A Candle for a Marine (Always a Marine) (7 page)

“I won’t.” Succinct and sincere.

“We have to lock up.” She brushed his arm, a request to wait, and went to fetch her purse and keys. Isaac waited for her where she’d left him and, plucking the keys from her hand, he led her out and secured the doors.

Thirty minutes later, she stared at his
choice
location for being alone. “A movie theater?”

“Not just any movie theater.” He grabbed a brown bag from the back seat and nudged her into walking with a hand at her back. “This one is special.”

“Uh huh.” She glanced at the sack curiously, though he didn’t explain. They hadn’t spoken much on the drive over, but he’d held her hand, the gesture so light and effortless, even if she didn’t quite understand why she didn’t pull away.

“Come on.” He waved to one of the ticket takers at the door, only instead of buying a ticket or even heading toward one of the theaters, he guided her toward a side room.

“Oh.” An arcade, filled with classic games she adored and newer ones she didn’t recognize.

“Yeah, apparently our favorite arcade is closed now,” Isaac explained, tugging her over to the Galaga machine. “I guess the X-Box generation doesn’t need them, but this place prides itself on refurbished boxes from the ’80s and ’90s.”

A giggle escaped. “I haven’t done this in years.”

“Which means I actually have a shot at beating you.” His teasing smile was genuine, and she laughed again.

“I seriously doubt it.” If anything, she’d mastered the fine art of patience and he’d never topped her in Pac-Man or the Ms. spin-off, though Galaga left them pretty evenly matched. Setting the paper bag down, Isaac opened it and tossed her a roll of quarters.

“For the lady.” He winked, then held up his own roll. “For me.”

“I thought you brought food.” She leaned over to peek into the bag, and Isaac tipped it so she could see the candy and soda inside.

“I did. A very unhealthy, high-calorie, loaded-with-sugar lunch to keep us fueled for hours.” He popped open a can of her favorite and passed it over. “So, you want to go first?”

Lips pursed, she took it, thinking of a hundred reasons why taking the can was a bad idea. She didn’t drink soda, avoided sweets except for the occasional piece of cake with her mother, and had to add extra miles to her walk whenever she indulged, to keep the pounds off her hips. Plenty of reasons to say no….

“Come on, you know you want to.” He waved a Snickers bar at her, and she snatched it from him.

“You’re bad.”

He grinned and kissed her cheek. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

She let him go first because her system went into overload from the brief touch and stuffing the candy bar in her mouth kept her from having to respond. It took her most of their first game to come out of that daze. When he got to enter his initials for top score, her competitive spirit jerked her out of her stupor.

“Pac-Man next.”

He groaned, and followed her over. When he crowded too close as she took the controls, she bumped him with her hip. “No cheating this time.”

Laughing, he moved to settle right next to the machine and angled his head to watch her play—and put himself in her direct line of sight.

Yeah, she lost that game, too.

Sundown on the second day of Hanukkah brought the children and several family members out in force. Isaac hadn’t been surprised to find Nona among them. She rested against his side while Zehava sang the Hebrew prayer and translated it to English. Nona lit her candles with him and helped entertain the youngest with stories. Fortunately, many of the families brought food with them, some from their Thanksgiving meals. Others shared baked goods. The center’s kitchen was full by the time the last family left.

In the quiet, and finally alone together, he and Zehava lit the second candle for their son. While they stared at the menorah in silence, Zehava offered him a gift. “I have a picture of him.”

Everything in him stilled, and he braced for the hurt. He and Zehava kept picking at his wound, and the only reason it had a scab and hadn’t healed over completely was because they’d never fully drained it of the infection he’d let fester. “I don’t know.” The most honest response he could give her.

She tipped her head and the weight of her studious gaze rested on him. “Okay.”

He tried to assess why the easy acceptance. “I’m trying to keep my word.” He really didn’t know how he would feel if he saw a picture of their son. The boy was an abstract source of pain and disappointment—and why Isaac had pulled away from her for too long.

“I know, which is why I said okay.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth, and the action drew his attention. Bit by bit, he’d woken up to the need for her he’d thought long since lost.

No. Not lost.
Buried
.

The clarity of that nearly took him out at the knees. He’d never stopped loving her, only forced love into some narrow box he could leave buried in the graveyard of his heart. Because it was easier. Disgust at his choice curled through him and he grimaced.

“I’m sorry.” Zehava began to retreat, and he caught her arm.

“No. Don’t apologize. I’m not mad at you.” He gave a quick shake of his head.

“Hmmm. You looked pretty pissed.”

He deserved the skepticism in her eyes and bowed his head to it. “I’m learning some truths about myself, and they aren’t particularly pleasant.”

Curiosity gleamed in her eyes—his response evidently intrigued her—and he shook his head again. He wasn’t really ready to share that information with her.

Night Three

The third day of Hanukkah began very differently from the first two. Isaac appeared far too chipper on her porch at four in the morning. He wanted to go shopping. Despite her lack of sleep and bleary lack of comprehension, he insisted it was Black Friday and they could quite possibly find some gifts for the kids. When he expressed the idea, she found a way to grab a shower and dress in a hurry.

Shopping with Isaac turned out to be an experience. The man had a take-no-prisoners attitude and despite arriving at the bigger superstores and malls well after the
herd
of shoppers, they got through the door with very few people crowding them. They scored a new game system for the community center that would delight the kids, a dollhouse and a play kitchen, and a new coffeemaker for her. Isaac refused to let her pay for anything.

When she questioned the number of toys he kept adding to the cart, he merely shrugged. “Toys for Tots.”

At the rate he was going, the term
Santa Marine
would start to fit.

They made it to the center a little after lunch, and she longed for a nap, but he wanted to get everything set up for evening first, and his enthusiasm turned infectious. When he decided to test out the new game system, she fell asleep to his mumbling grumbles and low laughter.

He woke her shortly before sundown, just in time to splash some water on her face. The third night’s candle lighting went well and each of the children was given a small toy to go with their
gelt
. Isaac had enough for all of them, including the older teens. He’d paid attention to what they liked, and the kids who didn’t already adore their native son and Marine quickly developed a severe case of hero worship.

When he and Zehava were finally alone again, he took the lead on lighting the candle and whispered. “I’d like to see him.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure.”

She fetched her purse and, opening her wallet, pulled out the pictures. In the first, a newborn infant lay in the hospital cradle, a tiny blue and white hat on his head.

“Mama took it. She didn’t tell me at first. She’d kept it, and one night when I was feeling particularly sorry for myself because I hadn’t thought to take one, she gave it to me.”

Isaac didn’t move, his focus rigid on the picture in his hand. When he finally lifted his head and glanced at the stack of other pictures she held, she offered him the next one. “The Meyersons send me a picture each year on his birthday. They don’t have to, and they asked me the first year if it would bother me. I thought it might, but I love seeing him….”

The hand he held out trembled, and she handed over the photos one at a time—the most recent having arrived the previous summer. Dread and hope warred within him as she shared the precious images.

“What’s his name?” It was the first time he’d asked.

“Benjamin.”
His middle name
.

Isaac looked at her sharply.

“Yes, they let me name him, and I wanted him to have a part of his father with him.”

Night Four

He rose early despite sitting at the center with Zehava until nearly midnight and walking her home the night before. His internal clock never let him sleep past five a.m., even when he had a day off. The pictures and the name—they made his son real and brought him closer to the woman he’d loved for over his half his life. She lived with it every day, honoring the birth of their son each year with a fresh picture and remembering him at Hanukkah.

While she might use those events to demarcate the years since Benjamin’s birth, Isaac had no doubt she thought of him often. How could she not when she worked with children every day? Her courage and compassion astounded him. His reactions had to confuse her and he wanted to try and explain what he longed for, though he wasn’t even sure he understood it himself.

One could not make up for eight years in eight days, but he needed to try. When she’d dozed on the sofa behind him the day before, he’d experienced a contentment he hadn’t felt in too long.

After showering, he sent her a text to say he’d meet her at the center by lunchtime, and hoped the message wouldn’t wake her. He needed to talk to a friend, and thought about going to see Zach or one of the others at Mike’s Place. They were Marines. They would understand. Or he could talk to Nona, since his grandmother seemed to know his heart better than he did. Deciding against both, he headed to Temple.

Relatively new when he’d left, Rabbi Glassman had known what he needed right then was to reconcile the two halves of his soul—the angry young man who’d left and the warrior who had returned. When she echoed the same advice he’d received from his grandmother and Zach, he understood he couldn’t avoid Zehava any more than he could avoid breathing. She was in his blood and his soul.

The community center was packed when he arrived. Unlike the previous day, the kids had returned in force. Thankfully, they divided their time in the various rooms; some did chores, some played, and more ate. Even with little opportunity to get Zehava alone, he enjoyed the time with the kids nonetheless. The sound of her laughter drifted around the corners and filled up the empty patches in his soul.

Later, after they’d ushered the children out and lit the candle for Benjamin, he knew what he wanted.

What he’d always wanted.

Night Five

Isaac was different. Zehava couldn’t put her finger on exactly when it happened, but he’d changed. If anything, he flirted, acting almost playful. He didn’t let her pass by without touching her, and during the candle lighting he’d been right at her side. Later, after they lit the candle for their son, he walked her home and pressed his lips to her cheek. He wanted to have dinner with his family, but he promised the next night to her.

Sleeping had been impossible after the brush of his lips. Too many old passions and needs woke up. She remembered their first kiss. Walking her home after a movie, he drew her beneath one of the old oak trees shading their street and brushed his mouth to hers for the first time. It had been sweet and full of promise. Neither of them had a whole lot of kissing knowledge, but they’d practiced.

Their last kiss had been the morning he left for boot camp. They’d taken a hotel room because he’d wanted to hold her all night long and that wouldn’t have happened at either of their parents’ homes. When it came time for him to leave, he’d told her to stay in bed—because that’s what he wanted to remember—and bent and claimed her mouth three times in sensual caress. One for being his girl, two for being his friend, and three for being there for him—and he left. If she’d known then what she knew now….

Shaking her head of the maudlin thoughts, she looked over at Isaac playing on the X-Box. He wanted to take her out to lunch, but she had paperwork to finish. One of the joys of running the center was the absolute autonomy she had. Most of the funding came from local families and businesses, but she had to file budgets and oversee the books.

Festivals like Hanukkah usually meant a sharp increase in spending, so she needed to make sure they weren’t going to run short before the next projected set of donations. Someone had been adding cash to the collection box each night after she went home. As it was, they were firmly in the black—so firmly she didn’t even think they’d have to worry about the post-holiday fundraiser she usually had to manage to keep the doors open through spring.

“I want to take you out to dinner tonight, Z.”

The statement pulled her completely out of the ledger program. “What?”

Isaac didn’t glance away from the screen where he ran some character up over walls and clobbered monsters. “I said, I want to take you out to dinner.”

“I heard what you asked. I guess I just—”
What?
She couldn’t put her finger on the indefinable emotions brewing. They’d made so much progress in the last few days….

The game paused, and he twisted toward her. The steadiness in his dark gaze pinned her in place. “But?”

She swallowed the unmistakable lump in her throat. “Why?”

“Why do I want to take you to dinner?” A familiar, teasing gleam appeared in his eyes. “I know you eat.”

Her face heating, she scowled at him. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I don’t know, Z. We’ve had several meals over the last few days. Why would asking you out to dinner be all that different?” And he continued to play coy.

Two could play that game. “In that case, why don’t we just grab some takeout on the way to my place?”