“Did you make some sort of rent commitment with the Manns that I’m not aware of?”

Amram was on the phone when he arrived home for supper.

It wasn’t much of an arrival, really. He’d basically left his parked car, where he worked half the day, and walked into the house, still working, apparently. He had an entire operation set up this way. There were his kashrus hours, which weren’t fixed because they depended on production schedules, and then there were all the other hours in which he did… all sorts of business things. In his car.

Leebie waited, trying to gauge how much longer the conversation was going to take. When she realized he was talking to someone about selling mileage points, she knew she’d be better off starting bedtime than waiting around.

By the time she was done bathing Chananya and had sent Dassi into the bath, Amram was off the phone and standing in front of the open fridge, making, what he called, seder.

“Amram,” she started.

“Yes, hi, how are you?” he asked, picking out an apple, inspecting it, and putting it back. “How was your day? Are Dassi and Chananya in bed? Where’s Shaya?”

“They’re not in bed yet, and I don’t know where Shaya is. Probably in his room, reading.”

She was about to blurt her question, but the words got stuck in her throat, and besides, she figured, she should probably serve her husband supper before anything.

“I love the soup this way,” Amram commented. “You grated in the celery knob the way I told you, right? See, it really tastes better when you do that.”

Uh… thanks?

“Amram, funny question.”

“Hmm?”

“Did you make some sort of rent commitment with the Manns that I’m not aware of?”