Seeing Avi back intallitand ayarmulkewas like a weird flashback, but Leah was most struck by his eyes, which seemed to pitch a shade darker. Pupils expanding, taking everything in. The wide, serious eyes of a little boy.
“Seven from the van, and two inside,” she whispered at Avi’s side. “They wouldn’t have needed a tenth if your dad was here.”
He squeezed her hand gratefully, only letting it go when one of the men thrust asiddurat him.“Let’s rock and roll.”
Leah quickly grabbed a lacy head-covering from the basket next to the prayer books and bobby-pinned the doily haphazardly to her hair as she followed the men into the sanctuary.
Not many had made it out in the extreme weather. There were a few other women present, some with small children. Phil’s children or grandchildren, perhaps. Leah slid onto a bench behind them, keeping her eyes on Avi.
In his hoodie and tats. Davening next to a man in a suit on one side, a guy in New York Yankees jacket on the other. Their lips moving in unison from one prayer to another.
Mourner’s Kaddish, when it began, made her eyes flood with tears as it always did. It was easy to spot the widower in thegroup. Although younger, Phil had the same look in his eyes as Mr. Horowitz did. Shell-shocked and lost.
All those around her stood. Some reciting along, some not. In her temple, it was custom to silently sit through, had you not lost a parent, a spouse, a sibling, a child.
Someday soon, possibly in the nearer future than expected, Leah knew she’d be saying this same prayer for her dad. The realization brought her to her feet, and she quietly slipped out of the sanctuary, closing the door behind her.
She found the ladies’ room, splashed cold water on her face, and wandered back out in the hall.
“Leah Gellman? Is that you?”
A woman had exited the temple office, papers in hand. Leah recognized her instantly: Mrs. Tannenbaum, who always joked about being Jewish with a name that meant Christmas Tree, had been the part-time office administrator for Anshe Shalom since forever. Leah never given much thought to what the woman did with the rest of her time, but perhaps she spent an equal amount working in the office here at Congregation Emeth – the Switzerland of clerical workers.
“What a treat to see you! How is your father? Oh shoot, sorry – ” She held a manicured finger up to take a call. “Any luck? Shoot. I guess I’ll call the bakery to see if they can run something over. Short notice though.”
“Sorry. The rabbi’s wife promised to bake for tonight’soneg,but their entire family is sick. I’ve got the challah already, the bakery donates. But I hate to bother them so last minute for anything else. I guess we can go without, it’s going to be a small group, what with this cold weather.”
Leah touched the tin in her bag. “You’re in luck, Mrs. T.”
There was still a perfect single layer of pastry, maybe a dozen or so pieces, under the parchment paper. And when sheuncovered it, the woman’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? Will you stay for service?”
Leah shook her head. “We’re due in the city soon.”
“At least let me list you in the printed program!”
Providing a dozen two-day-old rugelach was hardly like sponsoring anoneg, but an idea came to mind. “You can list Avi Wolfson and Leah Gellman.”
With a smile and a nod, Mrs. T. squeezed Leah’s shoulder in thanks.
“Letty.”
She turned at her nickname, falling into Avi’s orbit. He stood before her, sanskippahand prayer shawl.
“Leah Tova, tell me you didn’t.”
She turned in the direction he was looking, into the social hall where Mrs. Tannenbaum had taken the unmistakable tin.
“They needed homemade sweets for tonight’soneg.” She giggled. “The look on your face! I can bake you some more, you know.”
“Me? I was thinking about Doctor Perfect.”
“About that.” She bit her top lip, voice softening as she braved his gaze. Her stomach fluttered and for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to say it. “The doctor actually took himself off the bucket list. The other day. But we –” She hesitated, the words tangling in her throat. “You…”
The attraction had been growing, the longer she was in his presence. His kindness, his generosity, his openness. His strength and bravery. Not to mention – hehadpicked up some of the soul-traits fromMussarclass. Patience. Compassion. Humility, as much as a musician of his caliber could be humble.
Avi Wolfson was like the Jewish doctor of rock stars. He’d been unknowingly checking all her boxes, all along the trip.
Slowly he reached up, unpinning the lace from her hair. Running those long, tapered fingers through her rain-damp hairto push it away from her cheeks. Addinggentleto her list. His eyes searched hers, and their quiet intensity send a shiver through her. When she opened her mouth to continue, he shook his head to silence her.
