21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (120 page)

The strains of the cantor’s brilliant song soared through the air and wrapped the Marine in the warmth of family and community. For the first time in years, he was home. Unwilling to break the spell, he remained rooted to the spot and let the prayer wash away the sandy grit of service and the sweat of too long an absence. Searching the pews filled with so many familiar faces, he spotted the silver-blue hair of his grandmother halfway down. Nona never missed a service, and he’d kept his leave quiet until certain he’d be able to make it home.

For the first time in eight years, he would spend Hanukkah with his family, and he couldn’t wait to surprise her. The cantor’s voice held the last note for several seconds and drifted away. Rabbi Glassman smiled and traded places to begin the storytelling portion of the service. For as long as Isaac could remember, she’d used
Erev Shabbat
—the evening before the Sabbath—as a time to entertain and educate the children. That night was no exception.

“With Hanukkah on the horizon, millions of Jews will gather together, pass out
gelt
, sing our songs, and ask our questions. We will forgive those who trespass against us, show compassion to those who need our mercy, and forgive ourselves for our humanity. We will remember with the lighting of each candle that we keep our faith….”

On stealthy feet, Isaac took a seat in the empty last pew and slid his bag beneath the bench. He’d never considered himself a deeply religious man, but the rabbi’s sermon resonated. He’d been in the trenches; he’d seen the absolute worst and brilliant best of humanity, pushed to the edge and teetered on it himself.

While soaking in the words, he glanced around at his friends, family, and neighbors who populated the service. Each one reminded him of how long he’d been gone. A baby on the shoulder of a man he’d played football with in high school, purple streaks in the hair of a young lady who’d been a spritely seven-year-old at the family picnic—gray hair decorated his father’s temples. So much had changed and yet stayed the same. One dark head turned, and his heart froze.

Zehava
.

He’d recognize her anywhere, from the rich tumble of midnight curls to the slightest of curves in her nose. She’d always hated her nose, called it her granny genetics. He adored it. Every time she threatened to have plastic surgery to correct her defect, he’d found a way to distract her.

Confusion slammed through him and he turned away. He’d known she would be there. How could he not? His mother mentioned her so often in phone calls and letters, he didn’t doubt for an instant she wanted him to explain the whys and wherefores, yet he kept his own counsel.

Unwillingly, he studied those seated around Zehava. The man to her left leaned in to murmur to another woman. An air of intimacy clung to them. A friend, perhaps, or just someone to share a pew with. A woman sat to her right, a similar tumble of black hair, streaked with gray.
Sofia Elbaz
. The shopkeeper had never cared for Isaac’s choices and had admonished him when he’d made his announcement of enlistment. Zehava’s mother wanted a banker or a teacher for her daughter, not a Marine.

He couldn’t help wondering if she’d finally gotten her wish. His mother never mentioned a romantic entanglement, but that didn’t mean one didn’t exist. The peace of coming home leaked away from him. Gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, he tried to recapture the simple joy of arrival, no matter how elusive. When the service ended, he was half-tempted to grab his bag and slip out before anyone noticed him.

He couldn’t do that to Nona.

Suck it up, Marine
. As he rose, the ripple of conversation spread through the room. He’d been noticed. The echo of a cane thudded under the growing buzz and the crowd parted. His grandmother marched up the aisle, a diminutive woman who barely reached five feet in height. Her delicate bone structure disguised the iron will beneath the surface.

Stepping out, he waited for her milky eyes to light with recognition. She almost reached him before she smiled, and he held out a hand to steady her when she swayed.

“
Shabbat shalom
,” he murmured.

“
Shabbat shalom
.” Her greeting came out far weepier than his, and he hugged her to him. It didn’t matter how old he was or how far he’d gone, Nona represented safety, security, welcome, and home.

Over her head, he met Zehava’s eyes and steadfastly held them for a full five seconds before looking away and down at his grandmother. “I’m home, Nona.”

“And about time, too.” She thumped his chest, which cued the rest of his family to converge. He exited the temple surrounded by the swell of cousins, aunts, uncles, and his parents. His heart pinged for the one he left behind, but he refused to glance at her again.

She’d made her choice—one they both had to live with.

***

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.