Sleep hadn’t come easy, not when Leah was hyper-aware of Avi in the bunk below. She lay as still as she could, listening for any signs of steady, even breathing to indicate he’d finally fallen asleep. And let their version of the parable roll around in her head until it barely made any sense to her. She still couldn’t believe she would still be boarding the boat tomorrow, now as Avi’s guest.
But something about Avi’s sacrifice…
She must’ve drifted off at some point, because the next thing she knew, light was streaming in. She carefully made her way down the bunk bed ladder to find the room clear of all traces of their Latkepalooza after-party last night.
Avi slipped back into the room, her traveler mug from the car in his hand and a huge chunk of challah slathered with sweet, rich sunflower butter. “I’ll go put our stuff in the car while you change.”
Leah gratefully took a sip of the coffee to get her moving. Sarit had added cinnamon to the grounds before brewing, and combined with a bite of the open-faced sandwich, it was heavenly. She quickly dressed and slipped out, leaving theMahjong set, the one she’d styled with yoga and mindfulness as the motif, on the counter with a Post-It note for Serit.
Avi had pulled the car around, Bertha’s windows all scraped of last night’s ice. Leah hopped in, only to find Avi – snacking on a piece of rugelach, with her phone cradled in its holder and already cued up. Not with music this time – her audiobook, where she had paused it on a particularly racy chapter.
“Avi!”
“Who knew dragons could be so smutty?”
She laughed, no longer even bashful about her reading preference. They had apparently reached the stage where he knew her phone passcode. And where it felt totally normal to be sharing sips of coffee from her big stainless steel mug as he cruised toward the highway. And bites of challah, once she had safely stowed the rugelach tin out of his reach. At this point, there’d be none left to board the Baller with.
The day was bright and sunny as they maneuvered the winding roads of Route 17, way more picturesque than Route 81. But, Leah knew, it was not the fastest route to the city. “Was the other way still closed?”
Avi shook his head. “One last stop before the city.”
They’d gotten an early start, so Leah sat back; eager and excited to see what Avi had in store for the morning.
A little over an hour later, a wooden sign came into view, announcing their destination. Her eyes widened, and she felt a sudden surge of happy tears well.
“Slow down, slow down! Pull over!”
Avi obeyed, driving into the breakdown lane and parking with his hazards on, so she could snap a photo.
Welcome to Jacobsdale, NY, founded 1798
Population 4,104
“Town of Painted Doors”
“Avi!” Leah’s voice was incredulous. “Has that always been the town’s motto?”
It had never occurred to her. His band name, and another one of the countless quirks their hometown enclave was known for. It was probably written in the town’s 1798 by-laws:thou shalt paint thy door a contrasting but complementary color to thy neighbor’s.
“The sign is new, but…yeah? I think so.”
“Is that why you named the band Painted Doors?”
“I’ve always equated painted doors with protection. I can’t tell you how many PassoversedersI suffered through, staring at theHaggadahand wishing for some lamb’s blood for myself.”
For protection. Leah hadn’t ever imagined this version of Avi growing up. Now, he stared at the sign, lost in memories.
She turned and pulled out the tin. It already felt lighter than it did last night. Barely any left. But…sometimes there had to be sacrifices. “Rugelach for your thoughts?”
It had worked in Niagara Falls.
She held it up. She didn’t care if he emptied the entire thing. She knew this was a big one.
He chose a piece and ate it before speaking. “I could sing the Four Questions like an angel. Learned the melody by ear and theMah Nishtanahpart phonetically. My dad was all smiles then. But when I couldn’t read the part aloud about Four Sons – I got no dinner. He seemed to care more about my voice than he cared for me.”
Leah’s heart broke a little, holding the tin between them.
“Of course, once I started studying with your dad, I was no longer called the Simple One. Worse. I became the Wicked Son. Refusing to use my ‘gift’ the way my dad thought I should, out of spite. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, become a cantor. Threatened to disown me. Your dad went to bat for me, sponsored me.” He smiled at the memory. “He and my aunt Miriput me on that plane. To Israel. For that Year Course. Which changed the course of my life.”
