The Matchmaker's Gift(61)

“I’m sure it’s only because she’s been so busy.”

“And your friends—are they not busy as well?”

Abby thought about her friends who had gotten engaged most recently. One was in the first year of her surgery residency at Columbia, one worked ridiculous hours at a law firm downtown, and the third traveled constantly as a consultant for McKinsey. She tried to look Victor straight in the eye. “They’re very busy women,” she admitted.

“And yet, they still find time to ‘obsess.’”

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “I guess they do.”

Victor smiled sadly. “Thank you for indulging my questions, Abby.”

She wasn’t sure what else to say. A world-famous designer—a man she barely knew—had just revealed a painful and personal truth. She thought back to the way Diane had first described him. Diane had painted Victor as a difficult man, someone with an enormous ego. But from everything Abby had observed, Diane’s description was far from the truth. “May I ask you a question?” Abby said. “I know you have children, but I don’t know anything about them. How old are they? What are their names?”

Victor smiled. “I have two little girls. Isobel is eight and Chloé is four. I picked Chloé up early from preschool yesterday so we could go to the bakery together.”

“That must have been a treat for you both,” Abby said.

“It almost ended with a tantrum,” he confessed. “But a very kind woman came to our rescue. She gave Chloé the last raspberry macarons.” Victor’s expression turned suddenly wistful. “She had a remarkable way with my daughter,” he said. “She was lovely, actually.” His voice trailed off for a moment before he caught himself. “Goodness,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It’s getting late, and I’m afraid I must go. Thank you, Abby, for your honesty.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

He put his hand on top of his heart. “Honesty is always helpful,” he said.



* * *



For the second day in a row, Abby found herself in Dr. Cooper’s reception area. While she waited for Jessica to examine Evelyn Morgan, she studied the collection of black-and-white photographs on display. She returned to the picture of the eyeglass store and then moved on to the one of Jacob’s father staring at the camera from behind his pushcart. In addition to the two familiar photographs, there were plenty of others she hadn’t seen yet. Some were formal family portraits, while others were more candid shots. A few were street scenes from the Lower East Side—tenement buildings and laundry lines. Closest to the reception desk was a cluster of small photographs that had been taken of store awnings: a men’s clothier and a cigar shop. A barbershop and a bakery. The last photograph showed a tailor’s sign, with a small, striped awning tucked behind it. When Abby examined it more closely, she could just make out the words “Klein’s Knishes.” She stepped back from the photograph and laughed. She wished her sister were there to see it.

Back in high school, Romeo and Juliet had been required reading for every freshman. Hannah inherited Abby’s copy, but she struggled with the language and the story. “Shakespeare is the worst,” she said to Abby and her grandmother over dinner one night. “Honestly, why do people still read this stuff?”

“Ach, that story,” their grandmother said. “What a heartache! The problem was the families—terrible people. There wasn’t enough fighting in the world? They had to fight over a wedding, too? Believe me, I’ve dealt with family feuds before. If Romeo and Juliet had a good matchmaker, I’m telling you, both of them would have survived.”

Abby and Hannah burst out laughing.

Grandma Sara was offended. She silenced them both with a furious stare. “You think I don’t know what I’m talking about? Believe me, I do. I made a match between two families who hated each other like they were at war. And still, I succeeded.”

“Why did they hate each other?” Hannah asked.

“Business, mameleh. Always business. Finkel’s Knishes opened first, with a line of people out the door. For five cents you got a piece of heaven, a delicious knish, the best you ever had. Then, Klein’s Knishes opened next—a few months later, across the street. Klein’s knishes were also delicious, and he sold them for only four cents apiece. Like I said, it was war.”

Hannah was even more intrigued. “So, how were you able to make the match?”

Grandma Sara lifted her chin and made a gentle scoffing sound. “Pfft. The same way I made all the others. I paid attention, I took a risk. I saw what I saw, and I knew what I knew.”



* * *



After forty-five minutes, Jessica led Ms. Morgan back into the waiting room. The hotelier wore a loose silk shift, a Mobe pearl necklace, and a pair of oversized dark glasses. With the glasses on, it was impossible for anyone to properly read her expression.

“How did it go?” Abby asked. For the last fifteen minutes, she’d been pacing the waiting room, fidgeting with her hands, and trying to stay calm.

“Very well,” Jessica said. “I dilated Ms. Morgan’s pupils so that I could better examine her retina. There are, in fact, pigment deposits, which are the cause of her vision loss.”