“I like Eema just the way she is. And I’m glad she was young when she had you and Jakey because young mothers have a lot of energy. Sometimes, I wish I were a little younger so I’d have more energy.”
“You have energy.”
“Not too bad for an old guy.”
“You’re not that old, Peter. You know, most of the kids in my class have dads around your age. Eema was just really young. Both of them were … Eema and … you know, Abba was young, too … when I was born.”
Decker took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Do you wish I was as young as your abba?”
“No, no, no. Not at all. I didn’t mean that.”
But the boy’s voice was cracking and it wasn’t from hormones. The pain was palpable.
Decker said, “You know what I wish, Sammy?”
Sammy didn’t answer.
“I wish …” Decker took his stepson’s hand. “I wish that you were having this discussion with your abba right now. I swear to God, I wish that he was here instead of me.”
Sammy broke into tears, folding against Decker’s chest. Holding him tightly, Decker let him cry it out. The boy was developing into adolescence, a decent layer of muscle enveloping his shoulders and arms. Yet, sobbing so bitterly, he seemed so frail.
“I can’t remember him so well anymore, Peter. I try and try, but every day the memories just get more and more … cloudy. I remember things I did with you, but I can’t remember the things we used to do together.” The boy broke away, dried his red eyes on his pajama sleeves. “Sometimes … sometimes … you know? I think I remember things.” He sniffed and dried his eyes again. “I think I remember them very clearly. But then I’m not sure if I remember them because I heard Eema talk about it. Or I actually remember it ’cause it happened. And I feel terrible about it ’cause there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s only four years ago. God, at this rate, I won’t remember anything by the time I’m twenty.”
“Sure you will.”
“No, I won’t.”
Okay, Decker, just back it up. “You were young when he died.” Too young. Way too young. “Sammy, what do you think about this? Why don’t you write down whatever you do remember about your abba and show it to your mother. See if she remembers it the same way you do.”
“That would upset her too much.”
“No, I don’t think it would.”
“Yes, it would. I know it would, Peter.”
Decker felt relief. It was good to see the kid arguing with him. There was nothing as scary as a preteen with no spunk.
“Well, write it down anyway and show it to me. And if I think the timing’s okay, I’ll show it to her. How about that?”
Sammy shrugged.
“Up to you, kiddo.” Decker looked down at his partially consumed lunch. His stomach was churning, his shoulder was throbbing, and he felt a headache coming on. He fished a couple of Ecotrin from his pocket and swallowed them dry. “Just think about it.”
“Okay.” Sammy paused. “It wouldn’t bother you? I mean for me to … you know, talk about my abba?”
Truth be told, it did bother him and he felt petty because of it. But he was mature enough not to let his smallness get in the way of his stepson’s well-being.
“Sammy, you and your brother talk about your abba all you want. As a matter of fact, I’d like to learn about your abba, too. But sometimes I feel funny asking your mom about him.”
“I could understand that.”
Decker nodded in agreement. Father-son bonding. All right!
“You know what, Peter?”
“What, big guy?”
“I feel sort of guilty that I don’t call you Dad.”
Oh, boy. “Do you want to call me Dad?”
“Kind of. But it doesn’t … you know, come easy. Not that I don’t think of you as my dad. I want you to know that.”
“Whoa, you are really going through a lot of changes.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Sam, I don’t care what you call me. If you want to call me Dad, please, go ahead and call me Dad. But certainly don’t feel guilty if you’d rather call me Peter.”
“I think Yonkie would like to call you Dad. We were discussing—I don’t want you to think we talk a lot about you behind your back.”
“I talked a lot about my parents behind their backs.”
Sammy smiled. A genuine one this time. “Anyway, when you and Eema first got married, Yonkie was asking me, like what do we call him. And I … I knew I couldn’t call you Abba. And I felt weird calling you Dad. So Yonkie said, if I wasn’t gonna call you Dad, he wasn’t gonna call you Dad, either. But I think he wanted to.”
“Why don’t you—?”
“I know, I know. Talk it over with him. Talk, talk, talk. I don’t know.”
Decker stroked the boy’s hot check. “Do this. Call me Dad for a week. Better yet, call me Dad for a month. After a month, if you still feel more comfortable calling me Peter, go back to Peter. Or Akiva. My Jewish name’s pretty personal to me. It could be our special name, if Dad doesn’t seem to feel natural.”
“Akiva. That’s not bad. I didn’t even think about that. Okay, I’ll try Dad. If not … Akiva.”
“Great.”
Sammy looked at the half-eaten sandwich. “I ruined your appetite, didn’t I?”
“Nah …” Decker made himself pick up the sandwich and take a bite. “See?”
“Nice save … Dad.”
Decker laughed.
“You know?” Sammy turned serious. “Remember we were talking about how you were a little embarrassed about Eema looking so young?”
“I should remember it. The conversation took place about five minutes ago.”
Sammy punched his shoulder—his good one. “Sometimes—I mean this is gonna sound real weird. But a lot of times, Eema gets mistaken for my older sister. Even when she’s … even now.”
Decker nodded. Apparently the word pregnant didn’t come easy to him, either.
“I don’t mean this to sound like an insult,” Sammy said, “but I’m really glad you look old … older. When I’m around you, people know you’re my dad. We go to the baseball game, everyone knows you’re a dad taking his kids out to the game. I’m proud that Eema looks so young and pretty, but sometimes a kid wants his parents to look like parents, know what I mean?”
“You bet. Don’t worry, Sammy, no one is ever going to mistake me for your brother.”
“Well, I’m happy about that.”
“So am I,” Decker said. “Really.”
“I never told you this, Pete—Dad, but most of my friends’ fathers are, you know, like doctors or lawyers or businessmen.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The kids at school think it’s real neat that you’re a detective.”
“Real exotic, huh?”
“Yeah, exactly. Like you do what they do in the movies we’re not supposed to see. I tell them that it’s not like that … except for that one time …”
“That