Lieberman's Folly by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online

with hurt rebuke the next night. The “topic” would linger between them like a grinning gnome.
    They did the dishes together and Bess went on to a different topic, one that Lieberman found even more uncomfortable than the prospect of talking to their daughter about her marital problems.
    â€œHave you thought about it?” Bess said as she dried the dishes.
    â€œIt? Which it?” he asked though he knew.
    â€œMoving,” she said. “To Skokie. A nice one-bedroom condominium apartment.”
    â€œI’m a policeman, Bess. I have to live in the city.”
    â€œYou can retire. You’re eligible. Do this one again. Look, right here. That’s grease.”
    He took the dish back and plunged it into the soapy water in the sink.
    â€œThree years,” he said. “Then we’ll talk about retiring.”
    â€œThe neighborhood’s changing,” she said.
    â€œThey all change. Skokie’s changing,” he answered. “I like this neighborhood, the house. And where would we put Barry and Melisa when they came to stay? Sleeping bags on a living room floor?”
    Bess and Abe had lived in the two-bedroom house on Jarvis for almost thirty years. They both knew that they could sell it for eight times what they paid for it and move into a safe, new one-bedroom in Skokie with plenty of money left over for the long-discussed trip to Israel which Lieberman had no interest in making. Lieberman felt reasonably sure that if he took a chance and told his wife he was ready to consider the move she would have second thoughts about it. Most of their friends had moved out of the neighborhood, but many still remained. The Liebermans knew where things were. When he gave in, she would back down … maybe.
    â€œChange would do us good,” she said.
    â€œI get change all day,” he said. He finished the last pot and reached for a towel to help her dry what remained in the drainer. “Criminals are in the business of making changes. I like to come home and know things are where they’ve always been, that nothing changes.”
    â€œWe’ll talk about this again,” she said. She touched his cheek. He could smell something sweet on her fingers and knew that if she kept at him eventually she would win. His best bet was a delaying game.
    They arrived at Temple Mir Shavot on California Avenue, just four blocks from their house, at seven, early enough to have good seats for the Shabbat services. Before they entered the synagogue, Bess adjusted the yarmulke that bobbed on top of Abe’s curly hair. She greeted the Rosens, who had come up the stairs behind them.
    â€œHe tell you about his girlfriend?” Herschel Rosen said to Bess as they went through the double doors.
    Herschel was twinkling. Herschel was a little raisin. Herschel, Lieberman decided, needed a rap on top of his freckled head.
    â€œWhich one?” Bess asked.
    â€œThe Latin from Manhattan,” said Herschel, whose wife was giving Bess apologetic looks. “A real Mexican spitfire. Came into Maish’s this morning looking for Abe.”
    The walls of the corridor leading to the sanctuary were covered with crayon drawings from the Bible done by the Hebrew School students. Lisa had gone to Hebrew School here. Her drawings, precise, neat, had once hung in the corridor. Lieberman wondered what happened to all those drawings.
    â€œShe’s an informant,” Lieberman said. He nodded at people as they passed, recognizing most of them in the dwindling congregation. Resnick of hardware store notoriety moved past with his wife and mother and gave Lieberman a wave.
    â€œI’m not the jealous kind,” said Bess, hugging her husband’s arm. “Sarah, your husband has a dirty mind.”
    â€œYou’re telling me,” said Sarah. She shook her head and dragged Herschel into the sanctuary.
    â€œAbe,” Bess said with a smile. “You fooling around?”
    â€œIf I was