Heart of Stone by James W. Ziskin Page B

get a little excited sometimes. If I made you feel uncomfortable or unwelcome, I’m sorry.”
    I thought that as long as he was saying he was sorry, he might as well apologize for the “Twist” crack he’d made earlier, but I let that sleeping dog lie.
    The general mood started to improve after that, until David Levine outdid my faux pas by asking me apropos of nothing what Elijah was up to these days. That was a haymaker. Miriam actually gasped. I caught my breath.
    â€œWhat? What did I say?” he asked.
    No one answered him, perhaps in deference to me. Maybe they thought it was my place to respond. I tried to put on a brave smile, but it must have looked as stiff as cement.
    â€œDidn’t you know?” I asked, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “Elijah died four years ago. A motorcycle accident.”
    David rose from his chair and limped to my side. He took my hand, apologizing for his gaffe and expressing his shock and condolences all in one breath. I told him it was all right, that he couldn’t have known. Besides the tightness in my throat, there were tears welling in my eyes, but I willed myself not to weep, convinced that a breakdown at a party was not the way to mourn my brother.
    The evening devolved further into Grand Guignol, with my family as the tragic subject. Everyone present seemed to know of my mother’s death from cancer four years earlier, and they mumbled their sympathies. The girls reminisced about how sweet and kind she had been to them, how she used to offer them a lemonade on a hot day. Rachel said my mother had accompanied her to the dock one day for a swim when the other adults were too busy to do so.
    â€œShe was a wonderful soul,” she said.
    The boys echoed her thoughts, and I just sat there, not sure what to say in return. Then, just as the awkwardness was abating, Simon decided it was the right moment to express his condolences for my father’s death. I should have expected it, of course. It was only natural after the discussions of Elijah and my mother to move on to my father. Yet it took me by surprise. I stifled my emotions, pushed them down, promising myself I would let them out later, when I was alone. I somehow managed to maintain my composure, but I felt my cheeks flush and a vein throb in my forehead. I thanked Simon but gave no details of the attack on my father in his New York apartment or the coma from which he never emerged.
    I cleared my throat and waved my hands before me, feigning good humor, as if to clear the sad tidings still hanging in the air. They were all staring at me with eyes full of pity. Thankfully Isaac leaned forward and touched my wrist. He took my hand in his and smiled into my eyes. He whispered to me.
    â€œDo you remember when Elijah slid down that embankment and cut his ass on a rock?”
    I blinked at him, startled by the sudden change of tone and the unvarnished vocabulary. Then I found myself smiling back at him.
    â€œHe was too embarrassed to tell my mother,” I said. “The blood dripped down his leg for hours and soaked the insole of his sneaker.”
    â€œAnd when your father finally took him to Dr. Newcomb for stitches, Elijah insisted on wearing his swim trunks so the nurse wouldn’t see his bare rear end.”
    â€œI’d forgotten that part,” I said. And I laughed.
    Isaac gazed into my eyes, still holding my hand, and let loose a good chuckle himself. Then the others joined in, not without a few tears mixed in, but the worst was behind me.
    â€œYour glass is empty,” said Isaac, snatching it away and refilling it in a trice. “Now let’s sing the ‘Brindisi’ again.”
    â€œThat sounds grand,” I said, my eyes surely sparkling at him, but not with tears. “‘ Libiamo nei lieti calici .’”
    Isaac did a double take, and his expression betrayed a doubt. Perhaps he’d underestimated