25
I could smell the brisket before I even opened the front door. And it actually didn’t smell bad. Of course, it was only three—she had plenty of time to burn it to a crisp before Mr. Goldberg arrived. But if I could nudge her out of the kitchen, maybe I could prevent that.
Music emanated into the hall, Ruth’s voice rising off key to sing along to the Chiffons.
She was standing at the stove, her hair newly chopped into a Jackie Kennedy bob, along with fresh color—no more streaks of gray.
It suited her. And I felt my heart lift, really for the first time since she moved in.
She clearly liked this man. And what better deed could I do than find real happiness for Harry’s mother?
It wasn’t even me being selfish anymore.
I was excited for her—for the possibility of a new beginning and a more fulfilling life for her.
“You get on out of here,” Ruth said, gesturing toward the door with a wooden spoon and dispelling the mood.
“I’ve got this all under control. Just get the kids, and then I’ll watch them so you can relax and get dressed for tonight.
I got you a new dress too. And that new Marilyn Kleinman novel that everyone at the hospital is talking about—you never take the chance to put your feet up, and that’s just what the doctor ordered this afternoon. ”
I didn’t want to admit that I hadn’t read the first Marilyn Kleinman novel yet—especially because I knew her cousin, Beverly.
And as much as I wanted to take over the cooking to make sure tonight went smoothly, I had to admit Eddie was right. Better Mr. Goldberg learn what he was in for now. Besides, I hadn’t seen Ruth this excited in a long time. It gave me such hope that I found myself agreeing with her.
“You’re the boss,” I said. “I’ll bring Pepper with me to get the kids ... and maybe go the long way to leave a little present on Old Man Moskowitz’s lawn.”
She pointed a finger at me with a grin. “Now that ’s a plan I can get behind.”
I supervised homework when the kids got home, then let them go out in the backyard to play with Pepper.
And I took Ruth’s advice, sitting on the chaise lounge on the patio and opening the book she’d brought me.
Before I even knew it, an hour had passed and I needed to get myself and the kids ready for Ruth’s date.
The dress Ruth had picked for me was shockingly stylish.
A sleeveless sheath dress with a slim silhouette, as opposed to the crinoline-lined skirts Ruth still favored, in a shade of light blue that made my eyes pop.
As I fluffed my hair and applied a coat of lipstick, I found myself admiring my reflection.
I couldn’t remember the last time I really looked in a mirror, because, quite honestly, who cared what I looked like anymore?
I think I had been afraid to look too closely since losing Harry. I was scared that instead of the laugh lines that had been beginning to form, I would see lines of sadness. A permanent reminder of what I had lost.
But I saw neither as I studied the woman in the mirror.
Just me. I winked, and she winked back at me.
My heart was a crisscrossed mess of scar tissue, but on the outside I looked just as I always had.
The laugh lines would have deepened if Harry were here.
My mother would consider that a plus. I looked skyward.
“I miss you, you big lug,” I said quietly.
A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts, and I called to the children as I went down the stairs. “Best behavior tonight.”
“Yes, Mama,” Susie replied. She elbowed Bobby, and he echoed her.
Ruth came down the stairs behind me, wearing a new dress, with capped sleeves and a flared skirt, belted to show off her slim waistline. “Do you want to get it?” I asked her.
“No, no,” she said. “I should check the brisket. You go.”
She’s nervous, I thought. It was strangely adorable .
.. not a term I ever thought I would use about my mother-in-law.
But I smiled as I reached for the doorknob, then opened the door to see Mr. Goldberg on my front step, wearing a sport coat and tie and holding a bouquet of colorful Gerbera daisies—my favorite flowers.
“Mrs. Feldman,” he said, holding out the flowers.
“Barbara,” I corrected with a welcoming smile. “I’m not your patient liaison anymore.”
“Is that your job title?” he asked.
“It is.”
“It suits you,” he replied. “And please, call me Sam.” He gestured with the flowers. “For you. Thank you for having me over tonight.”
“So thoughtful,” I said, taking the flowers. “Please do come in. I’ll bring these to Ruth.”
I led him to the living room, while the children gawked awkwardly. “Bobby, Susie, this is Mr. Goldberg. Your grandmother invited him for dinner tonight.” Bobby looked unsure, while Susie dropped a curtsey. We were going to have to work on their manners with guests if Ruth was going to be dating.
Sam smiled and took a seat on the sofa.
“Can I get you a drink before dinner?”
“Scotch, if you have it.”
“It may be a few years old, but I believe we do.” I grinned at him sheepishly. “We haven’t exactly entertained much since Harry—my husband ...”
“Anything you’ve got is fine,” Sam assured me.
I took the flowers to the kitchen and showed Ruth before pulling out a vase to put them in. “Quite the gentleman,” I said, managing not to add caller at the end. “You should go say hello.”
“I’m about to,” Ruth said, pulling off her apron and draping it over the back of a kitchen chair. “But, Barbara? Tell him you made dinner.”
“Me? Why?”
“I want him to be impressed.”
It was a rare vulnerable moment from her.
And my heart expanded at the knowledge that she wanted me to pretend to be the inferior cook, entirely so he would be awed by her.
She must really like him, I thought. I wondered if she had shown this much interest in any man since Abe passed—I doubted it.
As much as Harry always said he wished she would find someone, he didn’t think she would actually be willing to try.
I glanced up and nodded. I would do this for her. For Harry.
“Of course.” Ruth turned and thanked me. I smiled in return, then took down a highball glass and reached for the liquor cabinet.
Ruth was in the chair across from him when I brought the drink. “Please let me know if it’s ... turned ... or whatever scotch does. We have a bottle of bourbon that I can vouch for.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Sam said, crossing one leg over the other. “Scotch is better aged.”
I chuckled. “I believe that means in a barrel, not in a half-drunk bottle in a widow’s liquor cabinet for nearly three years. But don’t feel obliged to drink—or eat—anything that isn’t to your liking.” Ruth shot me a warning look.
“You can always have a peanut butter sandwich if you don’t like dinner,” Bobby offered. “That’s the rule.”
Sam leaned forward. “Now that sounds like a nice rule.”
Bobby nodded sagely. “You just have to make it yourself.”
Susie came to help me, and the two of us made short work of transferring all the food to the dining room, where Ruth had set the table with Shabbat candles and a covered, store-bought challah.
I stopped short at the sight of the candles.
We hadn’t done a proper Shabbat dinner in years.
I insisted when the kids were little, but then we lost Harry and .
.. well, the tradition fell by the wayside.
But maybe we should start again. Susie should grow up knowing the blessings for when she had her own family.
“Go tell everyone we’re ready,” I told Susie as I pulled a matchbook from the sideboard.
Ruth led Sam in, Bobby trailing behind them, and there was a mildly awkward moment as I realized Ruth had set the table so that Sam was at the head—Harry’s spot.
I blinked rapidly several times, swallowing the desire to tell him he couldn’t sit there.
That we’d move his place setting to the empty spot at the other end of the table.
But Harry’s voice whispered in my head: It’s okay.
It’s for her. So I swallowed thickly, then told Sam to have a seat.
Ruth sat at his side, across from me, at his other side, and I brought Susie to me to do the blessing over the candles.
“We haven’t done a proper Shabbat in a while,” I said. “Excuse me if we’re a bit rusty.”
I reminded Susie to cover her eyes and helped her with the gesturing over the candles, leading her as she recited the end of every other word with me from memory. “ Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melach ha’olom asher kidshanu b’mitzvatov v’zivanu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat . ”
“Amen,” Sam and Ruth replied, Bobby chiming in after them.
Sam smiled. “We did this every week of my childhood,” he said. “I love to see the children being raised traditionally. Is the challah from scratch too?”
“Barbara makes wonderful challahs,” Ruth said. She had called my last one too dense and dry. “But she had to work today, so I’m afraid this one came from the store.”
“More’s the pity,” Sam said. “As good as you are at your job, I’m sure you miss the freedom to be home, taking care of the children.”
“Quite the opposite, actually. I started working because the kids were in school, and I was going stir crazy. I began volunteering, and before long, the hospital hired me. I can set my own hours, take off when I need to, and I’m helping people.
It’s much more freedom than being tethered to the house. ”
“I suppose that’s well and good while you’re not married,” he said, helping himself to a portion of brisket. “But once you settle down”—he glanced at the children—“again, your husband will expect you to stay home because he’ll provide for you.”
Well, this man was certainly perfect for Ruth, because boy did he know how to ruffle my feathers in a hurry. Harry would have had no problem with me working outside the house if it was what I wanted. And he had provided for us, even now.