Revving Up the Holidays

by A. S. Fenichel

  “Well, are you going to come in or just stand there like a stalker, Isaac?” His mother’s voice grated from the doorway.

  He’d been so lost in his memories he hadn’t noticed her opening the door. Barbara Backman was slim and well-dressed in jeans and a white blouse. Her reddish-blonde hair was done in a neat, short style which Isaac was certain was accomplished at the beauty parlor once a week. Her nails were perfectly manicured and polished in a sedate beige color. She wore makeup and her red lipstick highlighted her pursed lips.

  Arms akimbo, she glared down the lawn at him.

  He sighed and started up the walkway. “I’m coming in, Mom.”

  She looked passed him. “That’s some car you’ve got there. Can’t fit more than a bag of groceries in it.”

  He glanced back at his sleek sports car. “I don’t need more than one bag.”

  She harrumphed. “Someday you might want to get married and give me a couple of grandchildren and that pipsqueak of a car will be ridiculous.”

  He climbed the steps to the door and kissed his mother’s cheek. “On that day, I will trade it in for a more practical car, I promise.”

  She stepped aside so he could enter. “Did you get fired? I knew you couldn’t trust that Ben Silverman.”

  He turned. His temper was already rising. He’d often wondered what his father saw in this caustic and negative woman. But there had never been any doubt that Leonard Backman had adored his wife. “Ben Silverman has been my best friend since the first grade, Mother. I trust him with my life and no, I did not get fired.”

  She shrugged. “Fine, there’s no reason to get so testy. I have coffee and muffins.”

  The entire visit was the same. His mother asked about his job and criticized. She told him he was too thin. She told him he needed a haircut. She even went as far as saying he looked much older than his thirty-three years. After a while he stopped listening. He looked around the kitchen. Nothing had changed. A picture of his father had been placed on a shelf above the sink. As far as he could tell that was the only difference in the last twenty years.

  They’d been talking and bickering for an hour when she got quiet for a moment. She looked up and he saw sorrow in her blue eyes. His sister looked similar to their father with dark hair and dark eyes, but he had his mother’s blue eyes.

  “I’m selling the house,” she said.

  His heart actually hurt for a moment. He was about to rail at her. Then he thought about it. She was a widow with no children at home. The three-bedroom house needed updating. She didn’t need all that space and the upkeep must be difficult for her.

  “I think that’s a very wise decision, Mom.”

  She seemed to relax. “I’m putting it on the market on the first of the year.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “There’s a nice over-fifty-five community on the other side of town. A lot of my friends are there. I plan to buy something small with no stairs. I’ve had enough of steps.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe you’d like to take a drive over and see one of the model homes with me.”

  It was typical of his mother to phrase a request in this way. She never asked for anything. Was he any different? He reminded himself of how much he hated asking for help, even when he needed it. He brushed away the thought. “I’d love to. How about Monday?”

  She almost smiled—not quite, but almost. “Monday would be fine. Tuesdays I play bridge. Normally on Mondays I have lunch with the girls, but I’ll just call and tell them my son wants to see where I’m moving.”

  He smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

  * * * * *

  Mark was raking leaves when Isaac returned. He had a fairly large pile collected and two small bundles of winter outerwear were spreading the leaves as fast as their father could rake them.

  “How many layers does she have on those two?” Isaac asked.

  “She thinks winter means cold, even though it’s only fifty degrees.” Mark laughed at the cumbersome coats and mittens.

  “My mother used to do the same thing to us.”

  Mark nodded and smiled at his kids. “Hey, I’ve got something for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yeah. Kids, let’s show Uncle Isaac what we have for him.”

  Both kids screamed happily and chased after their father. Isaac followed as they rounded to the back and walked toward a large metal building that Mark used as a shop. The door was on casters and opened as if it were a barn door. As it rolled to the side, Isaac’s eyes had to adjust to the darkened room.

  Then he saw it. His Harley–Davidson 1994 Heritage Softail Classic stood in the middle of the shop’s floor. A bit more rusted and faded than he remembered it, but just as beautiful.

  He stepped forward and touched the dry-rotted seat. “Where on earth did you get this?”

  “I grabbed it out of your mother’s garage a few years ago. I had an idea of fixing it up but then the kids were born and I never found the time.” Mark flipped the light switch and the shop’s fluorescent lights flickered on.

  “Do you like it, Uncle Isaac?” Abigail asked.

  “Like?” Daniel mimicked.

  They were both dancing around the bike happily.

  Isaac knelt and inspected the motor, carburetor and fuel tank. “I do like it.”

  Abigail launched herself into his arms, and he hugged her tight. “I just assumed Mom sold it a long time ago.”

  “She never gets rid of anything. She still has your father’s footlocker from the service.” Mark chuckled.

  “I can’t believe it.”

  Daniel climbed up Isaac’s back as he continued to crouch and stare in awe at the bike. Mark took a similar stance on the other side of the bike. The kids must have noted that it was the thing to do and they both dismounted their uncle and crouched before the Harley.

  “I don’t think it’s in too bad shape,” Mark said. “My plan was to take it apart, clean it up, see what needed replacing and put it back together. A little project.”

  The idea was too alluring. “Are you sure you don’t still want to do it?” Isaac asked.

  His brother-in-law was already shaking his head. “I don’t have the time and while it’s still tempting, I’d like to see you do something with it.”

  A bubble of excitement that he had not felt in a very long time started in his chest. He couldn’t look away from the Harley nor banish the memories it sent wafting through his mind as if they were gusts of Georgia wind.

  He heard his father’s voice calling him reckless and telling him to grow up when he’d spent all his savings to buy the bike. His mother screaming that he was going to kill himself on it. He heard his own laughter as he sped down the open road every fair day of those two years before taking the old man’s advice and going to college.

  He vaguely heard Mark corral the kids and herd them out of the building.

  He’d bought the bike used but it was only two years old at the time. It had been the bike of his dreams. He’d spent every free moment working on it or riding it. An argument with his father over his immaturity had caused him to leave it behind when he went away to school and then he’d never really come back for more than a day or two. He couldn’t believe his mother and Mark had saved it all those years.

  Before he knew it, he had a socket wrench in his hand. Mark had left everything he might need sitting on the workbench. Piece by piece he took the bike apart. Every piece needed to be cleaned and oiled. The tins, fenders and gas tank would look great if he had them repainted. The seat would need to be replaced. Some of the wiring was rotted but he could replace it easily. He found a pad and pencil and made a list of parts. Not that he was going to rebuild the old bike, what would be the point of that? He kept telling himself that over and over again, but one piece at a time the Harley came apart and he cleaned and savored every nut and bolt. He gave special attention to the chrome, tailpipe, wheels, sissy bar and handlebars.


  The sun was setting when Sadie said, “You have got to be kidding me.”

  He looked up from the sea of parts spread out on old towels all over the shop floor. “What?”

  She shook her head quickly. “Go get dressed please. You can play with your bike tomorrow, Isaac.”

  “Dressed?”

  “For the Hanukkah party? Remember the party?”

  He hadn’t remembered. Even after she said it, he’d taken a moment to process what she was talking about. The bike had consumed him for the entire afternoon. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t even taken the time to eat something for lunch.

  He got up from his knees and smiled. “Okay, Sadie. Sorry, I got distracted.”

  “Go shower and dress and then I’ll forgive you.”

  He kissed his sister’s cheek and looked back at the disassembled bike one time before he left the shop.

  * * * * *

  Giada saw the light in the small window of the shop door. The last thing she expected to see when she walked in was a sea of motorcycle parts spread from one end of the room to the other. Isaac stood with his back to her and ran his fingers through his dark hair as he stared down at the array.

  She should have cleared her throat or something, but she couldn’t help admiring his tall, lean body or the way his shoulders stretched the polo shirt.

  “My God, what have you done?”

  He turned, looked at her and his face completely changed. From the intense face of a man with a problem, he transformed in an instant with a smile that had her blushing right down to her panties. Did his face light up that way just for her? No, he probably did it with everyone, or at least all the women he saw. Charm had never been in short supply with Isaac Backman. She was glad to see that hadn’t changed.

  “Mark saved my old bike. I’m just fixing it up.” He walked over to where she stood at the door.

  “Fixing it up? It looks as if you’ve completely destroyed it.” He stood very close to her. How was it possible that after all of these years, he still made her weak in the knees?

  “Looks can be deceiving, Giada.”

  “I… Sadie sent me out here to tell you that your mother is here and you should join the party. They’re waiting on you to light the menorahs.”

  His eyes narrowed on her. “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?”

  Of all the things she expected him to say, that was not even close to one of them. “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “I mean, don’t you think you should spend some time with your family? Why would you want to have dinner with me?”

  “Really? You don’t know why?”

  She shook her head. She knew her eyes must be the size of saucers. I may swoon. Do women still swoon? Some might, but Giada didn’t. She stilled her emotions.

  He stepped closer and leaned down until his lips were next to her ear. “I’ve had a crush on you since we were teenagers. I may still have a crush on you. I’d like to get to know you better. Have dinner with me.”

  Her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t believe she’d been able to hear him at all. But she’d heard every softly spoken word and she found herself nodding her acceptance before she could make herself speak. “I get home at six thirty. Can we make it seven?”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  “Not on that, I hope.”

  His laughter shot directly from his lips to the already wet space between her thighs.

  “I’ll have my car.”

  They walked across the backyard toward the house together. “Were you here last year for this big party?”

  “No. This is my first Hanukkah.”

  “Lots of tradition and good food. You’ll like it.”

  He opened the back door, which led them into the kitchen. Sadie was at the sink washing dishes. “Oh good, you’re here.”

  She immediately dried her hands and called for the kids to light the menorahs.

  Mark handed Isaac a yarmulke. He put the small round prayer-cap on his head and stood in the back of the room. Giada stayed at his side and watched as Mark and Sadie helped their children say prayers in Hebrew. They lit the three candles that were set in the candelabra and then placed the center candle they’d used to light the others in the center space.

  She leaned over. “Did you grow up with all of this?”

  He nodded. “I went to Hebrew school and had a bar mitzvah. My parents didn’t go to temple. That part comes from Mark’s side of the family. Sadie loves all the tradition. I think she enjoys teaching her children about those traditions. My mother only did it because my father insisted. We never had parties like this for Hanukkah.”

  “But you understand the prayers?”

  He seemed to think about it for a moment. “Yes. I understand or at least I know what they mean. They’re about thanking God for giving us the festival of light or Hanukkah.”

  She was fascinated. “Is there a story?”

  He turned his head and smiled down at her. “There is always a story. All Jewish holidays are about some moment in history.”

  “Can you tell me the story?”

  His head cocked to one side. “Do you really want a history lesson?”

  The candle lighting ended and she was surprised to see that their conversation had gained the attention of everyone in the room.

  Isaac looked around and smiled at the crowd watching him.

  Sadie said, “Tell everyone, Isaac. A lot of our friends aren’t Jewish. I think we’d all love to hear the story.”

  “Do you remember it?” Mark asked.

  The eclectic group gathered around more closely. People nodded and waited for him to begin. Giada took a step away so she could watch him better and not feel as if she were on stage with him.

  He took the cap from his head. “I think I can remember the basic story. Jump in if I get any of it wrong.

  “A few hundred years BC, the Jewish Temple was seized by Syrian soldiers and dedicated to the worship of the god Zeus. This troubled the Jewish people, but they were afraid to fight back. Then the Syrian emperor, Antiochus, made the observance of Judaism a criminal offense, punishable by death. He ordered all Jews to worship the Greek gods, but the Jews hid their worship and taught their children by using gambling games, such as dreidel.” He pointed to the small wooden tops that the kids had been spinning earlier.

  “Some Jews in a small village near Jerusalem started to resist. When word got to the soldiers, they gathered the villagers and told them to bow down to an idol and to eat the flesh of a pig—both practices are forbidden to Jews. A Syrian officer ordered a high priest named Mattathias to comply with their demands, but Mattathias refused. When another villager stepped forward and offered to acquiesce on his behalf, the high priest became outraged. Mattathias drew his sword and killed the villager, then turned on the officer and killed him too. Mattathias’ five sons and the other villagers then attacked the remaining soldiers, killing them all.

  “Mattathias and his family went into hiding in the mountains, where other Jews wishing to fight against the Syrians joined them. Eventually they succeeded in retaking their land. These rebels became known as the Maccabees. Maccabee means hammer.

  “Once the Maccabees had regained control, they returned to the Temple in Jerusalem. By this time it had been spiritually defiled by being used for the worship of foreign gods and also by practices such as sacrificing pigs.

  “They wanted to light the eternal lamp in the Temple, but to their dismay, they discovered that there was only one day worth of oil left. It would take eight days to make more oil. They lit it anyway and to their surprise the small amount of oil lasted the full eight days.

  “That is the miracle of the Hanukkah. That is why every year we light the menorah known as a hanukkiyah for eight days. One candle is lit on the first night, two on the second, and so on, until eight candles are lit.”

  He paused and looked around the room at the crowd who stood watching him and giving him their full attent
ion. “So, Mark, how did I do?”

  Every head in the room turned to look at Mark who stood in the kitchen doorway.

  “Very impressive.” Mark clapped and the room joined in the applause.

  The crowd broke up a moment later when Sadie announced that the food was ready.

  Giada turned as everyone moved out of the living room toward the buffet table.

  “Are you impressed?” He spoke right next to her ear again.

  She realized her mistake immediately. Looking at him put her only half an inch from his face. She could have kissed him if she’d just leaned forward a little. And God, it was tempting to do exactly that. She resisted. “I’m stunned, to be honest. I wouldn’t have thought religion was your thing.”

  He straightened and shrugged. “It’s history. I enjoy history.”

  Then he took her hand, and she felt the touch in every nerve of her body. She’d never felt anything so intense and he’d only touched her hand. He paused and looked down at where their hands were clasped. Did he feel it too? Impossible.

  “I’m going to introduce you to the latke.”

  His smile worried her. “What’s the latke?”

  “Potato pancake. You’re going to love it.” His eyes were filled with mischief and delight as he tugged her toward the food-laden table.

  Chapter Three

  Her doorbell rang at six fifty-nine. She looked around the room one last time, making sure every pillow was fluffed and in place. Hands shaking, she headed toward the door. Who wouldn’t be nervous? The boy she’d had the biggest crush on in high school was no boy anymore and he was coming to pick her up. Please God, don’t let me make an ass of myself.

  Giada took a deep breath and opened the door. He was just as perfect as she remembered. In fact, her fantasies about Isaac had been completely overshadowed by the actual man. She’d seen his pictures in Sadie’s house. She had kind of adopted Giada in the months since she’d come back to Atlanta.

  He smiled. “May I come in?”

  She was just standing there with the door open, staring at him. She was an idiot. “Yes, of course, come in.”