“In my divorce?” I ask. “But that’s just been recently. What about before that?”
“You’d been with your husband since you were what, twenty-one or twenty-two?”
“Twenty-three,” I murmur.
“Do you think he was the love of your life?”
“No,” I say. “But don’t tell Annie that.”
Gavin laughs softly. “I would never do that, Hope.”
“I know.”
Silence hangs between us again for a moment. “I think that you probably spent a dozen years with a man who didn’t love you like a person deserves to be loved,” Gavin says, “and who you maybe didn’t love the way you’re supposed to love someone. You got used to settling.”
“Maybe,” I say softly.
“And I think that every time a person gets hurt, there’s another layer that forms around the outside of their heart, you know? Like a shield or something. You were hurt a lot, weren’t you?”
I don’t say anything for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” Gavin says. “Was that too personal?”
“No,” I say. “I think you’re right. It was like nothing I did was ever good enough. Not just with Rob. But with my mom too.” I stop speaking. I’ve never told anyone that before.
“I’m sorry,” Gavin says.
“It’s in the past,” I murmur. I’m suddenly uneasy with the conversation, uncomfortable that I’m telling Gavin these things and letting him into my head.
“I’m just saying that I think the more layers there are around your heart, the harder it is to recognize someone you could really fall in love with,” he says slowly.
His words settle in for a moment, and I feel strangely short of breath. “Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe when you’ve been hurt a lot, it just opens your eyes to reality and you stop dreaming of things that don’t exist.”
Gavin is silent. “Maybe,” he says. “But maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it does exist. Would you agree that your grandmother’s been hurt a lot over the years?”
“Of course.”
“And Jacob Levy too, probably?”
“Yeah, probably,” I say. I think of all they both lost—their families, life as they knew it, each other. What could hurt more than the entire world turning its back on you while all the people you love are hauled away to their deaths? “Yeah,” I say again.
“Well, let’s see if we can find him,” Gavin says. “Jacob. And we can ask him. And your grandmother.”
“If she wakes up,” I say.
“When she wakes up,” Gavin says. “You have to stay optimistic.”
I look at the clock. How can one stay optimistic when time keeps marching forward? I sigh. “Okay,” I say. “So we’ll just ask them if love is real?” I hate that I sound like I’m mocking him, but he sounds silly.
“Why not?” Gavin answers. “The worst they can say is no.”
“Yeah, all right,” I agree. I shake my head, ready to be done with this futile conversation. “So you think we can find him? Now that we have a birth date?”
“I think it increases our chances,” Gavin says. “Maybe he’s still out there.”
“Maybe,” I agree. Or maybe he died a long time ago, and this is all a wild goose chase. “Hey, thank you,” I say, and I’m not sure whether I’m thanking him for the conversation we’ve just had, or whether the thank-you is only for helping us try to find Jacob.
“You’re welcome, Hope. I’ll call a bunch of synagogues tomorrow. Maybe something will turn up. See you tomorrow evening at the hospital.”
“Thank you,” I say again. And then he’s gone, and I’m holding the receiver, wondering what just happened. Is it possible that I’ve just gotten old and bitter and that this guy in his late twenties knows more about life and love than I do?
I fall asleep that night wishing fervently, for the first time I can remember, that I’m just a big fool and that all the things I’ve grown to believe aren’t true after all.
Chapter Twenty-one
Annie and Alain accompany Gavin to temple the next night, while I stay with Mamie past the end of visiting hours, after bribing the nurses on the floor with a lemon-grape cheesecake and a box full of cookies from the bakery.
“Mamie, I need you to wake up,” I whisper to her as the room grows dimmer. I’m holding her hand and facing the window, which is on the other side of her hospital bed. Twilight has almost faded to full darkness now, and Mamie’s beloved stars are out. They seem to sparkle less brightly than they used to, and I wonder whether they’re fading, as I am, without Mamie’s attention. “I miss you,” I whisper close to her ear.