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

in Wonderland world. Daniel and I haven’t been together in months and here we sit, as if nothing had happened, on our way to visit his critically ill father. He offered to pick me up on his way to the airport but I turned him down, explaining it would be easier to take my own car. We might not fly home together. The truth is I knew any time we spent alone would be awkward, so why prolong it. When I met him at the boarding gate and he leaned down to peck my cheek, I hesitated before accepting his kiss.

What makes this trip particularly strange is the sense of déjà vu I’ve experienced the entire flight. Daniel, the boys, and I have flown to New York dozens of times to visit his parents and attend bar mitzvahs, anniversaries, and weddings. Our last trip, a year ago, was for his mother’s funeral. We held hands the entire flight. One of the things I cherished about Daniel’s and my relationship was our ability to see each other through tough times, to say the words that would bring comfort. Daniel is grieving and I want to console him. But every word out of my mouth sounds like a cliché. “It’ll work out.” “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Words I’d offer a stranger.

Once the plane takes off, we chat about the boys’ plans. We’ll see how Milt’s doing before scheduling their flights. Daniel and I catch up a little, though we’re both careful to skirt any mention of our future. If we’re going to be together for a few days, we need to get along. Halfway into the flight, the man in the aisle seat dozes off, and I tell Daniel about Florence Karpowsky’s accusation. Daniel’s not as horrified as I’d anticipated when I tell him Tootsie admitted that he worked for the syndicate and was forced to kill a man.

The ease I begin to feel with Daniel fades as the plane descends through dense gray clouds over LaGuardia. The reality of why we’re in New York strikes me. Milt, my friend and the father of my estranged husband, is dying. I’m here to say goodbye. We grab our luggage from the overhead bin and race to the taxi stand. Though it’s only five, the sky is dark and the streets are black and slushy with melted snow. Neither of us speaks during the ride to St. Luke’s.

We find Milt on the cardiac floor, lying with his head elevated in an aluminum-barred hospital bed. His skin has a pasty gray tinge and he breathes with the help of a nasal cannula. His eyes are closed. Daniel’s Aunt Vivian, Milt’s sister, rises from a chair next to the bed and places a finger to her lips. We follow her into the deserted hallway. She’s an attractive woman in her late seventies who dresses exquisitely and never leaves home without makeup. I’m shocked by how old and tired she looks without.

“He drifts in and out of sleep, but is lucid when he’s awake. He asked for the two of you when he came off the heavy sedation this morning.” She smiles at me and I avert my eyes. “Come in and wait. He’ll awaken soon. He dozed off hours ago.”

I sit in the small recliner at the foot of Milt’s bed while Daniel takes the wooden chair next to his aunt. She tells us of receiving a call from a neighbor who was with Milt when the heart attack happened and of arriving at the hospital as the paramedics brought him in.

I don’t join their whispered conversation. Instead, I study my father-in-law’s face, now so passive, and remember the heated discussions we had about books and politics. Milt’s a retired high school English teacher and loves to send me rare books he finds at estate sales and thrift stores. He grew up on New York’s Lower East Side, not far from where my father lived, and dropped out of school at sixteen when his father died. Though he worked at a series of factory jobs to support his mother, he managed to finish high school and attend City College. He loves to tell stories about growing up on the Lower East Side and, later, organizing strikes to get New York teachers the benefits they deserved. Milt also likes to tease me about my father’s youthful years as a tough.

It seems ironic that Tootsie and Milt came from similar backgrounds yet became such different men. Milt chose the world of the mind, while Tootsie decided to . . . these days I’m not sure what to call it.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice Milt watching me. When I catch his eye, he smiles. “How about that?” he says, his voice barely reaching a whisper, “Tootsie Plotnik’s daughter visiting me.”

It’s as if he’s reading my mind.

I go to his bedside to give him a kiss. His skin feels cool. “Would I miss a chance to see my favorite English teacher?” I smile and motion with my chin toward Daniel. “I brought your son the doctor along.”

Daniel, already standing, says, “Hi Dad” and takes his father’s hand.

“You kids okay?” Milt says. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

Daniel catches my eye.

“We’re fine,” I answer. “It’s been a busy year.”

“Does your father know about my heart attack?” Milt says. His voice is weak and I glance at Aunt Vivian to see if I should continue. She nods.

“I didn’t get a chance to call yet. I’ll let him know.”

Milt smiles. “Who would have thought my Daniel would end up as the son-in-law of one of the toughest mumsers in the neighborhood?” He stops talking for a few minutes and I watch his chest rise and fall. “We both did okay.”

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

He smiles gently. Then, with a vaudeville inflection, “How should I be feeling?”

I’m about to answer when he interrupts.

“I tell you about the time I tried to join your father’s gang?”

I shake