A Candle for a Marine (Always a Marine) (2 page)

Zehava barely heard any of the conversation on the way to the restaurant or once she settled in the booth. She and her mother always went for coffee and cake after
Erev Shabbat
, but tonight the whole room hummed with news of Isaac Janko’s return. Their corner of northern Dallas adored the native son and took great pride in his service to their country. Surprisingly, even her mother, who made no pretense of her dislike for Isaac’s enlistment, bubbled with it.

“Did you see Edith’s face? She was over the moon that Isaac came home.” Sofia Elbaz clucked her tongue. “I know he didn’t tell them, and for that the boy should be ashamed. His mother deserved to know he would be here, but it is hard to be angry when he brings such joy.” She paused to address the waitress. “Two cups of coffee and two slices of the carrot cake.”

Zehava would have preferred the chocolate. In fact, she could easily have eaten an entire cake and chased it with a pint of chocolate ice cream. Her pulse hadn’t stopped rabbiting since she’d seen him. A part of her had known the moment he entered the temple. All the hairs on her neck stood up and apprehension shivered down her spine.

Without making a fuss, she’d turned her head and from the corner of her eye, she’d spotted him sitting in the last row, more handsome than ever. Gone was the young boy she had so admired, adored really, replaced by a man with a strong, stubborn jaw and close-cropped dark hair, whose time away whittled him down to his essence. While she hadn’t been able to see them clearly, she remembered well the dark chocolate of his brown eyes.

Their gazes locked for too brief a moment over his grandmother’s head. The cold rebuff in his eyes hurt. Physically. She didn’t know what she’d hoped or expected when she did see him again, but very real rejection cut her deep.

“Zehava.” Sofia dragged her into the present. “It is rude to ignore your mother.”

“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m not trying to ignore you.” She needed to focus lest she arouse her mother’s razor sharp instincts. If she wasn’t careful, the evening would devolve into a lecture about why Isaac wasn’t the man for her—again.

The waitress returned with their mugs of coffee and slices of cake. Rather than reveal her lack of interest in the carrot cake, Zehava dug into the dessert. A stomachache would be far preferable to a lecture, or worse, a rant.

“Shi-shi.” Sofia caught her hand on the fork and stayed it at the plate. “It is all right to be a little sad.”

The unexpected sensitivity and use of her childhood nickname caught her off guard. Zehava blinked back the tears. “I’m fine, Mama. It was a long time ago. Are you still going to visit Yacob next week?” Her brother had married a Gentile, much to Sofia’s chagrin. Since sweet-natured Susan had given her three grandsons to spoil, Mama didn’t complain very loudly.

“I was. Instead, I will stay so you are not alone.”

And the last thing she wanted. “Nonsense.” Zehava squeezed her hand. “You’ve been planning this for several weeks and the boys will be disappointed if you’re not there. Don’t forget, I have plans of my own.” She would spend her time at the community center, working with the disenfranchised youth. More families broke apart every day and more of the local youth and teenagers were left to their own devices. She volunteered to keep the center open throughout the holiday week so the kids had a place to go and celebrate.

“Hmmm.” Her mother remained unconvinced. “That was before….”

“We always knew he could come home at any time. His whole family is here, Mama. Just because he hasn’t didn’t mean he never would.”

I didn’t expect it to take my breath away or hit me so hard, but that doesn’t change anything. Mama needs to go
.

It would be hard enough to cope with Isaac’s presence. Having Sofia hover like a bear would only make her nerves worse.

“Well, I did promise.” Sofia wavered. “Why don’t you come with me, Shi-shi? They would love to see their aunt.”

Tempting, however I’m not a coward
. “And I
love
seeing them. Which is why I went this summer for two whole weeks and kept the boys so Yacob and Susan could take their cruise.”
And enjoyed every single minute of it
. “They need Granny Sofie time.”

“I could so wish Susan hadn’t taught them that term.” Her nose wrinkled with the familiar complaint, but it lacked any real heat. She adored being a grandmother.

“Of course you do, and she hates that you spoil them rotten.” Tit for tat between the women, with Yacob stuck squarely in the middle. All three enjoyed the controversy, so who was Zehava to judge?

“Which reminds me, did I tell you about the game system I found for them…?” Distracted by her grandchildren, Sofia launched into a detailed description of the latest Nintendo games. The shopkeepers always saw her coming and put their best
boys’ toys
up front for her.

Zehava picked at her carrot cake and soaked up her mother’s adoration for the kids. Even as she listened, her mind wandered to Isaac. Eight years was a long time to be apart. What other changes had time wrought on him? She’d heard from his mother and the grapevine that he’d seen heavy fire and had been on a first responders team to clear houses of insurgents. Then again, that had been what he’d wanted to do, enlisting when they were already deeply entrenched in two separate wars.

Sometimes what a person wanted and what a person received were two different things. Once upon a time, she’d longed to be tied together forever, so sure of her love for him.

Sometimes she wished her prayers had gone unanswered.

Glancing out the window, she stared down the street. His house was just two blocks over. Tonight he would spend with his family, but tomorrow…tomorrow she would go see him.

Her stomach plummeted and cool sweat gathered at the base of her spine. If he didn’t want to see her—or worse, didn’t care—then she would accept his decision. Taking the first step? She owed him that much.

Isaac finished his four miles at a brisk walk. He’d walked Nona to Temple for Shabbat services before he went for the run. Surprisingly, she’d turned down his offer to attend with her and then he’d spotted her chatting with Mr. Meyer, the baker.

Go, Nona
.

Amused and with a lighter heart after leaving her, he’d jogged a long circuit around the old neighborhood. A lot had changed in his years away, though more stayed the same. Familiar houses blurred past, and he took the hill toward the high school with aggressive energy.

The building, so huge in his youth, seemed somehow smaller and tending toward shabbier. Faded graffiti, poorly scrubbed off, served as a testament to another subtle, uglier change. He picked up speed on the slope away from the school. Sagging fences and damaged brick gaped like open wounds. Yellowed grass thrust through the cracked sidewalk, and he dodged onto the street when the uneven pavement gave way to buckled sections.

Two blocks from home, broken vehicles littered every other driveway. A flat tire on one, another on blocks, rusted frames and discoloration on the paint jobs or in some cases, dents from accidents that had never been hammered out. Financial woes stressed the area more than he realized. A handful of kids played outside, tiny pockets of humanity, though they seemed a rare occurrence, the uneasy silence almost audible.

Not everyone had been at Temple Shabbat. More had been present the night before and, for some, one service a week was plenty. By the time he slowed his pace and circled down the winding residential street toward the community center, his lungs burned pleasantly. Homegrown shops and strip malls decorated the area—Meyer’s Bakery, Elbaz Antiquities, Feinstein’s Corner Grocery. Outdated—hardly an epicenter like the super marts found along the highways—it was a place where shop owners still stood on the corner chatting and neighbors knew everyone.

Except this morning, of course. All the shops were locked up tight for Shabbat. They would open later in the day, after sundown. The nostalgic throwback reminded him about how home he was. He slowed to a stop at the edge of the blacktopped playground area to consider the new center. A fence separated it from the street. The chain-link didn’t disguise the effort toward cheer conveyed by colorful wall art covering every inch of the building facade.

The city of Dallas could be seen in the distance on one corner of the mural, a neighborhood ice cream shop that closed when he was in high school closer to the front, and a dozen familiar faces made up the people. Walking around the gate, he frowned at the man depicted in the bottom right corner. It showed a ramrod straight figure walking away, a duffle on his back and, upon a closer inspection, he recognized himself.

“It took a year to finish all of it.”

The low-keyed chime of her voice ricocheted to his bones and crumbled his reserve and determination like so much ash and smoke. Steeling himself, he slid his hands into the pockets of his shorts and turned. Despite the cool temperatures, heat flash-fired through him. Zehava always had that effect on him.

The center was her personal project. He knew that, the reason why he’d come. He could lie about a lot of things, but not her. She wore a dark green turtleneck, a lighter, camel-colored jacket, jeans, and a pair of running shoes. Wariness shadowed her eyes and she had trouble meeting his gaze. Jaw tight, he couldn’t suppress a flare of triumph at her discomfort.

“It’s lovely. I didn’t know you still painted.”

“Only projects like this and for some classes I teach here during the week.” She folded her arms and unfolded them. A part of him wanted to set her at ease, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to act on it. Resentment slithered across his skin like a sand rash.

“Well, it’s good work. I’m particularly fond of my place in it. Walking away.” Was that how she saw him? The man who left?

“Not walking away.” She shook her head and her chin finally came up. “Walking toward the future. Defending our country, and lonely because you had to leave us to do it. Inspiring because it’s not an easy choice and even harder to live with. Brave because no one here can truly imagine what you faced, so we hoped and prayed you’d come home, safe from hate and harm.”

Uncomfortable with how close her description struck, Isaac dragged his attention away from her. She’d matured beautifully. The softness of her features had taken on an aristocratic bearing, but she was too thin, and her mouth too lush.

“It’s good work,” he repeated. So many words bottled up in his throat and threatened to choke him. “I should get going.” He gave her a quick, abrupt smile, the action physically painful, and jogged toward the fence. The sooner he got the hell away, the better for both of them.

“Isaac.”

The sound of his name tripping off her lips locked him in place. He kept his attention fixed beyond the gate. Home for only a few days, he could make this work if he kept the contact minimal.

“Yes?” He canted his head, turning an ear toward her, and refusing to look. Not when he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss her or throttle her. The level of violence shivering in his muscles appalled him, one match away from erupting.

“Hanukkah begins this week.”

“I know. It’s why I came home.” Confusion flickered through him.

Her shoe scuffed on the blacktop. She came closer, and he fought in vain against turning. “I know it’s the first time in years….”

Don’t bring it up.

“And I’m probably the last person you want to talk to….”

For the love of all that’s holy, leave it alone
. His head began to ache from clamping his teeth together.

“I’m expecting a lot of kids are going to be here this week. The neighborhood is full of single mothers, fathers, and their kids who need a place to spend Hanukkah. I’m going to light the menorah for them each evening at dusk. They’d love to meet you. You’re a hero for so many and maybe—maybe you’d like to spend some time here, too. Help out.” Her voice drifted away, and he pivoted slowly.

He wanted to walk the hell away and keep his mouth shut. The hesitation remained in her eyes, yet he also glimpsed hope. Faint, but there, in the liquid dark depths.

“Are you asking me if I want to spend my first Hanukkah at home with your pseudo-children since you gave away ours?”

Once the words were out, he couldn’t take them back and with his attention locked on her, he couldn’t miss the verbal lash striking its mark. Regret filtered through his fury. He wasn’t sure who angered him more. Her for what she did, or him because he never stopped loving her and hating her for it.

Ouch
. The barb sank deep and raked her emotions over the coals. She shouldn’t have been surprised by the strength of the sting, but it didn’t diminish the impact. Zehava absorbed the words and the pain, letting both sink through her until they reached the marrow of her bones. The whip crack of fury from anyone else would be met in kind, however she believed Isaac deserved his pound of flesh. And she’d give him this one. Only the one.

Her next words would need to be chosen carefully. She studied him, the rise and fall of his chest, the snapping anger in his eyes, and the way his jaw clenched and unclenched. His hands curled into fists and released. Rage radiated in the air around him, a simmering, shimmering heat. He said nothing else, didn’t move in her direction or threaten.

The man had a right to his anger, even his hate, though it pained her more than she wanted to admit. She’d found peace with her decision long ago.

“The neighborhood children, the boys in particular, see you as their own personal hero. You made a hard choice. You have seen darkness and you have returned.”

Surprise bled away some of his tension. So much of the boy she’d loved remained in the man before her. Despite his anger, she sensed no danger from him. Every other conversation they’d had on the subject of their child had been over the phone, or via two agonizingly long letters.

“It shouldn’t come as any great surprise to you. They admire you, from your determination to make something else for your life to your dedication to service. Your mother shares all of your accomplishments, and the kids always look for news of you—even if it is only the mention of a Marine in the paper, they always attribute it to you.” Somehow she managed a smile. “We have a whole wall in there covered with different articles and photos. They collect them, and it’s a matter of pride to add one to the wall. So, yes, I am inviting you to spend Hanukkah with these boys and girls. Some have no fathers, some have no mothers, and a few have neither. But here? Here they are all welcome. They are all siblings, and we are all a family.”