Their Seder plate was chipped and she bought a new one; she washed the windows, waxed all the floors, and took the flour and barley and the rest over to Willa’s. She scoured the stove, and she cleaned the refrigerator to be sure there were no crumbs left behind. She washed the cabinets, put the regular dishes away, and stacked the Passover dishes in their place. Utensils, pots, and pans were put through the dishwasher twice. Golda said that satisfied Dworkin, it should satisfy Levy. She made gefilte fish from scratch for the first time in her life, trying not to gag while she cleaned carp and pike. Golda supervised and after it was boiled and the broth strained, Golda tasted it and said it was delicious.

She hid two bits of bread for Levy and Allan to find on the ritual hunt for leavened bread the night before Passover. She saw and bought an antique silver cup for Elijah which cost eighty dollars, but was so beautiful she couldn’t resist. She knew Levy would love it. Besides, she told her reflection in the window of the antique store in Port Jefferson, you are going to marry a rich man. She stopped feeling frozen, she stopped dreaming about Luria or thinking about her father, and when she made love to Allan she thought about him, not Roger Hawkins. She even forgot about the clay. She was young . . . more or less . . . pretty, and getting prettier. And she was actually, for the first time, falling in love with Allan Siegal.

Three days before the holiday she bought the last of her supplies. She parked the car at the curb because it was easier than going up the narrow steps from the garage and, carrying one more shopping bag full of goods that were kosher for Pesach, she walked up the path to the house. The lights were on. Leah was with Golda and Levy was still at the store, so she thought it was Allan in the living room waiting for her and she hurried up the path, and opened the front door. Isaac Luria got up from his chair. His glasses were off, his eyes were swollen from crying, and his face twisted with grief. Jacob was dead, she thought. She dropped the bag and reached for the wall, but Jacob stood up from the couch and came toward her. He was crying too.

“Leah,” she cried.

“Leah’s fine,” Jacob said. She hung on to him, trying to catch her breath. In the bag she saw that the eggs had broken. Yellow oozed out through the split carton. She picked up the bag and Luria hissed.

“Get her out of here.”

“Please, Isaac.”

“She doesn’t belong here.”

Rachel looked around wildly. They were all there. Dworkin, Fineman . . . Alldmann. Even the old man whose eyes were yellow all the time now, and runny. She backed against the door.