“You’re right. She was the older sister.”

“Your grandmother’s sister Pauline was two years younger, was she not? That was my impression from all of my research to date.”

“Not even two years. They were just fourteen months apart. An Irish girl they knew told them they were Irish twins. My grandmother always celebrated her sister’s birthday.”

“Oh, that is valuable information. Those birthdays were on what days?”

“Esther’s birthday was October twentieth and Pauline’s birthday was December twelfth. But why do you want to know? Why am I telling you this? Who are you?”

“Ah. Thank you very much. Let me just make a note here. Thank you. Just a moment, so. Oh, this pen is running out of ink. There. I must tell you I am disappointed that I had no way of knowing about your grandmother’s passing away, or I would have paid my condolences in a more timely fashion. Nobody informed me. I only just now saw the obituary, or I would have wanted to attend—”

“It wasn’t reported until now, for obvious reasons, I guess, with everything that’s happened. I was surprised by the wire story today, in fact. You’re the first person to call about it. We didn’t really have a service. Just a private service at the grave. I had wanted to do a little service at the synagogue on Charles Street near the home, where Esther used to go, for the people from the home, but then with everything going on, we just couldn’t do it.”

“What a pity.”

“And there’s really only me, and one other person. All her friends died a long time ago. Anyway, how did you know her?”

“Let me explain to you how I came to know Esther, if I may, Rebecca. I believe you and I are contemporaries, in fact. I am a historian, actually, and I called upon her on numerous occasions in the past few years—”

“Where, at the home, you mean?”

“Yes, at the West Village Jewish Home. That is indeed where she resided at the time when I first made her acquaintance, and where I saw her on numerous occasions. Do you know, when I saw her last summer, in July, I felt it. I knew I would not see her again. Sometimes I just feel these premonitions.”

“She was one hundred and six, after all. For the last twenty years or more, I thought every time I saw her might be the last time.”

“Yes, of course, and it was a very fortunate thing for me, with my work, that she was so long-lived, I must say, or I would not have had such access to a primary source, which informed my work quite a bit. Very rich material. I myself live in Manhattan also, on East Thirty-fifth Street actually, which is not terribly far away, if you know your New York City geography.”

“I grew up in New York. My grandmother raised me.”

“Ah, yes, I know this, of course. Your own parents died so tragically, didn’t they? My condolences to you on that, as well.”