The dining table had extended into the living room: the table set for twenty-six. Decker’s family was five; then the two elder Lazaruses and their daughter’s family brought it up to thirteen. Jonathan’s wife and kids along with his parents who lived just a few blocks away added another six for a total of nineteen. Then, at the last minute, Mrs. Lazarus invited Jonathan’s brother Shimon, who also resided in the neighborhood. Shimon, of course, was also Decker’s half brother and the oldest of the five Levine children. He was outgoing and funny, and Decker liked him a lot. Over the years, Decker had kept in touch only with Shimon and Jonathan…not counting the yearly shanah tovah card to Frieda Levine. As far as the rest of the Levine clan, there hadn’t been contact past that initial burst of brotherhood.

Twenty-six bodies in total.

Decker’s half relations were kept a secret out of respect for Jonathan’s father. Alter Levine had never known that Frieda, his devoted wife of forty-seven years, had given birth to an illegitimate child fifty years ago. He could never have imagined the anguish that Frieda had suffered when she put the baby boy up for adoption. But that hadn’t been the final chapter. Ten years ago, while Decker and Rina were in Boro Park visiting the Lazaruses, he had run full force into the poor woman by chance, turning her life upside down.

Decker’s life as well.

He was still sorting things out. The volume of blood relationships was simply overwhelming. When Decker was at home, in L.A., he often felt like a lone ship out on a vast sea of emptiness. Here, it was as if his boat were moored in a marina—safe but crowded.

Smothering was the operative word.

Yet, there was something about family… for better or worse.…

Seeing the elongated table reminded Decker of the Lieber house, and for a brief moment, he felt a twinge of the hell they must be going through. So painful, yet Decker refused to let the poison inject and take hold. It had been thirteen years since the Lazaruses had lost their only son, yet tonight their hearts were filled with simcha—joy—as they shep nachas—or took pride—over their grandsons and nine-year-old Hannah. Decker owed it to the Lazaruses to be grateful for life. He bent down and kissed the small man’s hat. “Shabbat shalom, Zeyde.”

The old man smiled with thin, pale lips. He threw the cane on the couch and took Decker’s arm. “You’re a strong boy. I can lean on you, yes?”

“Anytime. That’s what muscles are for.”

It was wonderful, it was beautiful, it was spiritual, but it was also exhausting!

By the time Rina made it to bed, it was after one. Sora Lazarus didn’t wash dishes on Shabbat, so there would be a ton of cleanup Saturday night, Motzei Shabbat. But it was truly astounding how much work went on even without washing dishes. The serving, the clearing, the scraping of the plates, the food storage, the piling of dishes, the counting of the silver—plus the kitchen was so small!