Carol of the Bellskis (4 page)

only, and the yellow plates for dairy. Seth stood for a moment, torn. Which plate should he use?

Technically there was neither meat nor dairy in hummus. What were the rules about that?

And then he froze. Wait. Was hummus even allowed?

Oh yeah. Just not allowed on Passover, since it was a legume.

He was sweating by the time he got the food laid out on a yellow plate. The presentation

was ridiculous. He probably should have taken the hummus out of the container first.

Carol of the Bellskis

17

The doorbell rang.

Cursing, Seth wiped his hands on his jeans and walked through the kitchen and back into

the main room of the lodge.

The Siegels had gotten the door for him, and since they were actively hugging the couple,

Seth assumed they were the Rosenbaums. He put them in the only suite left, the Shalom Room.

This was Seth's favorite room, with a view of the mountains and a small, tastefully

furnished bedroom and attached nook that served as an office. The bathroom was cramped,

everything next to everything else, but he liked it for its dark blue decor and the four-poster bed,

which barely fit in the tiny space.

Now everyone was here. Everyone but the hosts.

Seth ran back down to the refuge of the kitchen to search his aunt's ancient, flour-dusted

address book for his cousin's phone number.

Ahava lived in upstate New York with the rest of the extended Bellski clan. Only Seth and

his aunt and uncle had bothered to leave their roots on the East Coast and try to make it out west.

Judi and Carl did so because they fell in love with Whistler. Seth did it because he fell in love

with a musician who had moved to Seattle with his band, and Seth had tagged along.

The relationship with the guitar player was short-lived, but Seth's affair with the West

Coast endured. He now considered himself a die-hard Pacific Northwesterner. He owned eight

different hoodies and no umbrella. He recycled the tops of his latte cups daily.

But occasionally he missed the massive Bellski clan that stretched from upstate New York

to the tip of Florida, and as soon as he heard Ahava's voice, memories of warm kitchens,

evenings watching football, extravagant birthday parties, and huge weddings and fantastic meals

all came rushing back.

“Ahava. It's me, Seth.”

“
Seth!
Oh my God, I haven't heard from you in a year!” His cousin shouted so loud, Seth

had to hold the receiver away from his ear. “How are you? Happy Hanukkah! How are you?”

“Yeah, hey. How are you?”

“Wonderful! My son Adam is directing a play this week. Did you know Adam was an

aspiring playwright? He's like Shakespeare, only with fewer words and no drama.”

18

Astrid Amara

“Really. Well—”

“His play doesn't make sense to me, but what can you do? It isn't the stuff of legend, but

you should see it. It's an amazing set—”

“Ahava,” Seth interrupted. “Do you know where your parents are?”

“Of course I do. They're at the B and B, like always. Wait, aren't you supposed to be up

there? Mom mentioned you were bringing over a boyfriend.” Ahava sang the word
boyfriend
so

it took up about eight syllables.

“Yeah, I'm here,” Seth said, trying to control his mounting panic. “But your parents aren't.

Do they have a cell phone? I'm assuming they ran into town for some errands. But it's been over

an hour, and all the guests are arriving, and—”

“They're missing?”

“Well, I don't know if they're
missing
, they just aren't
here
, and—”

“Oh my God! My parents are missing!”

“Ahava, relax. I'm just calling to see if they have a cell or something—”

“Oh my God!” Ahava hollered loudly off the phone. “Dan! Pack the kids, we have to go to

Whistler!”

“Whaa?” Seth heard in the distance.

“My mom and dad are dead!”

“Ahava!” Seth shouted, no longer controlling his annoyance. “Do they have a cell phone?”

“Are you kidding? My mom can't even operate the television remote! And my dad thinks

they give off cancer. Oh my God, Seth, do you really think they died in an avalanche?”

“No. I think they're at the store buying groceries.”

Ahava took a breath.

“Look, just let me know if they call you, all right?” Seth asked.

“Of course. But look… I talked to my mom last week, and you know what she said?”

“No. What?”

“She was fighting with Pop. They were really mad at each other, last I heard. What if they

killed each other in a grisly double homicide?”

Carol of the Bellskis

19

“I think that's called a murder-suicide,” Seth said. Then he shook his head. “No! That's not

what they did.”

“Well, now I'm all panicked. Will you call me the moment they walk in? The moment?”

“Of course. Sorry to freak you out.”

“You did that. Good job.”

“Sorry.” Seth smiled.

Ahava sighed. “Keep me posted, Seth.”

“I will.”

“And don't scare the guests off. My parents need the cash,” she added.

“I'll be a perfect host until your mom is back,” Seth promised. “Bye.”

Seth sat there, exhausted, receiver dangling from his hand. From brokenhearted crying to

driving for five hours to playing host to this. He needed another beer.

He helped himself.

The inhabitants of the B and B stirred. There were sounds coming from the nearby games

room and the persistent yap of Ben Berkowitz's little dog.

One hour to sundown.

Seth ran his hands through his hair frantically, hoping a thought might get dislodged. He

didn't have any, however. What did Ahava mean, they had a fight? Seth couldn't believe it. Judi

and Carl had been together for over forty years. Their marriage seemed rock solid. They

represented everything that was possible in a good relationship to Seth, and he loved them for

that.

Seth made a resolution. He would keep it together for the sake of Judi and Carl.
Keep it

together.

“Excuse me, kid?”

Seth turned wearily. “Yes, Mr. Berkowitz?”

“Can I get that dog food?”

“I'll see what we have.”

20

Astrid Amara

After several minutes of searching, he found cans of something expensive-looking called

Fancy Schmancy Chopped Liver for “kosher pets.” Seth opened the can and dumped the

ingredients into a blue bowl and brought it upstairs.

“That's way too much!” Ben Berkowitz complained.

“I'm sorry,” Seth snapped. “I don't have a dog. I especially don't have
your
dog. I don't

know how much he eats, okay? Look, I'm a fucking guest here. I haven't had a chance to unpack

my bag. I'm trying to be polite and take care of seven complete strangers and figure out where

my missing relatives are, so I'm a little stressed, and I'd appreciate a little less criticism for about

five fucking minutes.”

Ben froze, his smile melting off his face.

Good job, Seth thought. Nice keeping-it-together skills.

He shook his head and said, “I'm sorry,” just as Ben said the same thing.

They both paused.

Ben's heavy hand came down on Seth's shoulder. “Kid, I apologize. I get cranky when

Doctor Mister gets cranky. I didn't mean to be an ass. Is there anything I can do?”

Seth sighed. “I don't suppose you want to lead the candle lighting?”

Ben smiled. His teeth were yellow, and his mouth was wide, but he looked genuinely

pleased. “There is nothing I'd love more!”

Seth sighed in relief, grateful the man didn't bear a grudge for Seth's outburst. He pointed

Ben Berkowitz in the direction of the menorah.

As sunset fell across the mountains, Seth lowered the lights in the dining room, and old

Ben Berkowitz lit the
shamash
candle and then the first candle of Hanukkah.

Ben led the recitation of the Hanukkah prayer, which was chanted in varying degrees of

enthusiasm. Seth mumbled the way he had since he was a child, the Hebrew words all merging

into one inextricably long collection of consonants:
sherkidshanub'mitzvotavv'tzivanu
. But the

rabbi and his wife recited it soulfully, and the Neidlich sisters giggled as they raced each other to

the finish.

Then Ben launched into a theatrical rendition of “Hanerot Halalu,” the likes of which Seth

and the other guests had never heard. It involved belting out the lyrics of the hymn so that his

Carol of the Bellskis

21

voice filled all the corners of the lodge, and his breath wavered the candles, and his face turned

red, and tears sprang to the corners of his eyes, and the top button on his shirt quivered and

popped away, an early critic. Heedless, Ben emphatically thumped his mammoth gut.

Everyone stared at Ben.

“I'm a theater director,” Ben explained. “I believe in projecting one's voice.”

The rest nodded politely and joined in as he immediately launched into a raucous rendition

of “Ma'oz Tzur,” complete with a driving drumbeat created by smacking the top of Aunt Judi's

oak dining table.

Afterward Seth moved the menorah to the bay window of the B and B to shine the light

outward and hoped that it would lead Carl and Judi back before dinner. Then he darted to the

kitchen and returned with his delectable offering of hummus in the container, pita bread, and

wine.

“I thought you said there would be latkes,” Rabbi Chaim complained.

“Later,” Seth said, wearing a plastered smile to hide his desire to start punching people.

“Once my aunt returns.”

“The bread isn't warm,” Chana said.

“Very good observation,” Seth remarked under his breath. But she was right. He couldn't

hope to deliver the wonderful meals these people were paying for.

He left the crowd to entertain themselves in the games room or in front of the fire while he

figured out what he was going to do about dinner.

Seth's aunt had posted her Hanukkah package menu on the meat refrigerator. As he read it

over, his heart sank.

Roasted herb-crusted chicken, green beans in garlic sauce, a fruited spinach salad, and all

followed off with freshly baked honey cake.

Not going to happen.

Seth struggled to open packages, let alone cook. He lived off takeout, cereal, and grilled

cheese sandwiches.

Which gave him an idea.

22

Astrid Amara

Ditching the meat refrigerator, he headed over to the dairy area, pulled out some butter,

and heated a skillet. The theme of Hanukkah dinner was fried food. Why not a fried cheese

sandwich? Who doesn't want that?

For a moment he convinced himself it was a good idea. Long enough to get to work on his

masterpiece.

But two hours later, the noise in the dining room rising to a loud, demanding decibel count,

Seth looked down at the ten plates with blackened, greasy grilled cheese sandwiches garnished

with some parsley he found in the fridge, and realized he had failed.

At least they wouldn't starve, he thought.

“Dinner's ready!” he cried in false cheer. Ben had gotten everyone seated, and Chana had

set the table, but the helpful team that was on his side turned traitor when he showed them what

they would be eating.

No one said a word, although Rita Rosenbaum abruptly turned away and Sharon Neidlich's

eyebrows raised and she said, “How…unusual!” in a slightly shaky voice. She gazed at her

sister. In their glance, Seth could read plans for finding another hotel.

“It's just for tonight,” Seth assured them. “A real chef will be joining us tomorrow.”

Everyone sighed in palpable relief. And then dug into their grilled cheeses.

The dinner conversation was polite, with the guests asking questions about why everyone

was there, whether they knew so-and-so who also lived in Toronto, and remarking on the

weather.

Seth didn't join in. He ate his sandwich glumly, left a few bottles of wine out for everyone

to enjoy, and then retired to the kitchen, where he stared at the pile of dirty dishes and finished

off the last of the beer.

What was he going to do now?

It was nearly ten at night. His aunt and uncle has been missing for almost twelve hours. As

snow began to fall again, he grew genuinely worried. Feeling slightly foolish, he called the Royal

Canadian Mounted Police.

Carol of the Bellskis

23

Before, their absence has been an inconvenience. Now it had been too long to be anything

but a mistake. Maybe Ahava's overreaction was right. Maybe they were dead under an

avalanche.

Seth reported their disappearance and was reassured by a kindly constable that they would

check the roadways around the village and send out an alert. But she also told Seth that it seemed

unlikely that harm could have befallen the old couple; they were longtime Whistler residents and

knew how to handle the roads in the snow.

“It's probably just some sort of misunderstanding,” the officer told Seth.

“Yeah.” Seth wanted to believe her, but if Bellskis were known for anything, it was for

their dedication to routine. It was a genetic trait, right up there with exponentially increasing

amounts of chest hair and heart palpitations.