Julia’s Kitchen (2 page)

They had to be alive. This had to be a mistake.

In the afternoon Dad and Papa went to the house to meet with the fire inspector and the man from the insurance agency. I wanted to go with them. I wanted to see our house with my own eyes. I even got up from my chair and silently put on my coat when I saw them getting ready to go. But Nana took the coat away and said, “No, David, she doesn't need to see.”

And Dad believed her.

The funeral would be tomorrow. Everything was happening too fast.

“Eat,” Nana said, coming over to offer me a turkey sandwich. “You'll feel better if you eat, Cara, darling.”

I pushed her hand away.

Nana set the plate on the coffee table and sighed. Then she sat down next to me.

I wondered what she knew about the fire. She and Dad had stayed up late last night. Maybe Dad had talked to her. Maybe she'd be able to explain it to me. I'd have to break out from behind the magic wall to find out. I'd have to speak an actual sentence. In my head I practiced.
Nana, may I ask you something? Nana, may I ask you something?
Then I cleared my throat and tried out my voice. “Nana? May I ask you something?” I sounded surprisingly normal.

“Of course, darling.”

I swallowed hard. “How did Dad get out of the house without Mom and Janie?”

Nana frowned and straightened her back. “What kind of a question is that?” she asked.

“I don't know,” I said, feeling suddenly as if I had done something wrong. “I just can't imagine how it all happened. I mean, why is he alive and they're not?”

“What, you think he didn't try to save them?” Nana's bony face twisted in anger. “Believe me, he tried. It's a miracle you're not an orphan.”

“That's not what I meant, Nana,” I said, blinking back tears.

“Well, that's how it sounded.”

“I'm sorry, I just…” I didn't finish my sentence. I didn't know what to say. How could I expect Nana to understand? She never listened to me.

“Why don't you eat, Cara?” she said again, pushing the plate my way.

I decided to stay behind my magic wall forever.

*   *   *

Later, when Dad and Papa returned, Bubbe and Zayde, Mom's parents, who lived in Florida, arrived with them. Bubbe dropped her small suitcase in the foyer and headed straight for me. She wasn't wearing any makeup. Her face looked pale, her skin papery thin. And her hazel eyes, so much like Mom's, were somehow different now, heavy. She sat on the edge of the chair, took my hands in hers, and looked at me without saying a word.

Those familiar eyes, speckled with green, yellow, and brown, reached me right through my magic wall. I knew for sure then, knew it with my whole body, that Mom and Janie were really dead. I buried my face in Bubbe's neck.

“I know,” she said between my sobs. “Let it out, love, let it out. I'm here.”

Zayde put his arms around us both, and we cried and rocked together until our sweaters were soaked with tears.

I stayed glued to Bubbe and Zayde the rest of the day. Bubbe rubbed my back, and Zayde told me stories from when Mom was little: about the time Mom threw up all over the stage in the middle of her second-grade concert, and the time she ran away from home to protest being an only child. I'd heard all the stories before, but I listened as if they were new.

“I remember when your mom first brought your dad home to meet us,” Zayde said. “Remember, David?”

We looked at Dad. He blinked and shook his head, as though trying to wake up from a bad dream. Then he stood and left the room. Just like that.

My heart thunked against my ribs. How could it beat when it was breaking in pieces?

Bubbe patted my hand and said quietly, “It's hardest for him, love. He was there.”

But I thought it was hardest for me. Because I wasn't.

At six o'clock the Rosens came by with some clothes for me and dinner from Mario's—pasta and salad. Mrs. Rosen and Nana headed to the kitchen, and Mr. Rosen sat with Bubbe, Zayde, and Papa around Papa's card table. Dad was in the den, napping or hiding, I wasn't sure which. Marlee squeezed in with me on the green chair, and Max sat on the sofa next to us. Marlee put her arm around me. I could tell by her eyes that she'd been crying. And she had the hiccups. Marlee always got the hiccups when she cried.

She said, “I can't believe it, Cara. It's so weird.” Then she hiccuped real loud. She slapped her hand over her mouth, embarrassed.

Max shook his head at her. “Jeez, Marlee. Hold your breath or something.”

Marlee plugged her nose and puffed her cheeks out. Her face turned as red as her hair, and her freckles practically popped off her cheeks. Now she was hiccuping big, silent hiccups.

The next thing I knew, I was laughing. Marlee let the air out of her cheeks, and she started laughing, too, and everyone in the room looked at us as if we were crazy.

“I'm sorry,” Marlee said, trying to control herself.

“It's okay,” I said.

And it really was. Because it was bad enough that Mom and Janie were dead, my house was gone, and Dad had pretty much checked out. At least Marlee was still Marlee.

The Rosens stayed for dinner, and I actually managed to eat. I was relieved when Dad came out of the den and joined us at the table. But then the grownups started talking about work and insurance stuff. Nobody mentioned Mom or Janie or the fire, which seemed awfully strange to me.

“I didn't say goodbye to Janie,” I said to no one in particular. Everyone turned and looked at me.

“I mean, when Mrs. Rosen picked me up, I said goodbye to Mom. She kissed me and said she loved me. But then I just left.”

Bubbe put her arm around me, and I rested my head on her shoulder. “Oh, love,” she said. “There was no way for you to know.”

“But I don't even remember our last conversation. Janie was playing Monopoly with Dad. Maybe I said something stupid like don't buy Water Works.” I pictured Janie rolling the dice. She was the race car, her favorite piece. Janie's cat, Sport, was swatting a couple of the plastic houses at Janie's feet.

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 sitting 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.