8

It’s my Johns Hopkins ID.”

Decker glanced at his stepson, then studied the picture. Jacob, with his smoldering light eyes and a chip of inky hair over his brow. The teen exuded appeal-matinee-idol looks with that perfect sexy sneer. “This was before you cut your hair.”

“More like before the yeshiva made me cut my hair.” Jacob straightened his tie. “I was doing my James Dean persona.”

Sammy took a peek over his stepfather’s shoulder, then regarded his brother. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“C’mon,” Jacob protested. “Don’t I have that sultry Tennessee Williams bad-boy stare?”

Again Sammy studied the photo. “Maybe then you did.” A grin. “Now you don’t.”

Jacob punched his older brother’s shoulder. Sammy was about an inch taller than Jacob, about six feet even barefoot. There was very little physical resemblance between the two boys. Sammy took after his father-sandy-colored hair, impish brown eyes, regular features, and a wise-guy smile. He was good-looking, but not pretty. Jacob was a clone of Rina: He had “the face.” However, the two boys had nearly identical voices and speech inflections. Decker couldn’t tell them apart over the phone.

Jacob said, “The picture’s for you, Dad. When I graduate from Ner Yisroel, looking gaunt and pale, remember what you and Eema did to me.”

“A little academic pallor never hurt anyone.”

Jacob frowned. Then abruptly, his face lit up. “Zeyde, Zeyde, don’t you look handsome!”

Rav Lazarus had walked into the living room with cane in hand, although he wasn’t visibly using it for support. His smile was blinding, even though the teeth had browned from years of tea drinking. He went over to his grandson, looped his arm around Jacob’s neck, pulling him down so he could plant a kiss on the forehead. He stood no taller than five-five, with a flowing white beard. In honor of Shabbat, he wore a long black coat, a wide black waist sash known as a gartl, and a beautiful black hat. His voice was raspy and high, almost as if he were choking. “Yonkeleh.”

“Zeydeleh.” Jacob kissed his grandfather’s cheek. “You can be proud of me. I now have my own black hat.” He showed him his Borsalino, then put it on his head. “What do you think?”

Rabbi Lazarus patted his cheek. “I think you’re a good boy!”

“Like my abba?” Jacob said.

“Like your abba.” The old man smiled at Decker. “Like both your abbas.”

“Shabbat shalom, Zeyde.” Sammy kissed his grandfather. “Are you ready?”

“Cain, cain,” he said, answering yes in Hebrew. “Of course, I’m ready.” He walked over to Decker. “Thank you for coming. You made my wife very happy.”

Decker smiled. Of course it was only Sora Lazarus who was happy about hosting the two grandsons who carried the Lazarus name. “I’m very glad to be here.” He ran his fingers through slightly damp hair. The shower had felt good, but by the time Jonathan had made it back to Brooklyn, Decker had been the sixth in line to step into the bathroom. The water had turned tepid. At least, it wasn’t cold.

The dining table had extended into the living room: the table set for twenty-six. Decker’s family was five; then the two elder Lazaruses and their daughter’s family brought it up to thirteen. Jonathan’s wife and kids along with his parents who lived just a few blocks away added another six for a total of nineteen. Then, at the last minute, Mrs. Lazarus invited Jonathan’s brother Shimon, who also resided in the neighborhood. Shimon, of course, was also Decker’s half brother and the oldest of the five Levine children. He was outgoing and funny, and Decker liked him a lot. Over the years, Decker had kept in touch only with Shimon and Jonathan… not counting the yearly shanah tovah card to Frieda Levine. As far as the rest of the Levine clan, there hadn’t been contact past that initial burst of brotherhood.

Twenty-six bodies in total.

Decker’s half relations were kept a secret out of respect for Jonathan’s father. Alter Levine had never known that Frieda, his devoted wife of forty-seven years, had given birth to an illegitimate child fifty years ago. He could never have imagined the anguish that Frieda had suffered when she put the baby boy up for adoption. But that hadn’t been the final chapter. Ten years ago, while Decker and Rina were in Boro Park visiting the Lazaruses, he had run full force into the poor woman by chance, turning her life upside down.

Decker’s life as well.

He was still sorting things out. The volume of blood relationships was simply overwhelming. When Decker was at home, in L.A., he often felt like a lone ship out on a vast sea of emptiness. Here, it was as if his boat were moored in a marina-safe but crowded.

Smothering was the operative word.

Yet, there was something about family… for better or worse…

Seeing the elongated table reminded Decker of the Lieber house, and for a brief moment, he felt a twinge of the hell they must be going through. So painful, yet Decker refused to let the poison inject and take hold. It had been thirteen years since the Lazaruses had lost their only son, yet tonight their hearts were filled with simcha-joy-as they shep nachas-or took pride-over their grandsons and nine-year-old Hannah. Decker owed it to the Lazaruses to be grateful for life. He bent down and kissed the small man’s hat. “Shabbat shalom, Zeyde.”

The old man smiled with thin, pale lips. He threw the cane on the couch and took Decker’s arm. “You’re a strong boy. I can lean on you, yes?”

“Anytime. That’s what muscles are for.”

It was wonderful, it was beautiful, it was spiritual, but it was also exhausting!

By the time Rina made it to bed, it was after one. Sora Lazarus didn’t wash dishes on Shabbat, so there would be a ton of cleanup Saturday night, Motzei Shabbat. But it was truly astounding how much work went on even without washing dishes. The serving, the clearing, the scraping of the plates, the food storage, the piling of dishes, the counting of the silver-plus the kitchen was so small!

And then there was the initial tension when Frieda arrived. However, Peter never failed to amaze her. He was a different man than he had been ten years ago, so much more comfortable with Jewish religious customs and with himself. He actually seemed relaxed-joking and smiling with the boys, with everyone. It had been Jonathan who was tense-nervous and fidgety-but he was dealing with so much right now. She also couldn’t help but wonder what had gone on between Peter and him.

Crawling into bed, she scrunched up her pillow, then curled into the covers. A moment later, she felt Peter kiss the iota of face that wasn’t obliterated by the blanket.

“You’re still up?” she whispered.

“Waiting for you.”

She rolled over and faced him. “I love you madly. But I’m very tired.”

“I don’t mean that, darlin’!” He kissed her nose. “I’m tired, too. I just wanted to say I love you. That’s all.”

She pulled off her covers and snuggled against him. “That’s so sweet. If I had a speck of energy, I would definitely make that compliment worth your while.”

Decker paused a moment. “You know, there’s no harm in trying…”

She whacked his shoulder. “You were wonderful tonight. Considering all that’s going on, you were nothing short of a miracle.”

“It’s called compartmentalization. Can’t let the bastards get me down.”

“Should I ask how it went with you and Jonathan?”

A sigh. “Well, let me put it this way,” Decker said. “Remember when we were out here ten years ago, and Frieda Levine suddenly realized that I was her long-lost son. And how she fainted when she saw me. And then the entire evening turned into a big fiasco with your running in and out to bring her food. And me food? And Rosh Hashanah was a total mess. And then, the crowning glory, the very next day, Noam disappeared?”