“Yeah, I thought I’d catch up on a few things. Get a jump on the day.”
“Would you like some breakfast?”
“Yeah, that would probably make sense.” The boy took down a mug from the cupboard and made himself a cup of instant coffee. He was comfortable enough to open pantry doors and raid the fridge without asking permission. He fixed himself a bowl of cereal and began shoveling food into his mouth.
Rina said, “We’re eating lunch here today if you’re interested.”
“Thanks, but I’m going out.” He looked at her. “A guy I know is playing a piano concerto at SC. I thought I’d show him support.”
“That’s very nice. Is he good?”
“He’s very good.” Gabe gave her a sly smile. “But not as good as me.”
“That goes without saying.” She smiled back. “When’s the concert?”
“Three. But to get there on time, I’ve got to take a one o’clock bus, which means I have to leave here around 12:30.”
“Sorry I can’t take you.”
“That’s fine. I don’t mind walking. If I didn’t walk to bus stops, I’d get absolutely no exercise.”
“We’ve got a treadmill.”
“Yeah, my life’s already too much of that.”
“Poor Gabe,” Rina said. “It’s hard being a genius.”
He let out a laugh. “I like when you do that. It means that you’re not pitying me.”
“You, my boy, are anything but an object of pity. In fact, you’re overloaded with assets. You should lend a few out to those less fortunate. What time are you coming home?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Paul and I will go out to dinner. I suppose it depends on how well he performs.”
“Call and leave a message on the machine. Not that I have to worry about a big independent guy like you, but I’m a mother and I’ll fret if I don’t know where you are.”
“That’s okay. It’s nice to get a little mothering every now and then.”
The room went quiet. Rina studied his face. “She contacted you again?”
“Yeah.” Gabe plunked the spoon in his cereal and pushed the bowl away. “I found out that my sister’s name is Juleen.”
“Pretty name.” Silence. “What else did she say?”
“Nothing much. I told her that Chris knows about the baby and she shouldn’t worry too much about him.”
“Is that true?”
“Mostly. I mean he still likes her. He’s told me that he’d take her back, baby and all. But he certainly isn’t chasing her down. I think he likes being a martyr for a change. After all the misery he put her through, he’s happy with the role of the aggrieved spouse.”
“I’ve got an aunt and uncle; they’re about ninety now. For forty years, they lived in two separate houses and got together only on Shabbat. People used to ask, are they separated, are they divorced? Nope. Just didn’t want to live together all the time. For them, it worked.”
“As long as they’re okay, I’m okay.” He wiped his glasses on his T-shirt. “I think she wants me to come to India.”
“That would be an interesting trip.”
“Yeah, maybe in the future.” When I’m fucking ready, which isn’t now. Gabe put his glasses back on. “I should get started. What’d you make for lunch?”
“Corned beef and turkey.”
“Oh man!” He made a face. “Please save me some.”
“I will take some aside and hide it in the refrigerator where no one will find it.” Rina kissed the top of his head. “Thank you for the compliment.”
Gabe stood up and spontaneously gave her a small hug, then pulled away self-consciously. His face was warm, and he knew he was blushing. “Thanks, Rina. Not only did I land in the home of two of the nicest people in the world, you cook better than anyone I know.”
“You’d better believe it.”
He gave a small laugh and headed for the garage, the one place where he felt totally at ease—his piano, his music, his solace. Once in a while, when no one was home, he sat in the driver’s seat of Peter’s Porsche, his hand gripping the clutch, his eyes looking out the windshield and imagining an open road that led to anyone’s guess.
ARRIVING AT THE bus stop at ten to one, but Yasmine was nowhere in sight.
Oh well.
He sat down on the bench and opened his composition book, playing his piece in his head, correcting and editing until the bus pulled up at five after. He stood and when the doors swung open, he stepped up, his brain still focused on his music. In the background, he heard a scream.
“Waaaaaiiiittt.”
He held up his hand to the driver, stepped down, and saw her running toward the bus. She was a block away with her hair flying like a stallion’s mane. His heart leapt out of his chest. To the driver, he said, “Could you hold on a minute? My friend’s coming.”
“I got a schedule and a route to do.”
Gabe took out a ten. “Please?”
The driver pushed the money away. “I still got a schedule. I’m gonna count to ten.”
Stepping back out, he waved her on. On the count of eight, she had made it, completely winded and doubled over. Gabe paid for their tickets, the door closed behind them, and the bus jerked forward. She pitched backward and Gabe caught her before she fell. Her face was bathed in sweat. It didn’t help that she was wearing a quilted pink puffy jacket. At least her attire—jeans and flats—was more appropriate than last time.
She was panting … gripping her side. Gabe led her to an open row and gave her the window seat. He sat next to her and for the first five minutes, all he did was listen to her wheeze.
“You okay?” he finally said.
She nodded.
He started to say something, but just laughed instead.
“I … had … to change … from shul.”
“You look very nice, Yasmine,” Gabe said. “Maybe you want to take off your jacket?”
She nodded, and he helped her pull it off. Underneath she was wearing a pink scoop-necked sweater that exposed those lovely collarbones. She said, “I brought … food.” She held up a purse slightly smaller than a shopping bag. “Hungry?”
He was. His half bowl of cereal had been digested hours before. “What do you have?”
“Cookies … and fruit.” She was still holding her side.
“You have a cramp?”
She nodded and pulled out an apple. “Okay?”
“Sure.” He took it and she fished out another one for herself.
“Sorry … I’m late.”
He took a bite. The apple was big, juicy, and tart. “No prob.”
“At least I made it.”
“Barely.” Another chomp. His thigh was touching hers. “Who’s covering for you today?”
“Ariella.”
“Again?”
She nodded and nibbled her apple.
“You better hope