Julia’s Kitchen Page 2

  Sport! How could I have forgotten Sport?

  “What happened to Sport?” I asked.

  Nobody said anything. Dad looked at his plate.

  “Is Sport dead, too?” I felt my blood rush. “Is he?” I pushed away from the table and stood next to Dad.

  He looked up, his eyes filled with tears.

  “How could they all die?” I yelled. Then I stormed out of the room, not even caring what the Rosens or my grandparents thought.

  I slammed the door to the spare bedroom and flung myself on the bed. I got up and paced the room. Threw pillows on the floor. Kicked the dresser.

  Dad knocked on the door and opened it at the same time. I hated that.

  “Go away!” I screamed.

  He stood in the doorway. His shaggy hair looked shaggier. His whole body sagged. “Cara,” he said. “Please.”

  I turned away, breathing hard. He put his hand on my shoulder, but I shook him off. A moment later he left, closing the door behind him.

  I fell onto the bed and curled up in a ball. I waited and waited for Mom to come in and tell me everything would be okay. Even though I knew she couldn’t come, I waited.

  two

  The next day, at the funeral home, the funeral director took us into a small room to wait until the service began. Rabbi Newlin came in. He shook hands with everyone and explained that it was time for keriah.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Traditionally, keriah is when mourners tear their clothing to signify their loss. But today, instead of tearing their clothes, many Jews wear a black ribbon like this one.” He showed me a piece of black ribbon about the size of two of my fingers put together. “According to Jewish law, your father and your Bubbe and Zayde are the only official mourners here. Since you’re not yet twelve years old, Cara, you’re not obligated to mourn, but you’re a mature girl, almost Bat Mitzvah age. You might want to be counted as a mourner.”

  Everybody looked at me. I wondered if Mom and Janie were looking at me from heaven. I didn’t know I’d have a choice about mourning.

  “Okay,” I said.

  All my grandparents nodded in approval. Dad ran his hands through his hair, then looked at the floor.

  “Well, then,” said Rabbi Newlin, gesturing for us to stand. “Let’s begin.”

  Rabbi Newlin pinned the ribbon on the right-hand side of Zayde’s shirt. Then he made a small tear in the ribbon. Bubbe gripped Zayde’s arm, and they held on to each other, their faces wrinkled with sadness. The rabbi did the same thing to Bubbe and Dad. But for me, he pinned the ribbon on my left side.

  “When you mourn a parent, you honor her by making the rip near your heart,” he explained softly as he tore my ribbon.

  The black ribbon looked out of place against the blue dress Mrs. Rosen had bought me. But the tear in it matched my feelings. I knew my heart was torn.

  We left the small waiting room and walked into the front of the chapel. There were hundreds of people there. I saw kids from school. People from ADF Advertising, where Dad worked. Tons of friends and relatives. And people I didn’t even recognize. We took our seats in the first row, and I felt everyone’s eyes on me. Poor Cara, they were probably thinking, and they were right.

  I didn’t know where to look. Right in front of me were two caskets, one big and one small. I couldn’t believe Mom and Janie were really in those wooden boxes with the lids shut tight. Mom was terrified of being stuck in small spaces. I started to feel that I couldn’t breathe. My tongue felt too big for my mouth, as if it were choking me. I looked down and picked at my nails. There was almost nothing left to pick.

  I looked up again, avoiding the caskets. I reminded myself that only Mom’s and Janie’s bodies were inside. Their spirits were free. I gazed across the room and found a small window. Through the window I saw blue sky and tree branches.

  I imagined Mom as a floating spirit, an angel flitting about. She held Janie’s hand and pointed out all the people. Janie wore a party hat, and Mom had a lei around her neck and a flowery wreath on her head. Platters of cake and ice cream appeared before them. Their faces glowed with joy. It was as if Mom had planned the biggest birthday party ever.

  Was that heaven? I wasn’t sure, but it was definitely better to think of Mom and Janie that way than stuck inside those caskets. I took a deep breath and focused on this imaginary birthday party as Rabbi Newlin started the service.

  “My friends, let us begin by reciting a psalm that expresses the intimate relationship between God and man. When trouble abounds, when agony strikes the soul, we are comforted by our faith in God…”

  Faith in God? Where was the comfort in that? I had faith in God, and look what happened. God deserted me. He deserted my family.

  Rabbi Newlin’s slow, hypnotic voice melted into a rhythmic sort of chant. Was he even speaking English? I tuned him out and concentrated instead on the birthday party scene in my mind.

  Time passed. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe more. It didn’t matter. But I became aware of the funeral again as Rabbi Newlin called on people to give eulogies. First Mr. Wittenberg, Justin’s dad, spoke. He talked about what a talented athlete Janie had been, and what a good friend. I hadn’t thought much about Justin during all of this. What would he do without Janie? They had been as close as Marlee and I were.

  Next up was Mom’s best friend from college, Roz Tallman. Roz was an actress in Hollywood. Actually, she worked as a receptionist at a talent agency. She had been in only two movies, and Mom and Dad hadn’t let me see either of them. But still, Roz had stage presence. She stood at the podium, her shiny blond hair framing her perfectly madeup face. She wore a leopard print blouse and a short black leather skirt. What an outfit! I wondered if Mom and Janie were laughing about her clothes. I wished Janie were sitting next to me. I would elbow her, and we would both try not to laugh.

  “Julia loved to bake,” Roz was saying. “But more important, she loved to share her baking with others. I can’t tell you the number of times I received packages in the mail filled with her fresh-baked cookies. Just like her gift baskets for her business, every container included an inspirational note: ‘Reach for the stars,’ or ‘Don’t give up,’ or ‘Smile, you’re in California.’ You see, Julia had a natural way of loving and giving to people.”

  Roz dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. She looked out at everyone and took a deep breath. “And she loved her family more than anything. Which is why I can understand what she did. Julia wouldn’t have had to think twice about running into that burning house to save her daughter.”

  Roz kept talking, but I didn’t hear anything after that. Goose bumps prickled my arms. My stomach flipped. Mom ran into the house? That meant she had gotten out. Why hadn’t anyone told me that? I turned to Dad, but he kept staring straight ahead. Mom had escaped and then deliberately run back in. How could she do that to me? Where were the firefighters? And where was Dad? He could have stopped her. I would have stopped her. Or maybe I would have helped Janie get out in the first place.

  Oh, why hadn’t I been there? Why had I slept at Marlee’s that night? If only I’d been home. If only I’d thought to worry about a fire. I was always worrying about something. Why hadn’t I worried about a fire? Maybe if I had, God would have heard me, and it never would have happened.

  Why pounded in my head for the rest of the funeral. It pounded as we recited kaddish, the prayer for mourners. It pounded as the caskets were lowered down, down, down into the cold ground. Why pounded as we each shoveled three scoops of dirt into the graves. And it pounded as people murmured words of comfort to my family. Words that meant nothing to me. Nobody could tell me why.

  * * *

  Back at Nana and Papa’s apartment, Zayde lit two big candles in glass jars that would burn the whole seven days of shiva, the first mourning period. Someone had covered all the mirrors in the apartment with sheets, and had put pillows on the floor and set out plastic seats that looked like lawn chairs with their legs cut in half. Zayde told me that s
itting low on one of those chairs or on the floor symbolized our sadness. We weren’t allowed to get any food for ourselves or help with the dishes or anything. Friends and relatives did it all. We didn’t have to greet anyone or say thank you either. I liked those customs.

  I sat on a pillow in a corner of the living room. Marlee brought me a hard-boiled egg on a paper plate.

  “My mom says you’re supposed to eat this,” she said.

  I wrinkled my nose. I didn’t like hard-boiled eggs.

  “Eat it,” Marlee said. “It’s symbolic of life.”

  I took a small bite. It wasn’t so bad.

  We watched the room fill with people. It seemed that everyone I’d ever known came to Nana and Papa’s that afternoon. The apartment was hot and noisy.

  Mrs. Olsen, our gray-haired next-door neighbor, brought me a bagel with lox and cream cheese. She perched on a chair next to Marlee and me and shook her head. “It’s such a shame,” she said. “Such wonderful people.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “We don’t always understand God’s reasons,” she said, sipping her coffee. “But at least your mom and Janie are at peace. They’re in a better place now.”

  I nodded politely and bit into the bagel. But inside I cringed. A better place? Better than with Dad and me? All day long, people kept saying these things: “God works in mysterious ways,” or “God must have needed them in heaven.” Every mention of God made me tense. I used to think God was my partner. But what kind of partner would let this happen?

  Roz came over with a piece of noodle kugel. “How’re you doing, honey?” she asked.

  I shrugged. We didn’t say anything for a minute, and I nibbled at the sweet kugel. Then I looked at Roz and said, “I didn’t know Mom ran back into the house to save Janie.”

  Roz raised her tweezed eyebrows in surprise. “No? You didn’t see the articles in the paper?”

  I shook my head.

  “And your father didn’t talk to you?”

  I shook my head again.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Roz rubbed my shoulder. “Give your dad time. He’ll come around.”

  I glanced at Dad, sitting in one of the low chairs on the other side of the living room. He didn’t look anything like himself, in Papa’s suit, his hair going in every direction.

  “Why don’t you just talk to him?” Marlee asked.

  “I can’t,” I said.

  Part of me wanted to shake Dad, punch him, yell at him for letting Mom and Janie die. But another part wanted to hug him and have him tell me everything would be all right.

  “What else do you know?” I asked Roz. “About the fire.”

  Roz uncrossed, then crossed her legs again. “Well, the article today said it started in the kitchen. From an electrical short in the toaster oven, of all things.”

  “The toaster oven?” Marlee and I both said at the same time.

  Roz nodded. “I guess you’re supposed to unplug it when you’re not using it. But you should pull it out by the plug, never the cord.”

  “Well, ours was always plugged in,” I said.

  “I know, honey,” Roz said, patting my hand. “Mine, too. But not anymore. You run the risk of accidentally leaving it on, or a wire shorting out, or who knows what else.”

  “Jeez,” Marlee said. “You’d think they’d tell you all that during Fire Safety Week at school!”

  I sat there, imagining a spark from our toaster oven lighting—what? A kitchen towel? The curtains? Had I left a napkin out on the counter, next to the toaster oven? Was that how the fire had spread? I pushed the kugel away from me.

  Max came over carrying a plate piled high with brownies and coffee cake. Chocolate crumbs edged the corner of his mouth. “Dessert!” he announced.

  Marlee rolled her eyes. “You pig.”

  “Excuse me!” he said. “I brought these to share.” He held the plate in front of me. “Want some?”

  The sweet smell of chocolate made my stomach turn, and I felt the egg, the bagel, and the kugel bubble inside me. “No,” I said. “No desserts.” Then I escaped to the bathroom.

  I wished I could cover my brain the way they covered the mirrors. Just shut everything down and quiet my mind. Everyone was trying to comfort me, but I didn’t want comfort. I wanted Mom and Janie. And those desserts were the worst of it. Your mom is gone and she’ll never bake with you again. Well, I knew one thing for sure. I would never eat another dessert. Never.

  * * *

  That night, when everyone finally left, I got ready for bed. I put on pajamas, brushed my teeth, and crawled underneath Nana’s flowery bedspread in the guest room. I lay in the dark, thinking about Mom and Janie. I wished Mom could kiss me good night just one more time. I wished Janie could sneak into my room for one more silly knock-knock joke. Or one more peek at my scrapbooks.

  I thought about Dad, sleeping on the pull-out sofa in the den. We hadn’t spoken to each other since yesterday. I was scared to hear what he’d have to say, but at the same time I wanted to talk to him so badly. I tiptoed out of the guest room. I didn’t want to wake Nana and Papa. I needed Dad to myself. I needed to know what happened the morning of the fire. I needed to know everything.

  As I tiptoed down the hall, I imagined the conversation Dad and I would have. I’d say, Daddy, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help. Please, tell me what happened. And he’d say, It was terrible, Cara. And then he’d tell me every detail, and we’d hug and promise to take care of each other and to never leave the toaster oven plugged in again.

  But as I got closer to the end of the hall, I heard the sound of muffled sobs. I took two tiny steps forward and cracked open the door to the den. In the moonlit room I saw Dad, huddled on the bed, crying into a pillow.

  I stood, frozen. I had never seen him cry before. Even at the funeral, his eyes got all watery, but he didn’t cry. Watching him now made my own eyes fill with tears. My legs started to shake. I didn’t know what to do. I knew Dad wouldn’t want me to see him that way. So I backed away from the door. I hurried into bed and hugged my knees to my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to erase the picture of Dad crying like that. But it burned into the back of my eyelids.

  three

  Wednesday morning, when there were no visitors, Bubbe and I sat in the living room while Dad, Zayde, Nana, and Papa ate breakfast in the kitchen. Bubbe took out her sketchpad and colored pencils. “Turn on that lamp next to you, love,” she said.

  I did as Bubbe asked, then settled back in the green chair. “You’re not going to draw me, are you?”

  “Why not?” She had already started sketching. Her eyes darted from the paper to me, and back again.

  “I look ugly. That’s why. I haven’t even seen a mirror since yesterday morning.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re beautiful.” Bubbe paused, gazing at me. “You look just like your mother.”

  We smiled at each other then. But they weren’t regular smiles. They were smiles tinged with sadness.

  Bubbe’s pencils made a soft scratching sound. The refrigerator hummed. The apartment smelled like coffee. “Bubbe?” I asked.

  “Yes, love?”

  “What’s going to happen to me?”

  Bubbe looked up from her drawing and met my eyes. She studied me for a moment. “You’re going to be okay, Cara. We’ll all be okay eventually.”

  “But, Bubbe, Dad is different now,” I whispered. “I feel like I don’t even know him.”

  Bubbe sighed. “I know, love. But he’s your father. And he’s a good man. We just have to give him some time. Right now I think he’s still in shock.”

  “Well, so am I.”

  Bubbe frowned, but her eyes smiled. She patted the seat next to her. “Come here.” I snuggled next to her and watched as she finished the drawing. “I suppose we’re all in shock now,” she said, adding different shades of brown to my hair and eyes. “We have to take care of each other.” She signed her name to the bottom of the picture, dated it, an
d handed it to me. “Now, is that an ugly girl?” she asked.

  There I was, the same Cara as before. Curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. Brown eyes and dark curly lashes. Long nose, long chin, long neck. It was Mom’s face. Everyone said so. I looked like Mom, and Janie looked like Dad. It was fair that way. We each had our match. And not just in appearance, but in personality, too. Dad and Janie were the ones who rode the rickety roller coasters while Mom and I ate cotton candy and took in a show. And Mom and I were the ones who cheered from the sidelines while Janie played soccer and Dad coached. Mom and I were sensible, quiet, maybe even a little boring. If not for Marlee, I’d say Mom had been my best friend.

  I gave the picture back to Bubbe. “It’s good,” I said. “You should keep it.”

  * * *

  Shiva turned into a haze of naps, deli trays, visiting, and praying. At the prayer services each morning and evening, I pretended to follow along while I daydreamed about Mom and Janie. I found I could say simple things to Dad, such as, “Is there any more coleslaw?” or “The synagogue sure collected a lot of nice clothes for us.”

  Which they had, thank goodness. Because that first day when Dad had gone to the house, he’d brought back the clothes that had made it through the fire. The only items not damaged by smoke and heat had been in closed dresser drawers. In my case that meant socks and underwear. I guess I’d been in a hurry when I’d packed for Marlee’s, and I’d neglected to shut all but one of my drawers. Dad, on the other hand, retrieved most of his sweats and T-shirts and stuff. But I bet he was pretty upset about losing the suits and work clothes that had hung in his closet. Not that he’d say so. Anyway, Dad seemed satisfied with our bits of conversation, and he never once mentioned Mom, Janie, or the fire.

  * * *

  Thursday night, as I listened to some people from Dad’s ad agency go on and on about their recent trip to Costa Rica, Mrs. Rosen and Marlee walked in carrying my scrapbook box. Marlee smiled and waved at me, then set the big plastic box on the foyer table and took off her coat. The sight of my scrapbook box, something so normal from before the fire, gave me a jolt of energy.