There was no fist-pumping back home, but she was genuinely happy for him.

“Akiva, that’s great. Not that I’m surprised.”

Most house flippers struggle with not cutting corners; Akiva had the opposite problem. His instincts had been to get the latest and best in everything from cabinet lighting to doorknobs. Libby had stayed far away from the whole thing; it was too painful to revel in hardware and bedframes when she herself couldn’t afford any upgrades. But she had given her final approval, and she had to admit, Akiva had done an incredible job.

He grinned at her tiredly and stuffed his hands in his pockets. She had a sudden mental image of him on their first date, ducking his head with that grin….

She blinked hard and it was gone; in front of her was present-day Akiva, receding hairline and all. But she still softened her tone.

“Now there’s just the little matter of selling it.”

He laughed, impervious to any negativity.

“Eh, selling I’ve been doing for years.”

Yes, she thought, as a millionaire with suave and charm. Not as an entrepreneur with no backup plan.

But she let those words drop into the bottomless pool of unspoken ones she now housed, and just smiled uneasily.

Dassi wasn’t answering. Not her texts, WhatsApps, emails, or even — gasp — regular phone calls. And Libby was already past the point of annoyed, and starting to get worried.

It couldn’t have been easy to pick up with three little kids and move to a different country. Struggling emotionally made sense, even if being a Frankel relieved her sister-in-law of the burden of usual moving stressors like shopping, packing, school choices, and all the rest.

But why wasn’t she answering? Why hadn’t Dassi attended the family barbecue and photoshoot? Why did Daddy keep nudging Akiva to reach out to Menashe?

Solid questions, no good answers. And that’s why Libby was off for answers. Well, that, and boredom.

She hadn’t realized how expensive all her previous pastimes were. Shopping was off the table. So was gym membership. Coffee dates. Even organizing events for the PTA was impossible when you had zero budget.

She used to just fill in the gaps herself, viewing the budget the schools bequeathed as a sort of starting line. Now that was impossible, so goodbye Ms. Chairperson of all social obligations and hello color coordinating the kids’ closets for the seventh time. And stocking her freezer with enough cookies for the entire Kesser Torah, which, to be honest, was pretty small for a high school.

Not that Deena needed to bribe anyone with cookies; she fit right into Kesser Torah. Thank you, Hashem, bli ayin hara, poo poo. That was something she would never take for granted again.

She slipped into the car, adjusted her mirrors, and sped off.

Menashe and Dassi’s house was big. Bigger than Akiva and Libby’s. And it was very obviously Frankel. Flowerbeds in every color lined the pathway, and an extravagant water feature bubbled melodiously off to the side.

An Israeli bimba riding toy was parked neatly near the entrance, as well as one pink Native shoe. Libby smiled at these signs of normality amid the opulence and rang the doorbell.

Oh, gosh, it was Vanessa.

Impulsively, Libby hugged the older woman, who hugged her back.

“Miss Libby! How are you?”

Libby smiled brightly. “Great. We’re doing great. How are you? We miss you! How is it here?”

Vanessa shook her head slightly. “I miss the kids. It is fine here, thank you.”

Her voice was even, professional. But her eyes told an entirely different story. They shifted back and forth urgently.

Libby raised her eyebrows, but Vanessa shook her head.

“Glad to hear,” Libby said loudly. “Is Dassi here?”

Vanessa nodded ever so slightly, but aloud she said, “Oh, no, she’s out on errands.”

Libby stared. This time, the woman said and did nothing. What on earth?

“Vanessa?” she said finally. “Are you sure Dassi isn’t home? Her car is outside.”

Vanessa glared at her. “She took Mr. Frankel’s car.”

Okay, everyone was acting crazy. Was she supposed to push past her old maid and demand to see Dassi? Should she just yell out Dassi’s name and see what happened? But something in the maid’s eyes convinced her to leave it for another day.

“ ’Kay, Vanessa,” she said. “It was really great to see you. Come visit the kids one day.”

Vanessa smiles tightly. “I will, Miss Libby. Thank you!”

Libby turned away from the door and headed back to the car. She looked back at the house in confusion one more time. Just in time to see the curtains over the ornate balcony swish back down as Dassi dropped them back into place.

So her sister-in-law was definitely home.

And definitely hiding something.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 982)