“We’re going to the emergency room,” Yaakov said. He was telling them, not asking

S

andy and Marta Eliav sat down to an early supper, the wedding album open between them. It had just arrived this morning, and now they had time to savor the memories together.

There were Judy and Yaakov, and their little girls, dressed like princesses. Moriah and her husband, with their sweet baby boy. Yonatan with his bride at his side, his eyes shining. And on the next page, one large picture of all of them together. Marta stroked the stiff printed page with her fingertips, tracing an imaginary cloud around her perfect family. They were all married off now, all settled, all happy.

“They make such a nice couple,” said Sandy, pointing to Yonatan and Sarah Bayla. “A really nice couple.”

And suddenly a lightning bolt shot through his brain.

“Yes, they do,” said Marta with motherly pride. “Everyone was so impressed with Yonatan, the way he received all the guests so graciously, even the people he didn’t know at all.”

She looked up, away from the album, and saw her husband leaning forward. His elbows were on the table, and he was supporting his forehead with his palms.

“What’s the matter, Sandy?” she asked, alarmed. “Are you all right?”

“A headache,” he said.

“Is it just the usual?”

“Worse than usual.”

“Do you think we ought to go for a checkup? Or is it just because of all the traveling, and all the excitement?”

Sandy shut his eyes. Strange sensations were jumping around in his head, and bile was rising in his throat. “I think we’d better.”

“Can you drive?” Marta asked.

“No. We’ll ask Yaakov to take us.”

After a few breaths he looked up and saw her face. It was paper white.

“Don’t worry, it’s probably nothing,” he said. “But just to be sure, I think we should get a doctor’s opinion.”

“Yes, you’ve probably just overtaxed yourself a bit,” she said. “That meningioma is benign, after all.” No! No! No! You have to be okay, Sandy, she tried not to scream.

“Right,” he said weakly.

“And they’ve been keeping track of it.”

“Right.”

“It’s a slow-growing thing. The doctor said you can live with it to a ripe old age.”

“Call Yaakov, ask him to come.”

Marta called Yaakov, and as she put down the receiver she saw her husband’s head sink to the table.

“Are you okay, Sandy?”

“No. Tell Yonatan that…” Some garbled words came out.

Marta grasped for the right words. She wanted to say reassuringly, “You’ll have plenty of chances to tell him whatever you want.” But the look in his eyes frightened her. “Sandy, I can’t understand you,” she said. “Try to speak clearly. What should I tell Yonatan?”

“Same as I said to Shalom,” he mumbled.

“I should tell Yonatan what you said to Shalom?”

Sandy mumbled something unintelligible. And then Yaakov was there, ready to take charge. Supporting his father-in-law’s arms, he led him out to the car.

“We’re going to the emergency room,” Yaakov said. He was telling them, not asking.

No one said a word in response.

Things moved quickly at the hospital, but not quickly enough. As they began prepping Sandy for a CAT scan, he lost consciousness. As the doctors entered and exited the room, their faces said too many things, and Marta felt completely lost. She called her daughters, asking them to come, and quickly. Moriah and Judy promised they would just make some quick arrangement for the children and then come right away. Marta wanted Yonatan there, too. She felt scared and helpless, and she wanted him at her side, with or without his spouse. She called him.

“Can you get here?” she asked. “Daddy isn’t well.”