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Then there was the time — he might even have put it in one of his fictions — when he and Gwen and the kids and his in-laws were walking on the south side of 72nd Street toward Broadway. He was carrying Maureen, so she must have been one or two. Gwen was pushing Rosalind in the stroller. If Maureen wanted to be in the stroller, or he got tired carrying her, then Rosalind would have to walk. They’d just had an early dinner at a Jewish restaurant-deli a little ways up the street. Moscowitz and Lupkowitz, he thinks it was called. No, that was the restaurant-deli his father used to speak about going to, on the Lower East Side, he thinks. He knows Moscowitz was the first name but he’s not sure if Lupkowitz was the second. Fine and Shapiro. That’s what the name of the restaurant they went to was. Had been in the same location for about forty years, and for all he knows, is still there. “They bought the building they’re in,” his father-in-law once told him, “which means they’ll never have to go out of business because of the landlord tripling the rent.” When a car pulled up and double-parked in front of a grocery they were passing. Two men jumped out, the driver stayed, and ran into the store. It was owned by Koreans. They sold mostly produce. Before he moved to Baltimore, he bought some fruit and vegetables there a few times. They were more expensive than the Korean grocery on Columbus and 73rd, but both stores had some of the best produce in the neighborhood and were convenient because they were so small. The store was completely open to the street, its glass front folding all the way in to both sides. In winter, thick plastic sheets covered the outside of the store. One man had a gun — maybe the other did too, but wasn’t showing his — and said something to a Korean man sitting on a milk crate, who’d been taking green peppers out of a cardboard box and arranging them on a display stand. The Korean man went to the cash register, opened it and began filling a brown paper bag with cash. “Robbery,” Gwen’s father had already said. “Let’s get out of here,” and pulled the stroller with one hand and grabbed his wife by the arm with the other, and said “Martin; quick what’re you looking at? Come with us,” and they all walked quickly toward Broadway, Gwen pushing the stroller. “Wait a minute,” he said to Gwen. “They can’t do this on the street, in broad daylight.” He handed Maureen to her and started back. “Martin; don’t,” she said. He didn’t know how far he’d go or what he was going to do, but he’d at least get the license-plate number. The rear plate was covered with mud, or something brown — even the state it was from, and he didn’t want to go around to the front because the driver would see him. A Korean woman was filling a second paper bag with money from a metal box under the cash register. The gunman was making motions with his hand for the woman and man to go faster. Nobody else on the street seemed to notice what was going on. They walked past without looking at the store, or if they did look, didn’t think anything was unusual. The gun was now hidden by the man’s leg. His father-in-law grabbed his shoulder. “Are you crazy? It’s not your business. You’re a family man now; with responsibilities. I know all about your past heroics, but this time you’ll get us both killed.” Gwen and the rest were at the corner. His mother-in-law was waving frantically for them to come. Just then the two men walked out of the store to the car, the gunman carrying a plastic shopping bag, and they drove off. The Korean man ran to the sidewalk and screamed “Police. Please, police, police.” “Don’t even say you’ll be a witness,” his father-in-law said. “They’ll never catch the thieves. And if they do, you’ll have to come back to New York at your own expense and identify them and later testify against them, and that could take days out of your time. Your place is with your wife and children and job. Let’s get home. Do you have the doggy bag?” and he said “It’s hanging on the back of the stroller.” They went to the corner. “This the newsstand where you once stopped a robbery?” his father-in-law said, and he said “They just wanted to steal a few magazines, and I sided with the newsstand owner.” “You got a cracked head from it, no?” and he said “The city’s Board of Estimate gave me a Good Samaritan citation, which meant the city reimbursed me for all my medical expenses.” Gwen handed him Maureen and said “What were you thinking?” and he said “I’m not sure. To yell at the robbers and then get out of the way.” “I don’t know what you’re going to think of me for saying this, but I can guess what my father told you and I agree with him a hundred percent.” His mother-in-law said “Grisha just told me what you wanted to do, Martin. You’re very brave and normally quite smart, but you can also be incredibly foolish. You have to think of the consequences more.” “Okay, okay,” he said, “I’ve been outnumbered. You kids have anything to say about it?” and Maureen rested her head on his shoulder and Rosalind said “About what, Daddy?” There was a commotion now in front of the grocery. A police or ambulance siren could be heard getting closer. Maybe it was for this. “Come,” his father-in-law said, “before we get in even more trouble,” and they waited for the light and crossed Broadway and went to his in-laws’ apartment.
They were in the car going to New York for a long weekend. While they were crossing the Delaware Memorial Bridge he said to Gwen “I have to make a quick decision. Should we take 295, which is right off the bridge, to the Jersey Turnpike, or get on the turnpike about a mile from here? We’ve never gone that way before, and judging by the map I looked at yesterday, it doesn’t seem any longer. And there might be better scenery on it than the Turnpike, and, if we want to stop, a better place to eat.” “Anything you want,” she said. “We can pick up the Turnpike around Fort Dix, the map said — we’ll see signs for it. This’ll also break up the monotony of the hundred-plus miles of the Turnpike,” and she said “Fine.” Half an hour later the kids said they were hungry and had to make. He said “Nothing so far on this road, after the public rest area when we first got on it, so maybe there’s nothing any farther.” And to Gwen: “Think we should get off and look around?” and she said “If that’s what you think. You decide.” “Okay, we’ll get off at the next exit. They come quick enough. Maybe taking 295 wasn’t a good idea, and it’s only a bit more interesting than the Turnpike. I don’t know what I was expecting. I didn’t take it to save on the toll, I want you to understand,” and she said “It never entered my mind.” They got off, there were no signs for the Turnpike, saw a diner soon after—“Looks all right from the outside,” he said — and parked in front of it. “Going to come in?” he said to her, and she said “I’m not hungry.” “Don’t have to use the restroom?” and she said “No.” “I can bring you back something,” and she said “I said I’m not hungry.” “French fries? Ice cream? Something to drink?” and she said “Thanks, but will you stop?” “You didn’t say you weren’t thirsty, but okay, I won’t nudzh you anymore.” The kids and he went inside, used the restrooms, sat at the counter. The place was neat and clean but smelled of cigarette smoke. There were a few other customers, at the counter and three at a table, and most were smoking. No one was behind the counter. In fact, nobody working at the diner seemed to be around. There was an ashtray on the shelf behind the counter with lots of butts in it. “Maybe we’ll just get something to go,” he said to the kids. “I don’t like it here,” Rosalind said. “It’s too smoky.” “Neither do I,” he said. “All right, we’ll find another diner. Or we’ll just wait till we get on the Turnpike and go to one of those big rest areas we know there,” and they left. On the way back to the car he saw Gwen looking at him through her open window. Her expression was pretty blank. He smiled and waved to her but she didn’t smile or wave back. Just stared at him. Why does he bring all this up? Because she was acting in a way he’d never seen before. That true? Well, it was very unusual and it stands out. The kids got in the car — he thinks it was the first minivan they had, the one that gave them so much trouble — and he went up to her window and said “You’re not smiling or waving at me anymore?” She said “Why would you think that?” and faked a smile and flapped her hand at him. “That’s not a real smile,” and she said “So? That’s what I’m like. I can’t put one on.” “You unhappy?” and she said “I don’t want to talk about it.” “You don’t love me anymore?” he said, smiling, because he was kidding, and she said “Don’t be an idiot. I was thinking about something else, not you or the kids or my parents. That’s why I didn’t smile or wave, but must I explain?” and he said “Not if you don’t want to,” and she said “Good,” and turned to the windshield and stared at it. He got in beside her, slapped her left thigh gently, wanted to rub it as he often did in the car, even when he was driving, but knew she wouldn’t want him to, and started the car. “You know, your not smiling at me is taking away one of the great pleasures of my life, and even your waving back to me with a real wave gives me a big kick,” and she said “Oh, knock it off.” “God, you’re in a pissy mood,” and she said “I told you. It’s not about you, but it’s becoming you. Why can’t you accept that?” “Now I definitely won’t ask you what it is,” and she said “Don’t,” and he said “Jesus,” and she said “Too bad.” “What’s wrong daddy?” Rosalind said. “Why aren’t we driving?” “It’s nothing, sweetheart. Everything’s fine, and we’ll find another place to eat at soon. Now, which way should I go? Dumb of me not to have asked inside, but I just wanted to get out of there. Probably, right. That’s where the Turnpike should be or the signs to it,” and he drove.