“Target. Ok, let’s see what’s for sale. Oh. Look. Toilet paper. That’s a good price,” I mused, thinking how nice it would be to someday push a red shopping cart through the store with my baby in tow and not have to deal with the Pontrellis of the world.
“Did you hear that, Cabby? Toilet paper!”
Cabby lifted his ears when he heard his name.
It was now almost sunset and I reached for the Yahrzeit (Memorial candle) that was also in the pantry next to the can of tuna fish. Tonight was the one year anniversary of Nana’s death. According to Jewish tradition, Jews commemorate the anniversary by lighting a small candle that burns for 24 hours as a symbol of the flame of life that once burned brightly and illumined the lives of loved ones who now mourn the loss.
Following the lighting, I read from my prayer book:
The light of life is a finite flame.
Like the Sabbath candles, life is kindled.
It burns, it glows, it radiates warmth and beauty,
but then it fades and is no more. Yet we must not despair.
We are more than a memory vanishing in the darkness. With our lives we give life.
Something of us can never die; we move in the eternal cycle of darkness and death, of light and life.
The memorial light we now kindle is a sign of this truth.
As it burns pure and bright, so may the memory of
our dearly beloved brighten and purify our lives.
Amen
Chapter Thirty Five
I was awakened by Cabby’s meow.
“Ok. Mommy did not forget you. Let’s get you some breakfast,” I said to Cabby as his meows grew louder. As he followed me into the kitchen, I paused momentarily at Nana’s candle, which was still flickering.
“Here you go, sweetie.”
As I poured food into Cabby’s bowl, my cell phone rang. It was Cliff.
“Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you. You would not believe this. I fell asleep on the couch. I was so exhausted.”
“That’s ok. Your body was so run down.”
“Well, now I am going to be late for work.”
“If you have any problems, let me talk to Ryan.”
“All right big man. I will.”
“Anyway, I needed you well rested for your big surprise tonight.”
“Cliff. Come on. Give me a hint.”
“I can’t but I think you will like it.”
“You don’t have to do anything crazy. Just being with you is the greatest birthday present.”
“Well, that is nice. But I am not telling you anything more. Ok. I have to take this call. Love you.”
“I love you.”
I showered. But rather than taking the time to blow dry my hair, I threw on some slacks and a matching sweater top, and pulled my hair back with a comb, then drove to the office.
“Well, I am sure after your week you would rather be somewhere else than sitting in your office on your birthday. But happy birthday anyway!”
Ellen had been the office manager for the DA for over thirty years and worried about us like her own children.
“Thanks, Ellen.” I said, smiling as I flipped through my phone messages. “Yeah, Pontrelli was pretty harsh but one way or the other, I think I held my ground.”
“I’m sure you did. Can I take you to lunch for your birthday?”
“That is so nice. But I don’t think so,” I said with a grin. “Look at this mess. Can we do it next week?”
“Sure. Do you want to go through everything now or wait a while?”
“I think I’ll try wading through my messages first and then we can go over my calendar.”
By noon I was famished and Ellen ordered me a tuna sandwich.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks, Ellen,” I said as I took my first bite. “I’ll never get through all of these.”
“You will.”
Seconds later I heard a tap on my door.
“Ellen, did you forget something?”
“Ms. Landau?”
To my surprise, standing in the door was Pontrelli.
“I am sorry,” I said, grabbing a napkin and wiping my hands. “Was I expecting you?”
“No, but we need to talk.”
“Ok,” I answered, puzzled, as I took one more sip of my Diet Coke and quickly put the smelly tuna fish sandwich back in its wrapper.
“Please sit.”
As he did, the announcement button on my phone blinked.
“Excuse me. I need to get this.”
“Yes, Ellen,” I said into the receiver.
“Danielle,” Ellen said, “the clerk in 62 just called. The judge dismissed the jury for the day.”
“What?” I responded, confused, as I hung up the phone and turned to Pontrelli. “Do you know…?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” Pontrelli said. “I just came from 62. In light of Ms. Robbins’ testimony, and the concerns it raises should my client be subsequently charged, I have told the court that we are willing to entertain a plea with the district attorney. Of course, that is if an offer is still on the table. So Faust asked me to talk to you.”
“So that is why he excused the jury?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, what do you have in mind? You know what our offer has been.”
Pontrelli had lost his arrogant tone and was most conciliatory in his delivery.
“I do. But what I am really asking is that he does not face prosecution for the second act. I don’t think you want to put your client through this again.”
“Well, I have to talk to my boss.”
“I know you do.”
“I’ll try to have an answer for you by tomorrow.”
Pontrelli got up from his seat and left my office like a field mouse running for cover. A week later, without the jury, without the media, and without Pontrelli’s pomp and circumstance, Robbins pleaded guilty to marital rape in return for probation and no jail time. We also agreed not to file charges for the second rape. And just like that, the biggest case of my nascent career started with thunder and ended with a thump.
Chapter Thirty Six
Cliff took me to the same Mexican restaurant where we had our first date. And two margaritas later, I asked, “So what is the surprise?”
“Not yet. But I think we need to walk off this dinner.”
Moments later, as the Ferris wheel operator was securing us in our seats, I thought I saw Cliff nod to him in a weird way.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Who?” Cliff responded.
“The ride operator.”
“How would I know him?”
“Well it seemed like he knew you.”
“I don’t think so. The last time I was here was with you and I doubt he remembers everyone who rides the Ferris wheel.”
“Whatever,” I said, casually borrowing a line from my father.
It took several minutes to load the wheel before it climbed to the top. But as we slowly inched our way higher, I felt a pulse in my throat and I feared that my Mexican dinner was going to reappear but not in the way it was presented in the restaurant. To my relief, my body relaxed into a brief state of normalcy which was quickly erased as the wheel continued its rotation and we descended quickly back to Earth and then stopping again at the top.
“Oh come on,” I lamented in frustration. “We didn’t even have one full turn!”
Oddly, Cliff was smiling.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s pretty up here, isn’t it?”
“Sure.”
“And look at the moon. It is so low in the sky.”
The moon was full and its light reflected onto the shore below.
“Yeah, but it is supposed to be a ride,” I said, puzzled at Cliff’s apparent indifference. “And I can look at the moon from the ground as well.”
“Well, here is something you may want to take your time to look at.”
Cliff reached ins
ide his pocket.
“What?”
Inside his hand was a small black lacquered box.
“I love you, Danielle,” he said in the most adoring voice as he placed the box in my hands.
Like a little kid, I turned the box upside down and shook it to see if it made any sound.
“Is this my surprise? What is it?”
“Well, you won’t find out unless you open it.”
I shut my eyes as I slowly pried open the box. And when it would not open any wider, I opened my eyes and screamed.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. This is amazing,” I screamed, staring at its contents.
“I can’t get down on my knees. But will you marry me?” Cliff asked.
“I don’t know what to say,” I answered crying.
“Well I hope you say yes.”
My eyes were now alternating between looking at his beautiful brown eyes and the most beautiful shining stone.
“Yes. Yes. Of course yes.”
With my enthusiastic response, Cliff placed the ring on my finger.
“The lighting is perfect,” he announced.
Cliff was right as the brilliance of the moon lit up every facet of the perfectly round diamond.
“I love you. You have made me so happy,” I said as I kissed my fiance.
And as Cliff rose up his right hand and waved it several times, a loud cheer and applause erupted from below.
“He knew,” I said, smiling.
“Of course.”
The Ferris wheel quickly descended to its starting point where we were met with more cheers and applause from the operator and the other passengers who were told in advance of the proposal.
“One more time around for our bride and groom,” shouted the operator as he snapped a picture of us with Cliff’s cell phone.
And as the Ferris wheel ascended to the stars, the only star I chose to stare at was Cliff.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Cliff said that it was only a ten minute ride from the Newark train station to Parsippany. But it seemed a lot longer as my cab driver made one turn and then another and another as if we were in a maze. I started to wonder whether he was trying to run up the fare.
Finally, after passing street after street of very small, boxy structures that all looked so familiar except for their color, we turned into a neighborhood of very large, expensive homes. Even the streets were wide and lined with old elm trees. Each home was set back from the street on very large lots. It looked almost as though the neighborhood was from a different time.
We stopped in front of a wrought iron gate with a sign draped over it that read “Sunrise Manor.”
“This is it, lady. 756 Richmond Knolls,” the driver announced as he stopped the meter. “That’s $12.80. Do you want a receipt?” he asked, turning up the volume on the radio station.
“No thanks.” I handed him three five dollar bills.
I nudged open the gate and began my walk up the long expanse of brick path as I gazed at the most beautiful Victorian style home. The house was a pale yellow with green shutters and a steeply pitched roof over dormer windows. A large wraparound porch complete with spindled railings offset the double wooden entry doors.
As I reached the entrance, two elderly women sitting in wheel chairs on the porch greeted me.
“Are you visiting?” I was asked by one of the ladies.
“I am.”
As I spoke, a sense of nervousness came over me. Only days ago, I successfully held my own against one of the most artful courtroom litigators. But now, I felt unprepared.
Both women smiled and nodded their heads as I pushed the entry door which opened into a very wide foyer with a long planked hardwood floor partially covered by an oval rug.
Irene’s daughter told me that Irene had been living in this assisted living residence for the past five years after she had become very frail, as it was too difficult for her daughter to care for her in her home.
“Hello, I am here to see Irene Walczak,” I said to the pretty young girl seated at the information desk. Behind her and on the wall was a collection of photos that appeared to be of residents and I wondered if Irene was in one of the photos.
“Sure, you must be Rose’s granddaughter. Welcome.”
I was surprised she knew that.
“Would you like one?” The receptionist gestured to the plate of chocolate chip cookies on the counter. “We bake them fresh every afternoon.”
“No thanks. But maybe later.”
“Irene has been so excited since she heard that you were coming. Everyone here knows. If you would just please sign our guest book,” she said, pointing to the blank line on the middle of the page. “Irene is on the third floor and the elevator is just down the hall to the right. I’m going to call and tell the aide that you are on your way.”
“Thanks.”
There was a mirror on the back wall of the elevator and I quickly checked my makeup before pressing the button. As the elevator slowly rose, my nervous feeling was replaced by that of excitement.
The doors opened, revealing a very attractive middle aged woman. She had wavy gray hair pulled back and clipped and wore a large smile.
“You must be Danielle. So nice to meet you. I am Frances, Irene’s daughter.” The smiling woman came towards me with open arms. We embraced as if she had known me her whole life.
“It is so wonderful to meet you. I hope this is a good time?” I said.
“This is a wonderful time. Mom has not been able to sleep since she heard you were coming.”
“Neither have I.”
“You know, my Mom is going to be 100 soon and her voice is weak. But when she got the news that you were coming, it’s like she was a new person.”
“Well, I am so excited.”
“Come this way, sweetheart.”
Frances placed her arm tightly around my waist as she led me past the recreation room where three women and a man were playing what appeared to be a very heated game of cards.
“Hi, Mrs. Dubin.” Frances waved to one of the older ladies playing cards who returned the gesture as we continued to walk.
“This place is lovely,” I commented.
“It is,” Frances agreed. “And they keep the residents very busy.”
We entered the long hallway, which was painted in very bright colors and filled with more pictures of the residents involved in various activities.
“My mom’s room is down this way.”
Each room door bore a small gold plaque on which was etched the name of the resident who lived there on. Hanging on the wall to the right of the door was a shadow box with a collage of photos of the resident. Finally, we stopped at the last door on the floor and my eyes were immediately attracted to the photos. In the center was a black and white photo of a young woman with her hair pulled back in a bun wearing the sweetest smile.
“Is this?”
“Yes, my mom was probably 21 when that picture was taken. About the time when she met your grandmother.”
“Your mother is beautiful.”
“Thank you. Mom was resting a few minutes ago so let’s see if she is up.”
The opened door revealed a very frail woman sitting in a wheelchair by the window. She had a white sweater draped over her shoulders and a peach colored afghan blanket on her lap.
“Mom. I have a surprise for you. This is Danielle, Rose’s granddaughter.”
Irene slowly raised her two hands and opened her eyes, motioning me to approach her. As she did, her unmistakable smile broadened her face, reflecting her golden heart. And her tired eyes could still outshine any star.
“It is such an honor to meet you,” I said. Tears immediately began to flow from my eyes.
I bent down to hug her and she kissed my forehead as I held her hands, which were soft as silk and full of love.
“Mom is hard of hearing. You need to look directly at her and talk slowly.”
I got down on both knees and stared into this sweet, kind face
that saved my grandmother from the worst atrocity known to mankind. Irene did not speak but instead kept looking into my eyes.
“She’s a beautiful girl, isn’t she, Mom?” Frances said.
Irene smiled and we continued to exchange glances. And then she gently touched my hair with her weak hand.
“My mother told me that your grandmother had the most beautiful silky, thick blonde hair,” Frances said.
“As did your mom’s. And my Nana and your mom would take turns brushing each other’s hair,” I said as I opened my purse, removing the brush and putting it into Irene’s hands.
A huge smile came over Irene as she examined the brush finding the initials I. O. etched on the handle. And in a very weak voice, Irene spoke.
“I gave this to Rose,” she said clutching the brush.
I held her hands in mine. “I know. And now, it has made its journey back to you.”
Irene alternated between looking at me and admiring the brush.
“Mom, can I get you something? Are you thirsty?”
Irene slowly raised one hand shaking no.
“She hasn’t been eating,” Frances explained to me. “Mom, are you hungry? Did you have lunch today?”
Irene did not answer but continued looking at the brush.
“What else can you tell me about my grandmother?”
Rose mumbled something.
“Here Ma. Drink this. It’s 7-Up.” Francis held a can with a straw and brought it to Irene’s mouth.
“Take a sip.”
Irene complied.
“That’s better, Mom. The doctor said you have to drink.”
Taking another, longer sip, Irene looked up at me and miraculously found the strength to speak.
“It was a terrible time. And Rose had trouble sleeping. It was a terrible time. She slept all alone in this dark basement with no light. And it was so cold. And she was scared.”
Irene took another sip.
“And I feared that one day they would take her back to the camp. So I taught her a song to sing to herself when she was frightened. And to think of herself as a ballerina dancing on a big stage. And she would be safe.
Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika
Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika”
“Oh my God,” I cried as Irene sung the song my Nana taught me.
Against My Will Page 22
