Then She Found Me Read Online Free

have nothing to make up for.”
    “She doesn’t want anything!” said Sonia. “She’s here as an emotional and an intellectual investment, not because you’re Bernice G. I told you she had integrity.”
    “What about dinner?” Bernice asked me. “Would you feel compromised by the occasional dinner?”
    I said I thought that would be okay.
    “We’ll get acquainted.”
    “Okay,” I said.
    “How do you feel about this?” she asked.
    How did I
feel
? A television question. Did other people in airport reunions and adoption-support groups cry at this point, or touch? I didn’t feel like doing either. “I guess I have some more questions,” I said.
    From across the table Bernice put her fingertips to my lips to gently silence me. “Later,” she whispered. I leaned away so she couldn’t touch me again with any grace. She reached into the enormous red bag and took out a brownleather book. “Let’s make a date!” she said. “This week? Thursday.”
    Thursday was too soon. I said I couldn’t Thursday.
    “Sunday night? Dinner? Imperial Teahouse?”
    “Fine,” I said.
    “You like Chinese food?”
    “Love it.”
    Bernice smiled maternally. She and Sonia looked pleased together. It made perfect sense, didn’t it? Any daughter of hers would have to love dim sum.
    “You want to know who your father is, of course,” said Bernice.
    Sonia did not speak up to silence her, but braced me by laying five creamy pink fingernails on my sleeve.
    “Wait—” I said.
    “A famous man, now dead,” said Bernice as if she had been savoring the phrase for thirty-six years and nine months.

FIVE

    “ I want to know everything about you,” Bernice said as we were being seated at Sally Ling’s. “Start from your earliest memory. Or start with your life today and work backwards.”
    I shrugged out of my coat and draped it on the empty chair next to me. I told Bernice I had expected to talk about her first, at least the part about my father.
    She pushed away her place setting and leaned forward, arms folded, elbows on the table. Without preamble or protest, she recited her story. “I met him when I was sixteen. I worked in Stockings on the street floor of Jordan Marsh, a buyer in training. It was a more personal department in those days with a great deal of customer contact. Stockings came in boxes, not on racks like greeting cards. I spent my days folding back tissue paper, carefully splaying my fingers inside nylons to demonstrate color andsheerness.” She paused. “Am I going into too much detail for you at this juncture?”
    “Go on,” I said.
    “I met Jack at my counter just before Mother’s Day. I recognized him as an educated man and spoke accordingly—”
    “Jack who?”
    “I’m getting to that. ‘Doesn’t this Schiaparelli have a lovely diaphanous quality?’ I asked. I saw the effect immediately. He started, then smiled his brilliant smile. For good measure, noticing his Harvard ring, I said, ‘I can’t wear my school ring because it snags the hosiery.’
    “‘Where did you go to school?’ he asked.
    “‘Girls’ Latin.’ I lowered my voice so the other salesgirl wouldn’t hear. ‘I’m going to be a senior. They think I’m staying on here full-time.’
    “‘And where do you live?’
    “‘Brighton,’ I told him. He grinned again and held out a tanned hand. ‘I hope to be your next congressman.’
    “I said something like ‘You do?’
    “‘I’m running in the Democratic primary. Maybe you could put in a good word for me with your neighbors.’ That’s
exactly
what he said.
    “‘With pleasure,’ I said.
    “He patted his pockets and found a parking ticket to write on. I offered him my Jordan Marsh ballpoint. He wrote my name and address…. Nothing!” Bernice smiled triumphantly.
    “Nothing?” I repeated.
    “No flinch at the ‘Graverman,’ no reneging on what I sensed was sexual rapport between us out of anti-Semitism. Nothing! He asked if I’d like to help out in the