Good Harbor

Kathleen washed the breakfast dishes. She wiped down the counters, pulled out a couple of tall tumblers, sliced an orange, and picked two sprigs of mint from a pot on the windowsill. Was this a pastoral visit? The only other time a rabbi had been in her home was after Danny died.

Glancing out to check the tidiness of the deck, she noticed Magnolia’s Heart on the chair. Forgive me, Joyce, she thought as she hid it under a stack of magazines. I suppose I’m hopelessly conventional, but I really don’t want the rabbi to think of me as a randy old lady.

The doorbell rang a moment later.

“See? I really am right in the neighborhood,” Michelle said, taking both of Kathleen’s hands in hers. She wore a long khaki shift and stylish black sandals that showed off crimson toenails. “I didn’t realize that you were the one with the incredible rock garden.”

Kathleen led her through the house — a thirty-year-old split-level, furnished with big, comfortable chairs and local antiques. The rabbi slowed down to look at the family photographs that covered the hallway walls, but Kathleen moved ahead, eager to show off the beautiful part of her home. The kitchen sliders led onto a relatively new redwood deck that overlooked the steep yard. Flowers bloomed around the granite boulders, jutting up at odd angles on the hill.

“This is spectacular,” Michelle said. “And the rocks are like sculptures, aren’t they? What’s that deep blue flower over there?”

“Lobelia.”

“And the yellow?”

“Alyssum. But you have to come see it once the rest of the lilies are blooming. The whole place comes to life.”

“No vegetables?”

“A few tomato plants, a little basil and parsley.” Kathleen led the rabbi back toward the table, set with iced tea and cookies.

“I didn’t mean for you to go to any trouble.”

“No trouble.” Kathleen felt her cancer take one of the empty chairs. She hated the way her mind worked these days.

“Ah,” said the rabbi after taking a long drink. “That’s perfect. What did you put in here? Mint?”

Kathleen nodded. “I grow my own. Though actually, mint grows itself.”

“Nice.” After another sip, Michelle put down her glass, took a breath, and leaned forward. “But I have to confess to an ulterior motive in visiting.”

“What is that, Rabbi?” said Kathleen, smiling at how lightly the title sat upon this young-enough-to-be-her-daughter woman.

“It’s the library in the temple.”

Kathleen frowned. “But there is no library in the temple.”

“Exactly. It’s a shame, don’t you think?”

“Well, yes. We tried to get one going but, oh, that was a long time ago.”

“I know. I was reading through old board minutes; you were on that subcommittee.”

“You’re reading minutes from the early seventies? That must be pretty dull.”

“You’d be amazed how much history you can pick up from them, and from the old temple bulletins. I’m the new kid in town. I have lots to learn.”

Kathleen wondered if this was the rabbi’s way of telling her that she knew about Danny. It was so strange to meet people, to know them for years even, without their having a clue about the death of her second child. She never spoke of him. Not even to Buddy — especially not to Buddy, who couldn’t bear to hear Danny’s name.

She thought about Danny every day. In the garden. On the beach. At school, when one of the kindergartners giggled in the same key. Did Buddy think of him like that, or was it just a mother thing?

Michelle Hertz let the silence last for a moment, gazing at the potted flowers on the deck. “By the w

ay, I did say that prayer for you.

“I only used your Hebrew name; that’s also in the records. Rabbi Flacks saved everything. With your permission, I’ll keep saying it through the summer.”

Kathleen looked at her glass.