Not Our Kind

by Kitty Zeldis

Moskowitz was the shorthand for the connection she felt, the thing that announced who and what she was. By giving it up, she’d be giving up a part of herself too.

Shaped by her past, Irina would always harbor a certain fear of those she considered other. But Eleanor was more curious than fearful; she wanted to find out more about Patricia, Margaux, and the world they came from.

As a Jew in a Gentile world, she’d learned it was best to remain on the margins, and had become accustomed to the deferential role. Today had been different—she was in charge and oh, how good it had felt. She took off the

there too long.” “People will talk no matter what. I’m not going to live my life differently because they do. And neither should you.”

She’d been so woefully naive, thinking she could come up here and, with the flimsy protection of an assumed name, meld seamlessly into a pattern of life that was defined by its exclusion of people like her.