nodded. They walked down the stairs into the marble entry. Suddenly Decker placed a hand on Marge’s shoulder, stopping her from opening the front door.
“Wait a second.” Decker crooked his finger, then pointed to the display cabinet. “What is wrong with this picture?”
Marge stared at the case. “What do you mean?”
“Something looks … out of place.”
Marge eyed the pieces up close, then took a step backward and studied the case. “The shelves are open. Aren’t most display cabinets enclosed?”
Decker said, “Now that you mention it, that’s a little weird, too. But that’s not what’s bothering me.”
Marge took another step forward and scanned the pieces one by one. The top glass shelf was host to two fighting dogs, the second one held a simple green bowl, the third had a set of metal parrots, and the bottom one gave support to two aquamarine vases with bas-relief dragons on them.
“Nothing looks broken.”
“Nope.”
“Strange dogs,” Marge commented. “All those colors dripping into one another. And the aggressive pose. Their backs are arched and they’re baring their teeth. They’re disconcerting.”
Decker nodded. It was the dog statues. Something about them was bugging him. He zeroed in on the teeth. Each statue had four pronounced canine teeth—two uppers and two lowers, all of them perfectly pointed. Not a chip or a crack to be seen.
Marge brushed hair out of her eyes. “You know, Pete, if I were displaying the dogs, I’d have them facing each other instead of lining them up tail to trunk, elephant style—”
“That’s it,” Decker interrupted.
“That’s what was bothering you?”
“On the nose,” Decker said.
“You’re more of an aesthete than I gave you credit for.”
Decker laughed. “You know why it looks off?”
Again, Marge looked at the pieces.
“It’s the parrots, Marge,” Decker said. “The parrots are facing each other. But the dogs aren’t.”
Marge said, “So what does that have to do with the price of eggs in Outer Mongolia?”
Decker shrugged. “Maybe nothing. But I’ll ask Sis about it anyway.”
“She’ll know why the dogs aren’t facing each other?”
“Maybe she helped Mom position the pieces,” Decker said. “Just maybe she knows how much eggs cost in Asia.”
4
As she tucked the phone receiver under her chin, Rina’s attention was diverted by Hannah’s babbling. She was sitting next to her baby, the two of them playing on a comforter spread out on the living-room floor. It was a busy blanket, toys sewn into the quilting—a mirror, a teething ring, several blocks that squeaked, and lots of fuzzy decals. But Hannah had grown tired of eliciting peeps from the bunny’s tummy. She started to complain.
Of course, the phone rang. Rina made the big mistake of picking up the call. Hannah’s vocalizing increased in volume and frequency every time Rina spoke into the mouthpiece. The baby soliloquy finally culminated in a loud, wet raspberry.
“Hold on, Honey.” Rina attempted to swipe Hannah’s mouth. The baby protested with a shake of the head and a loud abababababa.
Honey said, “Should I call back later, Rina?”
“No, we’re really fine. She’s just expressing her opinion.”
“She sounds adorable,” Honey said. “I love babies. I love children. I think it’s the innocence. I should have had a dozen more.”
Honey sounded riddled with regret. So much so, Rina wondered why she didn’t have a dozen more. Within their culture, it wasn’t the least bit unusual to find families with kids numbering in the double digits. It gave Rina pause for thought. Maybe something had prevented Honey from having more. Maybe they had a lot more in common than Rina had first thought.
“Just enjoy her,” Honey went on. “I don’t have to tell you this, but they do grow up so fast. One minute they’re snuggle bunnies, the next minute, they’re big boys who’ll maybe give you a peck on the cheek on your birthday.” She giggled. “At least I get a peck. I know quite a few women whose sons refuse to touch them.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rina said. “Negiah—men and women touching—doesn’t apply to mothers and sons.”
“Of course it’s ridiculous,” Honey said. “So what else is new? The Rebbe is just floored by this extremism. Sure he doesn’t like phones. But machines are one thing, love is another. Love is what’s important. Love between Man and Hashem, between Man and Man, between Man and Woman—it’s what makes the world such a beautiful place. Love is what distinguishes us from the animals.”
Rina looked at Ginger, the family Irish setter. The big, rust-colored animal was seated on the blanket as well, her snout nuzzling Hannah’s leg. Rina didn’t know a lot about dogs—she’d married Peter, she’d married his animals—but it seemed to her that Ginger had an infinite capacity to love. Rina had always felt that it was conscience and repentance that made man different from animals. But Honey sounded so sincere, and her thought was a nice one.
“Love is wonderful,” Rina said. “We have wonderful families, Baruch Hashem.”
Rina heard a stretch of quiet. She could make out background noises, someone asking for a dozen poppy-seed bagels.
Honey said, “Rina, thank you for getting back to me so fast. And thank you for putting us up. I can’t tell you how excited I am to be actually going on vacation.”
“I’m glad, Honey.”
“Ababababababbam,” Hannah shouted. “Yeeeeeeee!”
Rina gave the baby a bottle. “Do you want me to call the old gang for you?”
A pause. Then Honey said, “Truthfully no. I just want an opportunity to spend some time with the kids away from people. That’s why—” She stopped herself.
“That’s why you called me,” Rina said. “It’s okay. I’m not offended. You want to relax away from everyone. The community has grown, Honey. It used to be we knew everyone who wore a yarmulke. Not so anymore. It’s pretty easy to go about your business without someone bugging you. But I don’t think it’ll ever fully lose the provincialism. It’s what makes us close. But we both know it can be a little restricting.”
“I just need a vacation.” Honey sounded desperate. “You don’t know what a tova you’re doing. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.”
Hannah threw her bottle across the living room. Immediately,
