21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (125 page)

“Do you wish you’d talked her out of it?”

Did he? And could he ever stop punishing himself for not figuring out a way?

“No.” Nona’s answer surprised him. “Isaac, you love that boy even though you have never seen him, don’t you?”

His chest hurt to even think of the baby, so he only nodded.

“And that is as it should be. No, I do not wish I had talked her out of it because I trust that God has a plan. He sent Moses to a pharaoh to be raised, and Esther was taken in by her cousin after the death of her parents. You were not ready for your son, nor was Zehava, yet you both loved him and entrusted him to the care of those who were. Those are not acts of selfish love, only of good faith, compassion, and trust. Do not regret what was. Embrace what you can have and stop being a pigheaded fool about Zehava.”

“This pigheaded fool loves you, Nona.” He gave her a hug, careful of her stature, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Of course, and do not be so late tomorrow without calling. I am not so old that I won’t thrash you for worrying me.”

She lightened the bruise on his heart, and he smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

It took everything Zehava had to get out of bed the next morning, shower, dress, and go to the community center. Standing inside with the doors thrown open and everything half-set up, it occurred to her that it was Thanksgiving. The likelihood of any of her kids showing up before sundown seemed very slim. Barely nine a.m., the empty day stretched out in front of her like a gaping wound.

She’d waited for an hour after Isaac left the night before, but when he didn’t return, she locked up and went home. She’d talked on the phone with her brother, her sister-in-law, and her mother for a couple of hours.

“Good. You’re here.” His voice crashed into her, and she jumped. Relief flooded through her. After the way he’d left, she hadn’t expected to see him again.

“Where else would I be?” The hardly welcoming, tart reply earned her a tight smile.

“I wasn’t sure if you would go spend Thanksgiving with your mother. I went to your house first.”

“Mama went to visit Yacob and his family.” Her heart beat too rapidly, like a rabbit trapped by a much larger predator. “I forgot the holiday when I got up this morning. I wanted to get everything ready for the kids for tonight.”

“Is it done, then?” Though dressed in jeans and a T-shirt as he had the day before, he seemed somehow different. Tension knotted in her stomach. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Where he’d been cold and closed off, he seemed far more approachable today. The lines around his eyes had relaxed, and his jaw didn’t clench.

“Is what done?” She blinked, not quite sure she followed his question.

“Getting everything ready for tonight? Do you have anything else you need to do?” He kept walking while he spoke, stopping only once he reached her. She’d forgotten how tall and broad Isaac was. She didn’t remember his shoulders being quite so thick or the corded muscles on his arms.

Being a Marine had changed him.

“Zehava?” He lifted his brows, his gaze curious.

“Yes, I mean…no. I’m ready for tonight. Really not much to do…I finished cleaning up after…well, before I went home last night.” A loss for words wasn’t usually her problem.

“Good, then you’re free to come with me.” His teeth flashed in a wide smile.

What?
“Come with you where?”

“I want to talk—you and me, no one else. No kids needing your attention, no chores that need to be done.” He crooked his arm. “I’ve even got the perfect place for it and I have food.”

“Shouldn’t you spend Thanksgiving with your family?”

“I
am
spending it with my family.” His answer flattened any resistance she might have offered.

“Last night you walked out. You didn’t say a word and walked out.” Some hurts were harder to get past than others. And he confused the hell out of her with his hot and cold behavior.

“I know. I can’t excuse my behavior or apologize for it enough.” Sober, bare fact. “I was angry and I didn’t want to take it out on you.”

Zehava frowned.

“Z, I’ve got a bad temper. We’ve always known that, and I’ve taken it out on you before. I did that night you tried to talk to me, and I did the day you called to tell me about our son. I’ve been doing it for eight years. Today…today I want to make up for that, or at least
start
making up for it. If you don’t want me here, I get that, and I’ll go. But I want to spend the day with you.” He didn’t look away once, his expression intent and honest. “A few hours, Z. Give me a few hours.”

There was so little she wouldn’t give him when he asked her like that. “You won’t walk away again?” As much as she could accept his right to be angry, she couldn’t take having him cut her off at the knees.

“I won’t.” Succinct and sincere.

“We have to lock up.” She brushed his arm, a request to wait, and went to fetch her purse and keys. Isaac waited for her where she’d left him and, plucking the keys from her hand, he led her out and secured the doors.

Thirty minutes later, she stared at his
choice
location for being alone. “A movie theater?”

“Not just any movie theater.” He grabbed a brown bag from the back seat and nudged her into walking with a hand at her back. “This one is special.”

“Uh huh.” She glanced at the sack curiously, though he didn’t explain. They hadn’t spoken much on the drive over, but he’d held her hand, the gesture so light and effortless, even if she didn’t quite understand why she didn’t pull away.

“Come on.” He waved to one of the ticket takers at the door, only instead of buying a ticket or even heading toward one of the theaters, he guided her toward a side room.

“Oh.” An arcade, filled with classic games she adored and newer ones she didn’t recognize.

“Yeah, apparently our favorite arcade is closed now,” Isaac explained, tugging her over to the Galaga machine. “I guess the X-Box generation doesn’t need them, but this place prides itself on refurbished boxes from the ’80s and ’90s.”

A giggle escaped. “I haven’t done this in years.”

“Which means I actually have a shot at beating you.” His teasing smile was genuine, and she laughed again.

“I seriously doubt it.” If anything, she’d mastered the fine art of patience and he’d never topped her in Pac-Man or the Ms. spin-off, though Galaga left them pretty evenly matched. Setting the paper bag down, Isaac opened it and tossed her a roll of quarters.

“For the lady.” He winked, then held up his own roll. “For me.”

“I thought you brought food.” She leaned over to peek into the bag, and Isaac tipped it so she could see the candy and soda inside.

“I did. A very unhealthy, high-calorie, loaded-with-sugar lunch to keep us fueled for hours.” He popped open a can of her favorite and passed it over. “So, you want to go first?”

Lips pursed, she took it, thinking of a hundred reasons why taking the can was a bad idea. She didn’t drink soda, avoided sweets except for the occasional piece of cake with her mother, and had to add extra miles to her walk whenever she indulged, to keep the pounds off her hips. Plenty of reasons to say no….

“Come on, you know you want to.” He waved a Snickers bar at her, and she snatched it from him.

“You’re bad.”

He grinned and kissed her cheek. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

She let him go first because her system went into overload from the brief touch and stuffing the candy bar in her mouth kept her from having to respond. It took her most of their first game to come out of that daze. When he got to enter his initials for top score, her competitive spirit jerked her out of her stupor.

“Pac-Man next.”

He groaned, and followed her over. When he crowded too close as she took the controls, she bumped him with her hip. “No cheating this time.”

Laughing, he moved to settle right next to the machine and angled his head to watch her play—and put himself in her direct line of sight.

Yeah, she lost that game, too.

Sundown on the second day of Hanukkah brought the children and several family members out in force. Isaac hadn’t been surprised to find Nona among them. She rested against his side while Zehava sang the Hebrew prayer and translated it to English. Nona lit her candles with him and helped entertain the youngest with stories. Fortunately, many of the families brought food with them, some from their Thanksgiving meals. Others shared baked goods. The center’s kitchen was full by the time the last family left.

In the quiet, and finally alone together, he and Zehava lit the second candle for their son. While they stared at the menorah in silence, Zehava offered him a gift. “I have a picture of him.”

Everything in him stilled, and he braced for the hurt. He and Zehava kept picking at his wound, and the only reason it had a scab and hadn’t healed over completely was because they’d never fully drained it of the infection he’d let fester. “I don’t know.” The most honest response he could give her.

She tipped her head and the weight of her studious gaze rested on him. “Okay.”

He tried to assess why the easy acceptance. “I’m trying to keep my word.” He really didn’t know how he would feel if he saw a picture of their son. The boy was an abstract source of pain and disappointment—and why Isaac had pulled away from her for too long.

“I know, which is why I said okay.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth, and the action drew his attention. Bit by bit, he’d woken up to the need for her he’d thought long since lost.

No. Not lost.
Buried
.

The clarity of that nearly took him out at the knees. He’d never stopped loving her, only forced love into some narrow box he could leave buried in the graveyard of his heart. Because it was easier. Disgust at his choice curled through him and he grimaced.

“I’m sorry.” Zehava began to retreat, and he caught her arm.

“No. Don’t apologize. I’m not mad at you.” He gave a quick shake of his head.

“Hmmm. You looked pretty pissed.”

He deserved the skepticism in her eyes and bowed his head to it. “I’m learning some truths about myself, and they aren’t particularly pleasant.”

Curiosity gleamed in her eyes—his response evidently intrigued her—and he shook his head again. He wasn’t really ready to share that information with her.

Night Three

The third day of Hanukkah began very differently from the first two. Isaac appeared far too chipper on her porch at four in the morning. He wanted to go shopping. Despite her lack of sleep and bleary lack of comprehension, he insisted it was Black Friday and they could quite possibly find some gifts for the kids. When he expressed the idea, she found a way to grab a shower and dress in a hurry.

Shopping with Isaac turned out to be an experience. The man had a take-no-prisoners attitude and despite arriving at the bigger superstores and malls well after the
herd
of shoppers, they got through the door with very few people crowding them. They scored a new game system for the community center that would delight the kids, a dollhouse and a play kitchen, and a new coffeemaker for her. Isaac refused to let her pay for anything.

When she questioned the number of toys he kept adding to the cart, he merely shrugged. “Toys for Tots.”

At the rate he was going, the term
Santa Marine
would start to fit.

They made it to the center a little after lunch, and she longed for a nap, but he wanted to get everything set up for evening first, and his enthusiasm turned infectious. When he decided to test out the new game system, she fell asleep to his mumbling grumbles and low laughter.

He woke her shortly before sundown, just in time to splash some water on her face. The third night’s candle lighting went well and each of the children was given a small toy to go with their
gelt
. Isaac had enough for all of them, including the older teens. He’d paid attention to what they liked, and the kids who didn’t already adore their native son and Marine quickly developed a severe case of hero worship.

When he and Zehava were finally alone again, he took the lead on lighting the candle and whispered. “I’d like to see him.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure.”

She fetched her purse and, opening her wallet, pulled out the pictures. In the first, a newborn infant lay in the hospital cradle, a tiny blue and white hat on his head.

“Mama took it. She didn’t tell me at first. She’d kept it, and one night when I was feeling particularly sorry for myself because I hadn’t thought to take one, she gave it to me.”

Isaac didn’t move, his focus rigid on the picture in his hand. When he finally lifted his head and glanced at the stack of other pictures she held, she offered him the next one. “The Meyersons send me a picture each year on his birthday. They don’t have to, and they asked me the first year if it would bother me. I thought it might, but I love seeing him….”

The hand he held out trembled, and she handed over the photos one at a time—the most recent having arrived the previous summer. Dread and hope warred within him as she shared the precious images.

“What’s his name?” It was the first time he’d asked.

“Benjamin.”
His middle name
.

Isaac looked at her sharply.

“Yes, they let me name him, and I wanted him to have a part of his father with him.”

Night Four

He rose early despite sitting at the center with Zehava until nearly midnight and walking her home the night before. His internal clock never let him sleep past five a.m., even when he had a day off. The pictures and the name—they made his son real and brought him closer to the woman he’d loved for over his half his life. She lived with it every day, honoring the birth of their son each year with a fresh picture and remembering him at Hanukkah.

While she might use those events to demarcate the years since Benjamin’s birth, Isaac had no doubt she thought of him often. How could she not when she worked with children every day? Her courage and compassion astounded him. His reactions had to confuse her and he wanted to try and explain what he longed for, though he wasn’t even sure he understood it himself.