Leah was stunned. Avi put the lid on the tin and pressed it down firmly, as if closing that chapter.
“After that, I didn’t let him get in my head. Even after Miri died. By then, I had my Jew Crew. I lived in Paris and studied music for a time. Met Vic there. I had songwriting and the beginnings of a band. I named it Painted Doors. I held him at a polite distance. Visited him here and there, between touring the world. I’ve got the Grammy now, not him. I know who I am, and it’s none of those things he’d said. Thanks in part to your dad.” He smiled. “Come on. I want to tour Jacobsdale and see it through your eyes.”
Driving through their childhood suburb was like walking through a dream. Everything the same, yet…different. Smaller? No, she was just bigger. Avi swung Bertha up a main road, hung a right onto a residential avenue, and then turned left up a terrace – the tiny street she’d grown up on.
Of course he remembered the way, too.
Clouds had replaced the earlier sun, and a cold drizzle began to fall as they sat in the car by the curb.
There was the small house, dark brown brick. Its door, still a cheery, cherry red. Next to her, Avi hummed the Rolling Stones’ “Paint It, Black.”
“That window up on the left was your dad’s study,” he murmured.
“I used to stand outside the door,” she confessed. “Listening to you every Wednesday.”
Avi rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly embarrassed. “Listening to my voice crack?”
“Yeah, that was pretty funny. But then you’d reach past it…” She stared up at the slate roof, its tiles slick from the rain. “And your voice would just…soar.”
She understood now why her father had championed Avi and was willing to risk those long-held personal and professional ties. She was glad Avi had had her father’s ear.
Leah was quiet as they drove through downtown on their way back to the interstate. Avi could only imagine the rollercoaster of emotions seeing her old house had sparked.
He had always been so envious of the stability of her family, of the support system she and her siblings had had as they moved through life in Jacobsdale so assured. Now, knowing what he knew of the aftermath – having to pivot and adjust to a new normal in Ohio…
Sure, people endured worse. But he could only really speak of his own experience – he had escaped the shame and pain of his childhood, the shadow of his father. He had held no nostalgia for this town, no tug pulling him toward the “What Ifs” like Leah had felt.
Until he’d seen it through her eyes.
“You okay?”
She kept her gaze on the road, only flicking them to glance in the rearview. “That van has been following us. Since we turned onto Hudson Avenue.”
Avi’s stomach lurched. “What if you turn down the alley by the bakery?” He suggested now. “Or wait…the bank parking lot will take you through – ”
The van began flashing its high beams. Leah’s knuckles tightened to white on Bertha’s steering wheel. “There’s the police station. I’m pulling in. Let’s see if they pass.”
Not only didn’t the van pass, but it began tooting its horn before swinging into the adjacent diagonal parking space. Aman hopped out of the van’s front passenger seat into the rain, gesticulating excitedly. The large hood from his winter coat partially obscured his eyes. His mouth, moving a mile a minute. Avi wasn’t the best lipreader, but it appeared the guy was talking about…hamentashen?
Leah rolled down her window.
“Sorry to startle you, but – by any chance…” The stranger peered into the car. “Are you Jewish?”
Leah’s hand immediately flew to her throat. Her coat was buttoned to her neck, but her first thought must’ve been Miri’s necklace.
A surge of protectiveness propelled Avi to lean closer. “Why do you ask?” he demanded.
“Your bumper sticker,” the guy exclaimed.
“Were you…honking for…Hamentashen?”
Leah’s incredulous tone had the man throwing his head back in laughter, so far that his hood slipped down. He turned to point to a red kippah, fastened to his thick, wavy hair.
“Member of the tribe, here! We are the Minivan Minyan. Well, part of it, anyway. We’re down a few guys today.” He hopped on his tiptoes in the cold. “We volunteer in the community – you know, shiva calls, Kaddish…the happy stuff too. We recently did the Seven Blessings for a couple that eloped, right next door at City Hall. So…favor to ask.”
The man took a deep breath, expelling a frosty cloud. “If you are indeed Jewish, can you do us a solid? One of our own, Phil…it’s his wife’sYahrzeit. He’s waiting on us…but we need a tenth.”
Avi opened his mouth, about to explain they were on a tight deadline. Every excuse, built-in or otherwise, flashed through his mind. But the imploring look Leah shot him…along with the slightest tug of her lip and brow upwards…
