The restaurant was new and it was in Deal and Naomi Halb insisted that even though Malky was a doll for saying that she would be fine to meet in the city, there was no reason to inconvenience anyone and Deal was just fine. More than fine.

Anyhow, she told Malky with a giggle, she’d always wanted a summer home in Deal, on the water; you couldn’t really compare the water in Loch Sheldrake to the Atlantic Ocean, right? And Tatty had never even considered it. Maybe tonight, with summer slipping away and every moment feeling like it was the last one, he would feel it too.

Lol, Malky almost answered, unnerved by her mother’s uncharacteristic joviality.

The dinner started out much the same way, Naomi and Benjy on one side of the table, Malky and Kivi across from them. The place was less than a month old; every item on the menu came with a little hashtag after it — #steaktime, #comfortfood, #tasteSpain — and instead of flowers, the wooden pots along the ledge between tables were bursting with fresh herbs. The tall, thin waiter wore a pair of fashionable blue jeans and a tight black T-shirt and seemed very uncomfortable, as if he’d been forced to dress that way. He fidgeted as he listed off a stream of recommended appetizers and Benjy finally waved his hand, saying, “You know what, just bring a little of each, okay?”

Benjy was off by a step, Kivi noticed. Instead of sipping his water slowly, as if measuring exactly how much to take at a time, Benjy almost gulped it, a sure sign that he was anxious.

Naomi looked over at an older couple who were bent over the plates and studying the food, neither of them speaking. “They look so businesslike about the whole thing, as if they’re not even trying to have a good time,” she remarked, making it clear that this — their little gathering — was just about a good time, nothing more.

Benjy said that he had a partner from Deal, and he thought the young man in the light gray suit, two tables over, might have been his partner’s son.

Go over, Naomi said, why not. But Benjy said not really, there was no reason. He wasn’t even sure anymore.

Kivi sat quietly. His in-laws had been the ones who’d wanted this dinner, here he was, let them worry about the program and the awkward conversation.

“Nu, lets hear about the Holy Land,” Benjy said. “Tell us about little Mende’le.”

“Every detail,” Naomi added, and Malky took out her phone and started to scroll through the pictures. The professional ones they’d taken in the Old City would only be ready later in the month.

Kivi leaned back in his chair, clearly off duty for the next few minutes. He sort of wanted to tell his father-in-law about Daniel Stockman: He wanted Benjy’s opinion on whether what the lenders were doing was wrong or if it really was just business as usual. But he also knew that it would sound like an appeal, and his father-in-law would offer to write out a check — “If he’s your friend, Kivi, then I’d like to help” — and that wasn’t what he wanted.

He wanted to clean up the mess the real way.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha, Issue 748)