Imaginary Lines (27 page)

Hanukkah came two weeks into the month, when the sun hit its lowest point and the wind howled through the city like a wolf that’d lost his mate. I shivered constantly, except when I lay beside Abe, whose heat stayed even the fiercest breeze.

Rachael hosted a party on the first night, a Tuesday—convenient for the team. We arrived early, weighed down with four challahs I’d made from scratch and two bottles of wine.

Abe picked me up at work again. The receptionist came around the corner, glee etched across his face. “Abe Krasner’s downstairs. He told security he’s here to see Tamar.” He looked at me.

In fact, everyone looked at me.

I cleared my throat. “I have mentioned to everyone by now that we’re friends, right? That we grew up together?”

Tanya pinned me with her fierce glare. “Rosenfeld, I’m not an idiot.”

Uh-oh. I’d better roll over and expose the underside of my neck. “Of course not.”

The glare intensified. “Nor am I a rookie reporter.”

Oh.

“You hum,” Jin said unexpectedly.

I looked at him.

“Tunelessly,” Mduduzi added, which I did not find helpful.

Tanya just cocked her head. “You’re seeing Krasner.”

I thought about protesting that that was my personal life, but given the strange lines we were blurring, I gave it up for a lost cause. “Worse, I’m going to a holiday party at Ryan Carter’s tonight.”

They all started choking on surprise, except for Tanya, who actually smiled and shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

My dad sometimes asked that same question. The answer was usually, “Love me unconditionally and feed me, please.”

With Tanya, I expected the answer was drastically different and not nearly as sweet.

* * *

Snow fell lightly as we left the subway and walked to Rachael and Ryan’s Central West apartment. I couldn’t get a handle on this weather; some days a bitter cold descended on the city, and on others everything seemed light and puffy, like winter in a Thomas Kinkade painting. Today the breeze almost qualified as balmy. Abe looked like he’d strolled right out of a winter photo shoot, with snow twinkling in his hair like diamonds on gold threads.

Rachael opened the door, a flurry of energy wrapped in a blue dress. “Hi! Come in. We’re not totally together yet, but we’re getting there.”

I glanced around the huge apartment as we entered. Rachael was Jewish but Ryan wasn’t, so it was no surprise to see a tree over by the wall of windows. But it made me smile to notice the Star of David perched atop it.

The apartment smelled like sizzling oil. Ryan stood over a frying pan, flipping latkes. He raised the spatula in greeting. “Hey, guys.”

I hefted one of the bags we’d brought with us. “Should we put these on the table?”

Rachael nodded, and I followed her over into the dining area where we arranged the challah evenly throughout the table. She placed each loaf on a white plate and examined their golden brown sheen from the egg yolks brushed over the dough. “These look delicious.”

Abe poked his head out of the kitchen. “Tamar made them.”

Rachael raised her brows. “Impressive.”

I smiled my gratitude. I actually did think challah was one of my more impressive recipes, because even if it wasn’t particularly difficult, it was time-consuming and contained more steps than most of my baked goods. “I find braiding dough very relaxing.”

“Don’t most people say that about kneading dough?”

I laughed. “I actually find kneading a pain in the ass.”

The crowd that evening was small—I supposed because there weren’t actually that many Jews running around the NFL. “It’s really just an excuse to make latkes,” Rachael admitted.

Abe smiled. “I noticed
you
weren’t the one making latkes.”

She grinned guiltily.

Ryan put his arm around her. “I am a superior latke flipper. It’s one of my many skills.”

They’d strung up the apartment with decorations for both holidays, but they’d had us arrive early so we could light the menorah. “I used to host Shabbat dinners for the team—for
Abe
,” Rachael said, rolling her eyes at him, “but they quickly devolved into Friday night potlucks. I like that better. I don’t really like being the center of attention, and especially not reciting things in front of other people.”

So it was just the four of us who sat there and lit the two candles, which was cozy and nice and familiar. Rachael’s melody was a smidgen different from Abe’s and mine, but that didn’t surprise me too much. I’d once gone to a temple and they sang
all
their songs with different melodies, which had been a baffling experience.

Even Ryan sang along, slower than the rest of us and completely skipping the guttural chet, but it made his girlfriend smile proudly and kiss him on the forehead.

Briana and Malcolm showed up next, followed quickly by Mike O’Connor and Natalie Sullivan. Then people kept coming into the apartment, and the night was a mix of every holiday song I’d ever heard. We ate enough to be sick, and laughed until our stomachs hurt.

Three days later, we went to my aunt Beth’s apartment for latkes and candle lighting. While Abe and I had outed ourselves to our entire family over Thanksgiving, this was technically the first time we were going anywhere as a couple, and I found myself unaccountably nervous.

Besides, Aunt Beth and Shoshi could be a little more overpowering than the rest of our family.

Abe noticed me fluttering around my apartment before we left, dragging clothes out of my closet and then throwing them back with a scowl. He’d brought his laptop this afternoon and had spent most of the day watching game tapes, but now he turned them off. “What’s wrong?”

“My family.”

“Hey.” He came over and cupped my face in his large hands. “It’s going to be okay.”

I took a deep breath. “You’re right. Okay.”

We arrived at their apartment at ten past six. The door swung open to reveal Aunt Beth, a tall, thin women who looked like my mom, if my mom had married a doctor with a grand to drop on appearances each week. “Why, hello there, darling. Oh, and Abraham. How nice to see you again.” She folded both of us in fleeting embraces, smelling of heady perfume.

While Rachael and Ryan’s real estate probably cost more than my aunts, and while Abe and his entire team certainly had more money than Aunt Beth and Uncle George and their friends, my mother’s sister definitely felt much more imposing than any of the guys. Their apartment was furnished with old furniture and rich rugs, and everyone spoke in soft voices and felt vaguely claustrophobic.

Shoshi snared us before we’d gone far and dragged us into her childhood room. “Thank God you’re here. I’ve just been listening to Dad’s business partner tell me about his new biomarker or whatever for like the third time in a row. Hello, Abe. I’ve decided that if you’re going to stick around I’d like you to fix me up with one of your teammates.”

Abe shot me a look, and then a similar one at my cousin. “You’re mad, you know that?”

“Mad and bored. Look, we just have to get through the evening, and then Mom’ll give us all presents, and then we can escape. Here, I snagged some wine.” She poured us all glasses and then downed half right away. “God. Family.”

I gave her an impulsive hug. “Some family’s all right.”

She swatted me away. “Ew, you really are in love. I can’t stand lovey-dovey couples. Great.”

I waved at Abe. “Except for my full roster of potential boyfriends.”

She brightened. “Right. Okay.”

Abe shook his head. “You’re both ridiculous.”

After a protective glass of wine, the three of us headed out. It was actually a fun evening, to all three of our surprise. We played dreidel with some elderly friends of her parents, and then Abe schooled us all in a few rounds of poker. Shoshi ran interference on her parents, so Abe only had to answer a few prying questions. At the end Aunt Beth gave all of us designer coffee and chocolate.

“You know what?” I told Abe as we walked back to his place. “It took a couple of months, but this place feels like home now.” I tugged my hat down a little more securely over my ears. “A little too cold, for sure. But I like it here.”

Abe smiled down at me, and I impulsively stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. Then I slipped my hand in his. He was home. Everything else here was wonderful, and I loved my job and friends and roommates, but honestly, Abraham was home. He was happiness and magic and everything I’d ever wanted. I’d never really believed in miracles, but there he was. A miracle. My miracle.

Better than long-lasting oil any day.

Chapter Twenty-One

That Sunday, the fifteenth game of the regular season, everyone in the press box chattered excitedly, even the reporters who didn’t usually talk. The Leopards game against the Bisons had been long anticipated; their rivalry was heated and legendary, and if the Leopards won this game, they’d clinch their shot at the playoffs.

At halftime, we were leading 17-11, but by the fourth quarter they’d tied the score. We could barely breathe for worry. When Abe intercepted a drive, I let out a breath of relief, and smiled triumphantly as he cradled the ball and ran parallel to the ten-yard line.

And then the opposing wide out came out of nowhere and tackled him, throwing both of them through the air to land with a resounding
clap
against the turf.

All the breath left my body.

The referee whistled.

Out on the field, two separate teams stopped battling each other and immediately clustered around the fallen; from the sidelines, team doctors and officials started running out toward the knot of people.

I’d left my seat before I even realized my body was moving, pushing past the other reporters and out the door. I rushed down the stairs and out onto the sidelines, arms and heart pumping as I dashed onto the field.

It was only after security stopped me and Mduduzi pulled me back that I realized the other reporters had also run down, many armed with cameras, all trying to see past the screen of medical professionals and players that circled Abe. Mduduzi turned me in his arms, bending down so his face would be on level with mine. “Tamar. Listen to me. Calm down.”

But I
couldn’t
calm down. I wrenched away from him and pressed back against security, trying to catch the attention of someone, anyone, who could get me closer. “Hey!
Hey!
”

Several of the players glanced at me with disinterest, but most were too well trained to ever look at a reporter. Despair flooded through me. Abe was hurt, and I had no way of getting to him, helping him.

One of the players striding by with dark red hair stopped. Mike O’Connor. “Tamar?”

I appealed to him with everything I had. “Let me see Abe.”

He frowned and glanced behind him, and then nodded at the guards. “Let her in.”

They listened, and I dashed through. They closed ranks behind me as the other reporters shouted questions.

But I was too late. Abe had already been strapped to a board and loaded into the ambulance. My mouth tasted bitter. The NFL was the only sports organization that required an ambulance to be present at all of their games, and while half of me was relieved there was one so close by, more of me was angry it had been necessary.

The Leopards owner, Greg Philip, still stood there, looking hardly perturbed but for the frown on his face. I couldn’t stand it. Swiping away the wetness on my cheek with the back of my hand, I stormed up to him. “This is game is supposed to be war
without
death
.
”

Mike had caught one of my arms and Dylan another, and they pulled me back as Philip stared me down like a bug he’d like to squash. I might have yelled more, but the fight drained away when Mike wrapped his arms around me. “Come on,” he said softly. “We can cut through here to the players’ parking lot.”

He stuck me in a taxi, and the ride to the hospital was the longest of my life. When I finally arrived, I dashed through the emergency wing. I hadn’t been to a hospital in years; hadn’t even been to the doctor’s in an embarrassingly long time, now that I didn’t have my mother around to bug me to get my checkups. I didn’t like these places outside of TV shows
.
I didn’t like the sterile environment, but moreover, I didn’t like the sharp needles, the knives, the idea of people ripping open bodies. The idea of bodies not working.

I ran up to the first desk I could see. “My boyfriend was just brought here. Abraham Krasner. From the Leopards game.”

Her gaze dipped, and she shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

For the first time, I realized my press badge still hung around my neck, and my stomach swooped to my feet. “No—that’s not—” I tore the pass off and shoved it in my purse, but it was too late.

My phone buzzed, and with shaking hands, I pulled it out of my pocket. Oh, God, what if it was Sharon? Did she know? She had to know, she had to have seen. I’d need to call her.

But it was Rachael.
We’re on the fourth floor
,
room 4D.

Thank God.

I tore up the stairs, too impatient to wait for an elevator, and turned myself in circles so many times that I almost started crying. But then I found it, guarded by security. “Family only.”

“I
am
family,” I said, and it was only after I brushed by that I registered that wasn’t technically true.

I entered a small room, where Rachael Hamilton waited along with three members of Leopards management. She was white as a sheet. Carter was probably still on the field. “Where is he?”

She nodded down the hall. “He says he’s fine.”

I laughed a little hysterically. “That didn’t look fine.”

“Lars—he’s one of the team doctors—says that it’s his knee. And a concussion, probably.”

“Does he need surgery?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

The next two hours were the worst of my life. I talked to Sharon in calm, reassuring tones, and my mother too, because I was sure they were bound to compare notes, but that was the only thing calm about me.