raising kids was an occupation of planned obsolescence. They get big, they move on, they have their own lives. If you want lifelong, unconditional devotion, buy a dog.
Oh, stop brooding, she chastized herself. Enjoy your baby and your sons while they’re home.
If only there was some way to harness her nurturance into a profession she could do at home. She had considered running a day-care center, but the required regulations and the insurance had turned it into a prohibitive proposal. Besides, with Hannah around, there might be too much opportunity for conflict. It might be hard for her to share her toys with the all-day interlopers. Hannah deserved to be queen for a good couple of years.
Rina switched the radio dial to an oldies station. As she tapped out rhythm on her steering wheel, she became philosophical. Something would come up.
There was enough luggage to sustain the Kleins for a year in deepest Africa. Thank God, Rina had remembered to bring the bungee cords. Honey was sheepish.
“I guess I didn’t know what to pack so I packed everything.” Honey stuffed another suitcase into the hatch of the Volvo. “If it’s too much, I’ll take some of the valises and follow you in a cab.”
“Cabs are expensive, Honey.” Rina hoisted a case on top of the car. “I think we can make it if you don’t mind squeezing. We’ll have to double-belt, though. I’ll keep the car seat up front.”
“Whatever is easiest,” Honey said. “Mendie, help her with the suitcases. Rina, let him do it. He’s a big boy.”
Mendel was thirteen—gangly and sullen. Rina waved him off as she secured the last of the batch to her car’s roof. “I think we’re just about set.” She eyed the precarious cargo. “I’ll just take it slow and hope I don’t get a ticket.”
Honey said, “Isn’t your husband a police officer?”
Rina eyed the load once more. “Membership has its privileges, but I refuse to pull rank.” She smiled at the kids. “I hope you don’t mind being squashed for just a bit.”
The children were silent. Four of them—ages ranging from fifteen to five. Two boys with payis, dressed in black suits, white shirts, and big, black kippot that covered their scalp-shorn hair. The two girls had long plaits and wore long-sleeved, high-necked dresses over opaque tights. All of them were loaded down in heavy winter coats, sweating under their weight.
Guilt caused Rina’s eyes to linger on their dress.
Two years ago, Rina had made a radical decision. She had pulled her boys out of the black-hat yeshiva of Ohavei Torah and shipped them off to a modern Orthodox yeshiva in North Hollywood. There, secular education was an important part of the curriculum, and college wasn’t a dirty word. The boys were game, willing to give it a try since both were academically-minded. But during the transition, whenever Rina closed her eyes, she saw Yitzchak’s face. It was never a stern face—Yitzy was a gentleman and a gentle man. But it was a sad face.
She had changed since her first marriage, away from the insular black-hatted religious, toward the modern Orthodoxy she grew up with. Of course, she still covered her hair whenever she went out, but it was in a more modern way. Today, her head was topped with a knitted tam, her long black hair braided and tied into a knot. But the head covering didn’t obliterate all her natural hair. The tam was not as kosher as the shaytel she used to wear.
Her eyes drifted to Honey and her shaytel. The wig was a good one—thick and multicolored and slightly waffled. Very natural-looking. And it covered every inch of her hair.
Like the one Rina used to wear.
Both women were garbed in long-sleeved sweaters and over-the-knee skirts. Rina still refused to wear pants or go sleeveless. But she had changed. Her marriage to Peter had made her more modern, just as her marriage to Yitzchak had made her more Orthodox.
Honey took Rina’s confused expression as a chance to make contact. She scooped up Rina’s hands and swung them. It was an adolescent gesture and Rina was suddenly transported back to her teens. Honey still retained her girlish—almost boyish—figure. As thin and straight as a stick.
“Thanks for taking us in.”
“We’ll have fun,” Rina said.
Honey’s teal eyes beamed. “Fun. I like that word.” She turned to her kids, started to speak in Yiddish, then stopped herself with a giggle. “I’m not used to speaking English. Come on, kids. Let’s go.”
“They should probably take off their coats and lay them on their laps,” Rina suggested. “It’s going to be a tight fit as is.”
The children didn’t move.
Honey said in English, “You heard Mrs. Lazarus. Take off your coats.” She clapped. “C’mon, people. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Quickly, the kids obeyed.
Honey turned to Rina. “It isn’t Lazarus anymore, is it?”
“It’s Decker.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Come on, troops. Pile in.”
Slowly, the kids inched toward her Volvo. The girls crowded together on the left, the boys leaned to the right. They looked stunned, in complete contrast to Honey, who seemed joyous. She cranked down the backseat window and peered out expectantly. Rina slid into the driver’s seat and turned around to the back.
“Kids, you’re going to have to put on your seat belts.”
They glanced at each other, dumbfounded.
Honey began hunting around. “Seat belts. Like we wore in the airplane. They have them in cars.” She smiled at Rina. “In the village, all we have is old jalopies for major hauling. We never use cars for traveling. Everything’s in walking distance.” She reached over and pulled the harness belt. “Come on, kids. Cooperate.”
Rina felt the kids weren’t being stubborn. They were just confused. Buckling up took them another few minutes.
“Doesn’t Gershon work in the city?” Rina asked.
“Of course. The village owns a bus,” Honey said. “Several buses. The men take the bus into the city. Gosh, you should see how they’ve altered it. It has tables and benches for learning, and a bookcase full of sepharim. I was shocked when I first saw it. A bais midrash on wheels. Now I’m used to it. The women have their own bus, too, but we don’t use it very often. Everything we need is in the village. Good! We’re all set, Rina.”
Rina started the engine and pulled out of the loading zone. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she noticed the kids were still huddled together. Honey was oblivious to their uneasiness. She was too busy looking out the window.
“Look out there, kinder! Winter back home and here everything’s green. Can you imagine that? Do you know they can grow oranges and tangerines out here? They pick them right off the trees in their own backyards.”
Honey’s youngest, a boy, said, “We have trees in our backyard.”
“Not orange trees, Pessy,” the oldest girl said, derisively.
