“You didn’t help her. Because on top of being the most powerful person in your family, you knew exactly what a very sick woman needed, and it was your responsibility to see that she got it, is that it? Not her husband’s, not her mother’s, not the community’s? Just you! And you failed, right?”

She sank back, her passion spent. “I could have called the ambulance sooner,” she said dully, barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “And maybe your mother dafka waited until only you were home so that she could do whatever she wanted and no one could stop her. Because you were a child and she was the adult, and it was her choice. She didn’t expect you to save her. She didn’t want you to save her.”

Her eyes filled with tears. Her bubbee had told her the same thing, that day, at her mameh’s grave. It was, she finally understood, the truth. “So how can I ever get married and have children? How can I know for sure this same sickness won’t happen to me? That I won’t do the same thing to my children?”

“What can anybody know about what life holds for us? All you can know is this: If you get married and have children and the same sickness happens to you, you won’t behave like your mameh. You’ll make better choices, smarter choices. You’ll go to a doctor, get the help you need, medication.”

“There are medicines for such a sickness?”

“Avadeh.”

She let herself melt into her chair, all her limbs releasing their tight curl. She felt lighter, filled with sudden gratitude. From the corner of her eye, she studied him. He didn’t even look like the same person as the one she remembered from just a week before—the scarily overbearing, aging man she was sure was a pervert. He looked younger, kinder. Handsomer, even, in a fatherly way. He looked like a respectable, God-fearing, intelligent professional.

How could she have so misjudged him?

“So what else?”

“What else?” She brought her attention back to the present.

“What else would you like to talk to me about, Miss Lehman?”

She considered. “I’d like to talk about what happened with Duvie Halpern.”

“Duvie, the boy from the pizza parlor? Are you sure? Last week…”

She nodded, filled with new confidence. “I’m sure.”

“So you’ve changed your mind?”

She nodded.

He smiled, folding his arms contentedly over his chest. “Go on.”

“I liked Duvie. He was the first boy I ever looked at in that way.”

“What way is that?”

“Like he could be my chosan. Like we could have a chasanah, and I wouldn’t have to be afraid. It wouldn’t be terrible.”

“What wouldn’t be terrible?”

“You know, having a chosan, getting into bed with him, having children…”

He nodded. “What did you like about him?”