“Hello. Am I talking to Ann Malamud?” I timidly asked. “YES?!” was her answer. Could she really be Malamud’s daughter? Certainly, she was getting upset.
“We may probably order Chinese,” Ann Malamud told me, holding out her last invitation to lunch. I meant to reply, but I eventually did not. Like many of Bernard Malamud’s characters, I do have my own regrets.