The Middlesteins(49)

After the meeting, in the parking lot, in the last car he had before this one (no, it was definitely not a Honda), barely after Robin had closed the door, she turned to give him one more smart-ass comment, and he greeted her with an open palm. Hard, he smacked her hard, he could admit it now. Maybe it was too hard. Maybe it was just hard enough. She pulled back flat against the car door and put her hands up to her face, and then she began to cry noisily. He started the car. He didn’t care. Let her cry. And she did, the whole way home. He had thought hitting her would make him feel better, but it only fueled his anger; he could feel it clutching at his chest, a red-hot grip. “Cut it out, Robin,” he said. She wailed and wailed.

When he pulled in to the driveway, she burst out of the car and into the house as if she were being chased, so dramatic as always. All he had done was hit her, his child, once, what was the big deal? Yet Middlestein felt his insides get sucked out and replaced with dread. His dad used to beat him with his belt, and Middlestein had done the same a few times (though definitely much less than his father) to his own children. Mostly he took his belt and bent it into a loop, snapping the insides together as a warning call. It had always worked; often the children would burst into tears just at the sight of it, never mind the snapping noise. But this was obviously different. This was less one part of an orderly system of punishment (bend over and take what’s coming to you) and more an act of spontaneous violence. He had felt a jagged line of energy coming from his hand when he struck his daughter’s face, as if a lightning bolt had sprung forth from it. Oh yes, for many reasons this was different, but perhaps the biggest one was that he hadn’t discussed it with his wife first.

“What happened?” Edie, younger, thinner, but never thin, walking out of her office (always working, tireless, ceaseless, she loved her work more than him, this had always been obvious) and into the foyer, where Middlestein had stopped himself, helplessly.

“Our daughter . . .” Yes, that’s smart, Middlestein, that’s the tack, make sure she knows you’re both in it together. “Decided to mouth off to the cantor.”

“What did she say, exactly?”

“What didn’t she say?”

“Do I need to go ask her what she said? Why is it difficult for you to answer the question? Why, Richard, is it always so difficult for you to answer the goddamn question?” Robin’s crying stopped in a choke, regrouped, and then commenced even louder than before. Edie moved closer to him, and he found himself backing up flat against the front door. “Why do I have a child up there losing her mind?”

“She was completely disrespectful to the cantor,” he said. He stood up straight. He was taller than Edie. He was her husband. He was allowed to make decisions.

“What did you do?” she said.

“I hit her,” he said. “A slap.”


Edie gave him a dark look—the pits of hell were in those eyes sometimes—and then burst out with her hands, her own lightning springing forth, slapping him on his shoulder, on his neck, on the side of his head, as far up as she could reach. “You don’t hit my child,” she said. Everywhere Richard covered himself, she struck somewhere else. “You are not allowed to hit her, do you understand me?” Her slaps stung him. Her lips shone with spit. “You don’t go near my child.” She hit him once more, in the face. “I have a deadline tomorrow and a terrified child tonight. It is like you don’t want this house to function, Richard.” She pushed a hand into his chest. “You are a ridiculous human being.”

She shook her head and then ran up the stairs to her daughter’s room, where, after a minute, the crying abruptly ceased.

Middlestein looked at Emily, smashed up against the window, dark, fearful eyes. She knew she had screwed up.

“If I were your father, I’d smack you so hard your head would spin,” he said.

Emily’s eyes widened, but she did not cry.

“But I’m not. I am your grandfather. So all I can tell you is that was just terrible, terrible behavior tonight. You, too, Josh. Just because you’re the lesser of two evils, that doesn’t mean you weren’t being bad.”

“I’m really sorry,” said Josh.

“It’s not your fault we didn’t want to come,” said Emily, remorseful at last. “I had a birthday party tonight. We both did. This kid at school.”

“It was at a laser park,” said Josh.

“I don’t even know what a laser park is,” said Middlestein.

“It’s pretty cool,” said Josh.

“I’m tired of going to the synagogue,” said Emily. “We have Hebrew school all the time this year.”

Middlestein let out an enormous sigh. “Emily, there are so many things we don’t want to do in this life of ours. You have zero concept of this. You will someday miss this moment when the worst thing about your day is contemplating God’s word for an hour or two.”

“Doubtful,” mumbled Emily, but he heard her, and his hand snapped out, and she jerked her neck back, and he nailed nothingness, just the air, the air between him and his granddaughter. He held his hand there for a second, and then patted her shoulder, as if that’s what he had intended to do all along.

“You’ll see,” he said. “You’ll see someday.”

It was a silent car ride home; the children wisely kept their phones in their pockets, so it was just the sound of their breathing, the car engine, a light-rock station playing barely above mute. In their driveway they got out of the car before he had even turned off the engine and darted inside. Why were these children always running away from him? Didn’t they know that he loved them with all his heart?