The Matchmaker's Gift(7)

Abby’s job was to pack drinks and snacks, along with the foldable beach chairs her grandmother kept in her closet specifically for these odd excursions. There was no way to rush the graveside visits. Over the years, Abby learned not to try. Sara alternated between chatting with Gabe, conversing with Abby, and noshing on the snacks. She did not stop until she ran out of news and the last of the nuts and dried fruit were gone. Only then would she stand from her chair, blow kisses to her husband, and say goodbye. See you soon, my sweet, sweet man.

And now, at last, they were together again—Sara and Gabe, inseparable forever. Abby hated to think of them both in the ground, hated to say her final goodbye. She managed to keep herself from weeping until it was her turn to heap a shovelful of dirt onto her grandmother’s plain, pine coffin. No matter how many times she’d been told that this was the custom, it still felt heartless and unnecessary.

Afterward, when the mourners began to disperse, a woman Abby did not recognize tapped her lightly on the arm. She was about ten years older—thirty-five or so—tall and attractive, despite the fact that she looked as if she’d gotten dressed in the dark. The jacket she wore did not go with her blouse, and she was wearing sneakers with her skirt. “Excuse me,” she said, “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. Your grandmother was a very special person.”

Abby tried her best to smile. The woman’s face was not familiar, but Grandma Sara was always meeting new people, always striking up conversations with strangers. “Thank you so much for coming. How did you know my grandmother?”

“I was her ophthalmologist, actually. My staff adored her. Everyone did. She was always so cheerful and so appreciative. Every time I gave her an eye exam, the way she thanked me—you would have thought I’d just given her a winning lottery ticket!”

“That sounds like my grandmother. She worshipped all of her doctors.”

“I’m sure people have told you, but you look like her. You have her eyes.”

Abby nodded politely, but she had already stopped listening. Her head ached from going for two days without sleep. Her throat was sore from speaking with dozens of people. She wondered how much longer she was required to keep smiling, required to keep listening to other people’s memories of the woman she knew better than any of them. Worse than that, she wondered how many times she would have to answer questions about how her father was doing. Abruptly, she interrupted the ophthalmologist, “I’m so sorry, but I need to find my sister. We have to get back to set up for the shiva.”

The doctor hesitated, as if she had something more to say. She opened her mouth and closed it again. Finally, she pulled a card out of her purse and pressed it into Abby’s hand. “I won’t keep you, but please, take my card. If you ever need an eye exam, I hope you’ll come see me. I just wanted to tell you how much your grandmother meant to me. She truly was … one of a kind.” The stranger blinked back a few stray tears before following the rest of the mourners to their cars.



* * *



A week later, everyone at Berenson & Gold had forgotten about Abby’s grandmother’s funeral. Richard Gold—the law firm’s other senior partner—hadn’t even acknowledged it. Of course, Abby could easily count on one hand the number of times Richard had spoken to her. He and Diane never shared clients—in fact, they rarely even shared associates. In general, they behaved more like competitors than partners—like two separate fiefdoms in shared office space. Each had a team of three associates, and Abby had been hired by Diane alone. None of the other lawyers were particularly friendly, but Abby told herself she wasn’t there to make friends. One or two associates said they were sorry for her loss, but there were no cards or hugs or sincere condolences.

As for Diane, all she remembered was that Abby had taken a few days off, which meant that she was expected to make up the lost hours. Abby had already been assigned three new cases—two divorces and a prenuptial agreement. But as diligent as Abby tried to be with her work, her eyes kept drifting back to the photograph on her desk.

Two weeks after the funeral, Abby’s uncle Ed phoned her at work. He was a few years older than Abby’s mother, stocky and bearded, with a gravelly voice. Abby and her sister used to tell him that he looked like the Brawny Paper Towel man. “Thanks for the compliment, kids,” he’d say. “But there aren’t any lumberjacks in New York City.”

Abby hadn’t seen Uncle Ed since the funeral. She was happy to hear his voice, but he’d never called her at work before. “Is everything all right? You and Aunt Judy okay?”

“Sure, kiddo, we’re both fine. Listen, Judy and I are down in Florida, cleaning out your grandmother’s old condo. There were a couple of book boxes in her closet marked with your name, so I’m sending them up north today. I wanted to tell you so you could keep an eye out.”

“She didn’t leave me those creepy porcelain figurines, did she? The ones in the dining room?”

“Nope. The figurines are still on the shelves. To tell you the truth, we didn’t go through the boxes. They’re already taped up, and we have too much else to do. I’m going to drop them off at the post office later. They should get to you in a few days.”

“Do you need my address?”

“Nah, your mom already gave it to me. I’ve gotta run, kiddo. Take care of yourself.”