“So, what? Then take a job you hate?” Casey winced in her chair.
“No, he thinks you should take a job, and a job should be a job and not something that you could love more than God.” Isaac felt confused himself. “So the rabbi writes to Irv and tells him to be a silver engraver. A job for which Irv would not feel great passion.”
“That’s so crazy,” Sabine said. “I love my job. I feel so much passion for what I do.”
“Well, the rabbi would not like that, I guess.” Isaac smiled. “But so what? We’re not Jewish. And you don’t believe in God anyway, so what does it matter? Besides, it’s just one rabbi’s nutty idea.”
Casey didn’t know what to say.
Isaac raised his teacup. “He died a happy man, though, my father said. Seven sons and two daughters. He was my father’s favorite. My father always snuck around—so my grandparents wouldn’t find out—to visit him where he worked. Near the diamond district. But my father never could make sense of the religion stuff. And my mother never liked the church, either. Anyway. . .” Isaac smiled at them. “Tea?” He looked at the pot.
They both shook their heads no.
“So, you shouldn’t find the meaning of your life in your job?” Who would disagree with that? Casey thought, searching for a moral, like a faithful student writing a book report. “So you shouldn’t love work more than God.”
“Not if you’re Irv, anyway. I mean, I guess he was kind of a romantic guy. You know? My father said he knew no one smarter than his brother Irv. He did everything in an intense way. Maybe the rabbi understood that about him. Eh, what do I know?”
Casey couldn’t say what a Christian would believe. But a minister would have likely agreed on this point. The Bible was clear that idolatry was a sin, and a person could make anything an idol. Why not a job?
Sabine snorted. “I don’t believe that stuff. It’s all magic and voodoo, and I think you should just be a good person. And it’s crazy to not let a person who wants to be a lawyer be a lawyer. That’s a nice job where you could really help people.”
It was time to leave. Casey thanked her hosts and excused herself for the evening. “The dinner was delicious,” she said.
“You have to come by more,” Isaac said.
Sabine said nothing as she and her husband walked Casey to the door. She pulled out Casey’s jacket from the closet and helped her put it on. She stood in front of Casey to wrap her thin scarf around her neck, and Casey let Sabine do this. The scarf was tied elegantly—a large square knot, its ends off by an inch of material.
“I want you to be happy, Casey,” Sabine said, looking sober. “And I’m—sorry. I’m sorry I never know how to help you in the right way. It’s just that I don’t know how to love. Without taking over.” She started to cry.
A grown-up had never apologized to her before, and Casey didn’t know what to say. She was a grown-up, too, but around Sabine and Isaac, she still felt like a girl.
“No, no, Sabine. Please don’t cry.” She took her friend’s hand into her own. And in her mind, Casey was telling her how much she loved her, how complicated it was between them, and how she’d be lost without her. There was a debt, and loyalty, too, and so much affection. But Casey said nothing of how she felt inside. The words just swam inside her head. Isaac put his arm around Casey and reached over to kiss his wife’s forehead. Watching the kiss, Casey thought, A blessing must feel like that.
4 PRICE
THERE WERE TWENTY-ONE BUSINESS SCHOOL STUDENTS in her summer intern class at Kearn Davis, and Casey had a lot to prove. Rumor had it that only sixteen of them would get permanent offers. Hugh Underhill would neither confirm nor deny this （as he was unwilling to ask his buddy Charlie Seedham, who served as Casey’s summer boss）， but thought that holding an eight-week beauty contest was hilarious and told her so. But Walter Chin, who had joined them for drinks after Casey’s first week at work, assured her, “Oh, Casey, you’ll make the cut.” Regardless, when assignments were passed out, Casey completed whatever was given, then immediately raised her hand for more. Thankfully, Sabine had let her take a leave of absence for the summer, and for the past two weeks, since she’d started her internship, Casey had toiled both weekends at Kearn Davis on the sixth floor, where Jay Currie and Ted Kim had once worked. Her desk was only four desks down from where Jay used to sit when he was an associate.
As to have been expected, her hours were unreasonable, but Unu was trying to be as supportive as possible. On Saturday morning, he made coffee for her before she went to the office.