Day of Atonement (5 page)

“Rest, Mama,” Shimon said. “I just wanted to know.”

After he left, Frieda said, “You’d better go to him.”

Rina stood. “I’ll let you know what he wants to do.”

“Tell him I love him, Rina,” Frieda said. “I will not intrude on his privacy just as he didn’t intrude on mine. I will honor whatever decision he makes. Please tell him that for me.”

“I will.”

Frieda said, “And if he doesn’t want to see me, tell him I love him, I always have. And tell him I’m sorry…so very sorry.”

The next day,
Rosh Hashanah services lasted from eight in the morning to two-thirty in the afternoon. Never much of a churchgoer in childhood, Decker wasn’t much of a synagogue goer either. But today he was grateful for every minute of delay. Less time to spend with people, specifically with
her
.

There was no purpose for flight now. His secret—so long buried, so seldom acknowledged even to himself—was violated. He knew and
she
knew. No one else knew of course, except Rina.

Rina, the go-between—a luckless role. She had played her part with aplomb and diplomacy.

She’ll do whatever you want, Peter.

What does she want to do?

She wants to talk to you.

I don’t want to talk to her.

That’s fine.

Then she doesn’t want to talk to me.

No, Peter,
Rina had explained patiently.
She does want to talk to you, but she doesn’t want to force you to do something you’re not ready to do.

I’m
not ready?
Decker had whispered incredulously. I’m
not ready?
I
was the one who’d put my friggin name on the list. I was the one who was willing to be contacted. Now she’s saying I’m not ready?

Rina sighed, gave him a “please don’t kill the messenger” look. Maternally, she patted his hand and said,
Think about it, Peter.

The upshot: He decided to eat lunch with
her
—and
her
family, knowing that the amount of contact
she
and he would have would be minimal.

Half of him wondered:
Why am I doing this?
His other half answered:
Because you’re curious, jerk. That’s why you started this whole thing rolling twenty-three years ago.

He
was
curious. As they started back from shul,
her
sons at his side, he couldn’t help but sneak sidelong glances at them. The detective in him—trying to find any signs of physical commonality.

The oldest was Shimon, the one Rina had called good-looking. He was a handsome man—solid, strong features. Decker put his age at around thirty-eight: There was a gray coursing through his trimmed black beard. Decker’s own facial hair was full of rusty pigment, not a streak of white anywhere. For some reason that gave him an odd sense of superiority—as if his paternal genes were
better
. Although Shimon was dark, his pink cheeks—probably tinted from the cold—gave his face a splash of color. He stood about five eleven, had black hair and brown eyes, and was built with muscle—he and Decker had that much in common. In keeping with tradition, he was wearing his white holiday robe over his black suit. His
kittel
was a nice one—white embroidery on white silk.

The next in line was Ezra—same size as Shimon but thinner. Complexioned identically to his brother, Ezra was dark, his beard wide and wild. He wore glasses, and wrinkled his nose when he spoke. Decker was fixated on his ears—slightly pointed on top, exactly like his and Cindy’s. Ezra had pulled his
kittel
tightly over his chest as he walked, stuck his hands in the robe pockets.

Jonathan was the baby of the family. The Conservative rabbi was tall—same size as Decker but slender. He was also dark-complexioned, but his eyes were lighter—hazel-
green. He was clean-shaven and wore a Harris-tweed sport-coat over gray flannel pants. No
kittel
—either he wasn’t married or the robe was too traditional for his taste. He was whistling
“Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah”
as they walked, eliciting dirty looks from Ezra. Maybe it was the modern clothes, but Decker found more of himself in this kid than in the two older brothers.

Kid? Jonathan must be Rina’s age, maybe even a year or two older. A pause for thought.

All this mental game playing, it didn’t amount to diddly squat. Unless he ever needed a transfusion or kidney transplant, it didn’t matter what these jokers and he had in common. But he couldn’t stop himself. He was trying to be unobtrusive about it, but more than a few times he managed to lock eyes with one of them, their expressions, in return, mirrors of confusion.

His furtive glances—like Jonathan’s rendition of
“Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah”
—had a slightly unnerving effect on Ezra. Shimon and Jonathan also seemed puzzled by Decker, but amused by him as well.

Rina was walking behind them with the women; her brothers-in-law were walking ahead with the older men. Children were all over the place. Somehow, Decker had been grouped with his half brothers. Did
she
notice it?

How could she
not
notice? He wondered what she was thinking at this moment, if the sight of all her sons together caused her untold pain or happiness. A moment later, Decker caught Jonathan grinning at him.

Jonathan said, “I want you to know, Akiva, that while Rina lived here, her phone never stopped ringing—”

“Half the calls were yours,” Shimon interrupted.

“I was calling as a friend,” Jonathan said.

“A very close friend,” Shimon countered. His brown eyes were twinkling.

Jonathan looked at Decker. “She never even looked at another man.”

Ezra adjusted his black hat, frowned, and said, “Is this
yom tov
talk?”

“I just wanted Akiva to know that Rina was loyal to him,” Jonathan said.

“Look at the man,” Shimon said, pointing to Decker. “Does he look as if he ever had any doubt? He has a magnetic effect on women. Look what he did with Mama.”

Decker said, “Must have been my charm.”

“I think it was the red hair,” Jonathan said. He took off his yarmulke, then repinned it onto his black hair. “Mama loves
gingies.
Stubborn woman that she is, she’s always trying to set me up with redheads.”

Decker felt his stomach tighten. He said, “You’re not married.”

“A sore point in the family,” Shimon said. “One of many.”

Jonathan said, “Know any nice Jewish women in Los Angeles? Preferably ones that look like your wife?”

Shimon said, “Religious women.”

Jonathan said, “Not so religious.”

Shimon said, “Another sore point.”

Ezra turned red and said, “This is how you talk on Rosh Hashanah?”

“Take it easy, Ez,” Jonathan said. “The Torah’s not going to fall apart if someone cracks a smile on
yom tov
.”

“What do you know from Torah?” Ezra said. “The way
you people
make up your own laws—”

“Ezra, not now,” Shimon said.

“It would be better if you did nothing,” Ezra’s pointed ears were now crimson. “What you do now is
apikorsis
.”

“That’s your interpretation,” Jonathan said. He held back a smile and began whistling again.

“It’s a true Torah interpretation!” Ezra shouted. “And stop
whistling
that nonsense.”

Jonathan said to Decker, “A point of fact. It was Ezra who took me to see
Song of the South
way back when before movies were considered unkosher—”

“Before you were
tref
,” Ezra said, using the Hebrew word for unkosher.

“Low blow, Ez,” Jonathan said.

“Both of you, enough,” Shimon said. “Papa will hear you and get upset.”

“Ach,” Ezra said, waving his hand in the air. He picked up his pace and caught up with the older men and Rina’s brothers-in-law.

Jonathan said, “The man has no sense of humor.”

Shimon wagged a finger at him. “That is not nice.”

“It’s not a matter of being nice or not nice,” Jonathan said. “It’s a statement of fact, Shimmy.” To Decker he said, “Ezra hasn’t forgiven me for leaving the fold—”

“I haven’t either,” Shimon said.

“You?” Jonathan waved him off. “Who pays attention to you.”

Shimon laughed. “Of all of us, Jonathan had the best head for learning. He’s breaking my father’s heart with his Conservationism—”

“Conservatism,” Jonathan said.

“It’s all the same foolishness.” Shimon put a hand on Decker’s shoulder. “He won’t listen to us, but maybe he’ll listen to you. Talk to him.”

Decker smiled.

“Gornisht mein helfun,”
Jonathan said. “Give it up. I’m too far gone.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’re willing to give up Rina—”

“Forget it,” Decker said.

“Not even to save a soul?” Jonathan said.

“Your soul looks okay to me,” Decker said.

Jonathan patted his brother’s shoulder and said, “Hear that, Shimmy? An objective opinion.”

“Then again, I’m pretty new at assessing souls,” Decker said.

Jonathan smiled.

“Yonasan,” Shimon said, “can you do us all one favor?
Can you not bait Papa for one whole meal? His heart isn’t what it used to be.”

“So what do you want me to say when he starts in on me?” Jonathan said.

“Don’t say anything.”

“Papa loves to debate me—”

“He doesn’t love it.”

“It revitalizes him.”

“Yonasan…”

“It does!”

Shimon spoke in a patient but parental voice. “Yonasan, Papa was shaken up by Mama’s sudden attack yesterday. Do a mitzvah and go easy on Papa.”

Jonathan threw up his hands. “Okay. I can always use another mitzvah at this time of year. I’ll lay off Papa.” He had a gleam in his eye. “But Ezra’s fair game—”

“Yonasan…”

“He doesn’t have a heart condition.” To Decker, Jonathan said, “Everyone at today’s table has a big mouth. Feel free to make a jerk out of yourself like we all do.”

“Speak for yourself.” Shimon turned serious. “I’m worried about Mama. She still looks a little shaky.”

“She must have caught my bug,” Decker said straight-faced.

“You felt shaky last night?” Shimon said.

“Very,” Decker answered.

“You look okay now,” Shimon said.

“I feel a little better,” Decker said.

“How are you enjoying New York?” Jonathan asked.

“I’m not used to such close quarters,” Decker said.

“It can be oppressive,” Jonathan said. “Especially if you’re used to a lot of space. Rina says you have a ranch with horses.”

“A small ranch,” Decker said. “A few acres.”

“Do you police your area on horseback?” Shimon asked.

Decker stared at him. Shimon had asked the question sin
cerely. He cleared his throat and said, “We don’t live on the wild frontier. We have regular houses, regular streets—”

“But no sidewalks,” Jonathan said. “Rina said there are no sidewalks.”

“The major streets have sidewalks,” Decker said. “How
well
do you know Rina, Jonathan?”

“You have streets without
sidewalks
?” Shimon said.

“Some of the streets don’t have sidewalks,” Decker said. To Jonathan, he said, “You and Rina do a lot of talking?”

Shimon said, “Where do you walk if you don’t have sidewalks? On people’s lawns?”

“There are these dirt curbs—”

“How quaint,” Jonathan said.

“Quaint is cobblestone streets,” Decker said. “Our area isn’t at all quaint.”

Jonathan said, “Rina says you have a lot of Hell’s Angels living near you.”

“Not right near us—”

“Hell’s Angels, gang shootings, highway shootings, and all those crazies on drugs…” Shimon shook his head, adjusted his hat. “And they say New York is bad? I bet I’m safer here than where you live. Because here I have neighbors that know me.”

Jonathan said, “Rina says in Los Angeles no one knows their neighbors.”

“That’s not really true,” Decker said. He realized he was sounding defensive. “Well, it’s sort of true. What else has Rina told you, Jonathan?”

Jonathan didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “Did Rina tell you I was her late husband’s best friend? Yitz and I grew up together.”

“Yitz and Yonasan used to learn together,” Shimon explained. “Every single night until Yitz and Rina moved to Israel. The two of them were amazing. Whenever they learned in the
Bais Midrash
, people gathered around them just to hear their fertile minds click—”

“A real dog and pony show,” Jonathan said.

“You loved to learn back then, Yonie,” Shimon said. “I remember the fire in your eye whenever you proved a point.”

“That was a glazed look from lack of sleep.”

“You loved it.” Shimmy became grave. “Yitz was a good influence on you. Now he’s gone and you’ve become an
apikoros.
We lost both of you in one year.”

Jonathan looked pained. “Not quite the same thing.”

Shimon put his arm around his brother and said, “You’re right. It’s not the same thing at all. I’m just saying you lost your love for learning when Yitz—”

“I pay an analyst for this, Shim,” Jonathan said.

“Ach,” Shimon said. “Analyst, shmanalyst. I have faith.
I
haven’t given up on you.”

Jonathan started to say something but changed his mind. They walked the next few steps without talking. Turning to Decker, Jonathan said, “I used to razz Yitz the same way I’m razzing you.” He rolled his tongue inside his cheeks. “He was a good guy.”

There was another moment of silence. Jonathan managed to put on a cheerful smile, then punched Decker lightly on the shoulder. “As far as Rina goes, I tried. God
knows
I tried…and tried…and tried and tried.”

Decker let out a small laugh.

Jonathan shrugged and said, “The better man won out—both times.”

Decker didn’t know if that was true. But he certainly wasn’t going to argue the point.

The house that Rabbi Levine built was nearly identical to the Lazarus abode. Crystal, Decker decided, must be symbolic of something. Frieda Levine, like Rina’s ex-mother-in-law, Sora Lazarus, seemed to be inordinately fond of the glistening glass. The dining area was lit with a mammoth-sized chandelier—a four-tiered job with scores of icy stalactites dangling from the frame. It completely overpowered the room.

And as had been the case at Sora Lazarus’s, the adjoining
living room–dining room had taken on the appearance of a mess hall. One long rectangular table and four folding card tables crammed every available inch of floor space. There were enough chairs to fill an auditorium.