Margot by Jillian Cantor

Margot by Jillian Cantor

Author:Jillian Cantor
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-07-25T16:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A FEW DAYS LATER, I AM STILL HAVING TROUBLE SLEEPING, and instead of pacing my apartment or continuing to stare at the ceiling above my bed, I decide to leave for work early. By 8 A.M., I am at my desk, before Shelby and Ezra or even Joshua have arrived for the day.

Just after I sit down in my secretary’s chair, the elevator dings open, and Joshua steps off. Also early. I smile. He wears a navy suit today, with a red-and-navy-striped tie. He holds tight to his attaché, and when he notices me, he smiles his warm Joshua smile.

“Margie,” he says. “Just the person I wanted to see.” He puts his hat on the rack by my desk and waves for me to follow him into his office. “Come,” he says. “Let’s talk.”

I nod, pleased that he has been wanting to see me, and that we are almost alone here. I stand up and walk into his office.

“Shut the door,” he says, “and have a seat.”

I do.

He sits down, folds his hands in front of him, his face serious. For a moment I worry that he might chastise me for lying to Penny the other day, but then he smiles again. “You’re working early today,” he says.

I nod, but I do not tell him the reason, that I have been unable to find sleep, my brain tumbling with thoughts of him and Penny together, the pink Cadillac, Peter. Pim in Switzerland with his new wife. And then, somewhere in the darkest clutches of night, there is my sister, frail and reaching for me at the very end.

Joshua clears his throat. “So I had another idea last night,” he says. I nod again. “Maybe an ad in the paper is too public for some. Maybe we should also approach these people where they feel more comfortable.”

“Okay,” I say, but I am thinking that these people, they do not feel comfortable anywhere. That even your own skin, it is your enemy when it is marked, when you are nothing more, or perhaps nothing less, than a number. Or is that just how I feel? Bryda seems to have no qualms about it.

“Let’s make up some flyers and take them to Beth Shalom,” Joshua is saying.

“Beth Shalom?” I repeat, though I feel as if I am choking on the words, and they refuse to form in my throat into something real.

“Yeah, it’s a synagogue, close to Miss Korzynski’s part of town. A little bit of a poorer area with a lot of immigrants close by. And I’d be willing to bet a lot of the congregation there either work for Robertson or know people who do.” He pauses and runs his hand through his curls. “I’ll draw up the flyers, and then I’ll just need you to take them down there, and speak to the rabbi, sometime before Saturday services. You can take an afternoon this week.”

“Me?” I ask quietly. “You want me to go?”

“I would do it,” he says. “But the rabbi there sometimes plays golf with my father, so I need you to keep this quiet.



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