Esther sighed as she felt Jacob’s arm tighten around her shoulders.
“But if he is unhappy as you say, Esther, what can we do?”
Esther took a deep breath before answering.
“We can let him go, Jacob. We can let him go.”
For nearly five minutes, Esther lay her head tight against Jacob’s chest. She did this for the comfort, but also because she was afraid that if she raised her head, he would notice the tears that were pressing now beneath the brims of her eyes.
She had told Jacob how much she had grown to love Zalman nearly as much as Jacob did. But more than that, she now needed him as a friend for the times when Jacob was not around, and to share their joy in Gary even when Jacob was home. Finally, she brushed her cheek against his still-dry shirt and stood up. Despite all she had told him, Jacob protested the decision, saying that if Zalman genuinely wanted to leave, he would allow him to go, but until then, she should not broach the subject. But Esther had grown tired, and so, only half listening to her husband’s admonitions, she walked upstairs and went to bed.
Esther had an unusual habit. After everyone in the household had gone to bed, as darkness blanketed the home, leaving only a peaceful sense of contentment, she would pull out her baking utensils, the measuring cups and bowls, the tin loaf pans, along with the flour, baking powder, and whatever other ingredients were needed, and begin the task of baking bread. She had begun this weekly ritual only months after Boris had passed away, for the heat from the oven, the scents of raisins and cloves wafting through the air, always brought back the feeling of her childhood home, sweetening her dreams at night.
Wishing to replicate the experience for her son and the others fast asleep upstairs, like her mother had done so many years earlier, at 10:00 p.m. on a Thursday evening, Esther fastened the apron and set to work. That night, she would be making raisin bread, her father’s favorite, and she was already thinking about the cinnamon rolls she had planned for next week, which was one of the recipes Florrie had given her. She worked without distractions for half an hour, sifting, measuring, and kneading the ingredients, cleaning the spilled flour and salt off the counter as she washed out the used bowls, a time-saving method her mother had instructed her in, and she was content that the two loaves would satisfy the family for at least the following week. If there were any leftovers, they could be sealed in aluminum foil and frozen for a later date. Just as she had slid the loaf pans into the oven, Esther thought she heard a sound coming from upstairs. Checking the dial on the oven, she quickly removed her apron, ran the water over her flour-streaked hands, and went upstairs.
Hearing the rhythmic snores that came from her bedroom and Zalman’s room next to theirs, she quietly walked down the hall and turned the knob to check on Gary. The boy was sitting up in his bed, his hands covering his eyes as he sobbed quietly. She rushed to his side.
“Gary, my baby, what’s the matter? Tell Mommy why you are crying,” Esther said as tenderly as she could, trying to hold back her own tears.
It took the child a few moments to acknowledge her, as his sobs grew louder, his small body quivering with hysteria. Finally, he allowed her to remove the hands covering his eyes, hands that were by now bathed in his own tears. He took a deep breath and gazed up at his mother.
“Mommy, am I going to die?”
Of all the questions her child could have posed, Esther thought, this was one that she was completely unprepared for.
“Gary, oh Gary, why would you even be thinking of such a thing?”
The boy only stared up at her, his lip quivering as if he were about to cry anew. She wrapped him in her arms.
“Of course, you are not going to die,” she assured him, as she inhaled the scent of her son, a mixture of chocolate candy and sweat. She stroked his hair, which had just begun to lighten with the new season.
“Tell me, are you thinking such things because of what happened two years ago? Because of your zayde Boris?”
He pulled back from her and shrugged.
Children are such funny creatures, Esther thought. Gary had barely reacted to Boris’s sudden death; he hadn’t even shed a tear. He was only six years old then, and she had considered him too young to comprehend it all.
“Gary, look at me,” she said, tipping his chin with her finger so that his eyes were directly in line with her own. “Your zayde Boris was very sick and very, very old. You are a young boy with many, many more years ahead before you can think about dying.”
“But I don’t want to die ever!”
“My baby, please listen to your mother,” she began, trying to find the right words as she spoke. “You do not need to worry about this, I promise you. The only worries you should have are to get a good grade on tomorrow’s spelling test and how to earn your next badge for Cub Scouts. That’s all. Trust that Mommy and Daddy will always take care of you. And so will God.”