Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 04 Read online

  Peter!

  Dear God, what was he going through!

  Rina’s stomach was churning at full force. She took a deep breath, looked around the emptied room. She’d been inside this house hundreds of times but had never invaded the private sanctuary of her in-laws’ bedroom. Twin beds, between them a large night table. Separate beds were required by Orthodox law, but she and Yitzchak had pushed their beds together, each of them sticking their feet in the crack at bedtime, playing with each other’s toes. No such intimacy could be shared here. But despite the beds, there was something warm and loving in the room. Maybe it was the acres of family pictures that covered the bureau and the top of the chest of drawers. Pictures of her sisters-in-law, her nieces and nephews, her sons. Photos of her and Yitzchak before they’d been married, their wedding pictures, snapshots taken when her in-laws had visited them in Israel. Photographs that had showed Yitzchak as a robust young man. Not the skeleton that had died in her arms…

  Frieda cried out to her and Rina was grateful for the distraction. Rina kissed her hand and smiled at the older woman. Frieda attempted a weak smile in return but failed.

  “It’s all right,” Rina said.

  Frieda shook her head no.

  “Yes, it is,” Rina said. “Emes, it’s all right.”

  Frieda sobbed harder. Rina’s voice had said it all. She looked at her and said, “You know.”

  Rina felt her eyes moisten. “I know.”

  “He knows, too,” Frieda said.

  Rina nodded.

  “His eyes…” Frieda said. “He hates me.”

  “No, he doesn’t—”

  “I never stopped thinking about him,” Frieda moaned. “Never. In my heart, I never stopped looking. Every time I saw someone his age, I wondered…I wondered…”

  “I understand—”

  “No,” Frieda cried out. “No, you couldn’t understand. Oh, such guilt, the pain…God is punishing me for my weakness. Rina, I was so young, so scared. My father was so frightening. I was weak—”

  Rina hushed her.

  Frieda was silent for a minute. When she finally spoke again, it was in a whisper. “Every time I gave birth to my babies, I thought of him. Of the baby I had and lost—No, of the baby I was forced to give up. I could never, ever not think of him. I wanted to keep him but my parents wouldn’t let me. Dear God, forgive me…”

  She started sobbing again.

  Rina said, “Peter…Akiva has a daughter. He understands how you must have felt—”

  “He hates me,” Frieda said. “I saw it. I deserve it—”

  Rina quieted her again.

  “Your Akiva…” Frieda sobbed out. “My little baby boy. Oh, my God, after all these years…As much pain as if it happened yesterday. He wasn’t sick at all, was he, Rina? He didn’t want to see me.”

  “He didn’t want to shock you.”

  “When you came to New York with him…he knew I’d be here?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then how did he know, Rinalah?” Frieda exclaimed. “How did he know?”

  “I guess he found out your name a long time ago. But he knew you under your maiden name because that was on the birth certificate. I honestly don’t know how he recognized you. Maybe he had a picture of you. Maybe his biological father sent—”

  Again, Frieda broke into sobs. “He met Benjamin?”

  “Once, I think.” Rina’s head was throbbing. “I’m not sure exactly what happened except that Peter got this big box of articles from his biological father after he died—”

  “Benjamin is dead?” Frieda turned her face away. “Oh, my God! Too much has passed…when?”

  “A long time ago, Mrs. Levine,” Rina said. “Peter doesn’t talk too much about anything, let alone something as…as…Peter keeps things inside. That’s just the way he is.”

  “He’s my Benny all over again,” Frieda said. “I loved his father, Rinalah. Such love I’ve never known except with him. He worked for my father, did some carpentry…some bookshelves for him. I thought he was so handsome…I loved his hair, that beautiful thick red hair….” Tears ran down her cheeks. “When my parents weren’t looking, we’d talk. I loved him so, so much.

  “When Papa found out…oooohh.” She shuddered. “He fired him. Hated him. Benjamin had no family, no yichus, no head for learning. He was not a serious student, told too many jokes. Too frivolous for my father. When he found out we were still meeting behind his back, he slapped my face and forbade me to ever see him again….”

  There was a knock on the door, Miriam asking if everything was all right.

  Frieda shouted, “We’re fine. Go away.”

  “Mama, open up,” Miriam said.

  “I said go away.” Frieda sighed. “Darling, I’m resting. Take care of your father for me. Tell everyone I’m fine.”

  “If you’re sure—”

  “I’m sure,” Frieda said. “Rina is taking good care of me.”

  No one spoke. A few seconds later, they could hear Miriam sigh, then the sound of receding footsteps.

  Rina said, “They’re all terribly worried about you.”

  “I don’t deserve it.”

  “Stop it,” Rina said.

  “Oh, my little Rina,” Frieda said. “I have this empty hole in my heart since I gave him away. Nothing has ever filled it, nothing ever could. I wanted to find him. Yes, I wanted to do it. But I never had the courage.”

  “It’s very frightening.”

  “He looked up his birth certificate,” Frieda said. “He must have been curious. But he never contacted me.”

  “He said he put his name on this list—”

  “Aaah,” Frieda said. “I know about the list. So many times I reached for the phone…I was too ashamed, too afraid. Too embarrassed! But he knew who I was. He didn’t come to me.”

  “He knew you were married with five other children. He didn’t want to intrude on your privacy.”

  “He is a better person than I am.”

  Rina squeezed her hand. Frieda looked up at her, smiled. “He picked a beautiful bride. A young woman for his age.” She knitted her brow. “He just turned forty-one. You must be…what, ten, twelve years younger than him?”

  Rina nodded.

  Frieda shook her head. “I talk stupidity. Tell him I love him. He will not believe me, but tell him anyway. Tell him I will leave it up to him what he wants to do. But I would like to talk to him, ask his forgiveness.”

  “There’s no reason—”

  “Yes, there is, Rina. There is reason.”

  “I’ll tell him.” Rina paused. “I don’t think he wants to see your parents—”

  “My parents!” Frieda blurted out. “They’ll recognize him. Oh, dear God, my husband and children know nothing of my terrible shame.”

  “So we figured—”

  “I feel like dying.”

  “Rest, Mrs. Levine,” Rina said. “Let me talk to Peter. I’ll find out what he wants to do.”

  “Tell him my parents go to my sister’s house tomorrow for lunch,” Frieda said. “It will be only my family…” She started to cry. After a minute she asked, “Does he have any family?”

  “Of course!” Rina said. “Peter didn’t grow up in an orphanage or anything like that. He had a very nice childhood. His mother and father live in Florida, where he grew up. They were taken aback by his conversion—”

  “He doesn’t have to convert,” Frieda said.

  “I know that,” Rina said. “And you know that. But it was easier to tell everyone that he was a ger than to explain the circumstances. Besides, he feels like a convert. His mother is a religious Baptist. Peter speaks very fondly of his parents. And he’s close to his brother.”

  “Just the one brother?”

  “Yes, that’s his only sibling,” Rina said. “And of course, he adores his daughter, Cynthia.”

  Frieda clutched her heart. “A granddaughter I’ll never know. Such a terrible fate to suffer. But I deserve such a fate
, Rina. It’s punishment from Hashem—”

  “Shhhh,” Rina quieted. “Everything will work out.” But she didn’t believe her own words.

  There was another knock on the door. Shimon this time.

  “I’ll be out in a minute, darling,” Frieda said. “I feel much better. It was just a little exhaustion.”

  “Rest, Mama,” Shimon said. “I just wanted to know.”

  After he left, Frieda said, “You’d better go to him.”

  Rina stood. “I’ll let you know what he wants to do.”

  “Tell him I love him, Rina,” Frieda said. “I will not intrude on his privacy just as he didn’t intrude on mine. I will honor whatever decision he makes. Please tell him that for me.”

  “I will.”

  Frieda said, “And if he doesn’t want to see me, tell him I love him, I always have. And tell him I’m sorry…so very sorry.”

  7

  The next day, Rosh Hashanah services lasted from eight in the morning to two-thirty in the afternoon. Never much of a churchgoer in childhood, Decker wasn’t much of a synagogue goer either. But today he was grateful for every minute of delay. Less time to spend with people, specifically with her.

  There was no purpose for flight now. His secret—so long buried, so seldom acknowledged even to himself—was violated. He knew and she knew. No one else knew of course, except Rina.

  Rina, the go-between—a luckless role. She had played her part with aplomb and diplomacy.

  She’ll do whatever you want, Peter.

  What does she want to do?

  She wants to talk to you.

  I don’t want to talk to her.

  That’s fine.

  Then she doesn’t want to talk to me.

  No, Peter, Rina had explained patiently. She does want to talk to you, but she doesn’t want to force you to do something you’re not ready to do.

  I’m not ready? Decker had whispered incredulously. I’m not ready? I was the one who’d put my friggin name on the list. I was the one who was willing to be contacted. Now she’s saying I’m not ready?

  Rina sighed, gave him a “please don’t kill the messenger” look. Maternally, she patted his hand and said, Think about it, Peter.

  The upshot: He decided to eat lunch with her—and her family, knowing that the amount of contact she and he would have would be minimal.

  Half of him wondered: Why am I doing this? His other half answered: Because you’re curious, jerk. That’s why you started this whole thing rolling twenty-three years ago.

  He was curious. As they started back from shul, her sons at his side, he couldn’t help but sneak sidelong glances at them. The detective in him—trying to find any signs of physical commonality.

  The oldest was Shimon, the one Rina had called good-looking. He was a handsome man—solid, strong features. Decker put his age at around thirty-eight: There was a gray coursing through his trimmed black beard. Decker’s own facial hair was full of rusty pigment, not a streak of white anywhere. For some reason that gave him an odd sense of superiority—as if his paternal genes were better. Although Shimon was dark, his pink cheeks—probably tinted from the cold—gave his face a splash of color. He stood about five eleven, had black hair and brown eyes, and was built with muscle—he and Decker had that much in common. In keeping with tradition, he was wearing his white holiday robe over his black suit. His kittel was a nice one—white embroidery on white silk.

  The next in line was Ezra—same size as Shimon but thinner. Complexioned identically to his brother, Ezra was dark, his beard wide and wild. He wore glasses, and wrinkled his nose when he spoke. Decker was fixated on his ears—slightly pointed on top, exactly like his and Cindy’s. Ezra had pulled his kittel tightly over his chest as he walked, stuck his hands in the robe pockets.

  Jonathan was the baby of the family. The Conservative rabbi was tall—same size as Decker but slender. He was also dark-complexioned, but his eyes were lighter—hazel-green. He was clean-shaven and wore a Harris-tweed sport-coat over gray flannel pants. No kittel—either he wasn’t married or the robe was too traditional for his taste. He was whistling “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” as they walked, eliciting dirty looks from Ezra. Maybe it was the modern clothes, but Decker found more of himself in this kid than in the two older brothers.

  Kid? Jonathan must be Rina’s age, maybe even a year or two older. A pause for thought.

  All this mental game playing, it didn’t amount to diddly squat. Unless he ever needed a transfusion or kidney transplant, it didn’t matter what these jokers and he had in common. But he couldn’t stop himself. He was trying to be unobtrusive about it, but more than a few times he managed to lock eyes with one of them, their expressions, in return, mirrors of confusion.

  His furtive glances—like Jonathan’s rendition of “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah”—had a slightly unnerving effect on Ezra. Shimon and Jonathan also seemed puzzled by Decker, but amused by him as well.

  Rina was walking behind them with the women; her brothers-in-law were walking ahead with the older men. Children were all over the place. Somehow, Decker had been grouped with his half brothers. Did she notice it?

  How could she not notice? He wondered what she was thinking at this moment, if the sight of all her sons together caused her untold pain or happiness. A moment later, Decker caught Jonathan grinning at him.

  Jonathan said, “I want you to know, Akiva, that while Rina lived here, her phone never stopped ringing—”

  “Half the calls were yours,” Shimon interrupted.

  “I was calling as a friend,” Jonathan said.

  “A very close friend,” Shimon countered. His brown eyes were twinkling.

  Jonathan looked at Decker. “She never even looked at another man.”

  Ezra adjusted his black hat, frowned, and said, “Is this yom tov talk?”

  “I just wanted Akiva to know that Rina was loyal to him,” Jonathan said.

  “Look at the man,” Shimon said, pointing to Decker. “Does he look as if he ever had any doubt? He has a magnetic effect on women. Look what he did with Mama.”

  Decker said, “Must have been my charm.”

  “I think it was the red hair,” Jonathan said. He took off his yarmulke, then repinned it onto his black hair. “Mama loves gingies. Stubborn woman that she is, she’s always trying to set me up with redheads.”

  Decker felt his stomach tighten. He said, “You’re not married.”

  “A sore point in the family,” Shimon said. “One of many.”

  Jonathan said, “Know any nice Jewish women in Los Angeles? Preferably ones that look like your wife?”

  Shimon said, “Religious women.”

  Jonathan said, “Not so religious.”

  Shimon said, “Another sore point.”

  Ezra turned red and said, “This is how you talk on Rosh Hashanah?”

  “Take it easy, Ez,” Jonathan said. “The Torah’s not going to fall apart if someone cracks a smile on yom tov.”

  “What do you know from Torah?” Ezra said. “The way you people make up your own laws—”

  “Ezra, not now,” Shimon said.

  “It would be better if you did nothing,” Ezra’s pointed ears were now crimson. “What you do now is apikorsis.”

  “That’s your interpretation,” Jonathan said. He held back a smile and began whistling again.

  “It’s a true Torah interpretation!” Ezra shouted. “And stop whistling that nonsense.”

  Jonathan said to Decker, “A point of fact. It was Ezra who took me to see Song of the South way back when before movies were considered unkosher—”

  “Before you were tref,” Ezra said, using the Hebrew word for unkosher.

  “Low blow, Ez,” Jonathan said.

  “Both of you, enough,” Shimon said. “Papa will hear you and get upset.”

  “Ach,” Ezra said, waving his hand in the air. He picked up his pace and caught up with the older men and Rina’s brothers-in-law.

  Jonathan said, “The man has no s
ense of humor.”

  Shimon wagged a finger at him. “That is not nice.”

  “It’s not a matter of being nice or not nice,” Jonathan said. “It’s a statement of fact, Shimmy.” To Decker he said, “Ezra hasn’t forgiven me for leaving the fold—”

  “I haven’t either,” Shimon said.

  “You?” Jonathan waved him off. “Who pays attention to you.”

  Shimon laughed. “Of all of us, Jonathan had the best head for learning. He’s breaking my father’s heart with his Conservationism—”

  “Conservatism,” Jonathan said.

  “It’s all the same foolishness.” Shimon put a hand on Decker’s shoulder. “He won’t listen to us, but maybe he’ll listen to you. Talk to him.”

  Decker smiled.

  “Gornisht mein helfun,” Jonathan said. “Give it up. I’m too far gone.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’re willing to give up Rina—”

  “Forget it,” Decker said.

  “Not even to save a soul?” Jonathan said.

  “Your soul looks okay to me,” Decker said.

  Jonathan patted his brother’s shoulder and said, “Hear that, Shimmy? An objective opinion.”

  “Then again, I’m pretty new at assessing souls,” Decker said.

  Jonathan smiled.

  “Yonasan,” Shimon said, “can you do us all one favor? Can you not bait Papa for one whole meal? His heart isn’t what it used to be.”

  “So what do you want me to say when he starts in on me?” Jonathan said.

  “Don’t say anything.”

  “Papa loves to debate me—”

  “He doesn’t love it.”

  “It revitalizes him.”

  “Yonasan…”

  “It does!”

  Shimon spoke in a patient but parental voice. “Yonasan, Papa was shaken up by Mama’s sudden attack yesterday. Do a mitzvah and go easy on Papa.”

  Jonathan threw up his hands. “Okay. I can always use another mitzvah at this time of year. I’ll lay off Papa.” He had a gleam in his eye. “But Ezra’s fair game—”

  “Yonasan…”

  “He doesn’t have a heart condition.” To Decker, Jonathan said, “Everyone at today’s table has a big mouth. Feel free to make a jerk out of yourself like we all do.”