Sighing, she put the pillow back in the bin and left the store. Bracha didn’t seem the home décor type, anyway. Chocolate? She cocked her head to the side. In her mind, she saw Bracha sitting on her couch, eating chocolate pralines as she teased Dini about her volunteer groupies. Dini smiled, remembering being fascinated that someone could have so little self-consciousness as to blithely pop chocolate without doing the mental calorie calculations that were so ingrained in Dini.

Her smile faded. Bracha had been a breath of fresh air in her life. Was that friendship over? She set her teeth. Chocolate it would be. And a warmly worded apology note.

“Would you believe the girl?” Bracha stalked into Ayala’s apartment and slammed a package onto her dining room table. Layale looked up from her math homework with interest.

“Ooh, chocolate, yum!” she said, lifting the elegantly wrapped box. “Is this for us, Mrs. Resnick?”

“Yup. Enjoy,” Bracha muttered. She glared at Ayala meaningfully, who hastily stood up and told Layale that she was stepping outside for a short walk.

“This arrived at my house,” Bracha said as soon as they’d exited the building, thrusting a piece of stationery at Ayala. She took it curiously.

“Dini?” she guessed even before unfolding it.

“Of course. Who else would think she could buy my forgiveness with an expensive box of chocolates?”

Ayala raised her eyebrow but didn’t say anything as she looked down at the paper.

Dear Bracha,

Please, please, please accept my apologies for letting the cat out of the bag about your husband. It was completely unintentional and unknowing….

Ayala scanned the letter rapidly. Dini went on to explain that one of the CT volunteers had been at her house and overheard Dini’s phone call with Bracha. Her sister was good friends with Bracha’s sister, and probably not realizing that the illness was being kept secret, the girl had mentioned it to her sister. Dini ended with another deep apology for all the pain this had caused Bracha and her husband.

Ayala looked up. “So that explains it,” she said, conscious of a feeling of relief.

But Bracha’s jaw was still rigid. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Ayala threw her a quizzical glance. “I might be wrong, but you sound like you’re still upset.”

Bracha let out a loud breath. “You bet I am. What I read in that pretty little note is that she’s still refusing to accept any blame!”

Ayala opened her mouth, but Bracha held up a hand. “If she had one of her precious little volunteers in her home when I called, why in the world didn’t she tell me she’d call back? Why did she let me carry on a personal conversation when she knew there was a risk of being overheard?”

Ayala shrugged. “Maybe she went into another room and didn’t realize the girl could hear her?” She cast her friend a glance. “Maybe she thought you sounded so, uh, distraught that she didn’t want to push you off?”  The idea of Bracha turning in her pain to Dini rather than herself still left a rancid taste in her mouth, but this was not the time to think about herself.

Bracha glared at her. “Shkoyach, you’re a good friend. Now stop trying to defend her.  We both know she’s been obsessed about her little volunteer fan club. They even come to her for private mentoring, did you know that?”

Ayala blinked. “Mentoring? Huh?”

“Yup. Newlywed marriage counseling. Dini told me about it. She was laughing when she said it, pretending to be modest, but it was clear she was proud as anything.”

Ayala contemplated that. Newlywed marriage counseling. It was unexpected, but not necessarily a bad idea. She cleared her throat. “I suppose these girls need someone to turn to for advice—” she began, but Bracha cut her off.

“Of course they do, especially if they’re as idiotic as that blabbing volunteer. But don’t you think there’s something sketchy about this? Like, a blurring of boundaries?”

Ayala squinted in the sunlight. “What do you mean?” she asked slowly.

“Well, think about it. Her job is to ask them to donate their time and money to Chesed Tzirel… and now she’s serving as mentor in the most personal aspects of their lives? Won’t they feel obligated to do whatever she asks?”

Ayala felt her head starting to pound. “I’m sure she meant well. She just… hadn’t thought it through.”

“No, that doesn’t seem to be her strong point, does it?”

Ayala was about to protest the unfair sarcasm but thought better about it. Bracha was still hurting badly; she wasn’t ready yet to think logically about Dini.

She sighed. “I’ll talk to her.”

Dini paid the delivery man and set the boxes of pizza on the table. Chaviva, walking into the kitchen, wrinkled her nose.

“You bought dinner again?”

Dini usually tried to excuse her preteen’s chutzpah, but her nerves were just too on edge.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been running this household singlehandedly while Tatty’s in America.  If you’d like to offer to cook dinner, be my guest. If not, keep your comments to yourself.”

Chaviva’s eyes widened and her lips pursed. After a moment, she muttered, “Sorry,” and flounced off.

Dini blinked. She supposed getting that apology was a chinuch accomplishment.

Maybe?

She rubbed her eyes. She missed Shuki; he knew how to handle Chaviva much better than she did. Come to think of it, he knew how to handle a lot of things better than she did. She wished she could consult him about this whole Bracha mess, but he had enough on his mind at the moment. Today was his big meeting with Schiller, and she needed him to be in top form.

She could barely think about donors right now. Had Bracha’s chocolates arrived yet?  Probably not; wouldn’t Bracha have called if they had?

Her phone rang at that moment and Dini grabbed it. Ayala, not Bracha. Still, she felt nervous. Surely Bracha had told Ayala what happened. Hadn’t she been on her way to Ayala’s building when she met Dini in the parking lot?

“Hey,” she said as cheerily as she could. “Pizza.”

She grinned as she listened to the momentarily silence on the other end.

“Um… no, this is Ayala.”

Dini chuckled. “I assumed, if you’re calling during dinnertime, it’s to find out what we’re eating. So it’s pizza and don’t judge. Shuki’s in America.”

“Mac ’n cheese and Naftali’s just down the block,” Ayala rejoined.  “Have you ever known me to judge dinner?”

Dini felt herself relaxing for the first time since yesterday. She settled down on the couch.

“Anyway,” Ayala continued, “sorry to call at this terrible time, but I had something important to discuss.” She paused. “I was just talking to Bracha and, um….”

Dini tensed once more. “You know what happened, I assume?”

“Yeah. Bracha showed me your note.” Why did Ayala sound apologetic?

“So she did receive it. I was surprised I hadn’t heard from her.”

“Dini, she’s still very upset.”

Dini’s heart pounded.  “She is?” she squeaked out. “But… you saw what I wrote! It wasn’t me at all! It was Sar— um, one of my volunteers! I didn’t even realize she’d heard! How could she still be angry at me?”

Ayala’s voice sounded gentle — too gentle. “She’s dealing with a lot of intense emotion right now. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Dini swallowed.  “Yes, of course, but—”

“She feels betrayed,” Ayala sighed. “Not that you actually betrayed her confidence,” she said hurriedly.  “But that you, uh, put your volunteers over her.”

Dini opened her mouth furiously. “Excuse me?”

Ayala’s voice got even quieter. “She was wondering why you would have such a sensitive phone conversation knowing your volunteer was in earshot.”

“She wasn’t!” Dini shrieked. “At least, I didn’t think so! You — you can’t seriously tell me you think I would have done that!”

Ayala was quiet for a bit too long.  “No, I don’t think so.  And I actually told Bracha that.  But… you can’t deny, Dini, that you’ve become, um, very into your volunteers.”

Dini stood up, shocked by the outrageousness of the accusation. “Very into them. Uh-huh. If you mean that I’ve been devoting my days and nights to founding this group, recruiting members, organizing events, and leading them in this campaign, then yeah, I’m very into them.” She squeezed her fist. “If you mean something else, please tell me.”

Ayala spoke hesitantly. “Is it true that you’ve been mentoring them in shalom bayis issues?”

Dini stopped short. “A few of them reached out to me privately, yeah. Not sure what that has to do with anything. If you think it’s a conflict of interest or something, don’t worry, I’m not taking money for the counseling.” She glared at her ceiling. “Ha, what am I talking about? I’m not taking money for my Chesed Tzirel work either!”

“Yes, yes,” Ayala said quickly. “You’re incredible. I know how much you do for us. I was just wondering if… could it possibly be, um, a blurring of boundaries?”

Dini gritted her teeth, feeling the tension building inside until she was ready to scream. Bracha was still furious with her. Ayala was suspicious of her every move. Nobody trusted her.

And suddenly, Dini snapped. “Don’t tell me you know how much I do for you because you have no idea! No idea! I–I—” she spluttered, walking rapidly around her living room. Ayala could talk appreciation all she wanted, but if she could honestly sit there spewing self-righteously about boundaries and putting her volunteers’ happiness ahead of everyone else’s, as if Dini were doing all this just to fill some warped need to have people fawning over her, then….

She gritted her teeth as, from among her whirl of thoughts, one emerged and took root.

She was done.

“Forget it,” she said. “You clearly see me as a handicap, so I’ll do you a favor and remove myself. You and Bracha can continue running the campaign exactly the way you want it. No need to worry about Dini messing everything up.”

And she hung up the phone, threw herself on the couch, and burst into tears.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 908)