Intentions (25 page)

Or maybe your mother just died.

“You seem pretty grown-up to me,” I say, looking at the streaks of gray in her hair (has she gotten more lately?), the lines around her eyes, around her mouth. I will not think of Grandma in the hospital bed. I will not.

“If you only knew …,” Mom says.

“So tell me,” I say.

“Not so fast. You first. C’mon, Rachel.”

“Don’t you—Shouldn’t you be thinking about Grandma and stuff?”

“Plenty of time for that. This talk is long overdue.”

She moves some clothes away and sits down on the other side of the bed, on her side. We both look out the window. It’s a bright late-fall day, almost winter. Most of the leaves are gone from the trees.

She puts her hand on my leg. “I’m ready.”

“OK.” I can do this. “You know the night you picked me up from confirmation class and I started sobbing in the car?”

“Yeah.”

And here I go.

To say she is dumbfounded is putting it mildly.

“What?” she says over and over. “What?”

I keep going.

“Sex, on the
bima
? The rabbi? And you heard? I feel sick to my stomach, Rachel.”

“Tell me about it. I threw up afterward. My whole dinner.”

“Oh, you poor baby.” She reaches over to hug me, but I pull away.

“Not yet, Mom. I need to tell you more.”

Mom lets go but stays next to me. “Go on.”

I tell her about the bathroom, and the bride. “Oh dear. That was the girl who was supposed to marry Justin Ross, but then she called it off.”

“She called it off? Could I have done something, if I had told then?”

“No. NO. That is
not
on you, Rachel. Oh, so much is falling into place.… Holy sh—”

“Should I stop for now?”

“No. Keep going. I want to hear it all.”

“Well, there’s one thing I have to tell you, and ask you,” I say to her. “If you can take it.”

“First let me ask you, sweetie, why did it take you so long to say something to me?”

“That’s the thing, Mom. You
flirted
with him. That night. When we were in the car. I thought, I think, I don’t know—I’m worried that—you were or are having an affair with him, Mom. The rabbi.” I feel surprisingly calm. It’s such a relief, really, to be saying it to her.

Mom doesn’t say anything. Not for a long time. I’m beginning to think it is true.

“Oh my God, were you? Are you?”

“No, Rachel. I’m not. I didn’t. But—don’t freak out—I came close. And everything you’ve told me has made it all so much clearer.”

After a few minutes, I say, “I saw you kiss him.”

She sighs.

“In our driveway. Walking home from school, I saw you leaning against the car. His car.”

“I was worried you had, but he—the rabbi—convinced me it wasn’t, I don’t know, physically possible for you or anyone to have seen.”

“The man is a major bullshitter,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“But, Mom, the kiss?”

“Believe it or not—and I know you’re going to think I’m not telling the truth, but I swear I am—that was the only time we kissed.”

So the rabbi wasn’t lying. About that.

“I felt awful about it, Raebee. Awful. But then there was what happened with Grandma and—I told Dad about it, not right away, but I did. It was bumpy for a while, but …”

“Are you two going to split up?” I might as well know now.

“I hope not. No. No.” And then she turns to me. “Wow, he was seducing women, or trying to, all over town, wasn’t he?”

“That’s what Adam says. I guess so.”

“Shit.” Mom looks pained. “Sorry. I’m really upset. I shouldn’t curse in front of you.”

“Mom,” I say. “I heard the rabbi fucking in the sanctuary. I shoplifted and planted it on Alexis. The time to worry about my innocence has passed.”

She looks at me, smiles sadly. “True enough.”

By the end of the afternoon, I have told my mother pretty much everything, leaving out some of the more intimate and illegal details. When I ask her about Alexis, what she thinks
will happen, she gives me a hug and just says, “Time will tell. You never know. If you are meant to be friends, you will be.”

Mom has put half of her clothes in the give-away pile. I calmly and quietly suggest that although we put the clothes in bags, we shouldn’t take them right over to New Leaf.

“Nope,” she says. “They’re going now.” She looks at me, puts her hand on my shoulder. “It’s been a bad couple of years for me, honey. I need to do this today.”

And so I help her load all of the stuff into Dad’s car.

As we’re putting the last bag into the trunk, she looks at me with a smile.

“So, Jacob Schmidt, huh?”

I nod.

“He’s a smart boy. And handsome. Not too perfect, is he?”

“No, not too perfect,” I say. “Human.”

“Good. Be careful of the ones who seem perfect. And how does he feel about you?”

“The same, I think. I hope. I’m not sure.”

“If he’s as smart as I think he is,” she says, grabbing me into a hug, “he’ll love you for who you are. Mistakes and all.”

She slams the trunk and we get into the car. Before she pulls away, she turns to me and smiles. “Soon you’ll be sitting in the driver’s seat.”

When we get back, there are tons of cars out front. The relatives have arrived. Mom goes in, but I stay outside by myself for a few minutes. We were right near where Randy lived. I can’t believe I’ll never know what happened to him, how he turned out. I call
Jake, but his phone is off. Is it a school day? I guess it is. I text him. I tell him Grandma died, in case he doesn’t know already. I tell him I miss him. And then I tell him I’m turning off my phone so I can sit with my family. To be here with
kavanah
. And I do.

CHAPTER 36

THE SANCTUARY

I don’t want to go to my grandmother’s funeral. I would rather be almost anywhere else.

I’ve ducked out of the rabbi’s office to go to the bathroom (
the
bathroom!) to splash water on my face. I have been crying pretty much all morning.

I look in the mirror to make sure I look OK. I don’t. Or, I guess I look like someone in mourning should look. There’s that ripped black ribbon again. In the old days I would have had to rip my clothing. I didn’t cringe when the rabbi pinned it on me. Surprisingly. My mother and father seemed to be a little wary of him, though, which I think is a good thing. They thought about asking the new assistant rabbi to do the service, but Rabbi Cohn is the one who knew Grandma. He’ll do a good job. He will.

But oh God. Can I go through this again?

I sit down on the couch for a few minutes to pull myself together a little bit. I was so touched when Adam called our house this morning. He said he was very sorry to hear about my grandmother. And he told me that his father has started talking to
him. I was worried he would be mad at me, but he wasn’t. He said he didn’t think his parents would stay married, but he thought that was good.

I asked him if he would tell Alexis about the funeral, tell her I’d like her to come. He said he already had told her, but he’d give her my message. I told him I had texted her but hadn’t heard back.

He didn’t say anything.

“Jake, too,” I said.

“He’s a good guy, Rachel,” Adam said. “But not too good, I hope?”

“Nah,” I laughed.

“Do you think Alexis will come?” I asked Adam.

“No promises,” he said. “But I’ll try.”

“Please tell her I’m truly, deeply sorry. OK?”

“OK,” Adam said.

“And that I forgive
her
.”

“Rachel, it’s time,” my dad says now, poking his head in the door.

“OK,” I say, and I walk out of the bathroom.

We walk into the sanctuary, Mom between Dad and me. We are all holding hands.

I see Adam sitting in the back row. My new friend, Adam. Who would have thunk it?

But no Alexis. I guess that’s it. No Alexis. I can’t believe it. But I can’t go there now.

I look for Jake but don’t see him. He must be here, though. He
must
.

There’s Mrs. Glick. Marissa, Kendra. Even McKelvy. That’s really nice.

If only I could find Jake.

But I stop looking for him, because there is Grandma’s coffin, where Grandpa’s was, in front of the
bima
.

My grandma is in there. Closed up in that box. Not my grandma. The thought of her in that box—no!

My gut—I can’t. But I have to. Oh, God, please help me. Tears stream down my face.

Mom, Dad, and I sit in the front row with the rest of the family. Right next to the coffin.

And then, just as the rabbi walks onto the
bima
to start the service and I think I can’t bear this, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around.

It’s Jake. He is sitting right behind me.

The Sanctuary, Now

I look at the
bima
, the stained-glass windows, the memorial wall. My grandparents’ names are up there. It seems so long ago, and yet not. When Mom and Dad told me at the end of that year that we were moving to New York, I was devastated. I didn’t want to leave Jake, or my new friends. But the move turned out to be good for my parents and for me. Jake and I—it was bumpy for a while, but we are together. Forever.

And now we might be moving back here. If I get the job.

I hear voices in the lobby, footsteps. My interview—

The sanctuary door opens.

“Rabbi?” someone says.

“Yes,” I say. “Here I am.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When you’ve worked on a book as long as I’ve worked on this one (for years I referred to it as my book-in-a-box), you have a whole universe of people to thank. Given that, I’m afraid I may forget someone, so if I do, please forgive me. It was not intentional.

I started this book during President Bill Clinton’s second administration. So probably I should thank him. But I don’t think I will. However, I would like to thank people who helped me during those early days, most especially the women in my Pennsylvania writers’ group, the Bucks County Authors of Books for Children: Joyce McDonald (who read an early draft and gave me great comments), Pat Brisson, Martha Hewson, Pamela Jane, Sally Keehn, Susan Korman, Wendy Pfeffer, Pamela Curtis Swallow, Kay Winters, and Elvira Woodruff. These women have been my lifeline for years.

Bunny Gabel, legendary teacher of children’s book writing at the New School, gave me great feedback and encouragement, as did the members of her class. If it hadn’t been for Bunny, I might have left the book in a box. Thanks also to Lucy Frank, Marguerite
Holloway, Patty Lakin, Laurent Linn, Roxane Orgill, Erika Tamar, Marfé Delano, and Elizabeth Winthrop for critiques and helpful talks along the way. Thanks to the Henry’s gang. And to Suzannah Hershkowitz.

These brilliant writers and dear friends read near-final drafts of the book, and I am greatly indebted to them for their insightful suggestions (even if I didn’t take every one) and for their sustaining friendship: Laurie Halse Anderson, Judy Blundell, Barbara Kerley, Susan Kuklin, and Rebecca Stead. I am so blessed to have each of them as a friend and a reader. They make the journey fun, easier, and truly nourishing.

Nancy Sandberg knows what it is to be a friend.
My
friend.

I have rabbis to thank. Rabbi Berlin said exactly the right thing when my mother died. Rabbi Shira Stern and Rabbi Don Weber talked with me many times over the years about this book, gave me insights about being a rabbi, and then read a near-final draft. They caught some mistakes (ram,
not
goat!) and encouraged me in ways that made it possible to actually publish the thing. I would also like to thank the late Rabbi Sandy Roth for teaching me new things about Judaism, most especially about
kavannah
. One Yom Kippur she handed out a card I keep in my wallet at all times. On one side it says, “The world was created for me.” On the other, “I am dust.” From her to me to you.

Where would I be without Ken Wright? Under the desk, in the box, with the many drafts. There is no way I can thank him enough, but I’ll try. Here goes: you are effing amazing, Mr. Wright. Thank you for your encouragement, your nudges, your understanding, your humor, your DH, your Link, your friendship, and—most especially—your faith in me. I bow down as well to
Kristy King, whom I forgive, just barely, for moving to California, and to Jenna Shaw, who has a sharp eye and a kind heart, and to Amanda Williams, who keeps things going now at Writers House.

Gargantuan thanks to my incredible editor, Michelle Frey. Wow. (And to think she graduated from Brown with a degree in religious studies. Where would
that
degree get you?) Michelle is one awesome editor, and if I weren’t terrified of heights, I would shout it from the rooftop of the Random House building. So just consider this that shout. I will be forever grateful to her for helping me sculpt the mess she received into—a book. Many thanks also to Kelly Delaney for everything she did for Rachel, for me, for Michelle and for the book. An almost speechless thank-you to the designers of
the most beautiful cover in the universe
, Christian Fuenfhausen and Cathy Bobak. You are virtuosic. And I bow down to copy editors Artie Bennett and Jennifer Healey. I am a terrible speller, awful at commas, and pretty much a writer
made
for copy editors. Thank you for saving my butt. Thanks to Michele Burke, who read an early draft and made great suggestions, and to Nancy Hinkel, the publishing director of Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers.

Thanks to my whole family, both born-into and married-into. And a particular thanks to my niece, Natalie Sams, for reading the manuscript, loving it, and being walloped. Sorry, but thanks.

To my sons Aaron and Benjamin: thank you for your love and support, your teasing, and your general awesomeness at loving me and keeping me grounded. Also for your terrific smarts. Aaron, if you knew what was good for you, though, you’d let me
win a little more often in Scrabble. Benjamin, thank you for a great reading of the book. Oh, and definitely pretzels. Always pretzels.