“Alfred Stern,” my mother had said, savoring the name. “And a business student at Columbia? What a catch, Ruth.”

I could practically hear her thoughts. A nice Jewish boy with a nice Jewish name and a bright future. Well, she had the bright future part right, but I knew my atheist boyfriend, with his imposing height, smooth dark skin and stubbornly godless heart was not what Mother had in mind. I’d always assumed I’d marry someone from my own neighborhood. Certainly someone Jewish. Alfred walked into the bookstore where I worked and swept me off my feet without even trying.

“Lord above, they’re gonna come to blows out there playing spades.”

I look over my shoulder to find Janetta Allen, one of my new neighbors, whose husband is in law school with Al. She stands in the bathroom door, arms extended keeping her baby girl, Kimba, away from her body. Bright green peas and orange mashed carrots splatter Kimba’s once-pristine romper.

“This girl eats like a tornado,” Janetta says, nodding toward the counter. “Mind if I strip her down?”

“Oh, of course.” I laugh at her squirming baby girl. “They don’t stay clean for long, do they?”

“Oh, honey, I gave up on clean after baby number one.” Janetta lays Kimba on the counter and peels the romper from her little body. “I’m happy to just keep ‘em alive, rough as my kids are.”

I glance at her slim curves a little enviously. I’ve had the hardest time bouncing back, but she doesn’t look like she’s had even one baby, much less plural.

“How many do you have?” I ask, rinsing the shampoo from Ezra’s hair.

“Three.” Janetta smiles, teeth white against her gorgeous brown complexion.

“The other two are with their cousins tonight. It took me the longest time to let them go anywhere without me. A few years ago, everyone here was on edge and keeping their kids close.”

“You mean because of the child murders?” I ask, frowning.

The Atlanta Child Murders case, two years of more than twenty unsolved murders and disappearances, transfixed the whole country. My mother mentioned it as soon as she heard we were moving here.

“Yeah.” Janetta sighs. “All little black boys and girls. I had to know where my kids were every second of every day. We even started sleeping in their rooms after one child was taken from their bed. Joseph in Keith’s room and me in Kayla’s. Well, that’s behind us now, thank you, Jesus.”

She glances at my necklace, onyx embedded into the Star of David charm. “Sorry. Forgot you were Jewish.”

For some reason, we both find that comment hilarious, and laugh loud and long in that contagious way that makes you almost forget what was funny in the first place.

“Whoo. I needed that laugh,” Janetta says, her lips still curved with leftover humor. “And thanks for having us over, by the way.”