“Fishberg…” Yochi scrolled over the page on his tablet. “I got it! Rooms 315 and 316, yes?”

Fishberg nodded. Yochi handed him a schedule sheet and was about to launch into a quick introduction when a horrified gasp punctuated the air.

The lobby fell silent. Yochi’s heart took off with a gallop. What? What? What-what-what?

He lifted his head and tried to see over the crowd, searching for the source of trouble. Where was Binick?

Voices floated from afar, a wave of urgency rippling through the air. Someone — a woman — sounded hysterical, and he picked up the words, “Right now!” over the din.

A murmur passed through the crowd, and at the same moment, an alarm sounded in Yochi’s brain. Go over there. You’re in charge.

“Excuse me,” he said loudly, pushing past people and suitcases. “Excuse me, let me pass.”

At last, he reached the source of the commotion. He quickly took in the scene. Parents in their late thirties, a handful of kids. The father was talking earnestly on the phone. The mother, white as the wall, trying to follow the one-sided conversation.

“What happened?” Yochi demanded.

An onlooker with springy blond peyos let out a heavy sigh. “She just got a call. Her father collapsed, it doesn’t look good.”

Yochi closed his eyes and shook his head sorrowfully. “Oy oy oy,” he moaned.

He stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the news. Then his manager instinct kicked in again, and the first thing that registered were the family’s kids, staring at their parents with confusion and fear.

“Get their kids away,” Yochi ordered the blond guy. “Someone take them to a quiet place, calm them down.”

The man nodded. He turned to his wife, said a few words. His wife approached the distraught woman’s children carefully and started talking to them.

Yochi asked around and picked up more information. The guests’ name was Sampson, they lived in Montreal.

Taking a deep breath, Yochi walked over to Mr. Sampson. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Yochi Hersko,” he introduced himself. “This is so terrible. I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

Mr. Sampson nodded. “My wife needs to be with him,” he said hoarsely. Then he lowered his voice. “It could happen any time.”

“Yes, I realize. I’ll help you make arrangements. But maybe you should go to a quiet room with your wife for a few minutes first.”

Another nod. “Yes. Please.”

Yochi took out his phone and texted Binick. Emergency. Tell everyone to leave the office.

A moment later, Meir Binick was in the lobby, together with his wife. Yochi briefed them quickly, then Mrs. Binick escorted a shaking Mrs. Sampson to the office.

“I should really go along,” Mr. Sampson said.

“You can’t,” his wife said in a shaky voice. “Where will you and the kids spend Yom Tov? I’ll be in the hospital all day. And we can’t do this to the kids, we can’t ruin their whole Yom Tov.”

Mr. Sampson shook his head. “I know. But still. You can’t go there alone.”

“I’ll be together with my sisters, it’ll work out.”

Before closing the door, Yochi took down Mr. Sampson’s travel agent’s number.

It was a tense 15 minutes, waiting around to allow the Sampsons their space. Yochi paced the hallway as Binick spoke to the travel agent, trying to get Mrs. Sampson on a flight to Quebec, “immediately!”

Then Yochi caught himself. If Mrs. Sampson was heading right back to the airport, she would need food.

He dashed off to the kitchen, instructed the staff to pack up dinner. Then he ran to the tearoom, grabbed some drinks and refreshments.

By the time the Sampsons were heading out to the van, after fishing through suitcases to gather all of Mrs. Sampson’s belongings, Yochi’s head was spinning.

“I guess dinner won’t be on time,” Binick muttered to Yochi.

Yochi shook his head sadly.

He was lifting Mrs. Sampson’s suitcase into the trunk of the van when Pessie appeared, pushing Motti’s stroller.

“Hey, Yoch. What happened?”

Yochi gestured at the van and started explaining, but Mr. Sampson cut him off.

“Are you Mrs. Hersko?” he asked.

Pessie nodded.

“I want you to know,” he said emotionally, “your husband is a tzaddik.”

Tour directors weren’t psychologists, and Yochi had no idea how to deal with the confused atmosphere that awaited him in the lobby. It felt incongruous, to continue cheerily greeting guests with the backdrop of the Sampsons’ drama. But they weren’t calling off the tour, and he was responsible to get everyone settled and comfortable.

It was hard, but he did what he had to do, if rather soberly. Finally, the lobby was empty, the last of the baggage carts swallowed up by the elevator.

“Phew,” Binick whistled. “My head. This was crazy.”

“I can’t believe this happened. My heart goes out to them.”

Binick frowned. “Unbelievable. And I feel so bad for their kids. We’ll have to make sure to look after them.”

Yochi clucked his tongue. Then Binick checked the time on his phone again. “Dinner’s in two hours. Should we go grab coffees?”

“No, I think I’ll go to my room for a few minutes. I need to orient myself.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Yochi trudged to his room. Once again, the thought of a good smoke teased his senses, but he shoved the thought away. He took a hot shower instead, which cleared some of the dizziness. By the time he left his room, he felt a little more balanced.

“Hold the door,” he heard Pessie call.

“Oh, hi, Pessie, where are you coming from?”

“I just came to get some diapers for Motti. I’m taking the kids on the gondola with Deena. They’re all waiting in the lobby.”

Her words made something in his chest twist. It’s not the job, her voice echoed in his ears. It’s us.

“Nice,” he said, somewhat tartly. “How long is the ride?”

“I think ten minutes each way.”

He checked the time. “Know what? I’m coming with you.”

“You’re—” She looked a little astounded. “Uh, that’s great. Um, okay, I guess I’ll tell Deena to go without me then.”

There was a sting in his throat. Is she even happy I’m coming? Does she prefer to go with the food blogger?

Pessie got the diapers and stuffed them in her bag. Then, awkwardly silent, they returned to the lobby together.

There were people in the lobby again, roaming aimlessly. It took a good 24 hours for guests to adjust at the beginning of each tour, and Yochi learned not to worry about the spirit. By the time the women bentshed licht the next day, everyone would be happy and at ease.

A familiar face walked over. Mossberg.

Yochi extended his hand. “Shalom aleichem, Moe! How are you? All settled?”

They chatted for a few minutes — Where’s your room? I had them put all your equipment in the room next to the gym, did you check if everything is intact? — and then Yochi motioned to Pessie. “We better hurry. I need to be back soon. I think it’s faster through the back door.”

With a marked absentmindedness, Pessie gathered the kids. “Who were you just talking to?” she asked as she followed Yochi to the rear of the building.

“That was Moe Mossberg. The choir head.”

“The divorced guy?”

“Yes.”

Pessie fell silent. He turned back and stole a glance at her.

It couldn’t be mistaken. There was a worrisome gleam in her eyes.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 778)