Fortune's Holiday Surprise
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Jennifer Wilck
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10
Prologue
Arlo Fortune stared at his best friend’s front door and blinked hard. Only a week and a half ago, Isaac Abelman and his wife had died in a freak gas explosion while on a business trip overseas. Arlo had endured a funeral worse than any other he’d attended, including his own father’s. And now, seven days later, he’d come to pay a condolence call to Isaac’s grieving sister-in-law, someone he barely knew. He pulled at the clasp of his bolero tie and wondered if he should knock on the blue oak door or ring the black iron doorbell.
Once upon a time, he’d opened the door without a care, yelling hello to Isaac, kissing Isaac’s wife, Randi, on the cheek and tickling the chin of their toddler daughter, Aviva. Hell, going back even further, to his and Isaac’s childhood, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d knocked or rung before entering.
But now?
He grimaced and didn’t realize anyone was walking behind him until a throat cleared, and a man and a woman said, “Excuse me,” before moving past him, walking up the steps to the front porch and opening the door.
Despite the grief that slowed his thoughts and body, Arlo quickened his pace and followed the couple into the house.
He expected Randi to greet him, Aviva on one hip, a grin on her face. Instead, one of his neighbors nodded to him. From the front hall, Arlo glanced into the full living room on the right, filled with murmuring voices and subdued laughter. On his left was the dining room where he and his friend had shared many a meal. Today, the maple table was covered with a white cloth and loaded with platters of food and trays of dessert. More people gathered around it, helping themselves and huddling in groups.
He’d fiddled with his tie so much it probably needed fixing, but the mirror in the front hall was covered, probably a Jewish mourning custom he didn’t know, so he smoothed his hand down his front and wandered into the fray.
Snatches of conversation drifted toward him.
“...so sad about the baby.”
“...such a freak accident.”
“...going to stay here...”
Arlo scanned the room, trying to find someone he knew. He’d never paid a shiva call before, and he didn’t know what was expected.
Spotting one of his friends across the room, he started to make his way in his direction when a voice interrupted him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if everyone could come into the living room for the minyan, please.”
Minyan? What was that?
Someone handed him a book, open to the beginning. There was English and Hebrew writing on it, but the book was backward. He frowned. The rabbi he’d seen at the funeral walked to the front of the room and began to read.
The English was meaningful, the Hebrew chanting beautiful, and it brought into focus the importance of being together in this time of grief. As he listened to the prayers murmured around him, he looked at the people in the room.
Many of them were neighbors and townspeople he recognized. Some were people he’d grown up with. Others were strangers to him.
His gaze stopped when it landed on Randi’s sister. Arlo remembered her name was Carrie. Isaac had mentioned her occasionally, and he’d seen her at their wedding five years ago, but this was the first time he’d really had time to notice her.
She was pretty, with long dark hair she had twisted up in some kind of knot, big brown eyes filled with sadness and pale skin.
She looked...alone. Despite everyone joining her in mourning, there was a wall around her. He didn’t know if it was of her own making or maybe his imagination. But sympathy tugged at him.
In the middle of the service, Aviva began fussing. Carrie reached for her, and he thought he saw fear in her eyes, but he blinked and it was gone.
What must it be like to have parenthood thrust upon you like that? Aviva was adorable. He’d always had a bond with her, but even still, taking care of a two-year-old out of the blue? What kind of life change must that be?
He wanted to go up and reintroduce himself to her, see how she was doing and check on Aviva. But when the service ended, a swarm of people crowded around her, and he was forced to wait. He wandered through the living room into the kitchen, stopping to greet people he knew.
“Terrible tragedy,” his friend Jim said. “I talked to him the night before he left. Never thought it would be the last time, though.”
Arlo’s throat thickened. “Yeah.” His voice croaked, and he made a fist with his hand at his side. He hadn’t spoken to Isaac since a month before he died, and when he had, they’d argued. He’d had many arguments with his friend, but they’d always made up afterward. This time, they never would. He wanted to scream and shout at the unfairness of it all.
The rabbi walked past him, nodding to those he knew, and approached the table full of food. All of the guests treated him with respect, appropriate for a man of God. Arlo shook his head. How could he believe in a God who left a two-year-old parentless? What possible reason could He have for taking away his best friend and that man’s wife? He huffed out a frustrated breath. For that matter, what kind of God took his father and left him with more questions than ever before and no way of getting answers?
Nope, he didn’t want to interact with the rabbi, no matter how nice of a service he’d led. He turned away from the dining room and ran smack into Carrie.
Reflexively, he reached out to keep from knocking her over.
“Sorry about that.” He removed his hat and held out his hand. “Arlo Fortune. Isaac was my best friend. I’m sorry for your loss.”
The sorrow he’d seen in her eyes deepened, the dark brown reminding him of his polished leather saddle.
“Thank you.” Her voice was soft. “I’m sorry for yours as well.”
Something about her expression made him want to continue the conversation, to ask how she was holding up, what she was doing about Aviva, and to offer his assistance, if necessary. But before he put those thoughts into words, another mourner approached. With a tip of his hat, he retreated a step and soon the crowd swallowed her, and he turned and left.
