7

The ride back to Quinton was a killer. Traffic out of the city was a parking lot of red taillights, wind blowing dirt and debris onto the cars and roadways. Stoically, lifelessly, Jonathan sat at the helm, eyes fixed ahead—an inert driving machine. Decker hadn’t meant to, but he found his eyes closing. When he opened them next, the van was pulling off the highway. His mouth tasted like sawdust, his stomach long past hungry. He just felt empty.

Jonathan handed him a bottle of water. Decker drank voraciously.

“Thanks.”

“I’ve got some fruit in back. Apples, pears, oranges.”

Decker reached over and devoured an apple in four bites. He then went to work on a pear.

“I should have bought you a sandwich,” Jonathan remarked. “I’m sorry.”

“No, this is fine.” Decker finished the bottle. “I’ll be hungry for Shabbat. I’m sure the Lazaruses will have plenty of food to help me out.”

“That’s true.”

They zipped past Liberty Field.

Decker started peeling an orange. “Are you coming into Brooklyn?”

“For Shabbos? Yes. Mrs. Lazarus invited my parents. I told Raisie we needed to be there for you.”

“That’s all right, Jon. I’m used to it—”

“Actually, that’s a lie. It isn’t for you; it’s for me, Akiva. I need to see you in a different context, in a family context. I have real misgivings about this whole thing… dragging you into it. I don’t know what I was thinking. I called in a moment of weakness.”

“That’s what family’s for.”

“So far, it’s been very one-sided. You’ve never once called me for a favor.”

“That’s because I’m an oldest child. I dispense; I don’t take.”

“But we’re all adults.”

“It’s ingrained patterns, Jon, and I’m okay with it. My boys are coming in for the weekend. If they weren’t here, I might not have come. But they are coming, and I’m here, and let’s all make the most of it.”

“You’re being charitable. That’s my job, not yours.”

Within minutes, they made the transition to the poorer side of the tracks. The van cut through the near-empty roadways. Decker’s wristwatch read two-thirty. “When does Shabbos start?”

“Five-thirty.”

“And how long will it take us to get back to Brooklyn?”

“At least an hour, maybe longer. Why?”

“If we have time, I’d like to stop by the Quinton Police… ask a few questions.”

“That’ll be tight, although we’ve been making record time.” Jonathan turned onto the Liebers’ street, then pulled the van curbside. “You’ve never met Minda. She’s difficult under the best of circumstances.”

“I’ll tread lightly.”

“It won’t matter,” Jonathan stated flatly. “She’s just who she is.” He got out and slammed the car door. Decker winced at the noise, then opened the passenger door and stepped out. He had to fast-walk to keep up with his brother. Jon was resentful. So that made two of them.

Chaim opened the door even before Jonathan knocked. “She’s awake, but it isn’t good, Yonasan. I think we should call the doctor.”