On Friday, Hannah threw a dress at Miriam and told her to get rabbi-ready.
“You live here now, you’re going to services,” she said, and then drove them to the synagogue in Lake Placid.
The longer she stayed at Carrigan’s, the less everything felt like nostalgia and more like things she was doing for the first time. Parts like this, where she was singing Melissa Etheridge at the top of her lungs in the passenger seat while Hannah drove too fast, weren’t new—they’d been doing it since they were too young to be driving. But heading out to shul, just the two of them, was new. For years, Miriam had been practicing her faith while removed from the rest of her life, two separate bubbles that never intersected. It tickled the part of her brain that still startled easily at any kind of real emotional connection, but she sat with the feeling instead of shooing it away.
Your roots are wide and strong, Miriam Blum, she reminded herself,and love is being offered you every day, by family that spreads out as wide as the ocean.
Rabbi Ruth led a beautiful service, and even if all the faces were new, hearing the Kabbalat Shabbat always felt like coming home. Miriam hadn’t really thought what it would mean to her, to live in a home surrounded by people for whom Judaism was central to their daily lives. It was one more way she was going to be able to find herself here, and she was overcome with gratitude.
They’d invited Ziva to services, but she’d demurred, saying the girls needed time together. Miriam wasn’t sure where her mom and G-d were currently standing, and certainly wasn’t going to inquire. That was a conversation for when their relationship was much further repaired.
When they got back to Carrigan’s, her mother was standing on the big front porch, beckoning her over insistently.
“Miri, come quick, look!” Her mom was pink-cheeked and bright-eyed. She pointed up, and there was the aurora borealis, huge and otherworldly and perfect. She clutched Miriam’s hand, hard, and sighed. “I’ve had an epiphany,” she said finally.
Miriam rolled her eyes at her mother’s need for dramatic pronouncement, but she did it with some affection now.
“That’s fitting, given the date,” Noelle said, putting her arm around Miriam’s shoulders. Miriam looked at her in confusion. “It’s January sixth? Epiphany? No?” Ziva and Miriam both shook their heads.
“What’s the epiphany, Mom?” Miriam asked, not sure she wanted to know. “Did the northern lights tell you what to do with your life?”
“I’ll tell you, after I talk to Elijah.” She bustled inside and grabbed her rental car keys.
“Mom, it’s past the twins’ bedtime,” Miriam called after her. “It’s probably past Elijah and Jason’s bedtime. What are you doing? He’s not our personal on-call attorney. Or our life coach! Let him live!”
“He just played a triple word score on Words with Friends two minutes ago. I know he’s up,” Ziva insisted. “This can’t wait!” She waved merrily out the car window as she backed out of the long driveway.
“I’m kind of hurt that Elijah plays Words with Friends with your mom and not me,” Hannah said, having come up behind them.
“Do you think Elijah is going to kill my mom?” Miriam wondered.
“I’m much more worried that he’s going to fire us for being pains in his ass,” Noelle answered.
Miriam nodded at this wisdom, and they all three stood together for a long time, watching the lights. Miriam wanted to be emotionally uninvested in her mom’s journey, but in so many ways, their journeys were inextricable. They’d both been shaped by the same man, and now they were both trying to figure out how to shape themselves.
The next day, Elijah was back in their kitchen, with another mug of hot cocoa and another platter of Mrs. Matthews’s cookies (pfeffernusse, today). This time, he looked much less anxious than he had the day after Christmas.
“As I’m sure you know, your mother came to visit me last night,” he said to Miriam.
“We’re sorry about that, by the way.”
“Excuse me,” Ziva protested.
“If I held you responsible for the actions of your parents, Miriam Blum, we would not be having this conversation,” Elijah said, popping a cookie in his mouth.
Miriam nodded gratefully, and Elijah went on.
“She’s been wondering what to do about your father, since she was certain he was already planning retaliation for her role in the auction,” Elijah said. “I’m not a divorce lawyer, nor am I licensed to practice in the state of Arizona, but I am an estate lawyer, and I could act as your mother’s counsel regarding some of her assets as she sets up a possible escape plan. These pfeffernusse are legendary, Mrs. M.”
Mrs. Matthews grinned at him.
“Since Richard burned Miriam’s paintings, I’ve been quietly transferring small amounts of money to an account in a Swiss bank,” Ziva told them. “I wasn’t ready to escape, then, but I knew I should have a plan.
“Elijah, is that legal?” Hannah asked.
“Legal, certainly,” Elijah assured them. “They had joint bank accounts. Men have been siphoning off their wives’ money and hiding it in offshore accounts since time immemorial. Is it ethical? I would say not usually, but in this case we’ll call it hazard pay.”
“So,” Ziva said, “I had some savings, and, as you may or may not know, Arizona is a community property state. After Christmas, I began gathering evidence that I had been an integral part of growing and supporting your father’s business ventures. I could get my hands on a lot, because the man has abysmal cybersecurity, and all his passwords are a variation on ‘Big Dick’ puns. Richard, Dick, he thinks he’s very clever.”