The Yiddish Gangster's Daughter (A Becks Ruchinsky Mystery Book 1) by Joan Cochran (best authors to read .TXT) 📕

at me. His eyes are sad and I realize how upset he is by our breakup. I appreciate his concern. But it’s something I need to deal with alone.

When we arrive at Wasserstein’s Deli, it’s crowded so we sit at the counter at the front of the restaurant. The backless stools are small and hard and Tootsie keeps squirming. It’s noisy here, near the crowd waiting for tables, so we eat and head back to the car.

“Did Daniel say why he came to see you today?” I ask once we’re on the causeway crossing the bay to his apartment. I’m afraid Daniel said something about Esther.

“I don’t know why he stopped by today, but he looked miserable. He talked about how much he misses being part of a family. He’s got a point, you know. Thirty years is too long to throw away. I asked what happened with his chippie. Did she dump him? He said no. The affair was a mistake.”

I cringe. That’s it? A mistake with a “chippie.” Is that how my father sees Daniel’s affair?

“He loves you, Doll.”

I can’t have this conversation. It’s painful and can only end in another argument over how he mistreated my mother. The last time that happened we didn’t speak for years. I’d hate a repeat of that. I need him too much now. It’s been a nightmare of a weekend and I want to go home.

I drop Tootsie off, refusing his invitation to come upstairs. My father adores Daniel, and I know he’ll launch into his spiel about what a great guy he is. I don’t need that. And I’m afraid I’ll let word of Esther’s condition slip.

Two days later, Esther arrives with an envelope of films. She talked to her doctor but says we can discuss his findings after she meets with Daniel and has a better idea of what they mean. We stay up late talking and baking my mother’s chocolate chip mandel bread, which is gone by the morning. It’s wonderful to have her around, though it makes me realize how lonely I’ve been banging around this big, deserted house. She brings two books on breast cancer but we ignore them. I’ve looked forward to her arrival with trepidation, afraid that the fear of cancer has changed her, maybe stripped her of her sense of humor. But she’s still got me on the floor laughing with stories of her students.

My sister is shorter and smaller-boned than I am but much better at sports. In the last few years, she has taken to wearing her athleticism like a badge of honor. When she’s not working, she tends to hang out in pricey sneakers and brief running shorts that show off her well-defined quadriceps. As a teenager, she always followed the latest fad so I’m not surprised that she packed an impressive collection of lightweight nylon shirts and tees emblazoned with the names of marathon sponsors. She brought me a tee shirt with the names of several Greensboro eateries. It was, she joked, the tee shirt I’d appreciate the most.

Our little honeymoon of eating, sleeping and laughing ends the minute we get in the car Wednesday morning. Daniel’s agreed to see Esther at nine thirty. I’m so nervous on the ride to his office that I run a red light.

“Hey, I’m here to be cured, not killed,” Esther says. “Calm down. It’s just Daniel.” She pats my shoulder and a surge of warmth engulfs me. She appreciates how hard it is for me to face him.

It’s been two months since I visited Daniel’s office and the place looks shabby. The hedges in front of the compact brick building need a trim. The lawn service is overdue and dollar weed competes with small patches of brown grass for control of the lawn. Though it’s officially his office manager’s job to oversee the building’s upkeep, in reality it fell to me. I get a certain sense of satisfaction knowing something at his office has paid a price for my absence.

When Esther and I enter the office, two elderly women glance up from the champagne leather armchairs I chose for the waiting area ten years ago. They’re still in good shape, though not in the precise arrangement I left them. I motion Esther to sit and step up to the receptionist’s window.

“Esther Potok is here to see Dr. Ruchinsky.”

The receptionist, Mary, looks up with a welcoming smile that quickly changes to shock. “Mrs. Ruchinsky. I didn’t know you were coming with Mrs. Potok.” She glances down at her schedule book, then over my shoulder at Esther. “I’ll let Dr. Ruchinsky know his patient is here.”

I steal a glance into the office through the tiny window behind which Mary sits. A woman walks behind her and I catch my breath. Mary whispers, “Dawn left.”

I manage a weak smile. Of course. Everyone knows. Mary blushes, then closes the opaque sliding glass window as I return to Esther.

Having helped out in Daniel’s office when members of his staff were sick, I know it’s customary for a nurse or assistant to escort the patient to an examining room. But ten minutes after we sit down, Daniel opens the waiting room door.

“Esther,” he says, though he’s looking at me, “it’s good to see you.”

I open my mouth to say hello, then close it. My tongue feels like sandpaper and my limbs are weak. I’m shocked at this unexpected reaction. A sense of loss rushes over me, but I can’t tell if it’s from the sight of Daniel or from a sudden recognition that this is real—that I could lose Esther. I fight an irrational longing to run into his arms and beg him to reassure me she’ll be fine. Daniel glances at me, eyebrows furrowed, and I sense he’s reading my mind.

Daniel’s become gaunt since I last saw him and the high cheekbones that gave his face a compelling Slavic intensity look like bony parentheses. His hair is beginning to curl behind his ears, which means he hasn’t