Obsession (20 page)

The door had no sooner opened than he heard the familiar greeting.
“Avraham!
You have come.
Baruch ha Shem!
Praise be to
Adonai!
Come in, come in.”

His heart caught at the familiar smile, the dark brown eyes, the gray hair gathered into a bun at the nape of her neck. How she reminded him of an older, more matronly version of his mother. Taking him by the hands, she pulled him inside and wrapped him in a hug. He could almost feel some of the tensions of the last weeks melting away.

“You have stayed away too long,” said Sophie, releasing him so she could step back and examine him. “I have missed you. You look a little thin. Have you been eating enough? What is it, they work you so hard at the station you don't have time to eat?”

Abe laughed. “If I walked in here weighing three hundred pounds, you'd say I was too thin. I've been eating just fine, thank you. In fact, I can guarantee you, I have not missed any meals since I last saw you.”

Sophie shook her head. “I don't know…. It seems to me you need a good wife. That's what's wrong with you, you know. Thirty-one years old and not married. Shameful.” She tsk-tsked her disapproval. “What's the matter, they don't have any nice Jewish girls in River View?”

“Aunt Sophie, please.”

She threw her hands in the air. “I know, I know. It's none of my business. So I'll drop it… for now. Let's go into the living room and sit down. Are you hungry? Have you had breakfast? I could make some
latkes.”

“Maybe later, thanks.”

As they sat down across from each other in the living room, Abe suddenly felt uncomfortable. How in the world was he going to explain why he had come if he wasn't sure himself? Before he could decide how best to approach the subject, Sophie gave him her “poor neglected me” look, guaranteed to put a guilt trip on him, even when he wasn't at fault.

“So, how is
Shlomo,
my only brother, Solomon, who lives less than an hour away but never calls or visits?”

“Uncle Sol is fine. Just… busy. I'm sure he doesn't mean to ignore you, Aunt Sophie.”

She raised her eyebrows. “No? Well, he may not mean to ignore me, but he certainly does. And what's he so busy doing? He's not working anymore. Does he still have that… friend living with him? I suppose she's the one taking up all his time these days.”

Abe decided it was time to change the subject. “I'm not sure what he's been doing, but I'm sure you'll hear from him soon. So… how have you been? You're looking beautiful, as always.”

Sophie laughed, a clear, tinkling laugh that sounded so much like his mother that he shivered. “I'm fine, thank you for asking. And you, I see, are still the great diplomat and flatterer. All right, no more talk about
Shlomo.
You always were quite a charmer, which makes it that much harder for me to understand why you haven't found a wife. You have a good job, you're handsome… what's wrong with the women in your town? Are they blind?”

Abe's heart constricted. His aunt was smiling—he knew she meant well—but it was as if she had plunged a dagger into his chest. Should he take a chance, just jump in and tell her about Toni, about her rejection of his love and his confusion over her comment about the God of Israel? Or should he prolong the small talk, try to ease into the conversation…?

“What is it,
Avraham?
You look… wounded. Did I say something? Is there something going on I don't know about?” She frowned. “Wait a minute. You came here for a reason, didn't you? It wasn't just that you missed your poor old aunt. There is a purpose for your being here, is there not?”

Things hadn't changed much. Since he was a child, it never took Aunt Sophie long to nail him to the wall when he had something on his mind. He couldn't fool her then, and it was obvious he couldn't fool her now. He might as well tell her everything.

“Actually, there is someone. Her name is… Toni. I met her several weeks ago when I went by to drop something off at her dad's office. He was a private investigator.”

“Was? He's not anymore?”

“He… died, had a heart attack just a few weeks before Toni and I met.”

“The poor girl. She must still be in mourning. Did she… sit
shivah?”

“If you mean, is she Jewish, no, she's not. That's what I want to talk to you about.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows. It was obvious, even before she knew the details, that she disapproved of his being involved with a Gentile, even though his father had been a Gentile and Abe himself had never been a practicing Jew. Still, as Sophie had said many times through the years—although never around Abe's father while he was still alive—“It's important not to pollute the family bloodline anymore than it already is. It is forbidden for Jews to intermarry with the
goyim
, and there is good reason for that.” He had never before cared enough to ask what that reason might be. Today he cared enough.

“Why is it so important that Jews and Gentiles don't marry? Mom married my dad, and he was a Gentile.”

“Exactly. And I liked your father, you know that. He was a kind and gentle man, a good husband and father. But he was not Jewish. He was not even a God-fearer. He led your mother away from the Holy One—blessed be he—and from her faith.”

“But what if… what if the Gentile is not Jewish, yet worships the God of Israel?”

This time Sophie's frown went deep, and Abe could sense the explosion that was coming. “Impossible! A
goy
who worships the Holy One of Israel—blessed be he. It cannot be! Who is this Toni, this woman who has beguiled you to think that she, a
goy
, worships
Adonai?
Has she converted? Is she a proselyte then?”

“No, Aunt Sophie. She's… a Christian.”

She said nothing. Her face became devoid of expression—except for her eyes. He could see the tears forming, but he knew they were not tears of compassion or joy or even of understanding; they were tears of anger—and betrayal. He braced himself for the onslaught.

“You would do this to your
mishpacha?
You would bring, not only another
goy
, but a…
Christian”
—she spat out the word as if it were a curse—”into our family? What is wrong with you,
Avraham?
Is it the influence of your father, the
goy
who didn't know what he believed and didn't think it was important? Wasn't it bad enough that you chose to follow in your mother's footsteps and abandon the faith of
Avraham avinu
, after whom you have been named? Now you must further pollute our bloodline by bringing a persecutor of our people into our very midst? Do you have any idea what this would do to your grandparents if they were still alive?”

“Aunt Sophie, I am not bringing Toni into our family. She… rejected me for someone else—another Christian Gentile.”

Sophie clasped her hands in front of her and looked up into the heavens. “Oh, praise be to
Adonai!
He has delivered us from such a curse.”

Abe sighed. How was he ever going to steer this conversation back to what he had originally intended? It was obvious Sophie did not believe Toni could possibly worship the same God as the Jews worshiped, so that tack would never work. He supposed he had better approach it from a personal angle.

“My relationship with Toni is over. Actually, it ended before it ever got off the ground. But… something she said got me to thinking about… my faith. Lately I have come to realize I don't know much about it, that I don't understand—”

Sophie bounded out of her chair, rushed over to Abe, and grabbed his face in her hands. “How I have prayed for this day! At last you are returning to the faith of our fathers. You have made me so happy.” She planted a kiss on his forehead, then laughed aloud. “What a glorious day!”

Abe was glad he had made Sophie so happy, but he still didn't have any of the answers he was looking for. “Aunt Sophie, I need to know more about—”

“Of course you do,” she agreed, hurrying to the bookshelf against the far wall. “And so you shall.” She pulled a somewhat tattered volume from the shelf and brought it to him. “This copy of the
Tanakh
belonged to your Uncle David. He had more than one copy, of course, but this one is in English, so you can read it.”

Abe remembered having his own copy of the Scriptures—the
Tanakh
, as Aunt Sophie called it—when he was a boy, but he had no idea what had happened to it over the years. His grandparents had presented it to him and encouraged him to read it, and he had tried, but he couldn't understand it, so he had relegated it to a lower shelf in his room. That was the last time he recalled seeing it. Since his parents had not taken or sent him to the synagogue nor allowed him to attend regularly with his grandparents, he had thought no more about it—until now. Was it possible that the answers he was looking for might be found in this ancient book? If they were, since he was so unclear on his questions, would he recognize the answers even if he found them?

Suddenly he remembered the
mezuzah
on Aunt Sophie's front door and wondered about its connection with the book he held in his hands. “Aunt Sophie, your
mezuzah
… The scroll represents the
Torah
, right?”

Sophie, back in her chair once again, nodded, her dark eyes shining. “Yes. The sacred teachings of
Adonai.”

“The Hebrew letters above the scroll. What do they mean?”

“They represent
Adonai'
s name, to remind us that it is he who gave us
Torah.”

“I see.” He looked back at the book, wondering how it was possible that he could say the words “I see” when he felt like a blind man. Would he ever truly be able to see? Was it even possible that he might someday understand? If he did, would it bring him any closer to the woman who held his heart in her hands, the woman who claimed to
worship the God of Israel, despite Aunt Sophie's comments to the contrary? Was there yet any hope for him, or was this simply an exercise in futility?

Toni awoke in a sweat, her heart pounding furiously. The nightmares had returned. Since learning of the autopsy results the previous week, she had found herself terror-stricken, once again running through her dreams, chased by an invisible stalker, and awakening to a sense of imminent danger. What she had thought would finally bring her peace and restore some sense of direction to her life—obtaining concrete evidence of how her father had died—had done just the opposite. She felt more confused and lost now than she had when she first learned of her father's death. Tonight's episode was the third nightmare in a week, and each time, whether searching for Julie, her father or mother, or even for Brad, it was Abe—always Abe—who seemed to appear just before she crossed back into reality.

Why, Lord? Why Abe? Why is it always Abe? And why are the dreams back? I thought, once I began to feel secure in our Father-daughter relationship, that the dreams had disappeared. But now…

Oh, Father, are you trying to tell me something? Or is it just my overactive imagination, combined with my grief over losing Dad… and Abe? If only I had never answered that call from April Lippincott, never looked into Julie's file
….
How different things would be right now. Dad would still be gone, but Abe would never have been a factor. And my relationships with Brad and Melissa would be solid, the way they once were. But I did answer that phone call, didn't I? And I did look into the file. Now, even after the autopsy, I can't seem to let go. It's as if… as if someone is calling me, compelling me to continue. Continue what? What is there to continue? If Abe couldn't come up with anything else, and if the autopsy proves Dad had a heart attack, what else can I do? Where would I go from here?

Groaning, she rolled over onto her side and pulled the covers up around her neck. Why was it, whenever she awoke from one of these dreams, that she felt as if something evil were lurking right there in her room? The feeling reminded her of the times in her childhood when she'd had a nightmare and woke up crying. Her mother would always come and hold her, rock her, pray for her, and sometimes even sing to her until she fell asleep again. When Toni's mother died, Toni was fourteen—certainly old enough to deal with nightmares alone but not old enough to ward off the pain and fear that came from her dreams when she saw herself safe in her mother's arms, then felt her slipping away. Screaming, she would try to hold on, but she was never strong enough. Then she would wake up sobbing as the crushing grief threatened to suffocate the life right out of her. Those nightmares of losing her mother had long since faded, but now these…

Where was she to go from here? Was there any hope that she would someday escape this endless maze of unresolved pain, this overwhelming loss that made no sense? Would her relationships ever return to normal—whatever “normal” might be? Although she and Brad seemed to be making progress—Brad, at least, seemed happy enough—her longing to be with Abe had not diminished. And her relationship with Melissa, although having improved somewhat since she and Brad had reunited, was still strained. In addition, she could not seem to move forward with her plans, either for the wedding or her career. She had convinced herself that she needed to put what was left of the agency up for sale but had not yet taken any action to set that in motion. As for securing a teaching position, it was far too late in the year to hope to obtain anything for the fall term. She might, at best, be able to get on somewhere locally as a substitute, which at this point, she thought might be the wisest solution. Yet how could she teach anyone anything when she couldn't even concentrate on the simplest matters? Her days—and now, many of her nights—were consumed with perplexing and frightening thoughts of her father, Julie, Brad, Abe, and Melissa. There had to be an answer, some sort of
resolution to this painful limbo in which she found herself. Whatever that answer was, she had yet to figure it out.