Gabe has never heard Ezra sound quite so harsh with Rivi, so accusatory

A

winter frost has settled over the house, so chilly that it bites at Gabe’s skin. Ezra talks to Rivi in low tones in the kitchen, but it’s loud enough that Gabe and all the kids, arrayed in pajamas, can hear it. “Right here? Now?”

“It sounded important,” Rivi says, stiff and breakable as fired clay. “He isn’t the kind of client I can say no to — it’s all ego with him, and I can set boundaries, but he’ll ignore them.”

“You should have said no to him in the first place,” Ezra snaps, and Shimmy lets out a little whimper. Gabe has never heard Ezra sound quite so harsh with Rivi, so accusatory. Ten minutes ago, he had been singing Hamalach with the twins, at peace. Rivi was so stressed, he’d said to Gabe, his eyes awash with sympathy and affection. I thought a dinner with Eliana would be perfect.

That’s Ezra. Always quick to forgive and forget when he senses someone suffering.

Then Rivi blew into the house with an announcement about her client and Ezra went cold and angry again. Gabe clears his throat. “Why don’t we head back to bed?” he suggests to the twins, sitting side by side on the staircase. “Your Tatty already read to you, right?”

Shira purses her little lips in a mimicry of Rivi’s stubborn resistance. “Want a book.”

“You’ve got a whole bookcase upstairs.”

“It’s on the couch.”

“Okay,” Gabe concedes. “One book. Blimi, you can go back to bed.”

Blimi shakes her head. “First Shira.”

Gabe lets out a sigh. “Shimmy, can you please—”

“I’ll read to Shimmy,” Meir offers. His eyes dart to the kitchen. He’s mature for 13, far more mature than Gabe had been at his age. But he sees too much. Gabe can feel a sinking feeling in his stomach.