The Matchmaker's Gift(70)
Despite the explanation, Jessica was distraught. “Honestly, Abby, this is too much. It was nice of you to invite me tonight, but I don’t think this arrangement is a good idea after all. I shouldn’t have bugged you about it in the first place.” Jessica darted down the street, leaving Abby no choice but to run after her.
“Jessica, wait!”
By the time Abby caught up to her, Jessica’s eyes were filled with tears. “I don’t know anything anymore, Abby. For years I kept telling myself to be patient. I watched so many of my friends fall in love, and I kept thinking, eventually, it would happen for me, too. But maybe it’s time I let it go. Maybe it’s time that I faced the fact that some things aren’t meant to be.”
“Let me ask you something,” Abby said. “What did you feel when you were with Victor?”
“Energized, I think. A little breathless. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. He’s completely charming. Sweet with his daughters. If you want to know the truth, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since that day at the bakery.”
“He was thinking about you, too. Not only that, he said you were lovely.”
Jessica stared at her. “But none of this makes any sense.”
“Of course it doesn’t! Come on, Jessica. Why did you believe my grandmother could help you? Why did you believe what she said about me? It certainly wasn’t for any rational reason. None of this is rational. None of it makes sense.”
Jessica sighed. “I know,” she said, wiping a tear from her cheek. The side street they had turned onto was darker than the avenue, but a flash of light caught Abby’s eye.
Abby gasped. “Don’t move,” she whispered, reaching slowly for Jessica’s hand. There, between Jessica’s knuckles and wrist, exactly where Victor étoile had kissed her, a perfect lip-shaped circle glowed.
“Do you see it?” Abby asked. But even as she traced the mark with her fingers, the shimmering circle disappeared.
“I don’t see anything,” Jessica said.
Abby shook her head and closed her eyes. How had she gotten into this mess? Spending her Friday night with her grandmother’s ophthalmologist? Taking advice on love from Victor’s eight-year-old? Five weeks ago, Abby was a kick-ass lawyer on the path to early partnership. Five weeks ago, she’d been in complete control. She knew exactly what she wanted and how to achieve it. Now she spent more time meddling in her clients’ marriages than she did working on their cases. Now she analyzed her grandmother’s journals more closely than the latest court decisions. She was chasing invisible premonitions and looking for imaginary lights in the dark.
And yet, she could not stop herself. Her unexpected connections to these people—to Evelyn and Michael, to Jessica and Victor—had given her a newfound sense of purpose. As much of a mess as she might be creating, she felt as if she was fulfilling a promise to her past. Her grandmother’s voice was strong and certain in her head. Maybe you’ll make a few love matches of your own.
Slowly, Abby opened her eyes. “Jessica, don’t give up now,” she begged. “Please, trust me for just a little bit longer.”
NINETEEN
SARA
1921
When a Thief Kisses You, Count Your Teeth
Under normal circumstances, the beis din would have met in one of the participating rabbis’ studies. The proceedings were generally not open to the public, and there was rarely a need for a bigger space. In Sara’s case, however, the number of interested parties necessitated a larger venue. The hearing was scheduled to be held in the sanctuary of a synagogue led by Rabbi Pearl of Orchard Street. It was not nearly as grand as Rabbi Sheinkopf’s synagogue, but the room could accommodate one hundred congregants.
Not wanting to burden anyone in her family, Sara went to the proceeding alone. Three rabbis sat behind a narrow wooden table that had been placed in the center of a stagelike platform. The wrinkled man in the center was the ancient Rabbi Pearl, well into his eighties and known to all as a prodigious scholar and a compassionate leader. To his left was the sour-faced Rabbi Kaufman, a longtime supporter of the shadchanim. To his right, thank goodness, sat Rabbi Sheinkopf, loyal friend to the Glikman family.
The shadchanim were seated in the first three rows, to the right of the center aisle. The synagogue did not have a women’s balcony—only a small space in the back of the room separated from the front rows by a wooden screen. Sara refused to sit behind the partition. If she was going to be accused, she would make them do it to her face. Instead, she took a seat in the front row, across the aisle and to the left of the men. She wondered whether any of them would object, but none of them even acknowledged her presence. She was the only woman in the sanctuary.
As the most senior of the three rabbis on the panel, Rabbi Pearl was to call the proceeding to order. He would be the head of their small court, and each of the rabbis would act as a judge. When Rabbi Pearl banged his cane on the pocked stone floor, Sara felt the vibrations through her boots, all the way up to the lump in her throat.
“Identify yourselves, gentlemen,” he said. “Each of you in turn. Name, age, and what has brought you here today.” One by one, the men came forward, twenty-eight of them in all, ranging in age from thirty-six to eighty-three. As the self-proclaimed representatives of the group, Shternberg and Grossman spoke up first. For the next several hours, the shadchanim spouted one accusation after another.