Marjorie glanced down at the Chai pendant. I’ll think about what I should tell them while I’m packing
Again, that useful back door in the hotel would serve her well. One last time.
It was a lovely day, the boarders would either be outside on the porch, or relaxing in the parlor. With Mrs. S. working on dinner in the kitchen, Rabbi Freed out in his synagogue learning those books he loved so much (why, Marjorie still couldn’t figure out), and the younger Rabbi Freed and Artie banging away somewhere at their falling-apart building, Marjorie had a good shot at packing up and sneaking away.
Without a goodbye?
It was one thing to leave her parents without a word. What did they care anyway? They had her perfect brother and his equally perfect wife and family. Father had not kept his word to her. And Mother? She’d probably be relieved not to have Marjorie around, breaking her precious rules and embarrassing her in front of her friends.
For a millisecond, and for no apparent reason, she remembered Mrs. L.’s words, that time she’d broken down in tears: “I think a mother needs her children even more than they need her.”
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
