Redemption by Howard Fast Read Free Book Online Page B

cook, is a black woman, a former student of mine—and a brilliant one—who has a job as a public defender. She is a tall, handsome woman, who went through an unhappy marriage and who cooks my dinner twice a week out of the goodness of her heart and a need for the few dollars I pay her. She cooks enough for me to eat the leftovers when she is not here, and I accepted her offer, after much urging on her part, because I know what public defenders are paid. Still, I don’t put the onus of shopping on her. Today, I bought a pound of shrimp, fresh Boston lettuce and endive for the salad, and broccoli as a vegetable. At Zabar’s, I bought French bread, and raspberry tarts for dessert. I’m not very good with menus, but I did my best with this one, hoping that I would not find a message on my machine at home that Sarah was involved in a case. There was no message, and at five o’clock, she turned up—giving me enough time to explain something of Elizabeth’s presence tonight. I spelled out the incident on the bridge, using it as sort of an apology.
    â€œIke,” Sarah said after I had finished, “you’re apologizing for God’s grace. You’re the luckiest man in the world, finding someone like this Elizabeth woman, instead of sitting around waiting to die of boredom.”
    â€œI’m not dying of boredom.”
    â€œCertainly not now. I’ll sauté the shrimp in a bit of olive oil and herbs, fix some rice and the vegetable. Will that be enough?”
    â€œYou said ‘God’s grace’?”
    â€œThat’s right. I know you don’t believe in God, but I do.”
    â€œOh, I believe,” I told her, “on and off—I just don’t admire the way He runs things.”
    â€œHe doesn’t run things. He leaves it up to that wretched lot they call cops and judges.”
    â€œSpoken like a valid public defender. Do we have white wine?”
    â€œA couple of bottles. I’ll put one in the fridge.”
    I admit I was nervous waiting for Elizabeth to appear; the scene on the bridge would not leave me. Grateful that it was another cold evening, I had built a fire—the second time I used the fireplace that winter. At six-twenty, the doorbell rang, and there was Elizabeth, her face flushed, wearing a pleated skirt, moccasin-style shoes, and wrapped in the big taupe sweater.
    â€œOh, Ike,” she exclaimed, “I’m so glad to be here. I took off from work early and walked all the way from home.” She solved my problem of how to greet her by throwing her arms around me and embracing me, and I found myself kissing her. She didn’t draw away, and I took her sweater and led her to the fireplace.
    â€œThat wonderful fireplace,” she said.
    â€œWhite wine?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œIt’s a long walk from Ninety-sixth Street.”
    â€œA mile or so—nothing really.”
    Sarah brought in two glasses of wine, and I introduced Liz and Sarah to each other, explaining that Sarah was one of my best students.
    â€œYes, in contract law,” Sarah said, laughing. “And I end up being a public defender.”
    Dinner went well. Liz loved the shrimp and ate heartily and finished the fruit tart to the last crumb. I very hesitantly asked her what she weighed, and she replied that the last time she had weighed herself, it was one hundred and ten; and then she asked me why I was so uneasy about a personal question.
    â€œIt’s just—well, I don’t know. You don’t ask a woman what she weighs.”
    â€œI have no secrets from you, Ike. I never will.”
    Before leaving, Sarah took me aside and whispered, “She’s all right, Ike. She’s a good one.”
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œDon’t chase her away.”
    â€œNot if I can help it.”
    After Sarah left, Liz and I had coffee in front of the fire. I told Liz that Sarah liked her.
    â€œAnd you have great respect