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

I’ve picked up my prayer book and am trying to locate the page we’re on when Mindy elbows me across our shared armrest. I look at her and raise an eyebrow.

“Daniel,” she whispers.

“What about him?” I keep my voice low.

“Over there.”

I follow her gaze to the front of the synagogue and gasp. Mindy grabs my hand.

Blood flows into my cheeks and my stomach lurches. I struggle to focus on the service but can’t draw my eyes from Daniel’s back. He’s almost six feet four inches and sits a head taller than anyone else in his row. His shoulder twitches and he glances over it, no doubt sensing my stare. A woman I don’t recognize is seated next to him. I clench Mindy’s hand when Daniel leans in to whisper to her. At least it’s not Dawn. Having Daniel show up with a woman his sons’ age would be too humiliating.

Damn Aviva. She’s one of my oldest friends. What was she thinking, inviting Daniel to Zach’s bar mitzvah? And the nerve of him—bringing a date. Then I remember. The invitation arrived months ago—before our separation. In all the excitement after the break-in, I forgot. Besides which Daniel plays basketball with Noah on Sunday morning and has as much right to be here as I do. Not that this makes me feel better. I wish I’d steeled myself for this moment.

I spend most of the service trying to figure out who the woman is. A new girlfriend? The bastard. I hope he’ll have the decency to leave as soon as the service is over and skip the reception.

I struggle to relax and focus on Zach’s voice as he chants his Torah portion. He does a wonderful job, his voice cracking only once. The rabbi concludes the service and, while we’re standing and singing the closing song, I catch Daniel’s gaze. He smiles and waves. I turn toward Mindy and pretend I don’t notice.

Who am I kidding? He’s not leaving after services. He wouldn’t want to hurt Aviva and Noah’s feelings. With a sinking sensation, I realize there’s no escaping an encounter with Daniel and his date.

Mindy and I join the crowd that rushes to the front of the synagogue to hug and congratulate Aviva, Noah, and Zach. That done, the two of us leave the sanctuary and head down a broad, marble-tiled corridor to the hall where the cocktail reception is being held. Mindy, whose husband is visiting his mother in Indianapolis, pastes herself to my side, a stocky, middle-aged bulldog prepared to run interference with Daniel.

We stop at the entrance to admire the decorations—gold lamé table runners over black linen tablecloths and an endless array of hors d’oeuvres on silver platters. Mindy and I help ourselves to the flutes of champagne and delicate lamb chops offered by white-gloved waiters before making a beeline to the table with seating cards. Mindy and I are at table six. I sneak a peek at Daniel’s and relax. He’s across the room at table eleven.

I’m about to break the good news to Mindy when a hand presses the small of my back.

“Becks.” My heart skips a beat. It’s Daniel.

I do my best to compose my face before turning around.

Daniel smiles hesitantly as he takes the elbow of the woman who sat next to him in the synagogue and propels her toward me. They make a handsome couple, him in his best black suit and her in a red dress that shows off a tiny waist. I hold my breath, expecting the worst.

“Have you met Sarah, Noah’s sister?” Then, to her. “This is Becks. My wife.”

I breathe again. Of course. Sarah. I met her years earlier, before her husband died. She was blond then. Noah must have asked Daniel to sit with her.

We shake hands and ask about each other’s children.

Then Daniel asks Mindy and Sarah to excuse us, explaining we have a few things to discuss. He does it with such finesse that it doesn’t occur to me to refuse when he steers me to a two-person table near the bar. He pulls my chair out before seating himself, then leans in toward me and gets down to business.

“Why don’t you answer the phone when I call?” He sounds angry and hurt.

“What’s there to say?”

“Plenty. I made an appointment with a marriage counselor last Wednesday and was embarrassed when you didn’t show.”

I heard his telephone message about the appointment and ignored it. I didn’t think he’d go without me.

“There didn’t seem any point in my coming. You’ve already decided I should forgive you and let bygones be bygones.”

“Aren’t you being a little simplistic?”

“No, you’re the one who’s being simplistic.” I start to rise, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back into my seat. The man and woman at the table to our right stare, then avert their eyes.

“Becks, I made a mistake. A big one.” He drops his voice. “I never cheated on you before and regret what I did more than you can imagine. But that’s past. I’ve taken care of all your expenses, called every day. Why are you being so stubborn?”

All I can think about is getting away from him. “Do you really think it’s that easy to forget that you slept with another woman?”

“I’m not saying it’s easy. But you could answer the phone and talk to me. Your silence isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“I don’t know that talking will help.” I take a deep breath to control the sob that’s welling up. “What you did . . .”

He stares down at the table. When he looks up, his eyes are damp. I avoid meeting them with my own.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.”

“I don’t know.” My voice is flat and expressionless with the effort of controlling my emotions.

“What do you mean?”

A half dozen couples I recognize mingle, smiling and laughing, near the bar. Daniel and I went to dinner and sat through Little League games with