Sweeter Than W(h)ine

by Nancy Goldberg Levine

  Dina accepted Holden’s offer and he went to his condo to get all the ingredients for some delicious pizza, including his pizza stone. Dina looked in her refrigerator and found the makings for a salad, as well as some bourbon ball cupcakes she had in the freezer. According to the Nutsie Nan’s Café menu, the bourbon balls were lethal. Dina didn’t know if they’d make her act silly in front of Holden.

  Too late now, she thought, when he came back. Once again, he made making pizza into an art form. She enjoyed watching him knead the dough and throw it into the air, and then shape the pizza and put on sauce and toppings.

  “I always admired people who can cook,” Dina said, as she prepared the salad, cutting up English cucumbers and multi-colored peppers. She added croutons and parmesan cheese, as well as dried parsley, and then put out several choices of bottled dressing.

  “You can’t cook?” Holden said, looking slightly disappointed. Dina remembered one of her co-workers at the Oakwood Center, talking about another man who worked there and saying he was looking for Betty Crocker. From Holden’s expression, she had the feeling that was his idea of a perfect woman as well.

  “I can cook,” Dina said. “It’s just that there are some people who are better at it. Like Nan Moskowitz, my friend who owns Nutsie Nan’s Café.”

  “You eat there?” Holden said, looking even more unhappy with her. Good grief, she’s committed one more cardinal sin.

  “Yes, considering the fact that I do work for the woman. Or at least I…”

  “I thought you worked at some grief counseling place.”

  “I do. That’s my day job when the doctor thinks I’m ready to go back. On the weekends I play the piano at Nutsie Nan’s. Same deal as the day job…I’ll go back when the doctor thinks I’m ready.”

  “Well, I don’t much care for Nutsie Nan’s stuff. I eat at Miss Molly’s Diner. When I’m not having pizza, that is.”

  “To each his own,” Dina said, helping herself to salad from a ceramic salad bowl. She grabbed stainless steel tongs and put salad into a smaller bowl with an old-fashioned flower print on it. When she topped her salad with dressing, she poured too much and chided herself inwardly for letting Holden’s comments get to her. “If you’d rather eat food prepared by a chef…” she said, in an exaggerated French accent. “Zat is your privilege. I prefer the humble cuisine of a cook, sir. And I will just have to eat these bourbon ball cupcakes all alone.” She inclined her head toward the Polish stoneware plate that held the brownies.

  “That’s just it,” Holden said. “Nan Moskowitz has no imagination. Her food is all stuff you can get anywhere like mac and cheese and apple pie.

  Dina was starting to get a little ticked off at Holden’s attitude. Why she had agreed to let him make her pizza, she didn’t know. Until she bit into her pie. “Magnifique.” she said.

  “I’m sure you won’t get pizza this good at Nutsie Nan’s Café,” Holden said, sitting down to eat the creation he’d made for himself.

  “No,” Dina admitted. “But you should try her chili.”

  When she finished her pizza and salad, she helped herself to two bourbon balls. Suddenly, the room began to spin. “Oh, God,” she said.

  “Dina?”

  She gripped her favorite chair, a big, overstuffed one with a green and white checked pattern. She remembered this feeling, the first time she’d left ICU and they’d transferred her upstairs and physical therapy had made her sit on the couch so she could look out the window. She hadn’t stayed there very long because of the dizziness. The phone rang and Dina grabbed it since her cell was right next to her on the arm of the chair. “Allo?” she said, laughing as she continued speaking in the exaggerated French accent she’d used earlier. She felt very, very strange.

  “Dina?”

  “Allo, Doc.”

  “Why are you talking with a French accent?”

  “Holden is here. He made fun of Nan Moskowitz because he likes Molly Buchanan’s food better. I told him zat is his privilege. I had some pizza, salad and bon bourbon ball…”

  “Aren’t you still taking pain medication?” Rafe asked.

  “Qui.”

  “Dina, you aren’t supposed to mix…I’m coming back.”

  “Allo? Rafe? Allo?” He had hung up. Was he really coming back? “Rafe’s coming back.” Dina abandoned her accent.

  “So? I’ll stay and take care of you ’til he gets here. Why’s he coming back, though?”

  “I don’t know. Something about mixing pain meds and alcohol.”

  “I told you not to eat Nan Moskowitz’s food. Now he’s going to think I got your drunk so I could have my way with you and all because of those stupid cupcakes.”

  “Don’t you dare insult my friend’s cooking!”

  “I’m sorry,” Holden said. “Just stay there and relax until Rafe gets here. Maybe he can straighten this out.”

  ***

  The snow was all melted; the temperature was a balmy fifty degrees, but Rafe wasn’t thinking about the weather. What was Dina thinking? Rafe remembered her saying that was another thing that the sainted Jay Galloway said all the time, and then wondered why he was worried about his aunt’s nemesis. He should be concentrating on Dina, and what that young police officer would do if she acted like she had on the phone.

  He wanted to punch Holden’s lights out, but he knew he had to remain cool. If he didn’t, he’d never have a chance with Dina…if he wanted to take it.

  He got to her condo. She didn’t even have the door locked. He was able to walk right in.

  “She’s in the chair,” Holden said. “I think she’s asleep now.”

  Rafe saw that her eyes were closed and that she’d leaned back against the soft cushions of her favorite chair. “You can leave,” he said, trying to look like the professional that he was. “I’ll take things from here.”

  “But…”

  “It’s okay. I know you need to get home to your puppy.”

  Rafe hoped he’d gotten his point across. You’re not important.

  Holden left, but Rafe didn’t miss the fact that he kept his gaze on him before he walked out the door. Rafe crossed the room with a couple of long strides, and knelt down next to Dina’s chair. Schmoopie came up to him and meowed, and then the feline yawned and walked off. Rafe didn’t think there’d be any dire consequences from mixing pain meds with bourbon balls, but he settled down on Dina’s sofa and stayed to make sure. He turned on the small CD player but kept the sound low. She had a Jay & the Cincinnatians CD all ready to play. In spite of himself, Rafe listened and was surprised at how much he enjoyed listening to the group’s music.

  Dina stirred and murmured something Rafe didn’t understand. She looked so sweet sleeping in the chair. He didn’t want to be attracted to her, but he couldn’t ignore her nearness. He caught the scent of lavender and flowers in the air—probably from perfume she wore or soap or shower gel. Maybe her shampoo? He saw her open her eyes and crossed the room again, kneeling next to the chair when he got to her.

  “What are you doing here, Doc? What happened to Holden? I was eating pizza, and then I started on the dessert…is that Jay’s CD?”

  “Yeah,” Rafe admitted. “I thought you’d want to hear something familiar when you woke up.”

  “Yeah. Right,” Dina said. “Admit it, Doc. You like Jay and the band.”

  “Okay, I like them,” Rafe confessed. “They’ve all got great voices and I’ve got that song, ‘Notorious,’ stuck in my head.” He started to sing, but he knew he didn’t have a good voice. In fact, his singing was terrible.

  “Don’t quit your day job,” Dina purred softly.

  “I don’t intend to. And to answer your question, I sent Holden home. He makes a terrible nurse. He shouldn’t have let you mix alcohol and pain medicine.”

  “I didn’t…” Rafe watched her hazel eyes as she remembered what had happened. “Oh, yeah. Mom Moskowitz’s lethal bourbon ball cupcakes. Nan should have a warning label on those things. I’m sorry
I brought you all the way back over here for nothing.”

  “It wasn’t for nothing,” Rafe said. That was true. He hadn’t felt inconvienced in any way; he’d welcomed the chance to listen to her CD, and to see her again.

  Dina leaned forward in her chair, and then grabbed the cane that was right next to her. She got up, slowly. When she did, Rafe put his arms around her and held her there. He didn’t kiss her. He just enjoyed holding her and inhaling her floral/lavender scent. Her eyes got larger as he brought his lips to hers, claiming them in a sweet, tender kiss. He could have stayed there forever, just reveling in her and kissing her.

  “Rafe,” Dina said softly. “I’m so tired.”

  He kissed her again. “I’ll help you to your room.”

  She didn’t argue with him. He followed her lead, trying to guide her to her bedroom. Once he got there, Rafe took in the surroundings. For the most part, Dina’s bedroom was neat, with a comforter, blankets and flowered sheets and pillowcases on the bed. A framed photo of a handsome-looking gentleman, probably her late husband, rested on the nightstand beside a couple of books and her cell phone. Once she got into bed, wincing a little from the pain in her knee that hadn’t gone away yet, Rafe covered her with the top sheet and blanket. He looked around again, noticing clothes strewn on the floor and on the bed. So she was definitely not a neat freak, he thought.

  He couldn’t be too hard on her for that. She’d been through a lot, and it probably hurt for her to do even the most mundane tasks like laundry. Physical and occupational therapy could help her here at the condo, but eventually she’d have to do it all herself again.

  “You don’t have to stay,” Dina said. “I’m okay now, and I’m going to sleep.”

  “I just want to stay and make sure…”

  “I’m okay,” she repeated. She didn’t have to repeat herself. Rafe knew what she was trying to say. Just because she’d fallen asleep at the hospital and slept for five days didn’t mean she was going to have a repeat performance.

  “I’d better stick around for a little while just in case.”

  She fell asleep and Rafe stayed until she woke up again and he was positive that she’d be all right. When he got ready to leave, he surprised even himself. “Okay, I’ll go. Lay off the bourbon ball cupcakes, okay, Dina?”

  “Sure, Doc.”

  “Next week, my brother and his wife are coming up for my niece’s unveiling. I know it’s not exactly romantic, but would you like to come to the service?”

  “Sure,” Dina said. “I’m anxious to meet your family.”

  What had made him invite her to the service? Rafe didn’t know, but she was finding her way into his heart.

  Chapter Eight

  Rafe looked around, surveying the surroundings at Cincinnati Jewish Cemetery. His dad had once told him all kinds of legends about the place, but the memories only made him feel sad. He thought of his dad again, and how much he missed him. He’d loved restoring old cars with him, and hanging around in the garage. His dad had also told him “life is short so insist on nothing but the best.” Rafe guessed that was where he’d gotten his penchant for nice things. His mother had been more frugal, preferring to save up for a few good things, and only when she needed them. If his dad gave her a gift of expensive perfume, or a cashmere sweater, she always wanted him to take the things back; she’d take something for the house, a new skillet, or a vacuum cleaner, or something else along those lines.

  His mom hadn’t even wanted the faux fur coat his dad had bought her on one of the shopping channels. It was too extravagant, she’d said. Rafe smiled to himself at that; it hadn’t even been real fur.

  Thinking of his mom’s coat brought him back to reality. The day was chilly, gray and windy. Trees and branches were still bare; no thought of spring yet.

  This morning, though, was about his niece. He’d invited Dina to the unveiling with him. He still didn’t know why he’d asked her. Of course, his brother and sister-in-law were there. That was when Rafe envied Dina’s closeness with her parents. Somehow, though, he just didn’t feel close to Adam, especially now that Gracie was gone.

  Rabbi Berman, the rabbi from Shalom Israel showed up, and looked around at the group assembled near Gracie’s monument. Adam had picked it out; Rafe would have chosen a simple stone, but his brother had chosen a heart-shaped monument of carved granite, with Gracie’s dates of birth and death on them and “Beloved daughter of Adam and Merissa Farber.”

  No mention of her favorite uncle, but that was par for the course. In a way, Rafe was glad his brother and sister-in-law had moved away. Dina took his hand as the rabbi said prayers, and he was grateful for the contact. Her hand was soft against his calloused one. He listened to the rabbi and tried to shake the morose thoughts away.

  After the short service, Dina tossed rose petals she’d bought at the flower shop around the monument. It was freezing, and it looked like Adam and Merissa were anxious to get out of the frigid weather.

  Dina smiled wanly at him, and he could read the “I’m sorry” in her eyes. Rafe wanted to cry, but after his mom, dad and Gracie had died, he’d put his emotions away, convincing himself that men didn’t cry and he needed to be strong because that’s what his parents would have wanted.

  Everyone returned to Rafe’s for the brunch he’d had catered from Bagels and Bugles. He’d also ordered a dessert tray from Nutsie Nan’s Café. Adam and Merissa’s friends had come, as well as some of Rafe’s friends from the nursing home and people he’d met at the singles dinner parties. It had been a long time since he’d had company in his home. Before everyone started eating, Adam spoke up.

  Rafe watched as his younger brother put his arm around Merissa’s waist. She was very pretty, with shoulder-length brown hair and amber eyes. Gracie had inherited her mother’s good looks, but she’d barely had a chance to date. Now she’d never grow up.

  “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Adam Farber, Rafe’s younger brother, and this is my wife, Merissa. We have some news. We’ve been trying to have another baby for a couple of years now, and Merissa is expecting her second child.”

  Rafe felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. Angry thoughts welled up inside, but he kept them in check. Still, the senseless irrational things he was thinking kept popping into his head. Why didn’t Adam and Merissa just take Gracie and throw her into the Ohio River? Why bother with an expensive monument, and a sad service? It was as if they’d forgotten they had a daughter, and her favorite uncle was the only one who’d remembered. He tried to ignore the thoughts when everyone offered congratulations.

  “Rafe,” Merissa said, in that “I know how to wrap you around my little finger” voice she had. It was the same one Gracie had used when she wanted something extravagant like chestnut sauce on her French vanilla ice cream. Like her uncle, Gracie had learned to appreciate the finer things in life. “Aren’t you going to congratulate us?”

  He cleared his throat. He cleared it a second time. He couldn’t form the words. “Of course,” he finally said, helping himself to a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice from the bagel shop. “Mazel Tov to you both.”

  ***

  Dina watched Rafe’s face turn pale when Merissa made her announcement. He was going to have a heart attack if he kept everything bottled up. Maybe it would be good to just have a good, old-fashioned argument with his brother, and get everything out in the open. He had to be angry. He probably felt like they were trying to replace his niece with another baby.

  “Hi, Dina,” Alec Stern said, almost making her spill her coffee when he showed up behind her. They sat at the butcher block table in the eat-in kitchen of the huge house. Dina had taken tuna fish on a bagel and a cup of coffee from Rafe’s one-cup-at-a-time coffee maker, but she didn’t feel very hungry. There were bagels, tuna, egg salad, and cream cheese arranged on aluminum trays on the granite kitchen island. Nutsie Nan’s desserts had been carefully placed on what looked like hand-painted stoneware platters. “It’s nice to see you up and
around.”

  Ruthie Gordon joined them at the table. “You’re doing great, Dina. Rafe looks kind of mad, though.”

  “Uh oh,” Alec said, winking at Dina. “Ruthie’s got that look in her eyes.”

  “What look?” Dina asked, glad Alec’s banter took her mind off Rafe’s problems, at least temporarily.

  “The look that says she’s going to ask him a bunch of probing questions, and see if she can get him to open up,” Alec said. “You should know by now that it won’t work.”

  Ruthie took a bite of a plain bagel with cream cheese, and then spoke. “And you should realize by now that I’d never do that, Mr. Know-It-All.”

  Alec got up again and started fiddling with the coffee carrousel, spinning it around until he saw what kind of beverage he wanted. Rafe had hot apple cider, hot chocolate, and decaf and regular coffee, each in little cups that brewed individually. “Hey, check this out, ladies.”

  “We can’t take you anywhere, Alec,” Ruthie said, but she smiled at him. He gave the coffee carrousel one more spin before picking out some regular coffee.

  “How does this thing work?” he asked. Dina only had the mini-brewer at home; Rafe had the big, complicated kind. She called him over. “I think Alec needs your assistance.”

  She saw Rafe break into a smile that was just a little too bright. “I’ll be happy to help you, old chap.”

  “ ‘Old chap?’” Dina said. “I heard Jay Galloway is related to a guy who drove a hackney back in jolly old England, but…”

  “Dina,” Rafe said, teasing lights appearing in his dark eyes. At least she’d made him smile, which had been her intention when she’d mentioned Jay. “I thought we’d gotten past the stage where you mention Saint Jay all the time.”

  “That’s what you get for thinking. Besides, it’s true that Jay and Lorrie’s great-great-great-great-great grandfather drove a hackney in England, right around the time of the War of 1812.”