Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
A vi squinted into the snowy darkness as if the right words might materialize there.Talking about Sylvie – or himself with Sylvie – was like picking at an old wound that he could never let fully scab over.
“We were on Year Course in Israel together, when Miri died. And Sylvie, well. She had her own issues. We became like…mirrors for each other. Seeing every broken piece, but instead of judging, reflecting it back. Making it less painful. Making it art. She’d show me these photos she’d taken, and somehow, she’d captured the person I wanted to be, not just the mess I was.
“Fast forward nine years.” He touched the ring at his chest and cleared his throat. “Not exclusive, but…whenever we’re in the same town, we’re usually in the same bed. Especially in New York. Especially at Hanukkah. And especially after the Baller.” He gave a wry half-smile. “Our friends think it’s a casual hookup, and we let them believe that. It was easier that way.”
“The really fucked up part?” He rested his head gently against the driver’s side window. “We’ve never been on the same page. I couldn’t commit to anything but my own darkness in Israel. Then I got my head straight and tracked her down at college, but she’d moved on. So I wrote this stupid song about it – you know the one – and it hit number one. Suddenly, she’s back in my life, but my life is going a million miles an hour, and she wants to be on the road with me...” He trailed off.
“And you don’t want her there?”
“I don’t even know if I want myself there.” This last tour had proven that. “Not like this, anyway. It’s like a continuous hamster wheel. But I’m worried if I stop, I’ll get flung off like in those funny-but-not-funny animal videos. And I’ll be forgotten.”
“Come on – who could forget Music So Hot, It’ll Melt Your Face Avi Wolfson? I know I sure didn’t.”
He appreciated the brief moment of levity she brought to the table. Or rather, to the front seat. “Okay. Not exactly forgotten . But at least allowed to stay home for a while, work on new music in peace. Sleep.”
As he said it, he envisioned it. Like he had many times over. Buying a place of his own. Not in Baltimore, but closer to his friends. Something with lots of windows and late afternoon light while he composed.
Sylvie had appeared less and less in those visions over the last year, until he couldn’t see her there at all anymore. She wanted the excitement, capturing the music, the fans, the road…and always, always him. Soaking up all the passion and energy and emotion like an empathic vampire.
“So,” Leah prompted softly. “Never in the right place, right time?”
“Exactly.” He met her eyes. “Until Vegas. Or so I thought. The second the words left my mouth, I just knew. Wrong move.” Avi gave a slow headshake. “Not because I don’t love her – God, that would be far easier. It’s just...” He pinched his lip in thought. “People talk about soulmates…twin flames. But maybe those aren’t the people we’re meant to end up with. Maybe they’re meant to push us, challenge us, make us better... and then we have to let go.”
Leah looked lost in thought. No doubt wondering if these were his own conclusions or Sylvie’s. Avi barely remembered at this point.
“It’s been two months since we broke up, for good this time. But I haven’t seen her – or any of my crew since.”
“Are you worried about what it’ll do to your friend group now that you’ve ended things?” she asked.
The million-dollar question.
“I think that’s another story for another day, for another piece of rugelach.” He twisted his lips into a passable grin. “Your turn now. Rugelach for your thoughts, Leah Gellman. Retroactively. ‘Cuz this dynamic is feeling just about as lopsided as poor Bertha.”
Would she open up just a little to him?
Leah sighed. “Fair enough. I was hiding something on my playlist. Painted Doors’ latest album, which I think is pretty awesome and mostly your handiwork.”
He grinned. A bit of a cop-out, but a start.
“Also, you asked me what I did when I wasn’t picking up random strangers.”
She was slow to finish her last bite, as if savoring the comfort of the chocolate before swallowing and laying out the rest of her confession.
“I’m a barista back in Ohio, making fifteen bucks an hour, but great tips. So that I can have my evenings free to stay home and make art. Or visit the senior home…because my dad is there. Not only because he’s clergy, but because he’s a resident. In long-term care.”
Cantor Joel? Avi’s heart lurched.
“His diabetes had gotten to the point where he needed skilled help, not a frantic daughter. He couldn’t come pick you up, Avi, because he can no longer drive. And he no longer tutors kids like you on Wednesdays. He has weekly dialysis.”
The thought of his mentor in some nursing care facility gutted him. Guilt and shame mixed a potent cocktail in his belly as he recalled all the years of merrily touring through Ohio, not even bothering to check in.
Leah had that glassy look in her eyes again, like she had in the mall food court when they were debating bucket list definitions. “And I was angry at you when you first got in the car because I had expected you to know all of this somehow. Without having to tell you. Which wasn’t fair.”
Avi swore under his breath. “I wish I knew…and I should’ve been keeping in touch, Leah. That is on me, too. I promise, no matter what. I will not wait until I am stranded at the side of the road again to call him.”
She wiped the tears, nodding, and laughed when he added, “And you don’t get more rugelach for being so extra during your turn.”
Snow began to fall harder, creating a cocoon around their shared confidence.
“I say we call an Uber and deal with all of this in the morning.”
Even if they managed to get the car fixed, back on the road, and beat the storm tonight, they’d be too tired to make it very far.
Leah’s expression soured. The spell broken, no doubt remembering it was his fault why they were having to deal with this – and with each other – at all.
“Abandon Bertha at her time of need?”
“We can’t keep the car running all night.” Even though it was quite toasty inside. And the heavenly scent trifecta of chocolate, vanilla, and cinnamon from the newly discovered rugelach had released, stronger than ever, from the tin.
Avi had heard too many stories of what could go wrong in a car, in a storm.
He slid out of the big fur coat, then unzipped his hoodie and shed that as well. He was halfway to pulling his T-shirt off when Leah’s hands yanked on the hem.
“What are you doing?”
“You may not be there yet. But I’m giving Bertha the shirt off my back. To tie in the window. She’s toast.” He glanced down. Leah’s chocolate fingerprints dotted the bottom of his white T.
“Sorry, not sorry. It’s not like you have clothes to spare.”
True story.
Leah popped the glove compartment in search of a few spare napkins, and the Canadian bill fluttered out onto her lap. She gasped, appearing delighted all over again…despite their predicament.
“I think finding Mrs. Horowitz’s vintage bill was a sign…that we need to recreate their honeymoon.”
Avi couldn’t resist, turning his expression from defiant to somewhat devilish, which prompted her to quickly add, “I mean the touristy part, not the…you know.”
“The accommodations, you mean? And not the… consummations ?” He smirked. Goading her was fun. Making her cheeks turn that lovely shade of rose, even more fun.
“Clever…but I don’t think that word is meant to be plural. It’s an act.”
That word. She couldn’t even bring herself to fully commit to the banter. Didn’t she say earlier that she liked fun wordplay?
“You mean you’ve never had multiple… acts in one night?”
She ignored him. “I’m asking the interwebs right now.” She thumbed her phone, and not thirty seconds later did a swooping sound answer her back.
“That’s what I miss the most about not being connected,” Avi admitted. “Being able to satisfy even the most random minutia of knowledge.”
Leah was half listening, half preoccupied with her glowing screen, which was something Avi keenly didn’t miss. The not being fully present. “Uh huh…here, listen: “‘The noun consummation can be countable or uncountable. In more general, commonly used contexts, the plural form will also be –’ What’s so funny, Avi Wolfson?”
“I don’t know about you, but I usually go for the ‘uncountable’ kind.” Ah, there it was. The blush so deep he knew she had to be keenly aware of it, creeping up her neck.
“Point proved, let’s agree to disagree on grammar,” she bit her lip, eyes flashing. “I’m texting my dad to ask Mr. Horowitz where they stayed.”
Headlights swung and bumped in their direction, a truck slowly making its way toward them. “Hallelujah, here’s our tow. And…” Leah consulted her screen. “…There’s an Uber ten minutes away.”
After a long freaking day, it finally felt like things were falling into place. Their bellies were full and they were a little buzzed, plus now that Avi knew Leah was harboring Hanukkah rugelach across state lines? He was actually looking forward to the rest of the drive tomorrow.
Her attention was pulled back to her phone again.
“Yes! They stayed at the Bit O’ Honey motel.”
Bit O’ Honey. Avi pictured a heart-shaped Jacuzzi, coin-operated vibrating beds, and lots of mirrors. Forget the arcade and the pay phone this morning; they had truly entered the land that time forgot. “And by chance, it still exists?”
Leah raised her head from her phone in triumph. “I just booked two rooms.”
The tow truck rumbled up alongside them, a stencil on the truck door reading BIG AL’s Towing with a local number on it.
“Triple-A?” Avi called out the driver’s side window to the guy behind the wheel.
“Yeah, they contract us local tows for minor roadside assistance prior to storms like this,” The guy said, consulting his phone. “I see you reported two flats?” His head swiveled to the right and back. “But no way in hell you’re Erik Tobin.”
Avi blinked, confused, throwing a quick look at Leah. She shrugged, looking equally flummoxed. And mutually guilty.
How were they busted? Surely there was no photo of Tobin in some AAA database. And no one had even asked to see a photo ID. How on earth did this guy know Tobin?
Laughing, Big Al leaned back so his passenger could be seen.
A young girl wearing a Santa hat that read Lorelei in sparkly cursive gaped at him.
“It is! Dad, it’s him!”
And…just when things were falling into place.
“Look, man. I’m not trying to defraud AAA. It’s just –”
Big Al waved two grease-stained fingers out the window. “Eh, it’s the holidays. Your show was canceled, and I don’t have a clue how you ended up…” he laughed again, not even knowing where to start judging the situation. “…all I know is I had one disappointed little girl I had to pick up from school today. Had to take her to the mall, buy her a hot pretzel and cocoa, had to take her to all her favorite girl stores and buy her a bunch of crap plus that hat, and now I have glitter all over my seats. I’m a single dad, so I do what I gotta do. Including bringing her with me on my shift since her plans with friends to see the concert fell through. So I did all that…and now I’m gonna tow you to my garage, no questions asked.” He grinned a wiseass grin, and Avi saw the next question coming. What are you going to do for me, Rockstar?
Leah leaned over Avi, tin in hand. “How about some rugelach?”
Big Al’s eyes widened. As did Avi’s, in alarm. “I got this,” he whispered, getting out. From his pocket, he pulled his backstage laminate. The tour was over anyway, and it was just a reminder of his stupid mistake back at the rest area.
He held up the two Labatt Blues still attached to their plastic rings. “For after your shift.” He offered the beer through the truck window. “And for sweet Lorelei?” He dangled the pass, and her father nodded approvingly.
The girl was out of the truck with a slam of the passenger door, her feet barely hitting the ground before running around the back of the truck, coming to a shy stop in front of him. She looked to be about twelve, a pink blur in her puffy coat and UGG boots.
“Hi, I’m Avi.” It was not necessary, but fun to watch her pretend not to freak out. He carefully draped the lanyard over the pompom of her Santa hat. “I’ve been wearing that every day for three months, so take good care of it.”
Lorelei nodded in awe. “Can I… give you a hug?”
Avi crouched, and she leaned in from the side.
“This is going to sound stupid,” she rasped. It was hard to hear her over the noise of the truck and the chains as her dad began to prepare Bertha for the flatbed. “And I’m too old for Santa. But when I saw him at the mall today, I kinda wished…that I would still get to see you.”
“Not stupid at all. I still wish for things all the time.” Avi assured her. “I even made a wish at the Falls today. But I’m not going to say what it was cuz I’m still waiting to see if it comes true.”
Jasmine
Where R U? LMK when you get to NJ and my cousin’s.
Gah, sorry Jaz! There’s been a slight hitch in the plan. Safe, but delayed on the road.
The Uber dropped them in a circular driveway, neon winking merrily around them. Half of the “B” in the motel’s logo sign was on the fritz, blinking “Pit O’ Honey” every so often. Despite that, and its empty parking lot, the place looked like a well-kept, cozy little Swiss chalet. And the price for two rooms was what she had originally budgeted to pay in a more familiar chain for one room.
Sharing one room with Avi Wolfson was not on her itinerary, her bucket list, or anywhere else on her mind. Especially after their dashboard confessional.
Whenever we’re in the same town, we’re in the same bed.
So that was the mysterious S .
Sylvie.
Leah thought of her empty bed back home, her own wish for someone to look at her the way Avi was describing – like she was art worth capturing, worth keeping.
“Team Horowitz?” Avi asked now, at her side.
“For Team Horowitz,” Leah breathed, hiking her overnight bag higher on her shoulder.
A warm lobby fireplace greeted them, along with surprisingly diverse holiday decorations: an empty menorah on the counter, an unlit kinara for Kwanzaa on the mantel, and a Christmas tree in the process of being decked out by a couple who looked to be about her dad’s age.
“Welcome to the Bit O’ Honey! We’re the Bittners. You must be Leah Gellman and…”
Avi stepped up to shake the man’s hand. “Saul Horowitz,” he said, not missing a beat.
“Leah and Saul…let’s get you checked in.”
Leah handed over her credit card. Just plain old Leah Gellman. The one paying couldn’t go incognito, after all. Avi could disguise himself all he wanted, in dark glasses and as Tobin or Saul or a host of other names to pretend he wasn’t with her in such an unpretentious place.
She had to admit, he had been sweet with his young fan. And the hamster wheel analogy? She was getting glimpses of Avigdor Wolfson she hadn’t quite expected.
“Here we are…rooms 1 and 2.” Mr. Bittner handed a key off to each of them. “They are an adjoining suite.”
“For honeymooning ménages à quatre ?” Avi inquired.
Of course, the rock star spoke impeccable French. Thankfully, it went right over the proprietors’ heads.
“For families. We renovated in the early 90s when honeymooners started coming back to show their kids – and their grandkids – the Falls.”
“That’s sweet. And thank you for accommodating us on such short notice.” Leah made sure to emphasize the word for Avi’s sake, given his preoccupation.
“Now, I’ll admit, we don’t get many tourists here in the winter, so the rooms are a bit chilly. But we cranked the central furnace up right after you booked, so they should heat up nicely.”
Chilly was an understatement. Leah swore a breeze colder than the outside air greeted her when she unlocked and entered her room. So much so that she hurried to check the windows. All sealed…but wow, the view of the lit Falls was impressive, even at a distance. This must’ve been some hotspot back in the Horowitz heyday.
Now, its color palette was a bit dated, and amenities were basic. But the Bit O’ Honey was clean and quiet. The queen-sized bed awaiting her looked comfortable. And for the first time in over twelve hours, she was alone.
Although very aware Avi Wolfson was in the next room.
Touring the world, he probably stayed in more hotels per year than in his own bed. But no doubt he was used to much more luxurious digs. With much more glamorous girls. Ladies who didn’t wear fleece pajama bottoms, she thought, as she dug her heaviest pair out of her overnight bag and pulled them on. Sylvie was probably allergic to fleece.
Leah reached for the tin of rugelach, setting it on the bedside table. While it was a hearty pastry, the thought of it freezing overnight in some car lot didn’t sit well with her. So she had stashed it in her crossbody bag while Avi was having his parking lot Meet and Greet.
On a whim, she had also grabbed one of the Mahjong kits. It wouldn’t make it to their first influencer as planned, but at least she could stage a picture using it. Plus worst-case scenario, if someone broke into Bertha overnight, at least she’d have one product sample for on board the Matzo Baller.
A knock came to the interior door. Leah unlocked it to find Avi, the menorah in one hand and two red candles in the other.
“On loan from the front desk.” He grinned, setting it all down on the small dinette table. “They didn’t have any Hanukkah candles, but I figured since Kwanzaa doesn’t begin until after Christmas, there would be time to re-stock.”
Leah didn’t question his logic or his possible dubious interfaith borrowing of holiday paraphernalia. Even a first-night menorah was a known heat source.
“Does your room…” she dwindled, trying to keep her teeth from chattering
“Have the identical meat locker aesthetic? Yes.”
“Tell me you have matches, a lighter, two sticks to rub together. Anything.”
“The 90s renovation comes through.” He produced a brown matchbook bearing the Bit O’ Honey logo and phone number embossed in gold from his pocket. “There’s probably one in every ashtray, in every room. For all the resident ghosts with pack-a-day habits.”
The Kwanzaa candle was a good fit, but Avi still struck a match to melt a little of the wax to secure it to its base. He held the shamash while Leah lit it. Their voices, in synch and intertwined, began the familiar blessing. Leah stared at the flame as they chanted, watching its arc of light as Avi touched it to the first night’s candle.
She’d observed those fingers from her driver’s side: running habitually through his mane of hair, fiddling with the heat dials in the car. Or drumming against the steering wheel to the beat of their road trip playlist and resting easily on the gearshift during his time behind the wheel. Then prying the lid off Mrs. Horowitz’s urn when it had mentally and physically eluded her.
Now, they mesmerized her as he slowly rotated the shamash above the lit candle, softening its wax bottom before placing it in its holder.
“Happy first night, Gellman.”
“You too.”
Avi moved toward the interior door.
“Wait. I have a present for you.” She rummaged in her toiletry kit, producing a new toothbrush. “I always carry a spare.”
“In Hanukkah blue, even.” He accepted it graciously. “Thank you.” With his hand on the doorknob, he turned. “Do I have to wait until the second night of Hanukkah for toothpaste?”
She laughed. “It’s on the bathroom counter. Help yourself.”
She warmed her hands near the flames, wondering if Kwanzaa candles burned down as quickly as most Hanukkah candles. The water ran, then stopped. Then ran again. “Do you hear that?” Avi called.
“The faucet?”
“No, the Falls.”
Sure enough, there was a constant hum, a distant roaring rush. It was there when Avi shut off the tap and came back into the room.
“Must be like living near the ocean,” Leah surmised.
Avi shook his head. “No, it’s different. Waves lap, and there’s an ebb and flow to the tides. Rocking you to sleep with the push and pull.”
Leah had been landlocked her whole life. She wondered how many oceans Avi had fallen asleep near, and with whom. It was none of her business, of course.
“This…this is relentless,” he concluded. “Not in a bad way, though. All those negative ions.”
“Please don’t make me try to remember chemistry class. Negative in this case is…good?”
Avi pulled back the same curtain she had earlier, beckoning her over. The illumination light show continued to dazzle, even from afar. “Negative ions, positive vibes. Some people call them air vitamins. It’s scientifically proven – being near waterfalls gets the serotonin flowing.”
“Google’s got nothing on you, Avi Wolfson.”
He shrugged. “I read a lot of subreddits online. It gets pretty boring on the road.”
Leah had to admit her mood was elevated – considering all they had been through over the past twelve hours. She had felt a bit of a rush at the Falls, despite the subzero conditions and somber task at hand – even before the mysterious diamond ring and the park police showed up. Her senses still felt heightened, her mind alert.
Perhaps it was the room temperature keeping her on her toes – literally. She bounced back on her heels and up to her tiptoes, trying to generate some more heat. Avi let the curtain drop, huffing into his hands to warm them.
They watched the flames on the candles lick lower and lower to the surface, the wax molding into new shapes.
“Maybe we should’ve lit all eight candles on the first night,” Leah pondered. “You know, start a new tradition, working our way down to one?”
“It has been two thousand years already,” Avi agreed with a grin, mocking her words from the start of their trip. “Can’t we move on?”