The Yiddish Gangster's Daughter (A Becks Ruchinsky Mystery Book 1) Joan Cochran (rom com books to read TXT) 📖

believe the Daniel I know, the guy I just saw, cheated on you. I still love him, but hate him for what he did to you. We talked a little before you came in. He regrets his affair and hates himself for hurting you.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a mirror and lipstick. Since we’re heading home and won’t be running into anyone, I realize she’s putting on makeup as a delaying tactic. She gives a little pout to smooth her lipstick, then turns back to me. “And thirty years is a long time.”

She sounds like my father. I didn’t have an answer for him. And I don’t have one for her.

I pull into my driveway but we both remain seated. I’m worried sick about my sister’s cancer. But I must admit there is a certain irony to Esther’s illness. As awful as death and sickness are, they bring families together. When my mother was dying, Daniel kept Esther and me sane. He spoke with her doctors almost every day during the last few weeks of her life, and helped us make the agonizing decision to let her go. Although my mother and Tootsie were divorced at the time, I resented him for being in Las Vegas with his bowling buddies when she died. Esther’s husband was in the middle of a trial. Only Daniel stood by.

Now that Esther may be gravely ill, may even be dying, I’m turning to Daniel again. I wish I could talk to my father about Esther’s illness. I don’t know how much help he’d be but at least he could share the emotional burden. But I have to honor my sister’s request. That leaves Daniel once more. At the end of the day, Esther’s illness is forcing me to reevaluate my feelings toward Daniel.

At his office today, it struck me; I’m still in love with him. Our marriage may be worth saving. But first, I have to convince myself he can be trusted, that he’s the old Daniel in whom I could confide, who’d be there for me no matter what. And I need to forgive him, to step away from the hurt and resentment I’ve been harboring and open myself to the generous and loving man I married. I hope I can do that.

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23

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The next Friday, Esther’s flight to Greensboro is running late so I park in the garage and keep her company at a coffee shop in Fort Lauderdale International Airport. Her biopsy revealed she has invasive ductal carcinoma and she’s returning to Greensboro to tell the girls, who are coming home from college for the weekend. She’s returning to Florida for the lumpectomy so Daniel can oversee her care.

When she called to tell the girls about her diagnosis, Ariel and Heather took the news better than expected. Both wanted to fly to Boca Raton to be with her immediately, which she refused. Bruce is handling things well, calling Esther every night. When she returns to Florida on Monday, she’ll have the surgery then decide whether to go with chemo and radiation therapy. She spent hours talking to Daniel and me and searching the internet and seems comfortable with her decision.

I’m a little calmer about her prognosis knowing that Daniel’s set up a thorough plan of action. He seems optimistic she’ll come out of this fine and I trust his judgment. The second time I went with Esther to Daniel’s office, it was easier to be around him. But I still refuse to join her in the examining room. I prefer the three of us meet more formally in Daniel’s office.

I’d risen too early to shower that morning so, when I get home, I do so. While washing my hair, I consider the article I’m working on for the mid-December food section. I’d like to find a tropical spin on Hanukkah recipes and thought I’d take a look at early issues of Miami newspapers in the Miami Library’s archives. By the time Esther boarded her plane, though, it was too late for the long drive. I’m disappointed because I’d hoped to see Gabriel while I was down there. We haven’t spoken in a few weeks and I’m eager to make up after my refusal to let Daniel move back home. I talk to Josh almost every Sunday, but I miss Gabriel and feel left out of his life. He’s close geographically, yet emotionally so distant. I decide to spend the rest of the day searching the internet for historical information about the holiday and its culinary traditions. I’ll call Gabriel tonight.

It’s been almost a month since my house was ransacked and I’m no closer to knowing who broke in. My father and I have been back and forth on the subject a half dozen times. He seems convinced I’m not in danger. But I’m not comfortable taking his word. Maybe he’s telling me things are fine so I won’t go to the police with what I know about his background.

I have thought about visiting Abe, telling him what my father said when I asked about their disagreement—which is what I presume he meant by “ask your father.” But I’m afraid to initiate contact. The vehemence of his anger when I visited and the savagery with which he vandalized my home terrify me. Plus it’s not the type of thing you do—show up at someone’s house and announce, “I asked my father and he said he never ratted on you.” For all I know, Tootsie turned Abe in.

The shower wakes me up and, after throwing on a sweat suit, I head downstairs to start work. As I near the first floor, I hear noise in the kitchen, as though the television’s on. I stop for a moment, then smile, picturing my cat on the counter, lying across the remote control. Mulligan’s developed this habit of landing on it when he jumps on the kitchen counter, turning on the television. Then he sits there until I shove him aside.