“Akiva!”

So much for that. Libby hurried over to him, smile hitching itself into place. Their eldest was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t have time for this; he needed his mind clear for the pitch he was going to be offering his father as COO of Frankel Construction.

“Akiva, your daughter is driving me insane.”

He smiled at this. Deena really was his daughter, just a thousand times smarter, more talented, and altogether a better version.

“Libs, I’m sorry. Let me just have this conversation with Daddy, and then I’m all yours.”

Libby raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m surrrrre. ’Kay, let me hear the pitch.”

She was a good woman. Akiva cleared his throat, wiping sweaty hands on his pants pockets.

“FC needs to join the 21st century. FC architects would benefit greatly from engaging in BIM, building information modeling, which allows for digital representation of a building.” He stopped.

Yehuda Frankel thought using tablets to sketch things out was cutting edge technology that could hardly be trusted. He’d only caved on the matter two years ago.

He’d be hard-pressed to trust something to think for him, although he did have a soft spot for his bechor, and Akiva usually knew just how to convince his father to come around to his way of thinking….

Bubby clapped her hands just as he opened his mouth to continue. Libby shrugged.

The lifeguards immediately shooed the kids inside like pigeons off a statue. Giggling, wrapped in giant towels, the youngest Frankel contingency disappeared, while the elder half gathered toward Zeida, magnets drawn to their source.

Bubby whispered to the hotelier and a moment later, an accordion screen was moved away from the far end of the pool to reveal Cantor Yosef Martin, resplendent in his white robes, hands lifted in song.

“Nice touch,” Akiva murmured to Meira as the crowd hushed.

She waved her hand. “It was nothing. Gersh called Yisrael Meyer who voicenoted Toby Sklar who just WhatsApped Penny Martin. He was more than happy to do it. We invited Penny, too, of course, but their daughter just had her first.”

Which was more information than Akiva needed to know, but that was Meira.

He clapped Shragi on the shoulder as he hurried past, fist-bumped two nephews, slid past Uncle Gedalya, until he was next to his father. A concierge brought him over a chair before he even thought to sit.

“Thanks. Daddy, what do you think?”

Yehuda nodded approvingly. “Quite the voice. Zeida used to play him on cassette.”

Zeida turned. “Akiva. Isn’t he wonderful? Listen to that note.”

The old man closed his eyes in ecstasy; Akiva closed his, too. Maybe, if he concentrated, he’d hear what Zeida heard.

But to him the notes were too round, too long, too robust.

Giving up, he let his eyes open. “Daddy… what’s with the Kornbluth project?”

Yehuda Frankel didn’t blink. “In our pocket. Dallard tried to outbid us….”

He and Gedalya looked at each other and laughed at the ludicrousness. Akiva didn’t join them.

This was his chance. “Dad. Dallard uses BIM, did you know that?”

Yehuda turned away. “Nisht far mir. Did you hear Menashe and Dassi are coming back before the Yamim Tovim?”

Akiva blinked. Was that the end of his pitch? He had cards in his pocket; he’d been practicing the whole flight here.

“Menashe?” he asked, voice flat.

“Your baby brother. Remember him?”

“Honeymoon over?” Akiva asked mildly.

It still rankled that his younger brother was permitted to stay in Eretz Yisrael for five years when he had been brought back after six months.

He and Libby had loved every minute of it, though. Despite everyone’s jokes about “kollel life” when seeing their four-bedroom penthouse in the center of Jerusalem, to them it had felt simple. And pure. He still thought about it, every now and then, when things got too loud or too… Frankel.

“And about time, too. He’s ready to step in as general manager at FC. Put that kollel kop to good use.”

Yehuda laughed heartily and turned back to the performance.

Akiva stood still. General manager? Was Daddy joking? Baruch Abrams had been working overtime, angling for that promotion. Baruch, who had been with the company for eight years and had single-handedly reinvented the inner systems. Baruch, Akiva’s childhood best friend, the reason all his shidduch references said, “Yes, he’s a Frankel but he’s sooo normal, he’s best friends with Rav Yonasan Abrams’s son.”

And now Menashe is just swooping in with his baby face and his FIG phone that couldn’t make business calls and taking it all away from him.

Cantor Martin let out a note that was probably impressive and astounding and worthy to be on a cassette, but all Akiva heard was a long, sad wail.

His phone vibrated, costing him a scandalized look from Uncle Gedalya, who honestly probably didn’t really care that the good cantor was singing and just wanted an excuse to put Akiva in his place.

He drew it out surreptitiously and held it away from him. Gosh, he was getting old; he could barely see the screen.

Squinting, he could just make out the name flashing across his phone: Baruch Abrams.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 969)