Odd, pre-planning wasn’t his style. He usually asked a minute before he wanted to go somewhere. “Sure, where are you going?”
He pulled the milk out of the ripped plastic bag. “Squirrel Hill.”
“What’s happening in Squirrel Hill?”
“I’m having dinner with Dad.” His back was to her as he set the milk on the top shelf of the refrigerator. He didn’t turn around when he said the words.
“What?” she asked, not sure she heard him correctly over the sound of the running refrigerator.
He closed the door and finally looked her in the eyes. “Dad called today and asked me to have dinner with him on Wednesday. He wants to talk to about the trip to Florida.”
“If the weather is good, you can drive. If not, find out which restaurant, and I’ll drop you off. I’ll hang out with your aunt and her brood while you eat.”
“Okay.”
***
Becky
Becky sat on the chintz chair nestled into the corner of her bedroom, doing the same thing she did every day, rereading the yellowed letters. Each day and each read evoked a different emotion. Some days she cried. Other days she threw the letters in the trashcan, only to retrieve them an hour later. At this point, she’d memorized the words. They played like a loop tape in her head, wearing a rut into her brain she couldn’t escape.
After Naomi told her about the affair in the bar, she came home and told David about the letters. His sympathy lasted for a few weeks, until he figured out that she spent most of her non-working time reading and rereading them. At the beginning of the week, he threatened to burn all the letters if she didn’t stop. The next morning, before he woke up, she moved them to a better hiding spot. He caught her reading them when he arrived home from work today and told her to hand them over. She threatened to leave if he touched them.
To make matters worse, that bitch of an ex-best friend continued to pretend she knew nothing about the affair. And Naomi believed her--Naomi, who Becky thought would be at her side through fire. If only Mt. Lebanon had another orthodox synagogue. She would pay double or even triple the membership dues, just so she would never have to look at Mirima again.
The doorbell chimed, pulling Becky from her reverie. “David, get the door.”
The doorbell chimed again and no response from David. She carefully folded the letter she was holding and slipped it under the chair cushion. The bell chimed again.
“I’m coming,” she shouted into the air.
She glanced through the glass side panel of the front door and saw Miriam bundled in a pink parka with a bouquet of flowers clenched in her pink leather glove. Before Becky could pull her face from the glass, she saw Miriam’s face register her presence. Still, Becky didn’t answer the door.
The bell continued chiming. “I saw you. Don’t try to hide. Open the door.”
Becky paced across her foyer and then back to the door. Finally, she opened it.
Miriam barged inside and stood shivering beside the open door. “There’s nothing for me to apologize for--I didn’t know either. And I wanted to tell you that I’m hurt too. But the affair had nothing to do with you or me. I miss you.”
Becky looked hard at Miriam’s face, the deep brown eyes that always reflected a childlike wonder and the high cheek bones she didn’t deserve. The mere sight of the woman made her sick.
“I don’t miss you. Get out of my house and leave me alone or I’m going to call the police.”
“You don’t mean that. Please. I know you’re upset about the wedding and the letters. But Noah and Maria are going to Israel. I’m sure Maria will fall in love with the country and come home ready to convert.”
“Bullshit. You think you can just throw money at them with a fancy trip, and it will solve everything.” Becky reached for Miriam’s arm and pushed her out of the house, slamming the door so hard the frosted glass window cracked.
Chapter 16
Naomi
On Wednesday morning, three more inches of snow fell. The weatherman called for freezing rain in the late afternoon. Naomi texted Ezra telling him to reschedule with his father. It wasn’t safe for either of them to drive.
Her boss was on a business trip. He didn’t leave much for her to do. When he called in at lunch time to check messages, she updated him on the local weather conditions. He told her to leave early.
By two o’clock, she was home standing in front of the freezer trying to decide what to cook for dinner. Ezra would be home at 3:30. She wanted to surprise him with an early dinner. She pulled out boneless chicken breasts, set them in water to defrost, and went upstairs to change out of her work clothes. As she pulled on her jeans, the doorbell rang--her stomach clenched.
As she walked down the steps, she figured it was probably someone trying to make a few extra bucks shoveling snow. When she opened the front door, shock reverberated through her. Jake stood outside, his hands thrust into his pockets as sleet drizzled down onto him.
She stood behind the storm door, like an idiot, just staring. His gray eyes were downcast and lines radiated out from the outer corners. She was taken aback by how truly handsome he remained at fifty.
“Hi, Naomi.” His tone was devoid of expression.
She didn’t respond.
“The rain is really coming down, can I come in?”
Her stomach knotted, but her hand pushed down the small lever. “Why are you here? I told Ezra to reschedule. Didn’t he text you?”
“I told him I would pick him up. I didn’t know you would be home, but I saw your car in the driveway.” He looked down and thrust his hands into his coat pockets.
“You can wait in your car.”
He looked straight into her eyes. His reflected a sadness she wasn’t used to seeing.
She sighed. “Well, don’t just stand there dripping on the floor. Take your shoes off and have a seat in the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” He shuffled into the kitchen and sat in his old spot at the head of the table.
This action sent a shiver through her--Josh’s word, cooties. She hustled over to the coffee maker. “Ezra will be home at three-thirty.”
“The house looks good,” he said.
“Really?” she said, hoping he could hear the sarcasm she intended. “It needs a ton of work--which costs money.”
She wished the coffee would brew faster. She wanted to hand it to him and escape from the kitchen. It dripped slowly and steady--the caffeinated version of Chinese water torture. Finally, there was enough of the dark liquid in the pot to equal a full cup. She poured it into a mug and automatically scooped in a teaspoon of sugar and just enough milk to color it. Naomi refused to set it on the table in front of him. There was no way she wanted it to appear as if she were serving him. Instead, she thrust it toward him and waited for him to take it from her hands. “He comes in through the garage. You’ll hear the door open.” She turned and headed toward the steps.
“Wait, Naomi, please,” he said softly.
“What?” she snapped back.
“Sit down a minute. I need to tell you something.”
“Jake, I don’t want to hear a damn thing from you, and I don’t want to sit at the table with you.”
“I know. And I don’t blame you. But I’m begging, please give me one minute.”
She inhaled, fighting the battle raging in her brain--sit and talk to him or throw the closest heavy object at his head. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down, at the far end of the table.
They sat in silence for a few moments. “I want to say I’m sorry for so many things. You were a wonderful wife, and I was a complete shit. I don’t know what happened to me, but I didn’t mean any of the awful things I said to you when I left the house. Most of them weren’t even true.”
He dropped his head. Naomi said nothing--surprised by the fact she felt nothing.
“I’ve been seeing a therapist for a year.”
She set her mug on the table and leaned back into the chair. “So wha
t?”
“I threw Brian out of the condo months ago.”
Naomi stood up, walked to the sink, and dumped the coffee. “Whoopie, and I should give a shit?”
“There were never any other men. Just once, and it was during my freshman year of college. I was very drunk. I can’t say I wasn’t attracted to men while we were married, but I never acted until Brian. I was completely faithful to you.”
“Then why did you lie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell your therapist you want your money back.”
“I’m not gay--not completely, anyway. I’ve come to terms with being bisexual, but I prefer emotional relationships with women. If I had known this then, I would never have left.”
Naomi reached forward and turned on the tap, just to hear the water run. Inside, she seethed.
“I loved you very much. I’m sorry for everything.”
Something inside of her snapped. She reached forward and pulled the spray nozzle from the faucet, aimed, and pushed the button. He jumped from his seat, yelped, and held his hands up to block the water spraying his face. The anger that had been eating her alive sprayed out of that nozzle. She exploded with laughter as the cold water smacked his face.
“Stop! Stop!” he shouted, trying to cover his face.
But Naomi continued cracking up, crushing her finger against the button and watching him dodge the spray. The harder she pushed, the higher she felt. Elation washed away the rage she squashed since he left. Rage she never could express or even give herself permission to truly feel.
“Please, turn it off!”
She laughed as a puddle developed on the floor around him. Jake rushed to the drawer where he knew she kept her tea towels. She followed his steps with the sprayer, until the ringing phone made her drop the weapon.
“Hello,” she said, barely able to suppress the laugh filling her chest.
“Hi, Naomi,” Aaron’s said.
“Aaron, how are you?” she asked, loud enough for Jake to hear. As he asked her to dinner, she wanted to stick her face through the phone and kiss him for his impeccable timing. “Dinner on Thursday and bring Ezra? I’m definitely available, but I don’t know what’s on his schedule. Can I call you back tonight?”
Jake looked like a dork, standing in the middle of the kitchen, drying his soaked white shirt with a tea towel that read Leftovers aren’t poison.
“Touché,” he said, after she set down the phone.
Her insides calmed--a bit. “Sorry,” she choked out between snickers.
“Fine. I deserved it. Anyway, I wanted you to know I regret everything and, moving forward, maybe you could find some forgiveness for me. And,” he said, setting the towel on the counter, “maybe someday we could be friends.”
“What? Friends--like going bowling?”
He smirked, almost a laugh. “Not exactly, maybe just acting civilized to each other at events like graduations and weddings.”
She sat back down.
“Someday, we’re going to share the same grandchildren,” he said.
“I may be able to do civilized someday--but not today. Ezra needs a new suit and shoes. He’s growing faster than I can afford. Civilized would include chipping in to dress your son. The amount of child support the judge gave me is pathetic. When he turns eighteen in two months, I’ll lose that. You want to be civilized, help me feed and house your son.”
Jake looked down.
“I’ll take out the loans to pay for college, just like with Josh, but Ezra’s going to need a computer, clothes, and books. You know how much I make.”
“I’ll pay back Josh’s loans and set up accounts for both of them.” He looked around the kitchen. “And, let me know how much you need for repairs for this place. I’ll put a check in the mail next week.”
“Thank you. It’s about time you acted like a parent.”
The sound of the garage door opening halted the discussion. Naomi tossed him the towel. “Wipe up the floor. I don’t want to explain the puddle to Ezra.”
He bent over and swabbed the ceramic tile. “Naomi, are you seeing someone?”
“Yes, yes, I am,” she said, and hearing the words felt good.
Ezra burst through the kitchen door. “Dad? What are you doing here?” he asked and then noticed the soaked condition of his father’s clothes. “You’re all wet.”
Jake looked at Naomi then back to Ezra and shrugged. “Caught in a downpour.”
Ezra dumped his backpack on the floor next to the basement door and ran to the bathroom. She watched from the kitchen as Jake put on his shoes. When Ezra returned, they stood side by side in the doorway. They looked so much alike, but sadly, they didn’t seem to have a clue as to how to act with each other.
Naomi watched through the window as they walked to Jake’s car. Even their stride was the same, but Naomi knew that the insides of the two couldn’t be any different. Ezra was already a grown-up.
After they left, she was filled with excess energy. Part of her wanted to call and tell Becky and Miriam about spraying Jake, but the other part didn’t want to listen to either woman talk about the wedding or the affair. She decided to cook her chicken instead.
As she sat down to eat her dinner, she remembered Aaron called during the drama, and she agreed to have dinner with him. The thought of calling him back, chilled her energy. The chicken no longer tasted very good. She set her fork on the table. Every time she thought of him, her body tingled. She felt the silkiness of his hair on her fingertips, but it was an automatic reaction, not a rational one. Rational would be calling and canceling dinner. The right thing to do would be to tell him the truth--friendship was one thing, sleeping together was another. Her heart couldn’t take anymore rejection and being with Aaron was the equivalent of being shot out of a cannon and flying straight at a brick wall. The flight was thrilling, but the wall devastating. Once his nostalgia wore off, she would be face to face with that wall. She picked up the phone.
Aaron answered on the first ring.
Just the sound of his voice caused a stirring between her legs. “Shit, stop that,” she mumbled.
“What did you say?”
Oops, too loud. “Nothing, I was talking to the pilot light on my front gas burner. It likes to flicker.” She exhaled and shook her head, swearing to never talk out loud to herself ever again.
“I can take a look at it the next time I’m in your kitchen.”
An image of the two of them wrapped in each other’s arms up against the counter top flashed through her head. “Thanks. I wanted to let you know Ezra’s not available on Thursday, so it’ll just be you and me. I can stay in Squirrel Hill after work and meet you someplace.”
They agreed on a restaurant and Naomi hung up the phone. Yes, she was going to tell him how she felt, but doing it in person felt a bit more dignified.
Chapter 17
Becky
Only six days until the bridal shower and Becky didn’t have a clue as to where it was being held--nor did she care. Maria’s mother probably invited a roomful of nuns. The only thing this shower represented to Becky was the looming wedding. Three weeks until the end of her life. She might as well rip her clothes now.
The bed looked so tempting--a nap. So what if it was only eight a.m. She flopped backward, landing in the middle, and stared at the white ceiling. The white ceiling and trim complimented the deep tan walls. Their bedroom was her favorite room in the house, but today, it provided no comfort. She rolled onto her side and focused on the Irish lace curtains, draping the large window. They were evidence of a victory over David. He preferred blinds, claiming lace creeped him out, reminding him of his grandmother’s house. She wasn’t a nice old granny.
Becky slipped on her shoes and walked to the bathroom to check her make-up in the good light. She wasn’t pretty like Naomi. Her hair wasn’t curly or straight, just poufy in humidity. She always wondered what it would be like to be pretty for a day. Over the years, she mastered a style that was distinc
tive, but a flair for fashion couldn’t compensate for her wide nose and heavy bone structure. She often wondered what David saw in her, but she was grateful every day that he saw something and loved her as much as he did. Today, she didn’t care about being pretty or the fact that the face in the mirror looked old and defeated. She just wanted to get the day over with.
As she reached for the light switch, her gaze floated to the empty spot on the wall. She needed to have the wall painted to get rid of the faded outline of a picture frame.
Once she arrived at her office, she got caught up in her work--divorce after divorce. Some of them got ugly, like the husband who stole his kids and moved to Brazil--no extradition treaty with the United States. The poor wife almost ended up in a psych hospital. Then there was the couple who walked out hand and hand. They even scheduled a trip to celebrate their divorce. She always wondered why they were divorcing at all.
Becky always hoped the couples would work things out during the process. Today, she read the motion in her hand. The couple had been married for thirty-five years. You would think after that long, they would want to go the distance. What’s left to fight about after thirty-five years?
Her mind drifted to Noah and Maria. She hoped it wouldn’t take them that long to get divorced. Her phone rang.
“Becky, it’s my week to do the kiddush shopping,” Esther said. “I forgot that I’m scheduled to do an audit out of town on Wednesday and Thursday. Could you stop at Costco and pick up fruit and vegetables?”
Becky twiddled her pen. She didn’t want to do anything that would benefit Miriam.
Miriam loved kiddush because she could sit and yak for hours. But Becky had to go to Costco anyway.
“Becky? Are you there?”
“Sure, Esther, I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, when are you on the schedule next? I’ll take your week.”
The two women settled on the details and, within minutes, the conversation was over. Becky picked up the file she had been reading and tried to forget about the synagogue, Miriam, and everything else that the universe had thrown at her.
The Kiddush Ladies Page 16