Chapter 40
“Don’t tell the other typing pool girls,” Frank said, accepting the box of doughnuts I had brought him as a bribe. “But you’re my favorite.”
I smiled at him. “You said your—who was it again who made something like these?”
“My abuela,” he said around a mouthful of doughnut. “My grandmother.”
“Spanish is such a lyrical language. I wish I could learn it.” I batted my eyelashes like Patricia had taught me.
He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What do you want to learn? I can teach you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, waving a hand in the air like I was trying to think of something. “One of those silly phrases like they used when they taught me French in high school. Something like . . . ‘Our friend wants to know how the weather is in San Juan.’”
He looked at me askance, and I wondered if I had pressed too hard. “That’s the kind of sentence they use?”
“Things like that. And ‘Where is the library?’”
Frank shrugged. “Nuestro amigo quiere saber como esta el clima en San Juan.”
“A little slower?” He obliged, and I repeated it until he was satisfied.
“You’re a quick learner,” Frank said fondly. Then he nodded toward someone behind me. “Think your fella is waiting for you though.”
I turned around to see Jack watching us. “He’s not—”
“I see a lot of things,” Frank said with a wink. “But don’t you worry. I don’t tell Miss Kelly what I know.”
I was going to have to ask about the cold part on Monday. But that was well worth the price of another box of doughnuts.
“Are we going to be able to pull this off?” I asked Jack as he drove us to my parents’ house after work on Friday for Shabbat dinner.
We hadn’t talked about what those kisses meant.
Had they been the heat of the moment in that hotel room and nothing more?
Pure adrenaline after I left the vice president’s suite?
I desperately wanted to know, and yet I was terrified to have that conversation.
What if he thought it was nothing? But what if he thought it was something?
We would have to sort this mess out once the article was over, but for now, it was easier to keep living in the excitement of what we were working toward.
The fact that I liked the feel of his arm around me was a strange bonus, but not one that had to mean anything.
Okay, even I knew that was a lie. But it was a lie I could keep telling myself a little longer, until we were forced to acknowledge that our situation was more or less than I thought it was.
But would we be pretending for my parents’ sake tonight? Or was I the only one pretending? And why did that distinction make me so nervous?
He glanced over at me. “It’s a lot stronger if we can figure out what Cuba wants with the president. But we could run what we have. We don’t have to talk to Alejandra if it’s too dangerous.”
I exhaled forcefully at his cluelessness. “I meant dinner tonight.”
“Oh,” he said with a laugh. “Why not? Your mother loves me.”
“My grandmother is a wild card, however. And she knows too much.”
“Maybe we should send Alejandra de Bernal after her next.”
“Not funny. Just be prepared. She likes to push buttons.”
He grinned. “Which is going to be harder? Getting a spy to confess or surviving Shabbat dinner with your family?”
“It’s truly a toss-up,” I said, remembering the cantor. “But make sure you wait until after we say the motzi to eat.”
“You forget, Jacob Feldstein knows all the rules. Besides, what kind of cretin eats before the motzi at Shabbat?”
The kind my mother thought I should marry before I met you, I thought.
We arrived at the house, and a flutter at the window told me my mother was watching for us and was now inside yelling, “Leonard! They’re here!”
I straightened Jack’s tie, realizing as I did it what an intimate gesture that was for two people who were pretending to date. Or a perfectly normal gesture for two people who were dating. Get yourself together, Judy.
“Ready?” I asked, not quite meeting his eye.
“Absolutely. I need to see if this brisket is as good as you say.”
The little boy next door was playing catch with his cousin on the front lawn, and I narrowly dodged a ball as I stepped out of the car.
“Jordan!” his mother called from the front porch of their house.
He grinned sheepishly at us through a mouthful of braces as Jack tossed his ball back, and we climbed the steps to my house.
My mother flung the door open before we even reached the top.
“Jack,” she said warmly, ignoring me entirely.
“We’re so happy to have you here tonight.
Come in, come in. What can I get you to drink?
” She took his arm, leaving me on the front porch and practically shutting the door in my face. Jack looked back at me helplessly.
“Hi, Mom,” I said pointedly.
“Go change your dress. I laid one out for you.”
My hackles rose. I had specifically worn a nicer dress so I wouldn’t have to change. And I wasn’t six years old. But I could oblige her to make this go smoother.
She led Jack to the white sofa that she had meticulously scrubbed the chocolate stain out of with a toothbrush. I wondered if I would be allowed to sit there with him. She could go either way, honestly.
I changed into the dress—which was technically Betty’s—that she had selected, though it wasn’t my favorite. Then I scrubbed the ink from my fingers, freshened up my makeup, and went down to rescue Jack—
Who was sitting on the white sofa, flanked by my mother and grandmother, a glass of liquor untouched in his hand, and my baby album across his lap.
“Mom!”
“What?” she asked. “He should know what your children will look like.”
I blinked heavily as Jack tried not to laugh. This was going to be a long evening.
My father arrived home with Uncle Gil, followed shortly by the chaos of Betty and her family, which provided a welcome reprieve. Betty stopped short when she saw Jack sitting beside me.
“Oh,” she said, putting a hand on her stomach self-consciously.
“I forgot you were bringing someone tonight.” That wasn’t even a little bit true because my mother talked to her on the phone at least six times a day.
But she probably assumed he would be more on par with the cantor.
She crossed to us and held out her hand. “Betty—Judy’s sister.”
Jack stood up to shake it and offered her his seat. She said no, if she sat on anything that low, she would never be able to get up again, but she raised her eyebrows at me and mouthed, Keep this one.
Granted, she mouthed it in full view of Jack, who, if he was smart, was going to run for the hills any second now.
My mother announced dinner was ready, and we all filed into the dining room, which was set with the fancy Shabbat candlesticks, not the ones we used regularly, as well as the Rosh Hashanah china.
I looked at my mother and—yes, she had gotten her hair done earlier in the day.
She was going all out. She had seated us together, Jack next to my father and across from her.
My grandmother was on my other side, Betty and her husband across from us, and Uncle Gil opposite my father at the end of the table.
Jack looked at home at our table, and for a few minutes, I let myself imagine that this was real. That the electricity between us wasn’t just adrenaline from chasing a crazy lead. That this could be my life. Working at a newspaper and coming home to someone who supported and believed in that.
My mother brought out the brisket, and Jack took my hand under the table.
I looked at him, and he smiled at me as my mother lit the candles, covered her eyes, and said the traditional Shabbat prayers.
When she finished, my father led us in the motzi, and then everyone started to reach for food.
I realized I should have warned Jack that we were absolute heathens once the blessings were said, but he simply followed suit, as if everyone’s family was this uncivilized.
“Judy was right about your brisket, Mrs. Greenberg,” Jack said. “This is the best I’ve had. Just don’t tell my mother I said that, please.”
My mother positively giggled like a schoolgirl. Betty caught my eye—the corners of her mouth had turned down in a way that I recognized meant trouble.
“So, Jack,” she said, “do you make enough at the newspaper to support a family?”
“Betty!” my mother said, horrified, as Jack choked slightly on a bite of food and reached for his water glass.
“What? Unless you expect them to live here, it’s a valid question.”
“If he doesn’t, he’ll go work for your uncle Gil.”
“He’ll do what now?” Uncle Gil said around a bite of brisket. “I’m not your family labor union, Edna.”
“Leonard?” she asked helplessly.
My father glanced from his brother to his wife, unsure what he was supposed to do here.
“Maybe I’ll die before they get married and leave them an inheritance,” my grandmother offered helpfully.
I blinked at all of them. “No one is getting married—or dying—anytime soon,” I said. “Unless you all keep it up and Jack chokes to death to get away from us.”
He had fully recovered, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. “I’ve been pretty frugal,” he said. “By the time we would be ready to discuss that, I think we’d be okay.”
“Of course he’s been frugal,” my mother said. “Didn’t you see the car out front?”
“Mother!”
She turned to look at me, completely mystified by my tone. “What?”
“Doesn’t anyone here care what I want?”
“I do,” Jack said quietly. No one else responded.
“I want a career. I don’t want to be . . .” I trailed off, realizing if I said more, I was in trouble. But my hand had gestured in a direction that spoke volumes.
“Me, she means,” Betty said, standing up and tossing her napkin on the table. “Come on, Reuben. I’ve had enough.”
“Betty,” my mother said imploringly. “Judy didn’t mean that. Tell her you didn’t mean that.”
“I didn’t mean that,” I said quietly. I had meant that—not as an insult, but as an example of what everyone else seemed to want. No one seemed to be able to understand that my end goal wasn’t to get married, have kids, and be content as a housewife. This was a disaster.
“Yes, you did,” Betty said. “And you’ve got a lot of nerve to say that while wearing my dress!
” My mother turned pale but didn’t say anything.
Betty turned to Jack. “Get out while you can. She lies, she steals, and she’ll do worse to get her way.
” She picked up her youngest and headed for the door.
But she stopped at the living room, doubling over and dropping Gary onto my mother’s white sofa, where he spit out a mouthful of half-chewed brisket.
“Betty!” my mother cried, rushing to her side, with only one glance at the mess on her sofa.
We all left the table to see her holding a hand to her stomach, a red stain spreading across her dress. “Hospital,” she gasped toward her husband. “Something’s wrong.”
I ran to the kitchen and called the fire department.
Within minutes, we heard an approaching siren signaling their arrival.
We all watched helplessly as they put her onto a gurney, and they whisked her and Reuben off to the hospital, my parents following behind in their car.
Which left me, my grandmother, and Jack to deal with two very scared and forgotten children.
I was about to tell Jack he didn’t have to stay; my grandmother and I could handle getting them to bed. But he picked Gary up. “Hey, champ,” he said softly. “Your mama’s going to be just fine.”
He couldn’t have known that. I didn’t know that.
The look on Betty’s face combined with all that blood had me beyond frightened.
If she died—I shook my head. I wasn’t going to think about that.
Especially because she had been right. I was thinking I didn’t want to be like her.
Was that going to be the last thing we said to each other?
Instead, I followed Jack’s lead, picking Sandy up. “Sounds like you get a sleepover here tonight. And Grandma isn’t here, which means no rules.” Her thumb was in her mouth, something she had stopped the previous year, and Gary was studying Jack with great curiosity. “Who wants ice cream?”
“We didn’t finish dinner,” Sandy said around her thumb. At least I think that’s what she said.
“Just don’t tell Grandma that. Deal?” She nodded, and I handed her off to my grandmother, who was watching me and Jack with a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll go get ice cream. Jack, do you want any?” He said no. “Okay, two bowls of ice cream, coming right up.”
“Make it three,” my grandmother said. I looked at her. “What? I’m taking advantage of your mother not being here too.”
I shook my head. She was too much.