Window of Guilt

by Spallone, Jennie

  Carmen laughed. “In all the time we worked together, you never took a personal day. Now you’re taking time off to celebrate the White Sox victory?”

  “Eighty-eight years is a long time to wait.”

  “Appreciate the help, Mag Pie.”

  “Back to you soon,” said Maggie. “At the moment, there’s a string of neighborhood bars that require my presence.”

  *

  Erev Yom Kippur. Temple Emanuel on Chicago’s North Side overflowed with hundreds of congregates who solely graced their sanctuary on the High Holidays. Outfitted in their autumn holiday finery, they stood shoulder to shoulder with the regulars, one congregation before the Lord, acknowledging that the stroke of the Lord’s fiery pen would soon seal the fate of every Jew.

  His eyes closed, Ryan breathed in the cello’s soulful strains of the ancient Kohl Minidress Prayer as it radiated throughout the temple. Enclosing Laurie’s smaller hand in his own, he observed the musician’s ankle-length, black velvet skirt, her otherworldly persona, her long golden hair, as the music flowed through his every pore.

  Now the cantor beseeched God to show mercy on the congregation and the people of Israel. Awash in the cantor’s words, Ryan felt consumed by guilt. Twice he’d allowed Todd Gray’s life to be snuffed out, figuratively by following his health insurance company’s regulations against authorizing a heart transplant, and literally in carting his body to Helga Beckermann’s driveway and feigning no knowledge of the young man’s disappearance.

  Rising to his feet along with the rest of the congregation, Ryan’s recited the prayer acknowledging, first in Hebrew, then in English, the Almighty’s presence. Hear oh Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One. Our Lord is One, our God is Great, Holy is God’s Name.

  Unlike Laurie, Ryan defined himself as a cultural Jew, delighted to chow down his lox and cream cheese on a bagel, as well as contribute to the Jewish United Fund, which provided humanitarian aid to needy and religiously persecuted Jews and non-Jews throughout the world. Like his father before him, Ryan had immersed himself in deeds of Tikun Olam; social action efforts to raise up the fallen, feed the hungry, and heal the planet of its descent into global warming. His strong commitment to being a steward of God precipitated his final exit from Great Harvest Insurance. Yet in the end, he’d turned out to be as unethical as Brad Hamilton, Jr.

  Like a teenager who recklessly knocks down a single mailbox, then batters those left standing, Ryan’s automatic rejection of Todd Gray’s health insurance claim had snowballed into a criminal act. No amount of High Holiday davening would cure that problem.

  The cantor gazed upward, fervently offering his prayers for the congregation. Ryan began to sweat beneath his gray flannel suit. He soul was in serious jeopardy.

  Ryan scanned the meditation in his siddur: Kol Nidreiis a confession: we are all transgressors, all exiled from the Highest we know, all in need of the healing of forgiveness and reconciliation. For what we have done, for what we may yet do, we ask pardon; for rash word broken pledges, insincere assurances, and foolish promises, may we find forgiveness.

  His wife nudged him. “You okay?”

  “Tired,” he mouthed back.

  He was tired, alright. Tired of worrying about another heart attack. Tired of guarding a levee of secrets. Tired of feeling spiritually soiled.

  Now the Rabbi read aloud from the siddur: For transgressions against God, the Day of Atonement atones; but for transgressions of one human being against another, the Day of Atonement does not atone until they have made peace with one another.

  Ryan paled. If he neglected to fulfill the spiritual command of asking for forgiveness from those he’d intentionally or unintentionally wronged, the Lord would strike him from the Book of Life.

  Laurie clutched his arm. “Does it count that I didn’t make peace with Mrs. Beckermann?”

  “Huh?”

  “Shh,” hissed the white-haired lady sitting behind them.

  Ryan whirled around and smiled apologetically.

  “Mrs. Beckermann dissed me about the savings bonds we sent her in return for watching the summerhouse,” Laurie whispered in his ear.

  Ryan put his arm around her back. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

  A rotund middle-aged guy sporting a silk tie tapped his shoulder.

  Ryan pantomimed zipping his lips.

  “I only tried to apologize once; you’re supposed to try three times,” mouthed Laurie.

  Ryan rolled his eyes. Then a sudden surge of excitement welled up in his gut. Apologize. That was the answer. Find Todd Gray’s family and apologize for his misdeeds. Accept responsibility for dumping their only son’s body and hoarding information from the police. Beg them to forgive him for not reporting his insurance company’s mishandling of their son’s medical claim for a heart transplant. If he could do that, perhaps he, too, could once again face the Lord with a pure heart. Then he’d turn himself into the police in Wisconsin. Ryan cringed, realizing Rory would grow up without him.

  “Earth to Ryan,” Laurie murmured.

  In response, Ryan stood up and negotiated his way past a dozen knees, size eleven shoes, and a rainbow of designer purses, finally pushing through the sanctuary door and into the temple lobby. Peering through the gift shop window, he focused on taking deep cleansing breaths.

  “My Lamaze teacher would have been proud of you.”

  He glanced at his wife. “Go back inside. I just need some air.”

  “What’s going on, Ry? You’ve been acting strange since we got home from Wisconsin.”

  “I’m working out some stuff which doesn’t concern you.”

  Laurie laid her hand on his shoulder. “Honey, marriage is a partnership. You don’t have to go it alone.”

  “Every problem doesn’t have to be picked apart with needle-sized forceps. Sometimes it’s better to let things scab over.” Ryan steeled himself. “Listen, I won’t be attending Yom Kippur services with you in the morning.”

  His wife stiffened. “You’re going to abandon me on the holiest day of the year?”

  He looked at her in disgust. “Scrap the drama, will ya?”

  “It’s Erev Yom Kippur and already we’re fighting,” said Laurie. He watched as his wife, her eyes closed, slowly breathed in through her nose, then out through her mouth. It brought back memories of when she’d been in labor with Rory and he’d coached her through the pain. Keep your eye on the ball, he’d told her. Advice he needed to follow now.

  Two older boys in skullcaps and dark suits were watching them from across the room.

  Laurie opened her eyes. “Why aren’t you coming to services with me tomorrow?” Ryan’s anger dissipated. This time her voice was non-judgmental.

  “I need to make peace with this one family before sundown tomorrow.”

  “Do I know this ‘one particular family’ of yours?”

  “Nope.”

  “How ’bout I go with you? Then we can attend Yiskor and afternoon services together.”

  “Who’d watch Rory?” asked Ryan.

  “Rory will be in the babysitting room most of the day. Mitzy and her mom will be here, along with your dad.”

  “There is no ‘we’ on this one,” Ryan said gently. “I need to go alone.”

  Laurie frowned. “Are you seeing another woman?”

  He kissed her on the mouth. “Of course not.”

  “Do what you gotta do,” she mumbled into his shirt.

  Ryan stroked her hair. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Darn right,” she muttered.

  “Grant me one favor tomorrow?” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Pray for me.”

  She stared up at him. “Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

  “You do?” he asked, surprised.

  “If I needed to make one last clean sweep before the N
ew Year started, you bet I’d do it.”

  Ryan sighed. Following his clean sweep, their family would never be the same.

  Laurie threaded her arm through his. “Ready to go back inside?”

  He removed her arm. “I’m going to hang here. Reminds me of the newborn station at the hospital.”

  “Huh?” asked Laurie.

  “My hands itched to reach through the window and count all Rory’s fingers and toes, reassuring myself our son, not some baby doll, was lying in that plastic bassinet. The special gift you gave me was lying just behind that window but I was too scared to go in and pick him up. I waited until you woke up and we went in together.”

  Her lips caressed his forehead. “That is so sweet.”

  As Ryan held her close, he thought of another cherished offspring whom he’d carted him off like a barrel of rubble. Tomorrow would be his day of reckoning; the day he asked for the parents’ forgiveness. The day he asked for G-d’s forgiveness. Only then would he be cleansed.

  *

  “Knock it off, Rocky,” Ryan hissed, tucking in his blue silk tie as he yanked open the front door. “You’ll wake up the whole house.”

  Mitzy stood on the front door landing. “Don’t you look hot,” she said, laughing at Ryan’s blush. She bent to pet Rocky. “Your wife and son ready to rumble?”

  Ryan checked his watch. “Laurie should be out of the shower in a minute. Rory’s still sleeping.”

  “No big deal. If we’re late, we can sit on the side by the choir.”

  “Your mom in the car?”

  Mitzy nodded. “Catnap. Laurie says you’re doing temple by proxy this morning?”

  “Yep. I have an errand to accomplish. I’m meeting her at Yiskor services.”

  Mitzy whistled. “Must be some errand to take eight hours.”

  “Three hour trek each way.”

  “And this errand needs to be done today, on the holiest day of the year.”

  “You got it.”

  “How come you’re dressed so fancy just to run an errand?”

  “Anyone ever tell you to stay out of other people’s business?”

  Mitzy snapped her fingers. “Estranged family member you need to make peace with before sundown?”

  “Knock it off,” he bellowed, disappearing down the carpeted hallway.

  “Daddy?” came a sleepy voice from the bedroom.

  Mitzy grinned. Looked like they’d be arriving early to temple after all.

  *

  Shirley Maven was still in Neverland when Mitzy approached the car. Leaning against the newly cleaned Mazda, Mitzy cast her face to the heavens and breathed in the early morning air, unexpectedly balmy for this first day of October. Her cell phone vibrated. Should she answer on the holiest day of the year? Oh yeah. She plucked her cell phone from her black Prada. Laurie’s voice came through the earpiece. “Quick favor.”

  “Shoot,” said Mitzy.

  “Minivan’s unlocked. Hop into the back seat.”

  Mitzy started for the van. “Leave something in the car?”

  “Hang on.” She heard Laurie kiss Ryan goodbye on the other end, then a cheerful “Drive carefully.”

  “Laurie?”

  “Huddle down behind the rear passenger seat.”

  “Say what?” Mitzy asked incredulously.

  “I need to find out what’s up with my husband and his impromptu excursion to Urbana. You’re going to be my eyes and ears.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Just shut up and do it, okay?” Laurie spat through the cell phone. “What about my mother? She’s snoozing in my car. I left the keys in the ignition”

  “I’ll drive your car to temple.”

  “Your husband’s going to be pissed.”

  “Let me worry about that. Ryan’s heading outside,” said Laurie. “Get into the van.”

  “You really need a shrink.”

  “Do it!”

  “All right, all right,” Mitzy whispered as she climbed through the unlocked driver’s side, then crawled into the back of the vehicle.

  The phone went dead.

  Mitzy scooted behind the rear passenger seat. She heard the car door open. It was going to be a long three hours.

  *

  Ryan maneuvered the minivan west along I-80. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into letting you tag along.”

  “No offense, but it did take you awhile to realize I was hiding back there.”

  He swerved into the fast lane. “Yeah, well I have a lot on my mind. Did my wife put you up to this?”

  “Laurie’s worried about you, Ryan. You’ve been acting like a grumpy dwarf lately.”

  Ryan tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “The kids used to call me that in high school.”

  Mitzy ignored the comment. “My gut tells me you’re in deep emotional pain over something that occurred when you two were up in Wisconsin last month.”

  “It’s none of your goddamned business what goes on between my wife and me.”

  *

  Mitzy glanced at her watch as they flashed past mile after mile of cornfields. “It’s been nearly two hours, Ryan. I can’t take this country music much longer. Besides, it’s all static.”

  Ryan pursed his lips together so as not to get himself in worse trouble with the Almighty.

  Mitzy ran her tongue across her lips. She discreetly eyed the cubbyholes in Ryan’s car.

  Ryan’s glance following her movements. “What d’ya need?”

  “Water bottle.”

  “Got the van cleaned yesterday.” He re-focused on the empty road before them. “Listen, I apologize for being such a jerk this morning. It’s not the end of the world you came along.”

  “Apology accepted. Did you ever read that old John Gray book, Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus?”

  “Laurie mentioned it to me about a year into our marriage.”

  “The book discusses how men and women react differently to a given stimulus. For example, a guy buys his girlfriend an expensive engagement ring. While in a public bathroom, she sets the ring on the sink and washes her hands. She dries her hands at the paper towel dispenser, then turns back to the sink. But her ring is nowhere in sight. What does she do?”

  Ryan glanced at her, then back at the road. “No clue.”

  “She scans the other sinks, checks the floor, then asks everyone in sight if they’ve seen the ring.”

  “A guy would never remove the ring in the first place, that is, unless he was having an affair.” Ryan laughed ruefully.

  Mitzy eyed Ryan’s pinkie. A gold band still graced his finger. “Just answer the question.”

  “I’d search the place.”

  “Would you tell your wife you lost the gift?”

  “No way! She’d have my balls for supper.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’d retreat to my room and attempt to problem solve the situation.”

  “Approximately how long would that take you?”

  “The rest of my life.”

  “Would you seek the help of a trusted friend or family member?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I wouldn’t want anyone to laugh at me for being stupid enough to lose the ring in the first place.”

  “So what would you do?”

  “First, I’d hire a detective, depleting the already low capital in my checking account. If that proved fruitless, I’d devise a way to painlessly kill myself.”

  “All this time, never sharing your inner turmoil with your wife.”

  Ryan nodded.

  “A woman would solicit a variety of opinions before making a decision.”

  “You’re telling me this why?” Ryan asked quizzically.

  Mitzy paused, then said gently, “Sometimes when a serious decision needs to be made, the first approach is helpful.”

  “The decision to kill myself?”

  Mitzy punched his shoulder. “The decision that’s important enough to ditch your family on this ho
ly day.”

  16

  Laurie pulled into the crowded parking lot and followed the security officers’ hand signals around to the back of the temple. Shirley Maven chattered away as Laurie switched off the ignition on the Mazda. It had only been a fifteen-minute ride, but her ears were already busting at their seams.

  “You missed a rockin’ and rollin’ wedding reception.”

  “If you ever get married again, I’ll be there.”

  “She’s kidding,” said Shirley Maven, looking up to the heavens.

  “Are we praying in the temple parking lot today, Mom?” asked Rory.

  “Nope,” Laurie said, straightening her son’s wrinkled suit jacket. They followed several other families towards the front entrance of the temple.

  “How come there’s police outside?”

  “They’re here to keep everybody safe from people who don’t like Jews,” said Shirley.

  Laurie frowned.

  “Why don’t they like Jews?” the boy asked.

  “Some folks don’t like people who are a different race or religion,” Laurie said as she steered her son into the synagogue.

  “I don’t have to fast today, do I?”

  “Did you already have your Bar Mitzvah?” Shirley asked, all mock serious.

  “I’m only eight.”

  “Then you don’t have to worry.”

  “How come?”

  Laurie attempted to clarify. “When a boy turns thirteen, he’s old enough to understand and follow God’s commandments, to take responsibility for his actions.”

  “Do girls get Bar Mitzvahed, too?” her son asked.

  “Girls get Bat Mitzvahed when they turn twelve years old,” said Shirley.

  “How come girls do it when they’re twelve?” he asked.

  A family friend’s daughter walked past them. “Because we’re smarter.”

  Laurie and Shirley laughed. “Girls mature faster, sweetie,” said Shirley.

  “What’s mature mean?”

  “L’Shana Tova,” said the ticket takers, shaking their hands as they entered the temple. The three of them walked into the lobby.

  “I hope we got here early enough to get good seats,” mused Shirley.

  “How come Daddy didn’t come with us?” asked Rory.

  Laurie glanced at Shirley. “How ’bout you find us seats near the choir while I walk Rory to babysitting?”