Ugh. Why had he made that ridiculous promise to her? Did he really have to do this?

Yochi lifted the lid of the warmer and picked out two waffles. He reached for the bottle of syrup, then paused as Mr. Sampson, surrounded by kids, approached the breakfast buffet table.

Mr. Sampson’s face looked haggard, but otherwise didn’t relay anything. That probably meant there was no update. It was unnerving, this situation, knowing the news about his father-in-law may arrive any minute.

“Good morning,” Yochi greeted him cautiously. “How’s it going?”

Mr. Sampson gave a weary shrug. “Pretty much the same. Critical but stable.”

“Hashem should help…” Yochi said earnestly. He changed his mind about the syrup and picked up a napkin from the display. “Let me know if there’s any improvement.” He didn’t want to say news — news somehow sounded foreboding. “And if you need any help, with the kids or anything, please just tell me.”

“Yes, yes. Thanks, we’re good for now.”

Yochi took his plate over to the coffee machine on the other side of the succah tent and tapped on the screen to select his espresso. He stared absently at the video of a coffee bean harvest — the whole process the crop underwent until it landed in his cup — his mind on the day ahead.

It shouldn’t be too crazy a day. The guests would all be out sightseeing and following the guided hikes he’d scheduled, the kitchen was running smoothly — Berkowitz said he had a grip on dinner and Shabbos cooking. The evening entertainment didn’t need much prep, either. There was the cooking show for the women — Lizman said she was all set — and a kumzitz around a bonfire for the men, with Asher Elbaum getting up to share his astounding life story.

“Gee, thanks for that,” a voice murmured in Yochi’s ear.

He turned, just as Mossberg reached for the then-ready brew. Mossberg added milk, closed his eyes and took a sip. “Perfect. Gevaldig.”

“You—” Yochi grunted as he reset the machine for a new cup. “You should be drinking tea to preserve your voice for tonight.”