I remembered the broken saucer hidden away in a pocket. At the time, I thought that Sarah had so carefully hidden her misdeed because she was afraid of her parents. I assumed that Sima or the rabbi had terrorized her into feeling that she couldn’t make a mistake. But now I realized that, like some of the sociopaths whom I’d represented, this deeply disturbed girl was simply unable to respond in anything resembling a normal manner. She hid her broken saucer. She hid her broken sister.
“No,” Fraydle’s father said suddenly, shaking his head. “This did not happen. Some stranger did this. You!” He pointed at Yossi. “You did this! Not my daughter. No.”
Yossi shook his head wordlessly, tears spilling out of his eyes and down his cheeks.
“Rabbi,” I said, “the police will figure it out. They’ll find evidence, maybe Sarah’s fingerprints or something else. You must get a lawyer right now and go to the police. She’s a minor; she’s clearly disturbed. The lawyer will be able to help you figure out a strategy.”
“No!” he shouted again.
“Rabbi, they will never believe that a stranger did this.”
“So I will tell them it was me! It was me.” He wasn’t shouting any longer, but his voice was loud.
“No, Baruch,” Sima whispered, through her tears. Her voice grew firmer. “You will not do this. You will not take responsibility for this. We will do what Mrs. Applebaum says. We will find a lawyer to help Sarah.”
“But—” he began.
“No,” she said.
Twenty-seven
I left Fraydle’s family with the lawyer, a Hasid, who had come as soon as the rabbi called. They didn’t need me anymore. I left quietly. I stood for a moment on the front steps of the house, looking out at the street where the Finkelsteins’ community had gathered. A few men looked at me, and I lowered my eyes. I felt a hand on my arm and turned to find Nettie. She reached an arm around my shoulders and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Thank you? For what?” Ruining her life and the lives of her family even more than they’d been ruined before? After all, what good had I done? I hadn’t saved Fraydle; she was gone. And because of me their other daughter was lost to them forever.
“Oh, Nettie, you were right. The truth is a terrible thing. I’m so sorry for what I did,” I said.
“For what you did? You did nothing wrong. What, you think you had something to do with this? Don’t be silly.” She squeezed my shoulder.
“If I hadn’t gotten involved, you might never have found out about Sarah.”
“Juliet, with or without you, our darling Fraydle, aleha ha shalom, would still be dead. With or without you, we would have found her body. And then, with or without you, Sarah’s guilt would have come out. The only thing you did was spare us months of uncertainty.”
I nodded, embarrassed at my own self-centeredness. Was I really looking to her to comfort me?
“If you need anything, call me, okay?” I said.
She patted me on the arm. I put my arms around her and we hugged for a moment. I kissed her on the cheek and walked down the steps and through the crowd, which parted for me as if I were Moses and they the Red Sea.
When I pulled into the driveway of my house, I sat for a moment in my car, thinking about the Finkelsteins. They would not need to bear this tragedy alone. I knew that moments from now Sima’s kitchen door would open and women would begin to stream through, their arms laden with casseroles of tsimmes and thick soups of chicken and barley. They would pile the babkas and the sponge cakes on the counters and prepare the first of endless cups of tea. The low murmur of their voices would fill the room and the air would be redolent with the smell of talcum powder and food and the warmth of women. Their husbands would pour into the living room like a sea of dark coats and hats. Some would rock back and forth in prayer. Others would simply stand in the corners of the room, talking in soft, deep voices. Or perhaps they would be quiet—not sure what to say to a family burdened with such incalculable pain. The Finkelsteins’ house would fill to bursting with the members of their community. The compassion and support of the men in their long beards and dark clothes and of the women with wigs so carefully covering their shorn heads would give to Sima and Baruch the strength they needed to get through the horrible and harrowing weeks, months, and years ahead.
Suddenly, I thought of my own family. Those three people I loved most in the world. I wanted to be with them, to be surrounded by them. They were my community. Peter, Ruby, and Isaac were my universe. I got out of the car and walked up the stairs to my apartment. I could hear Ruby’s bubbling laugh. I started to run, desperate to see them and to be back in the center of my own little world. I burst through the back door and found them sitting around the kitchen table. Peter held Isaac in his lap and Ruby sat across from them, a pile of chocolate chip cookies in front of her and her face painted with a milk mustache.
“Mama!” she shouted, when she saw me. I leaned over and kissed her milky, chocolatey face.
“Hi, sweet girl.”
Peter reached out with his free arm and grabbed me around the waist. He squeezed me to him and I leaned on his warm, strong shoulder.
“Tell me,” he said.
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