Much Ado About Jessie Kaplan Read Online Free Page B

instruct him to empty his bladder before class. If the problem persists, I expect a note from a urologist.”
    â€œDear Mrs. Goodman,” read another note, discovered last week under Jeffrey’s unwashed gym suit (no telling how long it had been there), “Your son’s incessant belching in homeroom—whether the result of indigestion or misplaced theatrical ambition—has become a real nuisance. It is impossible for the other children to hear the announcements over the PA system. Please
speak to him about proper classroom etiquette and/or the importance of a healthy breakfast to settle his stomach.”
    Only yesterday there had been a particularly dire note from the principal: “Dear Mrs. Goodman,” the missive read, “Your son has once again thrown an eraser out of the second-floor window. This time, it hit Mr. Fialkow, our vice principal, grazing the side of his head. A direct hit would certainly have caused a concussion—or worse. We cannot emphasize enough the seriousness of this infraction and the need to make sure that no such possibly fatal incidents occur again.”
    The stress engendered by such notes was considerable, and Carla found herself in a continual round of meetings with the nurse, the guidance counselor, and the vice principal (now liable to be less understanding as the recipient of a potentially fatal blow).
    Jessie, however, was one of the few adults with a surefire strategy for managing Jeffrey. It all seemed to hinge on her potato latkes. Jessie’s method went like this: “Jeffrey, if you finish your math homework, you get a latke. No math homework, no latke.” Jeffrey would finish his math homework and get a latke. “Okay, the math is done.” Jessie would nod approvingly. “Now, to study the vocabulary. Study the first ten words, you get a latke.” The ten words studied, Jessie tested him; if he answered correctly, the latke was forthcoming; if not, it was back to more studying. This went on until all the homework was completed. The method was labor-intensive, and Carla worried that without the coveted reward to concentrate his mind, Jeffrey would accomplish very little—a fact supported by his performance at school, where there were no latkes to be had.
    Carla told Jessie to make sure that Jeffrey was in bed by ten (with no Game Boy under the covers) and to take a message should there be a call from the elusive bar mitzvah entertainment motivator—the name now given to the once-lowly deejay, and much harder to get hold of under this more august title.
    Jessie assured her that everything would be done, and they
were almost out the door when she called after them in a concerned voice: “I do hope the ostler remembered to saddle the horses!”
    Mark had originally speculated that his mother-in-law’s remarks might be a side effect of her blood-pressure medicine, and had advised her cardiologist to change her prescription. But Jessie had been on the new medicine for two weeks now, with no apparent improvement. The odd remarks kept coming, to the point that Carla had placed a large dictionary on the table in the front hall for consultation when her mother said something particularly cryptic.
    â€œI think we’d better try a neurologist,” said Mark as they got in the car. “Not that it’ll make any difference. Except for treating seizures and migraines, neurologists can’t do anything but give bad news.”
    â€œMaybe it’s a seizure,” said Carla hopefully.
    â€œTrust me, it’s not a seizure.”
    â€œSo you think she’s just losing it?” Carla said sadly. It was a thought that had occurred to her and she had tried to put out of her mind. Now she was struck by the depressing symmetry of the situation: Just as her daughter was entering the age of reason, her mother was leaving it. Time spent volunteering at the geriatric center had given her a vivid sense of where