Читать книгу Day of Atonement - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 10

This was the alibi: He’d suddenly remembered an important detail to a very important case and he had to use a pay phone because it would have been a breach of ethics to let anyone else overhear him and he had to get in touch with Marge at the station house because someone’s life depended on it, well, not only someone’s life but the whole California judicial system—

Then Decker thought: Even the most complicated phone call in the world wouldn’t explain an absence of six hours. God’s judgment day around the corner and his mind was full of half-baked lies.

The night held a bitter chill, dampness oozing through his clothes and into his bones. His toes and fingers were as cold and stiff as marble. Used to the temperate zone all his life, he had blood the consistency of rubbing alcohol.

He came to the street, then the house. Lights shining through the windows, smoke undulating from the chimney. And the smells. He dreaded the people but the structure looked so damned inviting. Approaching the door, he turned up his collar, tried to mask his face as best he could. Just in case she happened to be there.

As he stepped onto the porch, he pulled his scarf over his head.

So they’d think him psychotic. Who the hell cared?

Rina swung open the door before he knocked. Her face held an expression of complete bafflement.

“Anyone home?” Decker whispered.

“Everyone’s gone to shul,” Rina said.

Crossing the threshold, Decker took the scarf off his head and pulled down his collar. He headed up the stairs, heard Rina following him. He swung open the door to the tiny bedroom and immediately stubbed his toe on the fold-out bed. Swearing, he sank down into the mattress and ran his hands across his face. The room was illuminated by a single sixty-watt table lamp that rested on the floor. The nightstand clock read six-fifty-two.

Rina sat next to him.

“Peter, you’re scaring the daylights out of me. What on earth is wrong? Did this massive dose of religion give you an anxiety attack or something?”

“Something.”

“Please, Peter,” Rina begged. “I deserve better than this—”

“What did you tell them?” Decker broke in.

“What?”

“What excuse did you make up for me when I stormed out of the house?”

“Something about your daughter … something you forgot to do for her.”

“Cindy’s a good excuse,” Decker said. “Much better than the one I’d concocted.”

Rina suddenly burst into tears. “We shouldn’t have come out here. I should have told them no.”

“Rina—”

“It’s all my fault,” she sobbed.

Decker put his arm around her and drew her near. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it—”

“It has nothing to do with religion,” Decker said. “It’s …” He stood, couldn’t even pace in a room this small. He said, “How are we going to sleep if we can’t turn the light off?”

“It’s on a timer,” Rina said.

Decker sat back down, stretched out on the bed, and buried his face in the blanket.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Rina said.

He picked up his head, then sat up straight. “You’re right. You deserve better.” He said, “This afternoon. You were talking to a woman in the kitchen …”

“Yes?”

“She’s Frieda Levine, your mother-in-law’s best friend?”

“Yes. So what?”

He sucked in his breath. “She’s my mother.”

It took Rina a moment to assimilate what he was saying. She could only respond with a breathy what? Then she added a whispered oh my God.

“You said it,” Decker said.

“You’re sure—”

“Positive,” Decker said. “Faces are my business.”

Rina was struggling to find something to say, but all words had eluded her. All she could think of was that Peter didn’t look a thing like Frieda Levine. And she knew that was the wrong thing to say, so she remained silent.

Decker couldn’t sit any longer. He stood up and ran down the stairway, fully intending to run out the door. But he surprised himself and instead just paced the living-room carpet, further trampling the green-shag piling. The room was hot and bright, the crystal pieces giving off shards of color that splashed rainbows on the wall. As if that wasn’t enough, an illuminated three-tiered chandelier made a glitter dome out of the dining room. He felt as if he’d stepped inside a heat-resistant ice palace. He longed to sweep his arm across the tables, smash what was whole and watch it crumble to dust. His sense of self, shattered. All of it a facade. He spied Rina sitting on a couch, she looking as sick as he felt, and he turned to her.

“What the hell am I going to do?”

“I …” Rina sighed. “I don’t know.”

Decker said, “Rina, I look just like my father—the image of the man down to the coloring. The woman is going to take one look at me, start doing a little mental arithmetic, and faint.” He kept pacing. “Dear God, why did I ever come here? I knew she lived in New York. I knew she was an Orthodox Jew but I never ever considered the possibility of meeting up with her. Never! God, there are tens of thousands of Orthodox Jews in this city.”

“There are,” Rina said. “But we tend to live in concentrated areas. Peter, why didn’t you tell me your mother was from Boro Park?”

“My mother is from Gainesville, Florida—”

“You know what I mean.”

Decker forced himself to slow down. “Rina, I didn’t know that this Frieda person lived in Boro Park. The adoption papers said she was fifteen, Jewish, born in New York and that was it. As I investigated a little further, I discovered she was still living in New York and was married with five kids. I didn’t even know where she lived except that it was somewhere within the five boroughs because I tracked her using city records.

“Once I found out she was married with five kids, I stopped pursuing her. Instead, I put my name on this list of adoptees willing to meet their biological parents. I figured if she wanted to contact me, I’d be willing. I wasn’t about to intrude on her life. Well, she never called me—and that was her decision, so fine. Fine. Just fine. I’ll abide by that. It’s obvious the woman wasn’t interested and it’s friggin fine with me to keep it that way.”

Such hurt in his voice. Rina said, “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“I’m not,” Decker said. “I’m not the least … bit … sorry. I’ve done a damn fine job of living without her and she’s done a damn fine job of living without me.”

Rina didn’t answer. Decker stopped pacing.

“I know I’m not making any sense.”

“You’re very agitated—”

“How would you feel?”

“Agitated … and hurt.”

“I’m not hurt, okay!” Decker yelled. “Hurt is when you find out your wife is stepping out on you. No, that’s not hurt. That’s fury! But later after the fury wears off, it turns to hurt. That is hurt! Real hurt! Got it?”

Rina didn’t answer.

“Okay, so I’m ranting—”

“You’re understandably upset.”

“I’m not upset … well, I am upset—”

“Peter, didn’t you recognize her name when I first told it to you?”

“Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew her married name was Levine or Levy or something like that. But I always thought of her as Frieda Boretsky—”

“That’s her maiden name all right.”

“You know her maiden name?”

“Remember I told you her elderly parents always have holiday dinner with my in-laws? Their names are Rabbi and Rebbitzen Boretsky—”

“Ain’t that a hoot,” Decker broke in. “I get to meet my grandparents.”

“Peter, this must be awful for you—”

“Not as awful as it’s going to be for Gramps and Grandma Boretsky. Much as they’ve tried, I’m sure they haven’t forgotten old Benny Aranoff either.”

“Benny Aranoff was your biological father?”

“Yep.”

The room fell quiet. Exhausted, Decker plopped onto the sofa. “Rina, I can’t face them. Any of them. Just say I’m sick—which is the truth—and can’t come down for dinner. Then, after the holidays are over, I want to go home.”

Rina closed her eyes and nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Decker said.

“Don’t apologize,” Rina said. “I understand completely.”

“I’ll tell them I was called back to the station house on an emergency case.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Peter. I’ll handle it for you. Least I can do, for dragging you into this mess.”

Honey, the mess was created a long time ago, Decker thought. When a fifteen-year-old girl didn’t say no to her boyfriend—with either the sex or the marriage. Decker was never too sure which came first. Only that they must have had some love for each other because they ran off and eloped. Then, the good Rabbi and Rebbitzen Boretsky found their daughter and annulled the marriage. To rid themselves of any remaining evidence of the attachment, they sent Frieda off to Florida to have a baby …

Decker said, “It won’t be so bad. I’ll go back to work and take time off at a later date. Maybe we’ll go to Hawaii—I know, we’ll even take the boys. Hire a sitter. Make them happy. Hotels have sitters—”

“Peter, you’re rambling again.” Rina stood. “The family should be coming home any moment. Go upstairs, put on your pajamas, crawl into bed, and look sick.” She regarded his face. “You don’t even have to pretend, Peter. Go read and try to relax. I’ll bring you up dinner. Can you eat?”

“Not at the moment,” Decker said. “But by all rights, I should be starved.”

Rina walked over to the living-room window and pulled the drapes back. Families were filling the streets—men and women dressed in their finest clothes. Jewelry glittered from fingers, ears, and necks. “Services must have ended at some of the shuls. People are starting to head home. Go.”

Decker went upstairs. He stopped midway and shouted down, “Maybe this is all for the better.”

Rina agreed that it probably was. Decker knew she was placating him, but even so, her response made him feel a little better.

A medley of voices said to Rina,

I’m so sorry.

Did you take his temperature?

Can he eat?

It must be jet lag.

His work is so stressful.

He should eat a little.

Those planes are so crowded, everyone coughing into one air filtration system.

Did you give him Tylenol?

These flus come on so all of a sudden.

Just a little soup.

Rina parried the questions like an expert fencer.

A minute later, Decker heard knocking on the door. Duo knocking. His stepsons, no doubt. But he asked who it was just to make sure. When they answered with their names, he told them to come in.

They patted his cheek, held his hand, smoothed out the covers for him, asked if they could get him anything.

He felt so damn guilty faking it. To make himself play the part with Strassbergian integrity, he thought about meeting Frieda Levine, meeting her parents, and his stomach legitimately churned.

Sammy asked him if he’d gotten sick because he’d been obnoxious on the plane ride over. Decker assured him that was not the case. But the boy remained unconvinced. Sam was the elder of the two, hypermature and, like his mother, willing to tote the world’s problems on his back if he had a big enough knapsack. Decker kissed the boy’s sweaty cheek; to make him feel better, he told him to bring him up some tea. To make Jake feel equally useful, he told him to bring up some lemon and sugar.

Jakey smiled: It was Rina’s smile. The kid was Rina’s clone. Sam had lighter hair, but was darker complexioned, looking like his dad. That must be hard on the Lazaruses, too.

In a grave voice, Sammy suggested honey in his tea instead of sugar. Honey was more soothing, and after all, it was Rosh Hashanah. Honey was traditional fare for the holiday, symbolizing a sweet New Year.

Decker said honey was a spiffy idea.

After the boys were gone, he locked the door behind them, not wanting any uninvited guests.

A moment later, the handle turned, a knock, and Rina said, “Peter, open the door.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rina came in. “Didn’t mean to sound like an army sergeant.”

“You’ve been fielding those questions like a pro.”

“Thanks.” She felt his forehead, then his cheeks, with the back of her hand.

“Rina, I’m not really sick,” Decker said.

“Oh,” Rina dropped her hand. “That’s right. What am I doing? I don’t know what I’m doing. You know, Peter, you actually feel a little warm.”

“Life imitating art.”

There was a knock on the door. The boys again, bringing up his tea.

Jacob said to Decker, “Everyone wishes you a speedy recovery—a refuah shelema.”

“Thank you,” Decker said.

“Want me to eat with you?” Sammy offered. “You look sort of lonely.”

The truth of the matter was that Decker would have loved the company. But he said, “No problem, Sam, I’m just fine. I know there’s a bunch of kids downstairs. Have a good time.”

Sammy kissed his forehead. “You feel warm, Peter.”

“I think your father has a little fever,” Rina said.

“Rest,” Jacob said, kissing his cheek. “I’ll check on you later.”

“So will I,” added Sammy.

After the boys left, Rina said, “You want company?”

“I’m okay.”

Rina said, “You do look lonely. Downright needy.”

“No, I’m really fine.”

“Friggin fine?”

Decker laughed. “No, I’m not fine at all. I want you to stay with me—”

“Then I will.”

“No, I won’t hear of it. Eat with your kinfolk …” He paused a moment, thinking: kinfolk. Except for her sons, Rina didn’t have a single blood relative downstairs. But he did. “Go eat with them. But if it’s no trouble, bring me up something to eat. My stomach’s rumbling.”

“Will do.” She kissed his lips and left.

Decker locked the door behind her, then crawled back into bed. He thought about it for a moment. Kinfolk. A mother, grandparents, five half brothers and half sisters. God knew how many nieces and nephews … He closed his eyes, felt any remaining energy drain from his body. He dozed until awakened by a hard rap on his door. It startled him and his heart raced inside his chest. Rina’s voice announced her name.

Decker answered a groggy yeah and unlocked the door, then fell back into bed.

“I woke you up.”

He didn’t answer.

“Peter, you look so wan.”

“I’m just tired,” he said. Tired was the polite word. Fucked-up was the accurate description. But his olfactory nerve began to spark. He sat up and said, “What’d you bring me?”

“All sorts of goodies.”

She set plates before him.

There was roasted rack of beef sitting on two bones, cooked crispy brown on the outside, juices sizzling and dripping. There was a separate dish of vegetables—browned potatoes with onions and green peppers, a carrot pudding topped with brown sugar and raisins, breaded cauliflower, steamed asparagus, zucchini in tomato sauce, a sweet noodle pudding topped with pineapple and macadamia nuts. And a traditional plate of sliced apples nesting in a pool of honey.

Food, food. Copious amounts of food.

“I think you’ll need a tray or something,” Rina said.

“Good idea unless you like gravy on your sheets.”

She grinned. “Love the feel of a greasy bed. I’ll get a tray for you and something to drink.” She looked him over. “You need another pot of tea.”

“While you’re down there, how ’bout fetching some silverware and a couple of napkins?”

“Didn’t I bring …? I’m so absent-minded. Just snarf it down through your nose.”

“Get out of here,” Decker said.

She laughed and left. Decker couldn’t wait for utensils. He ate a slice of apple and honey, then peeled a rib bone from the meat and took a big bite.

Words wouldn’t do justice to the taste. He ate one bone and polished off the next. Picked up the breaded cauliflower and ate that, too. Then the asparagus spears, bending them in the middle and popping them whole into his mouth.

There was a knock at his door, then it was pushed open.

Decker looked up expecting to see Rina.

Instead what he saw was Mrs. Lazarus—and her.

Decker felt his eyes widen, his mouth open.

Too surprised to look down, too surprised to refrain from reacting.

She was smiling, her lips painted bright red, a spot of lipstick on her front tooth.

A toothy smile.

Not like his at all.

A stranger.

The two of them standing there, holding a silver tray of sweets—cakes, cookies, strudel, brownies …

He caught her eyes.

Smiling eyes.

But only for a moment.

Then came the confusion, the recognition, the shock, the plunge into despair.

With plates of food on his lap, there was nothing he could do, nowhere to run.

He turned his head away but he knew it was too late. He heard the gasp, the tray tumbling onto the floor. He looked up and saw her hand fly to her chest, her body staggering backward. Her eyes were fluttering, her pale lips were trembling.

Mrs. Lazarus yelling Frieda!

Rina screaming out What are you doing here!

Mrs. Lazarus shrieking Call a doctor!

Rina shoving her mother-in-law out the door, ordering her downstairs.

Frieda Levine hyperventilating.

Rina trying to catch her.

Mrs. Lazarus still shrieking to call a doctor.

And Decker sitting there—an army vet, a cop for twenty years, having served three different police departments, an expert with firearms, the perfect point man for any operation because he was always cool, calm, rational, stoic, so goddamn unemotional. Just sitting there, paralyzed by the sight of his mother falling.