Baltimore Noir - Laura Lippman [67]
BY SARAH WEINMAN
Pikesville
I wanted honest work and got it at Pern’s. A Jewish bookstore is a strange place to work for a guy like me, but I didn’t have much choice; a month of job hunting left me frustrated and ready to break things, and the ad stuck on the store’s main window was as close to salvation as I could get.
Though Sam—we were on a first-name basis from the beginning—was very particular about which items I could handle and which I couldn’t (“Anything with God’s name on it, leave it to me”), he left me to my own devices when it came to handling the cash register, stocking the books, and helping out customers. I hadn’t known much at all about Judaism, but I sure learned fast.
When I told my mother where I was working, she was understandably confused, but got over it quickly enough. I had a job, and a pretty decent one, and that was what mattered to her most.
“I worried about you, Danny, the whole time you were incarcerated “ She articulated each syllable, just as she did every time she used the word. Which was a lot, because my mother adored big words. It was her way of showing how much more educated she was than the rest of the mamas in Little Italy.
“Why’d you do that?” I said. “I was going to be okay. And I am, right?”
She touched my face. “Danny, I know that, but not then.” The silence afterwards was telling. I hadn’t written her much in the six and a half years I was gone. Only when she made the four-hundred-mile trek with my cousin Sal did I learn just how sick she was.
“I don’t want to think about then, Ma. It’s over, I made my mistakes and I don’t want to make them again. You have my word.”
Only a slight narrowing of her eyes gave away the hurt she still felt. She’d forgiven me a long time ago for shaming her, but wouldn’t forget. I still had to work on forgiving myself before I could truly let go.
The task was made easier with the day-to-day work. Some customers gave me an extra look, scouting my face for some recognition of familiar features, but most people weren’t nearly as blatant because they were too preoccupied with making sure they had the right item to buy. I followed Sam’s advice and was courteous to each and every person who walked in, from the prominent members of the Jewish community who liked to act the part to the giggly teens who “accidentally” broke things, to frazzled mothers of crying groups of children. It was an education.
A couple of months in, I was working alone on a Thursday morning. Sam couldn’t show up till later in the afternoon because his granddaughter was starring in her school play. He was so proud of her that even as he feigned reluctance over giving me full responsibility for the store, I knew he had confidence in me. I knew what I could and couldn’t handle or touch, what advice to give, and when to keep my mouth shut.
A wiry, bearded middle-aged man wearing a black hat with an upturned brim strode in with a purposeful gait. The purpose being me.
“You’re Danny Colangelo,” he stated in a surprisingly deep voice. Surprising because I’d expected a higher-pitched tone to match his skinny frame.
I never heard my name during working hours. Right from the start, Sam insisted I use a different moniker because “it’s easier for you, and easier for the customers.” I didn’t argue, so if anyone needed to know my name, I was David. I flinched at hearing my true name spoken.
It must have shown, because the man added, “Look, Sam Levin said you’d be alone at the store and it’d be the best time to speak to you. So don’t worry about it.”
Whenever anyone, except my mother, said, “Don’t worry about it,” my guard went up even more.
“Who are you?”
“My name later, my problem first, if you don’t mind.”
I folded my arms. “Actually, I do mind. I’d prefer it to be the other way around, uh—”
“Oh, all right then,” he said in an exasperated tone. “Chaim Brenner.”
I cut him off before he continued introducing himself. “I know who you are.”
His eyes widened. “Sam’s already told you about me?”
“Sam hasn’t told me a damn thing. If he was supposed to, then he’s probably acting