21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (123 page)

“Okay. I’ll get on it.” He headed out to the hall to find the closet and paused in the doorway. “Oh, and Zehava?”

“Yes?” Color warmed her cheeks, and the spark in her eyes dried her tears.

“We
were
dating that first year. I don’t care what anyone else said or thought. You were my girl.” He held her gaze a heartbeat longer and then left her to digest the news. It didn’t take him but a minute to find the closet with the supplies in it—including a stack of collapsed cardboard. The Toys for Tots collection box sat at the end of the hall, only about a quarter full. It proved more awkward than heavy when he carted it toward the front.

Not entirely sure why he’d wanted it clear he considered that first year a year they dated, but in truth he’d left little doubt for any other potential parties that she’d been off the market. Absolutely no doubt.

After getting the collection box in place, he found Zehava hoisting a heavy carton of mailing labels and postage off a stack just inside the door. Plucking it out of her hands, he lifted his brows. “Same room with the pottery cra—er—stuff?”

“Yes, please.” It didn’t surprise him when she grabbed another and followed. Together the work went quickly.

“Need them opened or closed?” He carried the last three in together, ignoring her growing frustration. Irritating her was fun.

“Open. I have—” She stopped when he pulled his pocket knife out and started slicing the lids open. “Well, since you’re into granting wishes, I need to sweep up and check the candle supplies. I want every child to have their own menorah tonight, if they want to light one personally.”

“Okay, I’ll get this unpacked and come find you.”

The contents turned out to be sketchpads, pencils, oil paints, watercolors, and brushes. The number of art supplies varied, and an invoice stuck to the top of one indicated they were also pretty pricey.

Sorting the items into stacks and putting like with like, he didn’t miss the fact that instead of heading off to take care of her chores, she remained and watched him.

“Isaac, what are you doing?”

“Um, trying to figure out what this is.” He turned the plastic-wrapped black brick over.

“They’re charcoal pencils for shading.” She drifted over to stand next to him, teasing him with the sweetness of her scent, a combination of apples and brown sugar and something floral—gardenias maybe. The scent was simply Zehava to him, and his shoulders tensed. The urge to wrap an arm around her and pull her close so he could bury his face against her neck threatened to overwhelm him.

“Isaac?”

The butterfly-light caress of her fingers on his bare arm sent a shock through his system. Close enough to kiss, her parted lips were like a red flag waved at the bull of his restraint.
Son of a bitch, Zach is right. I don’t hate her
.

He never had. Angry, disappointed, frustrated, and confounded with her—absolutely. But he didn’t hate her.

“Yeah?” He bit off the
babe
he wanted to tack on. She’d never liked being called babe, and he only ever used it when he wanted to rile her up. As much fun as it would be to see anger flush her face and heat her gaze when he aroused her temper, it wasn’t a good idea. If the mental image of it played hell with his equilibrium, the reality would carry a dangerous weight for both of them.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the help. I do.” She rested a hip on the table and folded her arms. “But please forgive me when I ask why?”

A number of answers tumbled through his brain, and none made it to his tongue. She stared at him, waiting. He decided to rely on the truth. “Because you invited me and I missed you and it’s Hanukkah. Somewhere in there…maybe there’s a way for us to be friends again.”

“I’d like that.” She straightened and tapped the supplies. “These go in the cupboards behind me—they’re all labeled.” Hesitation marked her movement when she brushed his cheek with a kiss. The shock of it ripped through him and he froze. “If we get done early, I’ll buy you a slice of pizza.”

She vanished before he could react.

Yeah, I want to be friends
…. Closing his eyes, he counted to ten and sucked in a deep breath. Trouble was, he didn’t quite believe he wanted to be friends with Zehava—at least, not just friends.

Isaac’s unexpected, sweet attentiveness weirded Zehava out. He’d worked with her the entire afternoon, tackling every task she could find—even a few she made up on the spot. With his help, the center was readied for the first night of Hanukkah far too quickly. The afternoon sprawling out in front of them held too many empty hours.

I’m a coward
. She’d escaped to a local grocer to pick up supplies she didn’t need and left Isaac changing any number of bulbs that didn’t have to be replaced.
A big fat, stinking coward
.

His temper? She’d imagined it for years and prepared for it. His rejection? Definitely on the list of behaviors predicted likely to occur. Solicitous apologies, flirting, and a warm smile that sent thrills fluttering into her belly like a mad scientist’s experiment with butterflies gone wrong? No, that never appeared on any imaginary list.

She’d had no idea how to respond, so she bolted at the first possible opportunity. Unfortunately, her short list and lack of business in the grocery meant she finished in under ten minutes. The owner had apparently taken the day off and left a part-time employee in charge, a young man Zehava barely knew, so she couldn’t even use the excuse of local gossip to linger.

She tried not to examine her uneasiness and fear too closely. After all, she’d intended to invite Isaac to Hanukkah. She
had
invited him. He’d turned her down. Prepared to try once more to reach out and attempt the connection, she’d honestly never believed he would want anything to do with her.

Ever
.

The center doors stood wide open. It might be the middle of November, but the day had turned lovely with temperatures in the sixties and only a chilly breeze in the shade. Isaac stood in the courtyard, arms folded, having a tense discussion with a pair of high school boys—neither of whom would meet his eye.

Frowning, she scanned the side of the building and saw a splotch on the painted wall—a splotch that shouldn’t be there. Plastic bags in hand, she walked over to inspect it and nudged a can of spray paint with her foot. Another glance toward Isaac, and she found both boys scuffing their shoes against the ground and shifting uneasily. The mild censure on Isaac’s face told her everything.

One of the teens spotted her, and she recognized Alan, one of her volunteers. Hope of rescue filled his expression. She lifted her eyebrows as though considering the idea. “Isaac?”

“Yes, Z?”

Alan and his buddy both perked up as she circled toward them and paused at the open doors. “You have everything under control?”

“Absolutely. These two just volunteered to take care of repainting all of the siding—except for your wall of course—and doing regular maintenance work here. Haven’t you, gentlemen?”

If it wouldn’t have completely destroyed the lesson Isaac appeared to be doling out, Zehava might have laughed at the mutual crestfallen looks on the boys’ faces. “That’s wonderful.
Thank
you, boys. I’m so proud of you for truly embracing the spirit of
forgiveness
and
charity
.”

Alan reddened and ducked his head again. His friend shifted uncomfortably and the silence stretched out until he glanced uneasily at Isaac. “You’re w-welcome…ma’am…sir,” he stammered.

Shoulders drooping, Alan cleared his throat. “Would you like us to get started today?”

“Excellent idea.” Isaac pointed the two toward the center. “Go get your supplies.”

The teens shuffled in front of him obediently enough, and Isaac stopped when he reached her side. “Can you fix what they did to your mural?”

“Yes.” Fortunately, isolated to a very small area, the damage would only need to be cleaned and retextured. “Thank you.”

“I’m only sorry I didn’t get out here to stop them before they touched it.” Taking charge of the few groceries she’d purchased, he gave her a gentle nudge toward the mural when the boys appeared with buckets, sponges, and cleaning supplies. “Go take care of that. I’ll get these two to work. We’ll talk about any other chores you can find to keep me busy and out of your hair once I’ve gotten them started.” The wink he salted on the end of that delivery didn’t ease the guilt stabbing her.

Her face warmed, and it was her turn to stare at her shoes. She giggled, mirroring the teens’ earlier behavior, and bit her upper lip trying to contain the sound. Her gaze collided with Isaac’s. A fresh wave of heat rolled over her and had nothing to do with embarrassment.

“Guilty and I’m sorry.”

“Understandable and forgiven. But I still want my pizza.”

She laughed—maybe they could be friends again. “Deal. Give me fifteen minutes?”

“Done.”

The fifteen minutes turned out to be a very optimistic observation. Kids began arriving early, and soon she had a group of young artists working with paints, pencils, and crayons in one room, while a second group played video games in another. With sundown less than an hour away, Isaac pulled her aside and held out two small boxes with pizza slices in them.

They ate as quickly as they could around an array of interruptions, including two arguments that needed immediate remediation. The children and teens proved to be as fascinated by Isaac as she’d warned him, every single one finding an excuse to come in and talk to him. Standing in the tiny kitchen, scarfing down pizza while kids yelled, chatted, and laughed around them felt so utterly normal.

So why was she waiting for the other shoe to drop?

“
Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah
.” Her gift with Hebrew far exceeded his own, and he could listen to her all night. Thankfully, she also translated it into English. “Blessed are You, O Lord, our God, Ruler of the Universe, who has sanctified us with Your commandments and commanded us to kindle the lights of Hanukkah.”

Zehava sat in the center of the floor, surrounded by over a dozen children ranging in ages from five to seventeen, including the pair of troublemakers who’d worked all afternoon whitewashing the center. They’d done a decent job and when they asked permission to stay and light their menorahs, no one objected. Many of the children who’d been there earlier had already gone home so they could celebrate at sundown with their parents, but those with no other option stayed…more than Isaac cared to see. Their parents were working or on their way home.

She offered three more prayers before lighting her
Shamash
, the center candle from which all the other candles would be lit. Isaac knelt down and lit his
Shamash
from hers before carrying it around to light each of the children’s, and stopping nearest the youngest. While they were most certainly included, they didn’t need to have any accidents.

“Tonight we will light our first candle. We will relight them each evening until the end of Hanukkah. If you have an evening where you will be home with your families or can’t be here—we will light your candles for you.” Zehava offered the promise.

When everyone had a
Shamash
, she touched the flame to the wick of the only candle on her menorah, the one farthest to the right. The children repeated her gestures, and Isaac waited until they were done before he lit his. Excitement rippled through the kids, because this was only the first part of celebrating Hanukkah.

Zehava rose and carried her menorah over to the tables on the far side of the room they’d cleared earlier. One at a time, the children followed, setting theirs side by side. It was a beautiful effect in the low-lit room with darkness draping the sky—warm and homey.

She turned to the kids who’d fallen into a semicircle around her. Their expressions ranged from expectant to eager. Rather than just give the children what they wanted, she lifted her brows and Isaac had to swallow a laugh.

“Yes?”

Her question rippled over the kids and they shifted, uncertainty warring with expectation. Alice, a kindergartener, edged forward and held her hand out, palm up.

Zehava’s brows climbed higher, and she met the little girl’s gaze without blinking. The woman would make a hell of a poker player. The stare-off continued for another three heartbeats until Alice’s hand trembled.

Playfully, Zehava sighed and pulled out a very large, gold-foil wrapped coin. Alice let out a little squeal. Zehava dropped the chocolate
gelt
into her hand and the little girl danced in a circle. That was Isaac’s cue, and he joined her in the center of a throng of eager children. Zehava handed out the chocolate coins while he passed out real ones.

Once the children were satisfied they’d received all the
gelt
they were going to for the evening, the music came on, and they divided their time between games and art projects. Within the hour parents arrived to collect them. He stood next to Zehava while she waved the last child on her way and nudged her shoulder with his.

“Hmm?” She still smiled as she tilted her head up to him.

The urge to kiss her slammed into him with the force of a fifty-caliber recoil. He ignored it and asked, “Where’s my
gelt
?”

The simple joy in her sobered. “I do have something for you. Something I want to share…but I don’t want to piss you off again.”

Dropping his chin to his chest, he considered the hesitancy underscoring her tone. “Once upon a time, you could have told me anything.”

“Yes, that’s true. It’s been a long time, Isaac. I don’t want to make this any harder on us—on you—than it already has been.” A hint of sureness entered her tone and mingled with concern. Her deeply compassionate nature always brought out his more protective instincts and that evening proved to be no exception.

“You don’t have to protect me from pain, Z. If you want to talk to me about him, then I promise I will listen.” He couldn’t promise much more; his earlier aggravation and reaction would make any other assurance a lie. His gut clenched. A part of him really didn’t want to have the conversation. He wanted to forget it, yet how could he? The longer it festered, the worse it would be.