“He’s coming,” Mrs. Weiss explained, daintily blowing on a spoonful of soup. “He’s reading some kind of spy novel. You know, the can’t-put-it-down-until-you-know-who-did-it kind of book. But he was close to the end when I called him for supper, so he should be down any minute.”

A peaceful silence filled the room.

“What did you do today?” Shaindy addressed Tamar, breaking the silence.

Tamar paused between spoonfuls. “I went to the city. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything the whole day! Why didn’t you take me to the city with you?” Shaindy demanded.

Tamar looked at her. Did the art museum fall under the category of things she wasn’t supposed to tell the kids? Would the Weisses approve? She decided to play it safe. “I went to a museum. You would’ve been so bored!”

Shaindy seemed satisfied with that answer.

After supper, Tamar made her way to her bedroom. I should really try to tackle chemistry, she thought. Slowly, she waded through Rifky’s notes, trying to make sense of them. Her watch ticked gently on her wrist. At last, Tamar closed her books and went to sleep, her mind at peace for the first time in a long time.

It seemed to be only a few hours later that Tamar found herself hanging skirts onto the rack in Tassel.

“Here, Tamar,” Aviva called to her, dropping a pile of clothing from the dressing rooms onto a chair next to her. “Here are some more.”

“Thanks,” Tamar said, stopping what she was doing to look around at Aviva. “It’s pretty quiet today, no?”

“Yeah,” Aviva agreed, looking around at the nearly empty store. There was one customer in the back trying on a skirt and another browsing through the evening wear. “How was your day off yesterday?”

“Great!” Tamar smiled at the memory. “I went to the art museum in the city. Have you ever been?”

“Nope,” Aviva replied shaking her head slightly. “I’m not such an art person. Glad you had a good time, though.”

“Yeah, I love art.” Tamar looked down at the skirt she was holding. “Oooh,” she said, holding it against herself, “I love this skirt. What do you think?”

“Try it on!” Aviva enthused, looking Tamar up and down. “I think it’ll look amaaazing on you!”

Tamar flipped over the price tag. Forget it. There was no way she was spending a hundred dollars on a skirt — or even ninety with the employee discount.

“Wait for it to go on sale,” Aviva suggested, noticing Tamar’s face as she checked out the price.

“Yeah, if there are any left in my size by then.” Tamar shrugged, then hung up the skirt. If she wanted to buy something, she’d probably do better with the sale rack.

Aviva was looking at her, a strange expression crossing her face. Tamar gave her a questioning glance, hoping Aviva would explain. It seemed Aviva wanted to divulge what she was thinking because she finally asked, “How does it work for you? Like — how does buying clothing work in your house?”

“Um.” Tamar tried to find the words she wanted to say. How much should she tell Aviva? How much would Aviva understand?

“I’m sorry,” Aviva said, noticing Tamar’s hesitation. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I was just wondering if you pay for it yourself. I do.”

“Yeah,” Tamar nodded, relieved that she could tell the truth. Aviva wouldn’t think it was weird that she wasn’t handed everything on a silver platter. “That’s why I need a job. You know, so I have money to get the things I need.”

“I’m the same way,” Aviva said softly, “my mom works really hard, but we’re a bunch of kids. You know.”

“Yeah.” Boy, did Tamar know. “My mom can’t help me at all either, and my dad left when I was ten. You can’t get money from someone if you have no idea where they are.” It felt warm and friendly and sharing felt so right, but she just couldn’t share more. Having divorced parents was way different from being a foster kid.

The chime over the door tinkled to announce the entrance of a customer, and the atmosphere was broken.

“I’ll go,” Aviva said, moving toward the door. “You still have that pile of skirts.”

The store got busier after that, so it was only later, after closing time at seven, that Tamar and Aviva got to speak again. They were standing in the small back room where they kept their coats and bags during store hours.

“Here, Tamar.” Aviva tossed Tamar her coat from the coat rack across the room. She unhooked her own coat and began putting it on. Sticking her hand in her pocket, Aviva pulled out a cell phone. “What’s your number?” she asked.

“My phone number? I don’t have a cell phone.”

“What about your home phone?” Aviva asked, already starting to put Tamar’s name into her contacts.

Her home phone. What should she do? There was no way she wanted Aviva to call the Weisses!

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 855)