“Vanessa, take the kids down to the basement,” Libby instructed. Vanessa nodded and hurried up the steps. The sound of crying intensified. It wasn’t the kids. It was Dassi.

Libby hurried up the curved double staircase; the sound of crying grew louder.

“I’m dying! I’m dyinnnnng.”

Libby swallowed down quickly rising bile and hurried after the sound.

Even amid all the tension, she had to stop herself from exclaiming over the master suite. It looked almost imperial. Menashe obviously had a penchant for the grand and ornate, but it was toned down with a modern touch and the result was ostentatiously beautiful.

The bathroom was the size of a kitchen and there, in the corner, was Dassi on the floor. It looked like she had slid down a wall.

“Menashe! I’m dying!”

Libby ran over to her sister-in-law, clutched her hand.

“Dassi, what’s going on? You’re not dying, okay? You’re right here, we’re right here.”

Her sister-in-law looked up at the sound of her voice.

“Libby? No, I’m dying! I feel everything. It’s slipping away. It’s all slipping away. Where’s Menashe?”

Libby clutched the younger woman’s hand.

Dassi’s skin had a gray cast. Suddenly, her body lurched involuntarily, spasms racked her frame, each jolt arriving with an abruptness that left both women breathless. Her eyes flickered, a momentary flash of pain and confusion registering on her features.

Libby looked around for Menashe. He wordlessly put something on the bathroom counter. Libby reached for it, saw the name of a popular appetite suppressant, and her heart sank.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

Dassi looked at them both, then vomited. “Uch, Ma, I took too much,” she moaned. “I’m sorry, I was only supposed to take it once a week, but Cancun. And Cami said she’d squeeze in time to coordinate my look. And then… Cancun.”

Libby felt a tickle of fear. Dassi didn’t recognize her anymore?

She silently wet a plush towel and dabbed at her sister-in-law’s face.

Dassi looked like a child now. Eyes wide with helplessness, taut and tiny and terrified.

Libby felt helplessness bubbling up within her, but quickly forced it back down.

She gave Dassi’s hand a tight squeeze. “Das, we’re here, we’re with you, and we’re going to get you the help you need.”

Akiva hung up and jotted something on the giant whiteboard in his office.

Libby squinted; she’d taken out her contacts.

“Who is Lanber’s?” she asked tiredly.

Akiva gave her a look. “That says Langer’s, Mrs. I totally don’t really need glasses. Langer’s Health Center. They have a two-year waiting list, but Moshe Teller told me to call Barry Stern, assistant to Rav Freimowitz, who’s the chaplain there, and Rav Freimowitz said I can call their coordinator, Gavi Sherman, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

Libby watched him, eyes half-closed as he jotted something else down. She loved this side of him, the confident golden boy no one could refuse, his movements so sure, so measured.

This was in stark contrast to the bumbling freshman he often seemed to be these days. He pulled at his hair, rubbed his yarmulke, and jabbed the board with his marker again.

She wasn’t even going to attempt to read it; she was half asleep.

Nursing your sister-in-law back from an overdose of appetite suppressors took a serious toll on you. Especially if her husband didn’t want you to take her to the doctor.

Akiva’s phone rang. She listened, eyes closed, clutching a throw pillow, as Akiva spoke softly.

It was Menashe, that much she could tell.

Her brother-in-law had been overwhelmingly grateful to them both; they’d already received an extravagant bouquet along with a stunning chocolate display.

“What?!”

Libby jolted up straight, eyes open, sleep forgotten. Akiva rarely raised his voice like that.

“Are you insane? Insane?! Seriously, Menashe. Your wife is ill, do you understand that? Her blood sugar dropped like crazy, she was confused, she was sick. Any of this ringing a bell?”

Libby watched him as Menashe said something.

His face was red, his ears puce. “Daddy? You’re worried about Daddy? Do you want your wife to get better? Why should anything else matter right now? Loyalty? Business? Do you hear yourself? Menashe, sometimes I wonder…”

He listened some more. “The Frankel name? The Frankel name? Well, how’s this, little brother? I try to help you without smearing the pristine family name, and you let me know what it’s like to be Daddy’s golden boy when your wife is too sick to raise your children, okay?”

He threw the phone across the room, and turned to Libby, eyes wild.

She looked back at him, mouth hanging open.

“That was Menashe,” Akiva said.

“You don’t say.”

Libby opened her mouth and then shut it.

Akiva paced up and down the office, his slippers leaving trails in the plush rug.

“I mean,” he said at last, “I always knew that the ‘Frankels don’t do that’ mantra could stop us from making the choices that were best for the people we love, but I never thought the stupidity of it all could be life-threatening.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 984)