The Yiddish Gangster's Daughter (A Becks Ruchinsky Mystery Book 1) by Joan Cochran (popular books of all time .txt) 📗

they used in discussing a friend’s cancer diagnosis when they talked about Bunny, who returned to work after her husband died. A working mother was someone to be pitied.

She and my father fought late into the night, sending me scurrying for the comfort of my sister’s bed when I was little. When we were in our early teens, Mom would call us into her room, sit us down, and solemnly announce she was leaving my father. Esther would get upset, which bugged me no end me because we’d been through this so many times and our mom always stayed. I’d shrug, say go ahead, makes sense to me. Then my mother would glare at me, waiting, and I’d squirm under the pressure of her desperate need for sympathy.

It seems crazy now. I resented my father for cheating on my mother. And my mother for putting up with him while pressuring Esther and me to take sides. The older I get, the more I realize what a lasting effect my parents’ relationship had on me. I had a hard time trusting boys, worried that the boyfriends I dated saw other girls. Daniel proposed three times before I felt confident enough of his love to accept.

“Becks, you okay?” My father bangs on the bathroom door. “I’m reheating the stuffed cabbage.”

I splash more water on my face before coming out. He’s in the kitchen, adjusting the heat under an open pan. “Let me tell you a little story before we eat,” I say. “Let’s sit down?”

When he hesitates, I take his arm and propel him toward a kitchen chair. He looks confused but sits and I join him.

“You remember the Boopsies?” I ask, referring to what my mother and her girlfriends called their little circle. It consisted of four couples from the neighborhood who dined at one another’s homes on Saturday nights.

He nods.

“There was this one night, I was nine, when mom took Esther and me to meet them at Burger King. You,” I take a few seconds to emphasize the word, “were in Nassau. On business.”

He raises an eyebrow but I continue.

“I figured it was just another night without Dad, which was okay with me because we got to eat at Burger King. Mom seemed nervous all day and yelled at me twice to do my homework. Usually she wouldn’t take us out if we didn’t have our homework done, so I was surprised when she told me and Esther to get in the car.”

I stop a second to collect my thoughts

“When we got to Burger King, Aunt Lacey and Aunt Bunny were at a table, eating. Mom got Esther and me hamburgers and made us sit at a separate table with the kids.”

My father smiles, probably remembering how I resented being relegated to the children’s table.

“So I was sitting there, fighting with Robbie, when I looked up. Aunt Lacey had her arm around Mom’s shoulders and Mom was crying. I got scared and thought something happened to you. I jumped up and started toward Mom but Esther grabbed my arm and told me Mom didn’t want us to hear.”

“Do you really need to tell me this?” my father breaks in.

“Fair is fair. I’ll listen to your story about that lady,” I nod toward the bulletin board, “but I get to talk too.”

He shakes his head and sits back, staring through the glass sliding doors toward the concrete slab patio. The only furniture out there is a weather-beaten wicker chair that my parents kept in their bedroom for thirty years. The legs have unraveled and the once-pink cushion is white from exposure.

“Mom and Aunt Lacy left the restaurant and sat in Mom’s car but it was too dark for me to see them in the parking lot. You remember what a troublemaker Robbie was?”

My father nods without meeting my gaze.

“He saw me staring out the window and told me he heard Aunt Lacey talking on the phone with Mom that afternoon. She sent him out of the room, but he listened at the door and heard his mother say you had a black girlfriend and child in Nassau.”

My father rises and walks into the kitchen. I stop talking as he gets the flatware from the drawer, then returns and slams forks and knives onto the placemats. His eyes are red and I suppress a pang of guilt.

“I punched Robbie so hard his nose bled,” I continue after my father is seated. “Aunt Bunny dragged me off of him and sent Esther to the car to get Mom and Aunt Lacey. We left before the bleeding stopped.

“Later, in the car, I told Mom why I hit Robbie. I asked her four or five times if it was true before she answered. Know what she said?” I wait a second. “She said that you loved me and Esther and that’s what mattered.”

I don’t know what to expect from my father. Contrition? Maybe shame? I wouldn’t be surprised if he grew angry. Instead, he shakes his head and looks at me with pity.

“Your mother was right.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Sure, I cheated. But it didn’t mean a thing and your mother knew it. I loved her and I loved both of you kids. She,” he nods toward the bulletin board, “had nothing to do with my girls at home. A man travels a lot, he gets lonely. And I don’t have another family, white or black.” He laughs. “Why make such a big deal?”

I stare at him, too outraged to speak. He has no idea what I’m trying to tell him. I’ve wasted the last half hour explaining something he’s incapable of understanding. Is he unaware of the pain he caused? Or in denial? Maybe he doesn’t care.

“But you were gone so often and for so long. You can see how Robbie came up with that idea.” I know my question is feeble and beside the point, but I ask anyway.

“Robbie was an idiot. Probably still is. I had a family to support and I