Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

by Penelope Peters

  The picture’s caption helped: University of Boston Speed Skating Team, 2012-2013. Clearly not twelve, then.

  Adam remembered Sheldon’s challenge. A speed skater.

  Adam slowly moved around the room. There were more pictures, now that he was looking closer – including a few where Ben was racing. Some of them were blurry, so much so that Adam could only assume they were of Ben. Some of them were amazingly beautiful, real sports-photography quality of the sort Adam expected could have been in a newspaper or magazine. Adam could make out Ben’s determination in the way he breathed, his focus on the goal ahead. There were team shots, too, where Ben was surrounded by other skaters, clearly part of the group and in love with his sport. There wasn’t a particular order – but when Adam looked back, it was easy to see they only covered about three years, the last team picture from three years before.

  Maybe he only skated three years, thought Adam, continuing to look. It wasn’t just pictures – it was things. Kitschy souvenirs from all those national monuments he’d visited with his parents. Little glass penguins and fish and octopi. Cookbooks with titles that were simply Pies or Cakes or Scones, each bursting with folded pages and page markers and grease splatters on the sides.

  There was also a stack of books, all referencing Judaism in the title, all good titles for someone trying to learn more of their history. Mixed into the books were other titles: sci-fi and thrillers and a few that Adam recognized from the airport bookstore. About half of them had the tell-tale plastic covers that libraries tended to use.

  It felt very much like stepping back into his parents’ library: a mishmash of interests, all thrown together with no discernable order. Ephraim Bernard had always known exactly where to find a text, though, and would unfailingly pluck it out of the chaos upon request, much to the amazement and delight of the potential reader.

  Adam was halfway around the room when he saw the wide blue ribbon hanging off a shelf otherwise crammed full of photos, magazines, and a shoebox marked For Ben!!!! Adam reached for the ribbon, hesitating only a moment.

  Okay, total breach of privacy here.

  It’s a medal, though. I’ve gotten my share of them, I recognize that ribbon.

  If I’m careful...

  Adam pulled out the silver-colored medal.

  U.S. Short Track Championships, read the inscription on the medal, circling the image of a skater racing through a turn.

  “What the fuck,” whispered Adam, shocked into soft laughter. Adam closed his eyes and shook his head. He was probably better than me on the ice. Holy shit!

  Adam carefully put the medal back on the shelf, the ribbon carefully tucked out of sight. He glanced over his shoulder toward the door, but his gaze fell short, falling instead on the coffee table in the middle of the room and the menorah that sat proudly in the center.

  Oh, wow.

  The menorah was small, but finely made, with delicate branches holding up golden candleholders. The menorah shone even in the dim light, perfectly polished but hardly brand-new. There was even a box of tall blue candles behind it, ready to be used – though either Ben had meticulously dug out all the wax and polished it up again after the previous night, or he hadn’t had the chance to light it at all that year. Adam was willing to bet on the latter.

  More importantly – the menorah was exactly like the one Ephraim Bernard had given Adam five years before, which still sat in its box on a shelf in his apartment above the garage. Just as bright and shiny, and just as unused.

  We didn’t light candles tonight, remembered Adam. I could put them in for him.

  It took only a moment to set in the shamash and four candles for the four nights. It only took another moment to find the notepad next to the laptop and scratch out a note for Ben.

  And then a second, in case he didn’t see the first.

  And then a third, just to hedge his bets.

  Four was really too much, but Adam wasn’t going to take any chances of any further misunderstanding between them.

  The fifth he slipped under the door to the shop kitchen downstairs.

  Six would have really been obnoxious, after all.

  BEN,

  I had to go back to the hotel before the kids realized I was gone. I will see you in the morning.

  Adam

  BEN,

  You have the best shower I’ve ever used. Please find the first note under the clock on your bedside table.

  Adam

  BEN,

  I like your apartment. Please see 1st note by your bed.

  Adam

  BEN,

  I prepped your menorah for you. Maybe we can light candles tomorrow? Tonight? Whichever? Please see first note by your bed.

  Adam

  BEN,

  I hope you saw the other notes, but in case you didn’t, I had to go back to the hotel. If I say I had a really nice time, I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. I’ll see you soon.

  Adam

  ADAM KNEW HE’D BEEN caught the minute he appeared in the hotel’s breakfast room the next morning and the entire team of kids stood up and applauded. The older ones even let out a few wolf whistles while the other patrons eating their eggs and bacon looked on curiously.

  Adam groaned, rubbed his forehead, and glared at all of them.

  “All right, you hooligans!” he said, raising his voice above the sound of their glee. “That’s enough!”

  “We’re just so proud of you, Coach!” said Thomas.

  “Took real guts to sit down and talk to him,” added Will.

  Roland sighed and rested his hand over his heart. “Our little coach is growing up.”

  “Knock it off,” Adam told him fondly. “And eat your breakfast.”

  “Hey, Coach!” called Pierre. “We can stop for donuts on the way today, right?”

  “I think so,” said Adam, his stomach already curling in anticipation.

  Farida was waiting when Adam sat down across from her, his tray loaded with eggs and fruit and potatoes. She raised an eyebrow.

  “Hungry today?” she asked mildly.

  The boys nearby snickered. Adam flicked his napkin out with a snap and resolved to ignore them.

  Or he did, until:

  “Coach had a workout last night,” said Thomas slyly, causing the boys to hoot with laughter.

  Farida’s eyes sparkled. “I thought so.”

  Adam sighed. “This is not exactly the kind of conversation I want at the breakfast table.”

  Farida leaned forward. “Like you want this conversation anywhere. Seriously, Adam, I am so proud of you. I never thought you’d do it.”

  Adam frowned. It wasn’t exactly like Farida to be this vocal about his love-life. “Um... okay?”

  “Just – you’ve been avoiding this for so long. And you need it, you really do, I don’t care what you say. You’ve been stagnant and I’m so glad you manned up and went to talk to the guy.”

  Something didn’t feel right. “Um, Farida?”

  “I know it’s hard,” continued Farida, which sent the boys behind them into another fit of giggles. “It’s always hard, to start something new. But this is such a good opportunity, and I hate that you’ve been ignoring it for so long.”

  “I’ve only known Ben for four days,” said Adam, confused.

  Farida stared at him.

  “Who’s Ben?”

  “Ummmmm,” hedged Adam. “I... who are you talking about?”

  “Hugo Nilsson,” said Farida, giving him an odd look. Which explained a lot. “I thought you were having dinner with them last night to talk about—” She hunkered down, glancing at the table of boys behind them who were still jostling each other back and forth. Adam had no doubt they were also still listening avidly. “You know.”

  “The job offer?” suggested Adam. “It’s not exactly a secret, Farida.”

  “It’s not a joke, Adam. Do you know how many coaches would kill to have Hugo Nilsson know their name – let alone try to offer them a job?”


  “I’m hoping none,” said Adam dryly. “On account of murder being a pretty poor way of getting a prospective boss’s attention.”

  Farida’s head hit the table as she let out a soft, frustrated mini-scream. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  “It’s not a serious offer, Farida! I coach kids’ recreational hockey. He’s talking about the junior leagues.”

  “They’re kids, too.”

  Adam snorted. “They might not be able to drink, but they’re not kids. None of ‘em have been kids since they were fourteen. They’ve been living out of suitcases with foster families, spending every single minute they’re awake playing, breathing, thinking hockey. They’re not kids. They’re professional players in training. They don’t have time to be kids.”

  “And he thinks you’re good enough to coach them,” said Farida.

  “No,” said Adam shortly, all too aware of the table behind her that had gone silent. They looked like they were concentrating on their food – but Adam didn’t believe it.

  Farida huffed, sitting back in her chair. “So you’re not at least going to hear the man out?”

  “Not if I can help it,” said Adam, digging into his potatoes.

  Farida stared at him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Adam didn’t think she was doing anything but just staring at him, as if trying to read what he was thinking.

  “I’ve known you all our lives,” she said finally. “All you’ve ever wanted out of life was to play hockey and win the Stanley Cup.”

  Adam didn’t look up from his plate. “You wanted to own a unicorn.”

  “I was stupid. But you—”

  “Leave it, Farida.” Adam gritted his teeth.

  “I’m just saying—”

  “I know what you’re saying.”

  “You know this is just a stepping stone. It’s not just the players who win a Stanley Cup.”

  Adam slammed his fork down on the table. “Not the way I wanted.”

  “So it’s not worth doing?” Farida shook her head as she leaned forward to start eating again. “You’re better than this. You’re better—”

  “Farida,” snapped Adam. The boys behind her jumped in their seats. “Time and place. Drop it.”

  Farida at least looked mildly chastened. “Fine.” She stabbed at her eggs with her fork and took a savage bite that reminded Adam of a lioness on the savannah. “So. Who’s Ben?”

  Adam sighed. “A guy.”

  “I didn’t think he was a cat,” said Farida dryly. “Or a girl. I have known you all our lives.”

  Adam speared one of his French toast spears and took a bite. It wasn’t until he heard Farida’s squeak that he realized what he’d inadvertently done.

  “Oh. My. Gaaaaaawwwwd,” she whispered, leaning forward. “Are you serious? You ditched Hugo Nilsson to do the D?”

  Adam groaned, but he could already hear the snickers from the players. “You spend way too much time with fourteen-year-old boys, Farida.”

  “Trust me, agreed.”

  “And I did not ditch Hugo Nilsson to ‘do the D’. What does that term even mean?”

  Farida’s mouth dropped open. “Adam Elijah Bernard. I can’t believe you let me sit here and lecture you about Hugo Nilsson when you just admitted that you had a threesome with him and this Ben dude.”

  Adam almost choked on his toast. “I what?”

  “You didn’t ditch him, you were with Ben, and the D was done. Ergo—”

  Adam stood up abruptly; his chair fell over and hit the floor behind him. “All right, guys, finish up. Time to go!”

  “Aw, Coach!”

  “I’m not done eating!”

  “We’re going to the bakery, right?”

  “Move it!” boomed Adam, with one final glare at Farida, who was grinning back up at him.

  Dammit, realized Adam. She was having me on.

  I think. I hope.

  “I still think you should at least talk to Nilsson,” said Farida. “You know he’s going to be hounding you until you do.”

  “You’re just hoping that he talks me into it.”

  “Also true.” Farida leaned forward. “It’s not that I don’t get it, Adam. I know why you’re so insistent on staying where you are.”

  Adam leaned down over his tray and lowered his voice. “Then you also know why this is a pointless discussion.”

  “No, I don’t. Because your father would be the last one who would want you to ignore this chance. And you know it.”

  Adam stood back up. “No, I don’t,” he said calmly. “Boys! Let’s go!”

  “Donuts, right, Coach?”

  “I’ve got money today!”

  “Can you buy me one?”

  “I don’t have that much money.”

  THERE WERE CUSTOMERS in the bakery when they arrived that morning. Adam tried not to be disappointed, especially when he saw how Ben’s face lit up as they stepped inside.

  “—ready for you on Tuesday next week,” Ben was promising the lady at the counter.

  The lady gave a sigh of relief. “I just can’t imagine a holiday without that cake, Ben. I’m so glad you’re still going to make them.”

  Ben laughed. “For you, Mrs. Haversham, anything. You have a good day now.”

  Pierre was first in line, nose pressed to the glass counter. “Are there raspberry today?”

  “Blueberry,” said Ben, leaning over the counter.

  “Ew,” said Pierre grumpily. “What’s the other?”

  “Not for kids,” said Ben primly. “And not before 5pm.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  “I might have strayed a little bit from typical fillings,” admitted Ben. “It’s a rum raisin cream.”

  “With actual rum?” asked Adam.

  “Of course!” Ben grinned at him. “I’ll save you one for tonight. Um – if you want. The donut. Or to stop by. Or—”

  “Yes,” said Adam, even though he could already hear the boys gleefully hooting under their breaths as they elbowed each other. “Nothing for any of them, though, since they clearly have enough energy already.”

  “Aw, Coach!”

  Adam leaned on the counter. “You got my note?”

  Ben laughed. “Five of them. Were you afraid I’d miss one?”

  “Yes. I meant what I said in them.”

  Ben’s blush was sweet, even if it made him look a bit younger. “I should hope so, my bathroom is fantastic.”

  Adam’s chest flipped a little. “Maybe tonight, I could take you somewhere? I don’t know where to go, though—”

  Ben’s eyes widened, and his mouth turned up a bit in a smile. “Oh! I—”

  “Yeah, come to dinner with us!” piped up Pierre. “Farida said there’s chicken wings at the hotel tonight.”

  “Doofus!” snorted Andreas, elbowing Pierre. “He doesn’t want to have dinner with us, he wants dinner with Coach.”

  “A romantic dinner!”

  “With candles and violins and kissing.”

  Several of the boys starting mimicking kissing in the worst of preteen ways, while Pierre looked increasingly mortified.

  Ben leaned over the counter. “I would love to have dinner with you guys, especially chicken wings,” he said solemnly. “But I think maybe your coach has something else in mind.”

  “Good,” said Andreas. “’Cause except for last night, Coach hasn’t gotten laid in forever.”

  Ben’s eyes went wide, and his ears started to turn pink. Adam felt his own cheeks start to heat up.

  Switching back to French – not that Ben probably couldn’t guess what he was saying – Adam turned to the boys and started barking orders. “All right, you mongrels, back outside! And stop divulging what you don’t know about my love life. What are you even doing, thinking about my love life?”

  “You mean lack of love life, Coach,” said Andreas seriously. He hefted his bag on his shoulder. “Can we at least get some donuts?”

  Adam wanted to say
no. “I’ll bring a box,” he said, shooing Andreas out the door. He turned back to Ben, a bit sheepish, but at least Ben was smiling. “Yeah, sorry about them. They’re idiots.”

  “They’re preteens,” said Ben. “And they like you. I don’t think preteen boys know how to show affection any other way.”

  “If I promise I wasn’t intending to make you eat with them, will you come? Nothing fancy,” Adam added hurriedly. “Just somewhere... out.”

  “Like an actual date.”

  “Last night was an actual date, as far as I’m concerned,” said Adam, leaning on the counter. “But there’s a thousand dollars in my choice of currency on the line here, I might as well shell out for dinner.”

  Ben laughed. “In that case, Sheldon’s going to expect a restaurant with menus, if not tablecloths.”

  “You decide where. I don’t know the city at all.”

  Ben bit his lip. “How kosher are you? There’s a really good Italian place in the North End that has the best red sauce and non-pork meatballs. They specialize in substitutions and modifications for just about every dietary complication under the sun, but they’re not strictly kosher or anything.”

  It was a test, figured Adam, but as tests went, it was a pretty easy one. “That’s fine. I can pick you up at six?”

  “Sure.” Ben still had the pleased smile on his face. Adam wanted to think it was because of the upcoming date; he felt his own smile starting in his chest and working its way up. “So... I can send you with a donut to go?”

  “A box of them,” realized Adam, remembering his promise. “Anything you like. Trust me, they won’t taste it long enough to notice.”

  “My stuff, they’ll taste,” said Ben firmly, reaching for a box.

  THE DONUTS WERE GONE before Adam had even finished crossing the lobby of the rink.

  “Where are you taking him?” demanded Andreas.

  “Yeah, Coach, you can’t take him somewhere cheap. It’s gotta at least have actual forks and knives.”

  “Some fancy Turkish place where you sit on the floor.”