“Want to come?”

“Sure.” I wanted to buy a box of saltwater taffy to bring back for Rhonda. We'd become friends in a way. I didn't see her outside of school—she had a gaggle of five younger brothers and sisters to babysit and I was busy with the Connallys. But we sat together at lunch every day and partnering up for relay races in gym. The other girls had either grown tired of mocking us or simply stopped noticing.

I took a sip of the juice Mrs. Connally had set before me, secretly studying Charlie as I ate. He was reading about a particularly difficult campaign that the army was waging in North Africa.

“I should be there,” he burst out, slamming his hand onto the table with uncharacteristic frustration. He had gone to register for the draft, waiting more than two hours in the line that snaked around Federal Street. He had not enlisted, though, in accordance with his parents' wishes.

“Next year when I join the army—” Jack began. Gentle Jack was not a fighter, but he would do anything he could to be like his older brother.

“Next year the fighting will be over,” his father interrupted firmly.

“Please, God,” Mrs. Connally mumbled. “This may be the only time that I wish I had daughters instead.”

“You're lucky you're going to college,” Liam pointed out. Charlie had been accepted at Georgetown on the full football scholarship, just like he'd hoped. I'd been helping Mrs. Connally plant her victory plot last April when he'd come home with the news. Mrs. Connally had always made the tiny garden into an oasis, roses climbing trellises stubbornly looking for sun in the shaded patch of green, honeysuckle giving off a fragrant smell. When the war had come, she had reluctantly dug out some of her prized flowers to plant vegetables.

Charlie had run down the sidewalk, whooping. “I got into Georgetown.”

“But how do you know?” his mother had asked. “There hasn't been a letter.”

“There will be. Coach found out.” He'd lifted me and spun me around. Then he'd set me down to hug his mother and I stood motionless, emotions cascading over me. His dream had come true, and he was going to school, not war. But I was still losing him. Charlie had talked about going away since the day we met. The neighborhood simply could not hold him.

But his excitement about college had not staved off the fact that part of him—a big part—felt duty-bound to go and fight. “Maybe you can get a part-time job in Washington with the War Department when you're at Georgetown,” I offered now, trying to ease his frustration.

His face relaxed and he smiled slightly. “That's an idea.” But I couldn't tell if he meant it or was just humoring me.

“Thanks, Addie,” Mrs. Connally said in a low voice as Charlie walked from the room.

When we finished eating, Jack, Liam and Robbie spilled outside with their football, tossing it in the grass yard between the two houses. The boys were outpacing me now, I noticed. The twins were as tall as Charlie had been the day we met. Even Robbie's shoulders now nearly matched my own. And Charlie... I looked back at the Connally house. Why hadn't he come out yet?

From our rooms above, I heard the scrape of a window screen and saw a curtain move. Aunt Bess had been watching me with the Connallys, her expression undoubtedly one of disapproval. Though I had been friends with the Connallys for over a year, it seemed to bother her and Uncle Meyer now more than ever. They were forever trying to push me toward Jewish kids back in the city. “There's a dance at the Y,” Aunt Bess had said tentatively at dinner about a month before we'd come down the shore. “I thought that maybe you would like to go.” I had not answered. It wasn't that I disliked the Jewish kids, but even if they would have accepted me, I didn't want to go. I had the Connallys. I didn't need anyone else.

“You're almost eighteen now,” Aunt Bess had pressed. “You need to meet some nice boys.”

“And the Connallys aren't?” I demanded. Uncle Meyer blinked in surprise at the forcefulness of my voice.

“It's not that. But being Jewish matters. After everything that you've seen, I would have thought that you would appreciate that.”

I pushed aside my aunt's disapproval and watched the boys play as they had done dozens of evenings this summer. But this time was different: it was the last time. Tomorrow it would all be gone. Swatting back a tear, I ran up the stairs to my room and grabbed the camera that Uncle Meyer had given to me as a birthday present. “I noticed you admiring it,” he'd confessed. It was smaller than the one Papa had let me use and not as new. But I didn't mind; I took it everywhere, capturing bits of the city, like the shopkeepers beneath the sagging awnings at the Italian market and the old men who fed pigeons in Mifflin Park. I saved a bit of my allowance each week to buy film and had gotten permission to use the darkroom at school, rinsing the images until the contrast was just right.