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Green Fences
A NovelRiva Pomerantz
"I'll tell you something, Batya. Everyone's jealous. Just when you think people would be happy at your success, instead they get jealous and sour about it." Ruth frowned.
Batya stifled an inner laugh. Does she even realize that I'm the number-one member of the Jealousy Club? And then, unexpectedly, another emotion bubbled up: anger.
Batya Sternheim has much to be grateful for — a devoted husband, healthy kids, a Torah home.
But she also has a best friend, Ruth.
Ruth is popular and elegant, married to a real estate baron. Next to Ruth’s glamorous world, Batya’s life loses its luster. Her discontent seeps into her home, and her marriage spirals dangerously downward. Her husband Ari is willing to take drastic measures to save his family, but that alone won’t be enough.
Things can’t stay the same — but how will they change?
Green Fences is the story of a complicated friendship, of two women caught in a murky tangle of dependence and longing. It is the saga of a strained marriage, of conflicting loyalties, of a couple struggling to define themselves — and understand each other.
Originally serialized in Mishpacha, Green Fences kept thousands of readers spellbound. Now, enjoy this riveting novel in its entirety — plus a whole new exciting story addition: Ruth’s private diary, an exclusive glimpse into her inner world.
Open up Green Fences
Find out what’s on the other side of the fence…
Book Excerpt from Green Fences
 |
Green Fences:
Riva
Pomerantz’s Jewish novel of the year, originally serialized
in
Mishpacha Magazine: The Jewish story that held thousands of Mishpacha
readers spellbound – now in full novel form, with exclusive
new book bonus: Ruth’s Personal Diary.
|
In a burst of largesse, Batya threw the deluxe double-chocolate- chip, five-bucks-a-bag cookies into the cart.
“Is that for Shabbos?” Shlomo asked, wide-eyed. Batya giggled, reveling in the impulse and his shocked gaze. “Nope. Tonight we’re celebrating.”
He looked at her curiously, lips pursed together. “Abba got a job, and stop doing that with your mouth — you look like a fish,” Shiffy informed him caustically. Batya shot her a warning look.
“Abba got a job? Oh. How come no one told me about it?” Shlomo’s hurt was more a reaction to his sister’s put-down than the indignity of not being in the know. “No one in this family ever tells me anything. Everyone thinks I’m a baby, still, and I’m not. I’m almost seven.”
“Yeah, in, like, a year,” muttered Shiffy.
“Enough.” Batya put a hand on Shlomo’s shoulder. “No one thinks you’re a baby — we just somehow forgot to tell you the good news. And now you do know about it so you can celebrate with us. We’re going to have a little party tonight,” Batya said happily. She threw in a bag of candy corn; Ari liked candy corn.
“So many treats!” crowed little Aviva from her perch inside the shopping cart. “Like on Purim!”
“Ain’t it just,” Batya mumbled to herself. “Venahafoch hu.”
It was a small firm, to be sure, and the starting salary was very modest, but it was Ari’s quote-unquote “dream job.” There were many other frum employees in the company; they even had their own minyan and a daf yomi shiur, and the atmosphere was exactly what he had hoped for: tzniusdik, low-key, and appropriate for a ben Torah.
“I’m not interested in working with liars, cheaters, and con artists and having myself put to the test daily,” Ari had told her wearily after an interviewer at another firm had challenged him to an ethical duel on the subject of criminal defense.
After much thought, he had decided to major in corporate law, mostly an attempt to steer clear of anything too seedy or heart-wrenching.
“I just don’t have the stomach for violence, and there’s no way I’m getting into domestic stuff,” he had confided recently, giving a somber wink at the second half of the sentence. “I’ll deal with my own problems, if you know what I mean...”
She had almost taken issue with the implications of his words when he pulled a comical face that indicated he’d been joking — albeit with the unarguable truth.
“I’d say we’re a lot better off than we were, oh, even a year ago,” Batya couldn’t help but say defensively. “I mean...”
“Are you kidding? We’re like yom v’lailah,” he had said, giving her a thumbs-up.
Batya tossed a bag of chips into the cart, amid exultant cheers from her three fellow shoppers. If only she could forget the question Yaakov had asked last night when she’d told him the good news.
“Will Abba’s new job give us more money?” His serious, thoughtful voice always made the guilt well up inside her. Why was he always so worried about finances? Were she and Ari incapable of giving their kids stability? Had she unconsciously transferred her own desire for material things to her eldest child?
“Uh, yes, it will,” she had replied carefully.
Shlomo’s exuberant shout interrupted the unpleasant memory. “Maybe now that Abba has a job we can buy chocolate chip cookies every week!”
“And I’m going to start ballet lessons,” announced Shiffy. “Right, Mommy? You always said I couldn’t because we couldn’t afford it, but now we can, right?”
Batya held up her hands.
“Stop, everyone. This is not something I want to be talking about now,” she said. “Let’s just enjoy shopping for the party.”
They retreated obligingly and Batya threw in another bag of corn chips for good measure. Good moods were like bubbles; they always seemed to burst quickly.
More money. Chocolate-chip cookies every week.
It was finally happening — the financial abundance she had dreamed of for so long. And brutally, ironically, the very person who had propelled her into the dream was now gone from the picture. Dr. Kaplan’s “prescription” was now crumpled from overuse; Batya had read it like a mantra, following its wise instructions and allowing herself first to grieve, then to move on.
But it hadn’t been easy. A week after the confrontation with Ruth, Batya had been shocked to receive a simple bouquet of yellow roses with the note, “Thinking of you. Wish you were here. Ruth.” It had all but broken her heart and thrown her into a tailspin. But the facts were incontrovertible. Kaplan’s scribbled piece of paper showed, black on white, what the friendship had truly consisted of. So Batya had bravely taken up her pen and, with shaking fingers and lots of help from Ari and even an emergency phone call to the good doctor, had spent an entire evening writing a letter to Ruth.
The finished product was, in Batya’s own opinion, a masterpiece — it conveyed, gently and powerfully, her innermost feelings on their many years of friendship. Her gratitude, her admiration, her own feeling of inadequacy, and the tension it created in her life.
And then Batya had taken up that masterful letter, that tangible reflection of her soul, and torn it into a million pieces. Ari was shocked.
Batya was relieved. Instead, on a simple piece of stationery, Batya had written a short paragraph expressing her eternal gratitude for Ruth’s generosity of spirit, her fond memories of the good times they had shared, and a nondescript, clichéd ending which left a vague impression that the roses were nice but the friendship was still over.
Kaplan was proud. So was Batya, she decided as she came back to earth just in time to refuse Shlomo’s plaintive pleas for a roll of gum that promised to dye the purchaser’s tongue a neon green for thirty-six hours.
“Hi, Batya, I’ve been meaning to call you forever,” a cheery voice said from behind her. Batya whipped her head around. It was Ahuva Wachsman, looking put-together as always. Batya smoothed down her sheitel.
“Oh, hi Ahuva, are you also doing some last-minute shopping?” she said uncomfortably, wishing that she had dressed Aviva properly instead of bringing her out in her pajamas.
“I don’t have a thing in the house,” Ahuva confided, not seeming the least bit concerned. “It’s good I bumped into you — I’ve been meaning to ask if you were interested in helping me out on a PTA project — we want to do a great fund-raiser to buy equipment for the playground and, I dunno, I thought you and I would work well together. Should I call you later?”
A faint flush crept over Batya’s face. She was surprised and flattered by Ahuva’s offer. PTA project? In all the years she’d had children in school it had never been Batya’s role to take leadership in the PTA — it had always been Ruth’s domain. A sizzling thought flashed through her mind: Had she, Batya, unconsciously suppressed her own desire to help out in the PTA for fear that Ruth would be upset and feel upended?
“We’re having a party,” Shlomo announced sagaciously. Ahuva bent down.
“Oh — really? Is it your birthday?” She threw a smile at Batya. “Your kids are so cute!”
Batya glowed at the compliment even as she attempted to derail the conversation. Would Ahuva think she was being excessive, making a nosh party over her husband’s new job? What if Ahuva’s own husband learned in kollel and she would look down on Batya’s glorious celebration of her husband’s foray into the corporate world?
“Yeah, just a little something,” she said vaguely. “I think we’re going to check out now.” She gave the cart a little push.
“Our Abba got a really great job as a lawyer,” Shlomo continued importantly, oblivious to his mother’s discomfort. “He’s been looking for a job for a long time and now he got it so we’re having candy corn and these!” He pulled out the bag of chocolate-chip cookies and held it up triumphantly. “We never buy these!”
Batya tried to smile. Ahuva burst out laughing.
“Hashem bless our kids,” she said. “There’s always beans to spill, huh?” Her demeanor was so natural and pleasant that Batya suddenly knew she was free to put aside her insecurities and just be herself.
“Tell me about it,” Batya said ruefully. “No secrets in our family, that’s for sure.”
“It’s great that your husband got a good job. I’m so happy for you!” Ahuva said. “Where will he be working?”
“It’s a relatively small firm, Feiner and Gewirtz Law, but my husband is really happy because it’s a great environment.”
“Mazal tov!” Ahuva said with an encouraging smile. “Well, I gotta go rustle up some kind of supper for my kids.” She waved. “Let’s talk later about the PTA thing, okay?”
“Sure,” Batya replied, waving back. On the drive home, Batya’s eyes only half-saw the road. Instead, her mind was dreamily envisioning the Sternheim family, feasting on candy and pizza, with Ari offering a celebratory Diet Coke toast and the kids happily digging in.
You see? Everyone’s so happy, including Ari. It wasn’t such a bad thing I did, getting Ari to leave kollel. It’s what we needed, Ruth notwithstanding. Finally, I can buy an extra bag or two of nosh and splurge on some cookies without worrying. Is that really so wrong? And it does seem like Hashem is guiding us — He sent Ari the perfect job. Isn’t that a sign that we’re on the right track?!
The kids set the table as Batya put the finishing touches on the cake. She glanced at her watch. Ari was due home at six-thirty. Five minutes to go. She emptied the candy corn into a crystal dish and smiled.
“Abba’s here! Abba’s here!” Shiffy cried. They all rushed to the door. Ari knocked lightly and walked in, and the mild expression on his face turned into disbelief and confusion.
“Surprise!” came the shout. Ari raised his eyebrows questioningly. “I thought my birthday was four months away,” he said. “What’s going on here?”
“We made you a little something,” Batya said proudly. “To celebrate your new job!”
“We bought double-chocolate-chip cookies!” Shlomo shouted, grabbing his father’s hand. “Come see how we set the table!” Ari scarcely had time to put down his briefcase before he was swept away to the dining room to behold the impromptu celebration. A cacophony of shouts and garbled excitement beautifully complemented Batya’s own enthusiasm. They sat down to eat amid much pomp and circumstance and the mood was festive, with the kids charging straight for the cookie plate. Yaakov’s normally solemn demeanor seemed to have mellowed out by the abundance of treats, and Shoshie, who had griped about not having been included in the shopping trip, graciously washed down the indignity with fudgy chocolate cookies and several slices of pizza.
She glanced over at Ari to delight in his delight. And she froze. Ari did not look delighted. In fact, his forehead was knitted in that expression of intense angst and his plate was scarcely populated with delicacies. What was wrong?
“Ari?”
He turned to her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said quickly. He cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat. “Kids! Everyone!” He rapped on the table. Batya felt a whisper of apprehension. The children looked up from their feast. “Kinderlach!” Ari said loudly. “It’s so nice of you to make this wonderful party!” Batya glowed. “So much nosh, so much delicious food!” He nodded approvingly. “I want to know what everyone’s favorite food is tonight.”
Candy corn and pizza came in tied, with cookies a close second.
“Now who can tell me something.” Ari’s voice became soft, almost pleading. “What is sweeter and better than all the candies and the pizzas and the cookies in the whole world?”
“Torah!” came the unanimous shriek from crumb-covered, sticky lips. Yaakov, Batya noticed, refused to answer.
“Right,” Ari said, beaming. “Absolutely.” His voice dropped even lower and his face became very sober. “So right now, even though we’re all celebrating Abba’s job, it’s important to remember that any job, even the best job in the world, is not as chashuv as learning Torah.”
There was an immediate hush in the room as the kids digested the message. Batya’s heart caught in her throat. The pleasant taste in her mouth turned to bile.
Ari turned to her. His voice was very, very quiet, so the kids wouldn’t hear, and it resonated with a gentle reproach and a longing, hurting ache.
“You know, Batya,” he said, “you didn’t even make me a party this elaborate when I finished Shas.”