The Last Words We Said

by Leah Scheier

  He draws out a picture of a chubby, pink-cheeked little boy with long blond hair hanging to his shoulders.

  “It must have been hard taking care of him on your own,” I remark, turning the pages of the album. The rest of the book appears to be a montage of Danny-made disasters. One shows him grinning amid a pile of shredded newspapers. In the next he’s sitting in a puddle of red paint, streaks running down the wall behind him.

  Mr. Edelstein laughs quietly. “I was losing my mind. He was just like his father, and I had no idea how to handle him. After he was thrown out of daycare, I was forced to bring him to work with me. Lucky for me, that’s when things began to turn around.”

  “What happened?”

  “Danny met his mother,” he tells me, turning the page again. “She saved me—saved us both.”

  He points to the last photo in the book, and I recognize the dark-haired woman from Danny’s album. “Your ex-wife.”

  Mr. Edelstein nods. “She was the office beauty. I’d been crazy about her forever. But every one of my colleagues wanted to date her. I was almost twenty years older than her—and”—he waves a deprecating hand over his balding head—“even then, not much of a looker. I never had a chance with her. Or so I thought.”

  “But she fell in love with you?”

  He shakes his head sadly. “She fell in love with my little boy. I was—I came later.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He runs his hand over the photo, rests it just over her hair. “Dalia had her own history. She was recently divorced, and, I learned later, unable to have children. And she wanted a child—desperately.” He shrugs and looks sadly at her picture. “We did have a few interests in common. I believe she meant well—that she did care about me, in her own way. Even after things started to go sour, she really did try to make our marriage work, if only for Danny’s sake.”

  I remember the story of the suitor cursed with sadness who brought home an orphan and won the heart of his beloved. Danny had told me that story several times in different forms over the years. It was his parents’ story, and I’d never realized it.

  “But—but Danny ended up with your ex,” I say. “After the divorce.” I can’t help judging her, though I’ve never met her. “He was your nephew. How could she do that to you?”

  He smiles and closes the album. “There was no court case. We settled things amicably. I didn’t fight for custody even though I could have. My lawyer kept insisting that I had a strong case. But children don’t care about blood relations or legal rights, Ellie. I had to think of what was best for Danny.”

  “But it must have broken your heart to let him go,” I protest. “Why didn’t you fight?”

  He goes silent for a moment. “Parents always say that their kids come first,” he tells me after a long pause. “But when they split, they tear their babies in two. I wasn’t going to do that to Danny. He loved his mother. He deserved to be with her. So I moved out. I lived down the street from them for six years, and I saw him almost every day. When my job transferred me to Atlanta, I hoped Dalia might agree to follow. I thought I could convince her that it was best for Danny.”

  “But she refused.”

  He studies my critical expression for a moment and shakes his head. “Maybe she wasn’t being fair. Still, I could hardly expect her to uproot her life and move across the country for her ex-husband.”

  “But you sacrificed everything for her!” I exclaim. “You gave up custody of your nephew. Didn’t Danny ever ask you why his stepmother got custody of him?”

  There’s an uncomfortable pause. “See, this is why I don’t like speaking about Dalia,” he tells me finally. “Everyone gets very harsh when they hear the details. Truth is, Ellie, I loved her. Even when she wasn’t exactly reasonable.” He chuckles softly. “Maybe especially when she wasn’t being reasonable. Who knows? But I shouldn’t have gone along with it for as long as I did. That’s for sure.”

  “Gone along with what?”

  He grips the armrest of his chair as if bracing himself for a hit. “Dalia was a good woman—” he begins defensively. “But she was stubborn—with some very definite opinions about child-rearing. She believed it was best—that Danny not be told that he was adopted.” His face flushes with shame as his eyes meet mine. “He was too young to remember his biological parents, she argued. Tamar’s mother passed away soon after we married. There was no one to tell him otherwise. So Dalia decided that he didn’t need to know. She made me promise not to tell.”

  My shocked silence speaks for me.

  “Oh, she planned to tell him eventually,” he adds hastily. “But then she got sick. And so she put it off—and put it off. I don’t know what she was afraid of, really. When Danny finally found out, it wasn’t the truth that upset him. It was the fact that she’d lied to him.”

  “No wonder Danny hated secrets,” I say, understanding suddenly. Until I’d met him, his entire history had been a secret.

  “It was my fault too,” Mr. Edelstein insists. “I lied to him when he asked me why we had so few baby pictures of him. Told him I was a lazy photographer.”

  “But you were married three years after he was born. That’s sort of unusual for a religious couple. He never asked about that?”

  “Divorced couples don’t celebrate their wedding anniversaries or display their wedding photos. It never came up somehow—until he found out. He overheard a conversation between his mother and a friend. When he understood what she’d been hiding, he lashed out at her—I’m not sure what he said; he never told me the details. But he called me that night with a hundred questions about his parents. At the end of our conversation, he begged me to fly him out to Atlanta so he could get away for a while. So I bought him a ticket.” He pauses and nods at me. “As it turns out, that was the flight—”

  “The one where we met!” I remember the boy with the goofy smile, the Kit Kat bar, and the wild stories. I’d assumed he was just taking a regular trip to see his dad. “I didn’t realize he was going through all that. He actually helped me get through that flight.”

  Mr. Edelstein closes the album and runs his hand over the leather binding. “When I picked Danny up at the airport, he seemed really distracted. I asked if he was okay, and he told me that it was a very rocky trip. And then he just spaced out—the whole way home, he didn’t say a single word. That was not like Danny at all.” He grins. “You thought he was distracting you on that plane? I’m guessing that it went both ways—”

  I’m smiling now. For once, there’s nothing awful to sully this perfect memory. I’d made a painful time in Danny’s life better. That’s all I needed to hear.

  But Mr. Edelstein isn’t finished. “I truly wish I hadn’t bought him that ticket,” he admits. “I should have insisted he patch things up with his mother first.” He sighs and picks nervously at the album binding. “Dalia took an unexpected turn for the worse while Danny was visiting me. She was undergoing a minor procedure when she suffered a massive stroke that left her comatose.”

  I stare at him in silence for a moment, trying to absorb the unexpected twist in the story. It shouldn’t shock me as much it does; I knew that his mother died later that year. But I’d imagined a more gradual goodbye.

  “Are you saying that Danny never got a chance—” I begin. But I can’t bring myself to ask the question.

  His father finishes my thought. “No, he never got a chance to say goodbye. When we got the call that she was in the hospital, I flew back with him to LA. Danny was desperate to speak to her, to tell her that he was sorry for what he’d said before he left. But he never got the chance. His mother never woke up. She passed a few months later.”

  This isn’t the story of how we met, I realize. It’s the story of Danny’s guilt. The weight of it takes a moment to sink in before I remember the fable he told me once over ice cream. I’d thought that it was fiction. But to him the story of the poisonous snake was more true than any he had told me. The poisoned lady had to be Dalia, the wom
an who had raised him. And in his mind, Danny was the snake in his own story.

  Chapter 22

  Yom Kippur is the final day of repentance, the culmination of a ten-day period of self-reflection and atonement for a year’s worth of sins. Before the sun sets we have our last meal, and then settle in for a twenty-four-hour fast, about half of which is spent in synagogue chanting prayer after prayer. For me, this day had always been a chore to get through, and I was usually one of the loudest complainers as the hours dragged by. My head hurt from fasting and dehydration, and my back ached from hours of sitting in a hard chair; the endless droning and repetition frustrated and bored me. (Why did we say everything so many times? Why?) By the end I was usually sneaking out for breaths of fresh air; twelve hours wedged into a small sanctuary with two hundred fasting congregants made for a pretty dense atmosphere.

  I’d never understood the point of the whole thing, honestly. How could I concentrate on bettering myself when all I could think about was pizza—and breath mints?

  I’d never really carried a burden before, so I’d never needed the punishment that is Yom Kippur. Sure, I’d sinned like everyone else, but they were little-girl sins: talking back to my mom, fighting with Rae, gossiping. I’d never really hurt anyone intentionally, and I’d gotten a quick nod of forgiveness from anyone I had harmed by accident. While the rest of the congregation pounded away at their chests and wailed their regret, I was usually daydreaming.

  I’d often wondered if Rae had the right idea. She spent the day in quiet meditation at home. I was afraid to ask her if she fasted because I didn’t want to know the answer, but she put my doubts to rest one day.

  “Of course I fast,” she said scornfully. “I may not believe in God. But I fast on Yom Kippur.”

  That didn’t exactly make sense to me. But the swaying and chanting made even less sense. Half of the prayers were about things I’d never even done.

  This year is different.

  This year, a day of fasting isn’t going to be enough. Ten repetitions of the prayer are far too few. Yom Kippur is all I have, my last resort. God hasn’t listened to my prayers yet. But today has to be different. Today I’ll find the right words.

  As we settle into our seats, my mother shoots a concerned glance at me. I can’t really blame her for wondering what’s going on. It’s the first time I’ve made it to the morning service on time, and I haven’t even complained about wanting coffee. The only other people in our row are Deenie and her mom; even the most devout women straggle in a few minutes late. Deenie looks over at me and smiles, then glances anxiously around the room. It’s obvious she’s remembering Rosh Hashanah services and that awful scene with Danny in the foyer. But I don’t bother reassuring her that I’ve come alone today. She’ll realize soon enough. Today it’s just me and God.

  I open my siddur and place my finger on the first line.

  I sink deep into the text, mouth the words, and sway. As the Shema is recited, I close my eyes and call out the incantation:

  “And you will not follow after your heart and after your eyes by which you go astray.”

  Had I strayed, even as I tried to keep faith? I ask myself. There was a boy that followed me everywhere, who lived in my dreams, both day and night. Was he a kind of idol? Everywhere I looked, my Danny was there. He was my comfort and my rock.

  But what kind of rock? Was he simply my friend? Or was he a stone god that I’d created?

  Everyone seemed to think I needed to let him go. Was that what God wanted too?

  He didn’t really expect me to give up, did He? I couldn’t.

  I wouldn’t. It was too much to ask.

  “Then the Lord’s wrath will flare up against you, and He will close the heavens so that there will be no rain.”

  My eyes fly open as a clap of thunder rocks the shul. The people around me exchange startled looks. What a strange coincidence, their eyes say. Thunder—right at that moment!

  But I know that it’s no coincidence. Outside another crack of lightning cuts across the sky, and I listen to God’s majesty as the skies open up and the rains come.

  In His own way, He’s speaking to me, and I’m finally ready to hear Him.

  Do You need me to give him up? Is that what You want from me?

  My mother’s voice cuts into my prayer. “Ellie, are you okay?” she whispers.

  I nod and close my eyes again, lean down over my siddur.

  I can’t give him up, I plead. Please don’t make me. Ask for anything else. Anything.

  The rain beats down, but God is silent. I don’t know what He wants me to do.

  I’ve sinned, but others have paid for my sin. Deenie, sitting so quietly next to me, has no idea that I’ve robbed her of her best friend. But she stopped singing weeks ago, and I’m not sure if she ever will again. Rae, waiting for us at home, is as strong and brash as ever. But she breaks down when she catches a glimpse of Danny, and she’s stopped baking with white chocolate because she says it tastes too sweet. Mr. Edelstein is sitting next to an empty seat, which he reserved for Danny, just in case.

  And none of them know the truth, because I’m too much of a coward.

  What if I tell them what I did? Will that make it right?

  I have no idea what God wants from me. I don’t know how He wants me to atone.

  He’s trying to speak to me, but I can’t hear what He’s saying.

  So, I look back to the prayers. What am I repenting for? It’s all written out for me in rhythmic verse. I chant out my sins and beat on my chest. The words burn with new meaning; I’ve committed each and every one of these sins. I’ve finally tasted guilt, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to taste anything else.

  I’ve lied, I’ve judged, I’ve erred both in thought and in deed. And this last one: the sins committed with a confused heart. That’s it right there. It is in the text; it’s always been there staring at me. God knows that I was confused that night; He knows I hadn’t meant to give Danny the worst advice in the world. But He punished me anyway, and worse, He punished Danny.

  I’m waiting for Danny to come back. But how will I face him after what I’ve done? How will I admit that I kept this guilty secret all these months? That’s why Danny scorned me ten days ago in this synagogue. He mocked my hypocrisy. If I do come back, no one has to know, right? he’d taunted me. “You’ll never need to tell anyone that story.”

  He was right. I’m collecting people’s stories because I love learning about him. But they’re also an escape, to keep from remembering the story I can’t bear to tell. I want Danny to come back because I love him. But I need him to come back because I can’t live with myself.

  Danny hates secrets. And he’ll hate the person I’ve become.

  I have to tell the world what I did. God won’t bring Danny back until I truly repent. And I can’t do that without admitting what I’ve done.

  I’m going to do it tonight, I vow. As soon as the fast ends, I will make this right.

  My resolution weighs on me like a stone on my chest. People say that repentance brings peace to the soul. But I can barely breathe when I think about what I’m going to do.

  “Are you okay?” Deenie whispers.

  I open my eyes and wipe the tears from my cheeks. Deenie is staring at me; she’s dropped her siddur onto the lectern in front of her. “Do you need to lie down? You look really pale.”

  She looks pinched and weak too, but she reaches out to steady me. “I’m all right,” I tell her. “Just a little dizzy.”

  “I’ll walk you home,” she suggests. “You should rest for a while.”

  I pull away from her. “I want to stay for the whole thing. I’m not leaving early.”

  Deenie exchanges worried looks with my mother. “We just finished musaf,” my mother tells me gently. “Everyone is going home for a break.” Around us the congregation is rising from their seats and moving toward the exit, but the normal roar of chatter sounds muted and strange to me. Their voices ring hollow, as if I’m h
earing them through a fishbowl.

  They lead me home, and I do my best to look calm and in control. Our mothers settle on the living room sofa while Deenie accompanies me back to my room. She fluffs up my pillow and covers me with a blanket.

  “You were so intent,” she says as she sits down on the edge of my bed. “I’ve never seen you have kavana like that.”

  “I had a lot to think about this year.”

  She nods and looks away. “Yeah. So did I.”

  I reach out and take her hand. “I bet we were thinking the same thing.”

  She glances back at me, and her eyes widen; I can feel her fingers tightening on mine. “I don’t think we were,” she says, and quickly pulls her hand away.

  It suddenly occurs to me that Deenie will know my secret before the end of the day; maybe this is the last time we will sit like this together. I’m not sure she’ll even want to speak to me again, much less comfort me the way she’s done since Danny went away.

  But what if, at the end of the service, I don’t go through with it? There’s nothing preventing me from going back on my vow. I’m not sure that I trust myself to keep my resolution. So far, the only one who knows about my plan is God. I need someone to push me back onto the path if I start to wander off. Someone I see every day. Someone who never forgets God.

  “Deenie, I need you to swear something,” I tell my friend.

  She gives me a surprised look. “Now? On Yom Kippur? This is the day we annul our vows.”

  “I know. But it’s important. And it isn’t such a big thing to promise. Not for you, anyway.”

  “Okay. What do you need?”

  I take a deep breath. “Tonight, after Neilah, before I break my fast, I’m going to talk to Mr. Edelstein.”

  “Talk to him? About what?”

  “I can’t tell you yet. He needs to be the first to hear it. But I want you to promise that you’ll make me go. If I try to back out of it.”

  “Ellie, I don’t even know what this is about.”