Faye Kellerman - Sanctuary

There probably was a Stein somewhere in his family tree.

Peter had been amazed. What’s your secret, Sherlock?

Stein means stone in German…Yiddish. It was probably Hebraized when the family moved to Israel. They do that a lot.

Peter’s expression was flat. Maybe you should take the case? If you spoke to Bar Lulu in Hebrew, something sub rosa might come out.

He hadn’t elaborated. Rina was getting better at reading Peter. He’d been joking of course, but there had been a hint of truth behind his suggestion. She had responded lightly, said something about posing as an assistant if it would help. Peter had smoothed his mustache and said nothing. Meaning he hadn’t ruled it out.

Not that she was anxious to get involved in Peter’s work. Or any work for that matter. Rina was quite content to stay at home and take care of Hannah-her last baby. One swift cut from the surgeon’s knife and she no longer could bear children.

How many times had she replayed the scene in her head? Yes, it had been an emergency. Yes, the doctor had been absolutely right. Yes, it had been the surgery versus her life. Everything had been handled letter perfect. She should feel grateful.

And she did.

But not all the time. At thirty-one, Rina had expected and had wanted more children. She’d always felt that she was born to nurture. Unlike many women in this modern age, Rina considered childrearing a privilege and not a chore. Not that she didn’t get mad at her kids, pound her head against the wall from time to time. But it was all in a day’s work. There was no perfect way to raise children. Parenthood was filled with fuzzy borders and shades of gray. Some people were confused without a blueprint. Rina found the freedom exhilarating. Probably because she had worked so many years with numbers-first as a math teacher, then as a bookkeeper. Precision had made her a nervous wreck.

Rina had wanted lots of children. But that wasn’t an option anymore. She was constantly telling herself not to dwell on the past. Anyway, 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 marrige 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.