Rina sighed, poured herself a glass of iced tea.
“Somehow the powers in Rome got hold of the unfinished manuscript.”
“Somehow they got hold of it?”
Rina smiled. “You’re right. He probably sent it to them. Anyway, they thought it was a very scholarly work. About three, four months after Yitzy died, Bram was invited to the Vatican to complete two different versions of the book-one for the clergy, another more simplified version for the Catholic schools. He was also promised ordination by the Pope at St. Peter’s Basilica through some hotshot seminary in Rome…in those gorgeous gardens overlooking the city. Pontifical something. He called it ‘New Men’ for short.”
“Ah, the power of power. Bram published the book.”
“To Bram’s credit, he asked me what he should do.”
“You told him to go ahead. He knew you would.”
“Probably.” Rina paused a moment. “Yes, I told him to go ahead. I didn’t want the responsibility of stifling someone’s golden opportunity. Besides, as strange as this may sound, I knew the priesthood was his calling.”
“Did you ever see him after he left for Rome?”
“Yes. Apparently, he came back right after I took the family to New York for the summer. I almost stayed there permanently. Come to think of it, I never could figure out why I returned to L.A. All the men were in New York.”
“Not all the men.”
Rina grinned. “Obviously not all the men, darling.”
Decker grinned back. “So you saw Bram after he came back from Rome.”
“I did.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“Nothing to tell. By then, he was an ordained priest. I took him to a kosher restaurant in the city. Boy, did we get stares.”
“And that was that?”
Rina squinted at her husband. “Yes, Peter. That was that.”
“Sorry.” Decker held up his palms as if he were fending her off. “Sorry. Polite conversation between you two?”
“Exactly.”
“Can I ask what you talked about?”
“Mostly, he talked about Rome, about the Vatican and the churches and the sculpture and the artwork and the gardens…the Ville D’este. He just went on and on about Italy. Like a travelogue. Stilted conversation. We were uncomfortable with each other.”
Inwardly, Decker breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, you two didn’t have much in common, I guess.”
“At that point, no.” Her smile was forced. “Anything else, dear?”
“No.” Decker held back a grin. “Better quit while I’m ahead.”
“Good advice for gamblers.” She kissed his lips this time. “Even better advice for curious spouses.”
Wiping the dish, Rina thought about the Jewish concept of shalom bais, the keeping of marital peace. So important a tenet, a person was allowed to do everything in his or her power to keep home and hearth tranquil, even if it meant slight variations on the truth.
Because “that” wasn’t exactly “that.”
She had seen Bram one time after their stilted lunch. About a year later. Nothing had transpired between them, so why bother relating the incident to Peter. On some level, she knew it would have angered him. Needless to do such a thing…
She stowed the dish in the cupboard, guilt gnawing at her gut as she thought back to their awkward meeting.
Running into Bram at the local supermarket. Watching him from afar. He had been with a group of men-three or four of them, all wearing collars. They had been joking around, having a good time being young and free.
Remembering Bram clearly, his hip cocked, his head thrown back with laughter, Rina hadn’t ever recalled him looking so happy. She didn’t approach him, almost walked away unnoticed. At the last minute, he spied her, excused himself, followed her one aisle over.
They exchanged pleasantries. He spoke of his successes with Rome, of the recent publication of his book, of his new assignment as a residential priest over at the local church. A big church, he had told her. Prestigious. She was thrilled that he was doing so well and told him so. Holding back her own joy and rapidly beating heart until the time was right.
Looking at him, breaking into a smile. She remembered herself speaking softly.
“Bram, I think I met someone.” She looked down at her feet. “A policeman of all things.”
When he didn’t respond right away, Rina felt her stomach drop. Finally, he said, “A cop…” He smiled with closed lips. “Doing your bit for public service?”
Red-faced, she walked away, stung by his nastiness. Of course, he followed.
Instead of lashing out, she rebuked him with guilt. “Of all the people I know, I would have thought you would have been the most happy for me.”
“I’m elated,” he said flatly.
Again she walked away. But he dogged her heels, held her by the arm. “This isn’t the right place to talk.” He blushed, dropped her arm. “Can you come by my place around eight tonight?”
She stared at his face. “No, I can’t!”
“When can you come by?”
“Never-”
“Rina-”
“For goodness’ sake, Bram, you’re a priest. You know how people talk!”
“I don’t care-”
“But I do. I care for myself, I care for my friend. The cop. My bit for public service-”
“Rina, I’m sorry. I loved Yitzy. It just seems so soon-”
“That’s a very odd statement coming from you. Mr. Peptalk. Mr. You’re young and need to go on with your life. Mr. Life is short so live for the moment-”
“You’re damning me out of context!”
“Then let’s talk about context now! Your friends are going to wonder about you, Father. So you’d better go. Like I said, people talk.”
Bram took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked as miserable as she felt. Pity tugged at her heart. Within minutes, her presence had turned him from a fun-loving youth into a morose, burdened old man.
He put his specs back on. Looked at her intently and whispered, “This isn’t the right way to say good-bye.”
“So I’ll say it properly.” Her voice softened. “Good-bye and good luck. I mean that, Bram.”
“Rina, please don’t-”
“I’ve got to go. So do you.”
She walked away.
And he had called her that night, begging her over the phone machine to pick up the receiver. When she didn’t, he left a long, rambling message.
Apologizing profusely for his rotten behavior.
Not realizing what had gone on at the yeshiva just a few months earlier, how some maniac had been stalking her, terrorizing her life. How this cop, this Decker had come through for her when she had needed help. Obviously he must be of fine character to put aside his own safety for her welfare. He hadn’t kept up contact with Rav Schulman so no he hadn’t known. He hadn’t known. Because if he had known…he would have…he felt like an ass…just please, please pick up the damn phone.
But she didn’t pick up. Instead, she lay in her bed, tears in her eyes, listening to him implore her. Please, please, please call him back.
But she remained stubborn, deaf to his pleas.
A year later, out of courtesy, she had sent him a wedding invitation. Bram had sent back a gift-a silver kiddush cup-along with the reply card, an X marked in the “yes” box.
The wedding came, the wedding went.
Abram Sparks had been one of their few no-shows.
18
They decided to take Webster’s ’68 metallic-blue Hemicuda-a primitive animal that rumbled and roared, requiring a firm grip on the reins. But it fit nicely with the assignment and, more important, it flew at high speeds. From the Devonshire Substation, it was a quick hop north on the 405 until it merged with the Golden State, the empty lanes on 1-5 begging for pedal to the metal. The ’Cuda zipped through the north Valley, past the smooth, glassy surface of the brimfull LA reservoir, onto the Antelope Valley Freeway into Santa Clarita. Off the freeway and deep into Canyon Country.