“You’re very hurt.” Rina tried to take his hand, but he pulled it away. “I can’t help your feelings, Peter. Maybe you don’t realize how big and awesome you can be. And maybe you should realize it. Yitzchak was very soft-spoken, never raised his voice. I’m not telling you to be like him—I love you just the way you are—but I am telling you what the boys were used to. They’ve never seen a temper like that, and I’d like it to remain that way for their sake. They worship you. They’d be devastated if you…you glared at them like that. Especially Shmuli. You know how sensitive he is.”

Decker pushed his plate aside, feeling tired and old. Rina had wounded him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been hit in that spot. Jan had told him the same thing once—a long time ago, right after they’d married. Afterward, he’d looked in the mirror. His eyes had been murderous. Decker supposed that look made him effective around the bad guys, but a hard person to deal with if you were on the right side.

“I’m sorry,” Rina said quietly.

“Don’t apologize,” Decker said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Like you said, I asked.”

“I love you, Peter.”

“I love you, too.”

“I know you do. And I know you’d never hurt me.”

“I’d rather kill myself.”

Rina got up and hugged him. “I know that. Dear God, I just want a little peace for the both of us. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Decker pulled his plate back, picked at his food.

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t feel like it,” Rina said. “I won’t be offended.”

“No.” Decker sat up in his seat. “No, I’m going to eat and forget about work and Abel and losing my temper. I’m going to enjoy Shabbos and this wonderful dinner, because in a week you’ll be gone and I’ll be back to eating salami and crackers.” Decker picked up a veal rib and chomped into the meat. “Bon appétit.”

“Bon appétit,” Rina echoed. She sat back down in her chair and picked up the other rib.

They sat for hours, talking, singing Sabbath songs, laughing, and eating until the roast was reduced to bones.