The Third Angel by Alice Hoffman

Author:Alice Hoffman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307409331
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2008-04-07T16:00:00+00:00

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FRIEDA WOULD NOT be there in the winter as she had hoped. She received a letter from Lennie in December about how the park looked like diamonds after an ice storm. Ajax, the manager, had quit, and the second-floor rooms were undergoing a renovation because some of the girls had started a fire with their cigarettes.

I hope you're not worrying about me, Lennie wrote to her. My plan is going strong. I'll be gone from here in under two years.

But when Lennie and Meg were found out over Christmas week, they were both fired by the management and threatened with police action, and Frieda never heard from Lennie again. By then, Frieda was married. She had considered it before she'd run off to London, and now she'd followed it through. Bill was the sort of man who would stand by you, no matter what. He was honest and loyal and maybe that was what she was looking for. Frieda and Bill Rice had a quiet wedding in early December; they went to the register office, and afterward had a luncheon at The Swan, just their immediate families and a few friends. There was cold salmon and champagne and Bill's father, Harry Rice, made a long toast that left everyone in tears.

Except for Frieda; she was not a crier. She looked elegant with her long dark hair wound up, wearing a pale beige suit and the high-heeled suede boots. Even her father, the doctor, had tears in his eyes, something that totally surprised Frieda. She had never seen him cry, except for once, when they went to visit a little girl in an apartment in Reading who'd been going through chemotherapy. Frieda was nine, grown-up enough to be his helper, but she had to wait in the hall that time; the doctor slipped on a mask and pulled coverings over his shoes. The little girl inside was susceptible to germs.

On that visit, Frieda hadn't even realized he was crying as they were driving back until she turned to ask him if he could help her with her math homework when they got home. She must have looked shocked.

“Everybody cries,” Frieda's father told her. “Even me.”

“Is she dying?”

“Well, we're all dying,” Frieda's father had said. “Some now, some later.” That was hardly comforting. “She is just a very sweet little girl. Not a complainer. Very much like you.”

They were stopped at a light. Frieda remembered that night clearly; she had moved closer to her father. She always felt safe when she was with him. “I'm fine,” she said. “I'm not going to get sick.”

The doctor had laughed and kissed the top of her head.

He didn't do that often. “Thank you,” he said for no reason, maybe because she wasn't that little girl dying inside her bedroom, maybe because she knew that even he needed a word of comfort now and then. Or maybe it was simply because she was his daughter and he loved her.

Frieda invited him to the wedding even though she knew it would be difficult for her mother.

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