Revving Up the Holidays (2 page)

“What party?”

“She throws a Hanukkah party every year. Usually she tries
to make it on the first or last night but since Saturday falls on the third
night…”

“The party is tomorrow.” Isaac finished Mark’s sentence.

A few minutes later Giada left and his sister spent the
following hour peppering him with questions about his job and his love life. By
ten o’clock the previous night’s sleeplessness and the long drive caught up
with him and he begged to be allowed to go to sleep.

“I assume you’re not coming with us to temple in the
morning.” Sadie’s voice was just shy of a reprimand.

“I think that’s a fair assumption.”

“Fine, then go and visit Mom. I didn’t tell her you were
coming but you should see her before she arrives for the party.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Sadie looked away from him and her shoulders slumped. Taking
a step forward, he pulled her into his arms. “What is it?”

She wrapped her arms around his middle. “I’m just happy
you’re home. I’ve missed you. Nothing is the same since Dad passed. Mom is
worse than ever.” She pushed away and put a fake smile on her face. “I’m just
glad to have my big brother home for the holiday.”

“I’ll go see Mom in the morning. Is there anything else I
can do? Help with the party or something?”

“No. It’s all under control.”

He stared up at the white ceiling for an hour, thinking
about visiting the house where he’d grown up. He couldn’t remember the last
time he thought of the place as home. He guessed it had been when he left for
college. Really, he didn’t think of his apartment in Jersey City as home
either.

When Leslie had been there it had been warm and homey. Now
it was just a place where he slept between working.

Trying to brush the unpleasant past from his mind brought
Giada to the forefront. She’d looked just as he remembered her. No, that wasn’t
true. She’d looked better—curvier and sexier.

His body’s immediate response meant he would never get the
sleep he needed if he continued to fantasize about her. He’d known a long time
ago that he should keep his distance from the beautiful Italian girl. He’d
managed to do just that all through high school. If he was smart, he’d do the
same thing while visiting Atlanta. But something told him he wasn’t that smart.

The house where he’d grown up was a two-story colonial with
a sloping front lawn and a curved driveway. An old oak tree near the street
brought back the vivid memory of breaking his arm at seven years old. The brick
stoop reminded him of simpler times, sitting there with his father talking
about everything and anything.

“Well, are you going to come in or just stand there like a
stalker, Isaac?” His mother’s voice grated from the doorway.

He’d been so lost in his memories he hadn’t noticed her
opening the door. Barbara Backman was slim and well-dressed in jeans and a
white blouse. Her reddish-blonde hair was done in a neat, short style which
Isaac was certain was accomplished at the beauty parlor once a week. Her nails
were perfectly manicured and polished in a sedate beige color. She wore makeup
and her red lipstick highlighted her pursed lips.

Arms akimbo, she glared down the lawn at him.

He sighed and started up the walkway. “I’m coming in, Mom.”

She looked passed him. “That’s some car you’ve got there.
Can’t fit more than a bag of groceries in it.”

He glanced back at his sleek sports car. “I don’t need more
than one bag.”

She harrumphed. “Someday you might want to get married and
give me a couple of grandchildren and that pipsqueak of a car will be
ridiculous.”

He climbed the steps to the door and kissed his mother’s
cheek. “On that day, I will trade it in for a more practical car, I promise.”

She stepped aside so he could enter. “Did you get fired? I knew
you couldn’t trust that Ben Silverman.”

He turned. His temper was already rising. He’d often
wondered what his father saw in this caustic and negative woman. But there had
never been any doubt that Leonard Backman had adored his wife. “Ben Silverman
has been my best friend since the first grade, Mother. I trust him with my life
and no, I did not get fired.”

She shrugged. “Fine, there’s no reason to get so testy. I
have coffee and muffins.”

The entire visit was the same. His mother asked about his
job and criticized. She told him he was too thin. She told him he needed a
haircut. She even went as far as saying he looked much older than his
thirty-three years. After a while he stopped listening. He looked around the
kitchen. Nothing had changed. A picture of his father had been placed on a
shelf above the sink. As far as he could tell that was the only difference in
the last twenty years.

They’d been talking and bickering for an hour when she got
quiet for a moment. She looked up and he saw sorrow in her blue eyes. His
sister looked similar to their father with dark hair and dark eyes, but he had
his mother’s blue eyes.

“I’m selling the house,” she said.

His heart actually hurt for a moment. He was about to rail
at her. Then he thought about it. She was a widow with no children at home. The
three-bedroom house needed updating. She didn’t need all that space and the
upkeep must be difficult for her.

“I think that’s a very wise decision, Mom.”

She seemed to relax. “I’m putting it on the market on the
first of the year.”

“Where will you go?”

“There’s a nice over-fifty-five community on the other side
of town. A lot of my friends are there. I plan to buy something small with no
stairs. I’ve had enough of steps.”

“That sounds perfect.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe you’d like to take a drive
over and see one of the model homes with me.”

It was typical of his mother to phrase a request in this
way. She never asked for anything. Was he any different? He reminded himself of
how much he hated asking for help, even when he needed it. He brushed away the
thought. “I’d love to. How about Monday?”

She almost smiled—not quite, but almost. “Monday would be
fine. Tuesdays I play bridge. Normally on Mondays I have lunch with the girls,
but I’ll just call and tell them my son wants to see where I’m moving.”

He smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

* * * * *

Mark was raking leaves when Isaac returned. He had a fairly
large pile collected and two small bundles of winter outerwear were spreading
the leaves as fast as their father could rake them.

“How many layers does she have on those two?” Isaac asked.

“She thinks winter means cold, even though it’s only fifty
degrees.” Mark laughed at the cumbersome coats and mittens.

“My mother used to do the same thing to us.”

Mark nodded and smiled at his kids. “Hey, I’ve got something
for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. Kids, let’s show Uncle Isaac what we have for him.”

Both kids screamed happily and chased after their father.
Isaac followed as they rounded to the back and walked toward a large metal
building that Mark used as a shop. The door was on casters and opened as if it
were a barn door. As it rolled to the side, Isaac’s eyes had to adjust to the
darkened room.

Then he saw it. His Harley–Davidson 1994 Heritage Softail
Classic stood in the middle of the shop’s floor. A bit more rusted and faded
than he remembered it, but just as beautiful.

He stepped forward and touched the dry-rotted seat. “Where
on earth did you get this?”

“I grabbed it out of your mother’s garage a few years ago. I
had an idea of fixing it up but then the kids were born and I never found the
time.” Mark flipped the light switch and the shop’s fluorescent lights
flickered on.

“Do you like it, Uncle Isaac?” Abigail asked.

“Like?” Daniel mimicked.

They were both dancing around the bike happily.

Isaac knelt and inspected the motor, carburetor and fuel
tank. “I do like it.”

Abigail launched herself into his arms, and he hugged her
tight. “I just assumed Mom sold it a long time ago.”

“She never gets rid of anything. She still has your father’s
footlocker from the service.” Mark chuckled.

“I can’t believe it.”

Daniel climbed up Isaac’s back as he continued to crouch and
stare in awe at the bike. Mark took a similar stance on the other side of the
bike. The kids must have noted that it was the thing to do and they both
dismounted their uncle and crouched before the Harley.

“I don’t think it’s in too bad shape,” Mark said. “My plan
was to take it apart, clean it up, see what needed replacing and put it back
together. A little project.”

The idea was too alluring. “Are you sure you don’t still
want to do it?” Isaac asked.

His brother-in-law was already shaking his head. “I don’t
have the time and while it’s still tempting, I’d like to see you do something
with it.”

A bubble of excitement that he had not felt in a very long
time started in his chest. He couldn’t look away from the Harley nor banish the
memories it sent wafting through his mind as if they were gusts of Georgia
wind.

He heard his father’s voice calling him reckless and telling
him to grow up when he’d spent all his savings to buy the bike. His mother
screaming that he was going to kill himself on it. He heard his own laughter as
he sped down the open road every fair day of those two years before taking the
old man’s advice and going to college.

He vaguely heard Mark corral the kids and herd them out of
the building.

He’d bought the bike used but it was only two years old at
the time. It had been the bike of his dreams. He’d spent every free moment
working on it or riding it. An argument with his father over his immaturity had
caused him to leave it behind when he went away to school and then he’d never
really come back for more than a day or two. He couldn’t believe his mother and
Mark had saved it all those years.

Before he knew it, he had a socket wrench in his hand. Mark
had left everything he might need sitting on the workbench. Piece by piece he
took the bike apart. Every piece needed to be cleaned and oiled. The tins,
fenders and gas tank would look great if he had them repainted. The seat would
need to be replaced. Some of the wiring was rotted but he could replace it
easily. He found a pad and pencil and made a list of parts. Not that he was
going to rebuild the old bike, what would be the point of that? He kept telling
himself that over and over again, but one piece at a time the Harley came apart
and he cleaned and savored every nut and bolt. He gave special attention to the
chrome, tailpipe, wheels, sissy bar and handlebars.

The sun was setting when Sadie said, “You have got to be
kidding me.”

He looked up from the sea of parts spread out on old towels
all over the shop floor. “What?”

She shook her head quickly. “Go get dressed please. You can
play with your bike tomorrow, Isaac.”

“Dressed?”

“For the Hanukkah party? Remember the party?”

He hadn’t remembered. Even after she said it, he’d taken a
moment to process what she was talking about. The bike had consumed him for the
entire afternoon. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t even taken
the time to eat something for lunch.

He got up from his knees and smiled. “Okay, Sadie. Sorry, I
got distracted.”

“Go shower and dress and then I’ll forgive you.”

He kissed his sister’s cheek and looked back at the
disassembled bike one time before he left the shop.

* * * * *

Giada saw the light in the small window of the shop door.
The last thing she expected to see when she walked in was a sea of motorcycle
parts spread from one end of the room to the other. Isaac stood with his back
to her and ran his fingers through his dark hair as he stared down at the
array.

She should have cleared her throat or something, but she
couldn’t help admiring his tall, lean body or the way his shoulders stretched
the polo shirt.

“My God, what have you done?”

He turned, looked at her and his face completely changed.
From the intense face of a man with a problem, he transformed in an instant
with a smile that had her blushing right down to her panties. Did his face
light up that way just for her? No, he probably did it with everyone, or at
least all the women he saw. Charm had never been in short supply with Isaac
Backman. She was glad to see that hadn’t changed.

“Mark saved my old bike. I’m just fixing it up.” He walked
over to where she stood at the door.

“Fixing it up? It looks as if you’ve completely destroyed
it.” He stood very close to her. How was it possible that after all of these
years, he still made her weak in the knees?

“Looks can be deceiving, Giada.”

“I… Sadie sent me out here to tell you that your mother is
here and you should join the party. They’re waiting on you to light the
menorahs.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Will you have dinner with me
tomorrow?”

Of all the things she expected him to say, that was not even
close to one of them. “Why?”

“Why?”

“I mean, don’t you think you should spend some time with
your family? Why would you want to have dinner with me?”

“Really? You don’t know why?”

She shook her head. She knew her eyes must be the size of
saucers.
I may swoon. Do women still swoon?
Some might, but Giada
didn’t. She stilled her emotions.

He stepped closer and leaned down until his lips were next
to her ear. “I’ve had a crush on you since we were teenagers. I may still have
a crush on you. I’d like to get to know you better. Have dinner with me.”

Her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t believe she’d been
able to hear him at all. But she’d heard every softly spoken word and she found
herself nodding her acceptance before she could make herself speak. “I get home
at six thirty. Can we make it seven?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Not on that, I hope.”

His laughter shot directly from his lips to the already wet
space between her thighs.

“I’ll have my car.”

They walked across the backyard toward the house together.
“Were you here last year for this big party?”

“No. This is my first Hanukkah.”

“Lots of tradition and good food. You’ll like it.”

He opened the back door, which led them into the kitchen.
Sadie was at the sink washing dishes. “Oh good, you’re here.”

She immediately dried her hands and called for the kids to
light the menorahs.

Mark handed Isaac a yarmulke. He put the small round
prayer-cap on his head and stood in the back of the room. Giada stayed at his
side and watched as Mark and Sadie helped their children say prayers in Hebrew.
They lit the three candles that were set in the candelabra and then placed the
center candle they’d used to light the others in the center space.

She leaned over. “Did you grow up with all of this?”

He nodded. “I went to Hebrew school and had a bar mitzvah.
My parents didn’t go to temple. That part comes from Mark’s side of the family.
Sadie loves all the tradition. I think she enjoys teaching her children about
those traditions. My mother only did it because my father insisted. We never
had parties like this for Hanukkah.”

“But you understand the prayers?”

He seemed to think about it for a moment. “Yes. I understand
or at least I know what they mean. They’re about thanking God for giving us the
festival of light or Hanukkah.”

She was fascinated. “Is there a story?”

He turned his head and smiled down at her. “There is always
a story. All Jewish holidays are about some moment in history.”

“Can you tell me the story?”

His head cocked to one side. “Do you really want a history
lesson?”

The candle lighting ended and she was surprised to see that
their conversation had gained the attention of everyone in the room.

Isaac looked around and smiled at the crowd watching him.

Sadie said, “Tell everyone, Isaac. A lot of our friends
aren’t Jewish. I think we’d all love to hear the story.”

“Do you remember it?” Mark asked.

The eclectic group gathered around more closely. People
nodded and waited for him to begin. Giada took a step away so she could watch
him better and not feel as if she were on stage with him.