A Candle for a Marine (Always a Marine) (6 page)

He nodded.

She could do that. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she rested her head against his arm. Isaac stiffened, but he didn’t pull away. She stared at the wavering candles and barely saw them.

“It was June, hot and sultry and way too much humidity. I was miserable all the time, like I couldn’t regulate my body temperature, and that morning I woke up more miserable than usual. Nothing was comfortable—my back ached, my legs hurt, and I swear I could hear my pulse beating in my ears. Mama went to work, and I was supposed to walk down later and spend a couple of hours on the register. I got more and more uncomfortable as the day went on—I found out later I was having contractions, only I’d barely felt those. I’d made it to the shop when my water broke.”

Heat flushed through her, and she smiled at the memory. “I’ve never been so embarrassed or relieved in my entire life. There I was—standing on the sidewalk, and my pants were soaking wet like I’d just peed myself. Mama looked at me and said, ‘Well, that changes things.’”

A small, rough laugh dislodged from inside of her. “Mama was perfect, so calm and so rational. She sent all the customers home, put up the closed sign, locked the door, and ushered me to the car. Even at the hospital, when people started running around and giving orders, she was serene. I knew I could do it because I had her there. She held my hand, told me when to breathe and when to push, and never left me.”

Tears crept down her cheeks. “And then he was born…and it was wonderful and terrifying in the same breath. At first I didn’t want to hold him. I couldn’t imagine ever letting him go if they gave him to me. Still I couldn’t help it.” She licked the salty wetness from her lips. “He was perfect. Dark hair and dark eyes. Everyone swears babies’ eyes are blue, but not his. He had a really strong cry and stern little frown lines. I don’t think he enjoyed being born very much.”

Zehava closed her eyes and sucked her upper lip between her teeth. She’d fallen in love the first moment he’d lain in her arms, and the two hours she held him cemented that love and planted it deep in her soul.

“When the family came, I had a front row seat to their utter joy, and when I let his mother take him from my arms, I watched worry and fear leave them. They stayed another hour, and we talked and then they walked out of the room with the nurse. He couldn’t leave the hospital for another day at least, though he was their son now.” Their son and hers. “Mama said nothing until they left. She came and sat on the edge of the bed, took my hands, and I broke. I cried for hours. She said nothing, and simply held me. The next day she drove me home and took care of me until I recovered. When I was ready, she made me return to school, to work—to life.”

“You called me.” His voice held a ragged quality, and she chanced a look up at him. So many emotions clouded his expression—anger, regret, and sadness. It tore her apart.

“I did. You asked me if he’d been born.”

A curt nod was his only response.

“And I told you yes. Then you asked if I went through with it.” When she’d said she had, he hung up on her. Those were the last words they’d spoken before he’d come home.

He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles, a whisper of his lips to her flesh, then released her. Pivoting on his heel, he strode away. Her heart sank, and she didn’t know what to say to stop him or if she even wanted to.

The door closed behind him, and he was gone.

He’d had to get out of there. For the barest of seconds, while she’d told him the story, he’d been in that room and felt her pain, loneliness, and—God help him—her courage to follow through with her choices no matter how difficult. Not once had he heard an ounce of self-pity or self-recrimination in her words. One of the toughest, most brutal days of her life, and he’d been thousands of miles away.

He remembered her phone call. The soft whisper of her voice—probably hoarse from tears. She’d called because she needed him and, blinded by his resentment, he hadn’t
listened
to her need. Isaac made it six blocks before he stopped and kicked a trashcan so hard it flew out into the street and bounced over twice. Thankfully, someone had already collected the garbage. He grabbed the can and hauled it back into place.

Then kicked it again.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he stood on the darkened street illuminated by a porch light here or a street lamp there. Cars lined the sidewalk on one side, while others sat parked in driveways. Families celebrating Hanukkah together or getting ready for Thanksgiving the next day, with kids out of school and parents taking vacation days. Some would travel, while others would be hosting. And he’d lit a candle for a son he’d never had a chance to see or to hold.

He walked and kept moving. Replaying the conversation in his head, he couldn’t get past the fact he’d cut her off. Yes, he’d been angry about her decision. Yes, he’d asked her to marry him.

She’d said no to the proposal. She wasn’t ready and, if he were completely honest, he hadn’t been ready either.
So the mature thing would have been to support her, but I didn’t do that
…. He’d signed the legal documents, had them witnessed, and sent them to her. He took her call and he hung up on her.

Then…nothing.

Eight bitterly long years of nothing.

By the time he returned to the community center, she’d locked it up, probably gone home. His watch told him it neared midnight. Of course she’d gone home. Walking to his parents was like a retreat through time, right down to finding his grandmother waiting on the front porch.

“Nona?” He opened the gate and stepped into the yard. His parents maintained their four-foot chain-link fence around the yard. It kept the neighbors off his mother’s flowers, and no one’s pet could have an
accident
on his father’s manicured lawn. Little things kept them happy.

“I wondered if you would be home tonight.” Although a diminutive woman, she ruled their household with absolute authority. His parents, despite their age, deferred to his grandmother in nearly every matter. So did his siblings.

Hell, so did Isaac, to a point. He’d talked about the Marines with her before anyone, including Zehava. She’d given him her blessing, and that had been enough.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” And he meant it. “I needed to walk off a mad.”

She patted the porch swing next to her and though he was a grown man, he took comfort in the familiar. Careful to keep the swing from swaying, he settled and braced it steady with his feet firmly on the porch.

“You still love her.” Nona sipped from a steaming mug. How many cups of tea had she sipped while waiting for him?

“I never stopped.” He’d forgotten how much he loved Zehava, tried to by burying it under resentment and hurt. If anything, spending the day with her reinforced how much he liked being in the same room with her. She’d been so vibrant and alive—even when she avoided him and he unsettled her.
And yes, I liked unsettling her
….

Nona patted his leg. “Then you will fight for her.”

“I thought I needed to forgive her.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands and staring into the past. “I thought if I could, then we could be friends again if nothing else.” But, he didn’t just want to be friends. He’d never wanted to be friends.

She thought he hadn’t noticed her until high school, and that wasn’t true. A year behind him in school, she’d always been a bit shy despite her warm nature. Added to that, his grandmother noticed his interest the first time she’d seen him watching Zehava at Temple.
You will wait
, she’d told him,
Wait until she is older
.

And he had, until the day he’d called her about the death of Zehava’s father. After Zehava had left with her mother late that night, Nona told him he didn’t have to wait anymore.

“What do you think now?” Nona asked, reminding him she was still there.

“I think I need her to forgive me. She doesn’t hate me although she has every right, and I’ve been a….” He hesitated to say it.

“You have been a jackass.” His grandmother nodded. “You were also a boy. Arrogant, stubborn, and full of pride. Now you are a man. Show her that. You have waited long enough, Isaac.”

The assessment stung, but he couldn’t find fault with it. “I do have one question.”

“What is that?” She patted his leg again and stood.

Rising to his feet quickly, he offered her an arm. “Why didn’t you or anyone else try to stop Zehava from putting our son up for adoption?” In the recesses of his mind, that always bothered him. He’d asked her not to. Practically begged, yet she’d been firm in her conviction. Her mother hadn’t fought her, and neither had his family. They were all so tight-knit in the community, always poking their heads into everyone else’s business. So why not that time?

Nona paused and caressed his cheek. “Ahh, Isaac. We all discussed it. She came to each of us, asked for our advice. She spoke to the rabbi, she spoke to her mother, and she spoke to yours. Like you, we were all included and we listened with our ears and our hearts. She treasured your son, as she treasured you. What she wanted for him was all any of us ever wanted for you. Zehava and you were both so very young, so very stubborn—what she needed from us was what you needed. Our support.”

“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.