Faye Kellerman - Milk and Honey

The early evening temperature settled in the mid-80’s, the sky was polished silver lined with rust and lavender. The sun was a fiery disk of orange, sinking quickly behind mammary swells of mountain. Decker pulled a brown stallion named Bear to the Left and followed the foothills, trampling through gray-green shrubbery, hay-colored grass and scrub brush. Wild flowers carpeted the rolling land—orange California poppies, white and blue alyssum, tiny white spring daisies.

Decker knew the trail by heart, but had taken a flashlight for Rina’s benefit. She sat, nestled in his arms, her dress flowing down the sides of the saddle, eyes half-shut, lips parted. She’d been more wonderful than he remembered—soft and sensual—but distant, troubled. Decker knew that she’d never let go completely until after they were married. Rina could never shake her religious belief that sex outside of marriage was wrong. Still, she had come to him willingly …

They rode for a half hour without speaking, rode until the crickets began their foot-rubbing, and low-pitched hoots from woodland animals echoed in the air. A sliver of bleached-white moon peeked over the hilltop.

“This is beautiful,” Rina said.

“I should take more time off,” Decker said. “You’re good for me. You slow me down. If you weren’t here, I’d be working.”

“I can’t believe I was battling the subway yesterday,” Rina said.

“Are you ever going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Decker asked.

“Don’t spoil the moment.”

“Stop stalling,” Decker said.

Rina sighed. “It’s my brother-in-law.”

“Which one?”

“Pessy. Esther’s husband. The one who owns the fur factory.”

“The one you do the books for,” Decker said.

“Yes.”

“He came on to you,” Decker said.

Rina sat up in the saddle. “How’d you know?”

“And you’re shocked. Especially because he’s frum.”

She slumped back against him. “Obviously, you’re not surprised.”

“What’d he do to you?”

“Oh God …”

“What’d he do?”

“He backed me up into a corner a couple of weeks ago.”

“And …”

“He was inappropriate,” Rina groaned.

“How? Details.”

“Stop acting like a detective.”

Decker laughed. “Did he kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you do?”

“I was so shocked, I didn’t do anything.”

“Nice move, Lazarus. Did he feel you up?”

“Peter, could you cool the blow-by-blow?”

Decker grew serious. “Did he get rough with you?”

“No,” Rina said. “No, he didn’t. As soon as I recovered from my shock, I got out of there, and he didn’t try to stop me. Oh, Peter, how could he have done that? Betrayed his wife as well as me. What gets into people like him?”

“He’s horny with low impulse control.”

“He wears a gartel for God’s sake!”

“What’s a gartel?”

“It’s a sash that Hasidim wear to separate the clean from the unclean parts of their body. This is the man who always leads Kol Nidre on Yom Kippur, can you believe such hypocrisy?”

“Obviously, he has a lot to repent for,” Decker said. “Is he still harassing you sexually?”

Rina sighed. “Well, he hasn’t backed me into any more corners, but he’s done other things.”

“Like what?”

“Peter, he frequents massage parlors.”

“How do you know that?”

“He gives me the receipts for the books and tells me to take them off as business expenses.”

Decker burst into laughter.

Rina said, “What’s so funny?”

“Forgive me, but only a Jew would be so brazen,” Decker said.

“That is such an anti-Semitic thing to say!” Rina exclaimed. “Whose side are you on?”

Decker said, “No goy on earth would have the hutzpah to try something like that.”

“Chutzpah,” Rina said, correcting his pronunciation. “Ch, ch. The sound is guttural. At least say the word right. And I don’t believe that goyim are any less chutzpahdic than Jews.”

“Maybe we Gentiles just don’t think as creatively.”

“We?” Rina said. “You’re Jewish, remember?”

Decker hugged her. “Yes, I remember.”

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