Like No Other (26 page)

“I guess I just think people should choose their lives for themselves,” I say.

“We
do
choose,” David argues.

“You choose, maybe,” I say pointedly. “Girls don’t have that freedom.”

“That’s life,” he says, sighing.

“It doesn’t bother you at all?” I ask, taking a step back.

“Not much, no.”

“I can’t stand it,” I say.

David clears his throat; I can tell he’s looking for an out. “Well, not everyone believes in the importance of tradition,” he mutters.

“But I do,” I say, suddenly defensive. Until I met Jax, I had never been happier than when I was sitting around a table with my family, all of us joined not just by blood but by something so much deeper and more meaningful—by faith. Having grown up surrounded by people just like me, who know exactly where I come from—down to the village my great-great-grandfather was born in—is a blessing and a comfort, and I wouldn’t trade my childhood for anything.

“Then what?” David asks.

“It’s . . . the limitations,” I say. “What binds us together may be beautiful, but I just can’t accept that my happiness is against Hashem’s wishes. I can’t let tradition dictate my place in the world.”

“You don’t think wives have places of honor?” he asks, and I give him a dubious look. “I’m being serious,” he continues. “A woman is the foundation of a household. Without her it all falls apart.”

“I know,” I say slowly. “It’s just that the foundation of a house by definition is in the basement.”

David falls silent for a minute.

“It’s a shame you devalue yourself, Devorah,” he says finally. “You really are quite pretty. You’d make any man very happy.”

“Thanks,” I say curtly. I never wanted to marry him, but it still disappoints me that I was so wrong about David. He’s no better than Jacob after all. “What will you tell your parents?” I ask.

“I’ll tell them exactly what you said,” he replies, grimacing. “That should be enough.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again, even though I’m not sure I am.

“I’m sorry, too,” David says. “I don’t know what you want from your future, but I hope you find your way back to the fold.”

What I want from my future.
It’s a question I’ve been skirting since I arrived in Monsey. Ironically, having nothing but time to think has made me adept at avoiding thoughts that threaten to upset the tranquil numbness that has enveloped me like a fog for the past five days. I know I have to decide what I want, to make sense of the war being waged in my heart, but I don’t owe these strangers any answers. And I don’t have to face the future today.

Except, apparently, I do. Because when I turn to leave, Jaxon is standing in the doorway of the gazebo, staring at us with naked, furious hurt in his eyes.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. And in that terrifying instant, I know what I have to do.

J
axon

S
EPTEMBER
21, 2:30
PM

“W
hat are you doing here?” she gasps, looking horrified.

“Is this him?” the Adrien Brody–looking dude asks.

Blood pulses noisily through my ears. I don’t know what I was expecting to find in Monsey. But it wasn’t this.

“Yeah, this is him,” I say, clenching my jaw. “Who are you?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer. Behind me, a woman shrieks, and I look back to see two men get up from a picnic table and start walking quickly toward us across the grass.

“Please step away!” the shorter, younger one calls out. “This is a private meeting.” He’s trying to sound authoritative, but even from this distance I can see the fear in his eyes. I’m still an other here; Monsey is just the suburban version of Crown Heights.

“Listen, man,” I yell, holding my hands up. “I’m not touching anybody. I just need to talk to Devorah.”

“That’s not possible!” he says sharply, stopping short about ten feet from me. “She’s in the middle of a treatment program, and only approved visitors have access to her during this time.”

“Who, like him?” I nod at Adrien Brody as he speed-walks past me to join the taller guy and the lady who screamed on the other side of the gazebo.

“That’s none of your concern,” the short man says, and motions to Devorah like he’s calling a dog. “Come on, let’s go. We can continue back at the center.”

“I think we’ll just go home, Rabbi,” the tall man says gruffly, putting an arm around his frightened wife. “We’ve seen enough.”

“You don’t have to go with him,” I say. Devorah rubs her eyes, and then looks back and forth between me and the rabbi, her lips parted in an expression of soundless anguish.

“Your parents signed you into my personal care,” the rabbi says, his eyes hardening behind his dainty glasses. “If you go with him right now you might as well have gone to Long Island last week; it’s the same impulse to run away instead of facing your problems.”

“What are you, her shrink?” I ask, and he glares at me.

“I’m her premarital counselor,” he says. The words hit me like a sucker punch.

“What the hell is he talking about?” I yell.

“David, let’s go,” the woman says.

“Who’s David?” I ask.

“Someone who dodged a bullet,” Adrien Brody mutters.

“Jax—” Ryan pants, finally catching up to me. When I spotted Devorah in the park, I opened the door of the cab without even telling the driver to stop first. “Hey, man,” he says, taking in the cast of characters with his trademark nonchalance. “Things look like they’re getting a little heated. Let’s go walk it off, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere without her,” I say.

“You are not going
anywhere
with him,” the rabbi instructs Devorah.

“Stop it!” Devorah cries suddenly, so loud I’m pretty sure it causes ripples on the surface of the nearby pond. “I’m sick of everyone telling me what to do, so just STOP!” She holds her hands over her face for a few seconds, and when she lowers them, her expression is strangely calm. She turns to me, her irises two gathering storms of mottled gray. “I need to talk to Jaxon,” she says. “
Alone
. I’m sorry if that’s against the rules, Rabbi, but it’s nonnegotiable. And if you want to leave me here instead of waiting, that’s okay; I can get back on my own.” The rabbi scowls, and Devorah turns to the couple and their son behind me. “David, Mr. and Mrs. Kaplan, I’m sorry for what I put you through today,” she says evenly. “But I didn’t want this, and it’s not personal. I hope you can understand.” Finally, she turns back to me and says the words I’ve been waiting to hear for almost a week:

“Let’s go.”

She takes off running through the tall grass near the edge of the pond, not even looking back, expecting me to follow her. There are woods about a hundred yards off, but there’s no path leading into them, just unruly green brush spilling out through the tree trunks like Easter grass. Devorah doesn’t hesitate, though, tramping in like she owns the place. As she leaps over a fallen branch, her tights get ripped from the left knee down to the ankle, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

My legs are getting scratched to shit (note to self: cargo shorts not ideal for rural rescue mission), and I can barely keep up with her, so I’m relieved when she finally stops and spins around, breathing heavily, her cheeks feverish from the exertion. She looks around, a little spooked, as if she was dropped here blindfolded and has no idea where she is, and without even thinking I reach forward and pull her into my chest. There’s resistance in her limbs, which wrap around me coiled tight like they’re tethered by rubber bands to some unseen place, but then she relaxes and rests against me, long enough to let our breath start to sync up.

“I looked all over for you,” I blurt out, cupping her face in my palms. “I’m so sorry I left you after they—”

“No,” she says firmly, “I wanted you to go. If you had stayed, God only knows what they would have done.” She reaches up and gently touches the cut above my eye, which has scabbed over but still looks pretty bad. “Does it hurt?”

“Nah,” I say. “Not anymore.” I lean in to kiss her, but she pulls away. It seems like she’s always pulling away. I’m starting to get tired of it.

“Jax,” Devorah says in a tone that tells me I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear, “you can’t keep showing up like this.”

“I had to see you,” I say, smiling apologetically. “I needed to know you were okay.”

“Thank you.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m not really okay yet, but I think I’m getting there.”

“They’re trying to marry you off,” I whisper in disbelief. “That’s what this whole road trip was all about.”

Devorah nods. “I didn’t know,” she says. “If that makes it better.”

“Man, they must really hate me.” I can’t understand the logic otherwise. Dating at sixteen is morally wrong, but marriage at sixteen is A-OK, as long as the guy’s a Jew? How can they not see how messed up that is?

But Devorah shakes her head. “They’re not hateful. They’re just scared.”

“Of me?” I ask. She pauses, her hands fluttering to her left calf; she’s noticed the rip and scratches the bare skin.

“More like what you represent,” she says wryly. “My escape.”

I grin and scoop her up again. “Well, they’re going to have to get used to it, ’cause I’m not going anywhere.” I kiss her smooth alabaster forehead, and she buries her face in my T-shirt. “It’s gonna be okay,” I whisper into her curls.

“Jax,” she says, sighing, into my chest—that tone again—“I’ve been here for five days, and I’ve had nothing but time to think. I’ve had so much time to think that I’ve outlined every possible scenario for us over and over again in my head.” She pulls back and looks up at me, knitting her brows together, her eyes glistening, reflecting pools. “And not a single one has a happy ending.”

“You want a happy ending?” I ask. “You and me together. Bam. There’s your happy ending.”

She laughs. “It’s not that easy, and you know it.”

“You can’t have thought of
everything
,” I say. “What if we just tell your folks we’re not hiding anymore? Make them deal with it?” She shakes her head.

“They won’t accept it, Jax. They can’t—it’s against everything they believe.”

“Fine, so I won’t be welcome at your house. So what? You can still come to mine! My sisters are crazy, but they’ll love you. And my parents already know.”

“Wow.” She smiles wistfully. “They sound incredibly understanding. But I did think about that, and I know it wouldn’t feel right to disrespect my parents’ wishes while I’m still living in their house.”

“You can move in,” I say desperately, grabbing her hands. “Live with us. Live with
me
.” I can see Devorah shutting down, her eyes hardening, her jaw tense. I know she’s already resigning herself to the idea that there’s no hope, and it’s my job to convince her otherwise, to prop that window open before it slams shut forever.

She runs her fingers over mine, smiling like you would at a kid who just suggested that the 3 train stops on Mars. “But where would I go to school?” she asks.

“My school.” I try to picture her leaning against my locker, laughing at my jokes, taking my arm as we walk to class. I know it could work. It would be hard, but it could work.

“So we’d live together,” she says slowly. “We’d go to the same school, we’d have no privacy or any time to ourselves . . . it would be like we’re
married
.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Jax,” she groans, dropping my hands and balling hers into fists. “Why won’t anyone listen to me? I’m not ready to be married at sixteen. Not to you, or anyone.”

I drop it; I have to—I’m losing her. “Okay, then, we could just see each other on neutral ground,” I say, trying to stay positive. “Meet at the subway every day, take trips into the city. Just like we were.”

“You mean sneaking around behind our parents’ backs,” she says, frowning.

“It’s not sneaking,” I protest. “Like I said, mine already know about you. In fact, they know I’m here right now.”

“Then you’re lucky,” she says sharply. “But I come from a very different kind of family.”

“I’m sick of that excuse!” I say, my voice rising. “You keep defending them like they have no choice. They could let us be together if they wanted to.” I reach for her again, but she bats me away.

“No they couldn’t!” she yells. “You’ll never understand. You and me is just
wrong
to them.”

“Sounds like it’s wrong to you, too.” I feel a lump in my throat. I can tell she’s already decided that we’re not worth fighting for. And there’s no hatch for me to kick in and save the day this time. I could throw myself against it until I’m bloody and bruised and never make a dent. “You’re breaking up with me,” I say, and the nauseous feeling from the bus returns.

Devorah gets quiet. “I wish it could be different,” she says, choking back tears. “You have no idea how much I wish we were older, or that we came from the same side . . .”

I swallow hard. “I still think we can make it,” I say. “If we give up, they win.”

“Jax,” she says, her voice cracking. “Meeting you has changed my whole world around, and I feel like I owe the rest of my life, whatever it ends up being, to you.” She shakes her head softly. “But the timing is cruel, and I don’t see a way past it.”

“There’s got to be.” We’re standing a few feet apart now, our arms tight against our bodies like strangers in a crowded subway car.

“The only one I can think of is to wait until we’re eighteen,” she says. “But who knows where we’ll be by then. I can’t ask you to wait that long.”

“Yes you can,” I say. “I’ll wait forever.” I’m not exaggerating.

She smiles. “That wouldn’t be fair to all the other girls,” she says.

“There’s no other girl,” I say.

“But there will be,” she says. “And there should be.”

I ignore her. “What if I convert?” I ask.

She laughs, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “No TV, no music, no jeans, no cheeseburgers?” she asks. “That’s not who you are, Jax.”

“But it’s who
you
are.”

“Exactly,” she says. “That’s the problem: who we are.” She starts to laugh again, harder this time, until it turns into gasping sobs.

“So I’ve got it,” I say, my voice trembling, my chest feeling suddenly weak and empty, like the weight of everything I’ve been carrying around inside for the past few weeks has collapsed on top of me, pinning my body to the ground. “So if I weren’t me and if you weren’t you . . .” I trail off, feeling the tears start to win the standoff with my Adam’s apple.

Devorah looks at me with a radiant smile, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Then we could be so happy,” she whispers, and runs into my arms.

We stand together for a few minutes, holding on for dear life, before I reluctantly take a step back. I let my fingers trail from her face down her arms to the tips of her fingers, drawing a map with my senses, knowing it’s probably the last time I’ll touch her.

“When do you go home?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Next week, I think. It’s Rosh Hashanah on Wednesday.”

“Happy new year,” I say, and she smiles.

“Thanks.”

I know I have to be the one to leave, that she’ll wait until I’m ready. But I can’t force my feet to move. And then I remember that I have one thing left to do before I go.

“Oh, hey,” I say, reaching into my back pocket, “I’ve been meaning to give you this.” I hand her the CD I’ve been carrying around for weeks and watch as she turns it over in her hands.

“I’m never going to be allowed to listen to this,” she says after a minute. “You should keep it.”

“No, I want you to have it,” I say. “It’s valuable.” It cost about a dollar to make, total, but that’s not what I mean. On the bus to Monsey, on the back of the liner, I wrote out all my contact information. I don’t know if part of me knew this was going to happen or what, but I just felt this intense need to know that she can reach me if she ever needs to. And not just because I’m clinging to the hope that she’ll change her mind—although there is that, I can’t deny it—but because it gives me peace to know that if she ever gets in trouble again, or needs a place to go, she can find me, wherever I am. I guess it’s my way of kicking in the escape hatch and letting her know there’s light out there if it ever gets too dark for her to see.

“Okay,” she says, closing her fingers around the scratched plastic case.

“Take care,” I say hoarsely. Anything but goodbye.

“You, too,” she says.

I turn and start to walk away, my heart breaking into a million tiny pieces that fall silently to the ground, mixing in with the twigs and rocks under my feet. I’m almost at the tree line when I spin around to take in the sight of her, a small but stark figure against the thick trees, her hair a defiant halo of corkscrews shooting off in all directions.

“Hey,” I call out, unable to help myself. “I love you.”

Devorah smiles. “I know,” she says.

When I get back to the gazebo, Ryan is waiting for me, sitting on the steps with his shoes off and his Ray-Bans on, staring into his phone. In the parking lot, the rabbi is leaning against the side of a minivan with his eyes closed, as if he’s praying, maybe, or just taking a breather in the warm afternoon sun.