Lighting the Flames (6 page)

Now, looking back a
year, she only saw herself. This time last year, she was in
Iceland, living in a university dorm with a dozen other students
from around the world. This time last year, she and Jeremy had kept
in touch online. She
’
d post pictures of the night skies that never
ended, and he
’
d caption them with typical silliness, all their
friends laughing and liking their conversation in an endless visual
trail.

She
’
d traveled so far in
literal distance, and in emotional distance, too. For so long it
had seemed that memories of her parents would sneak up on her and
hit her from behind at odd moments, sometimes for the most inane of
reasons. One of her friends in Iceland, a theology student named
Sigridur, had called them
“
grief
tackles,
”
and the description was very apt. Now those memories came,
but they didn
’
t try to knock her down, or they
weren
’
t able to.

When
she
’
d lit the
yahrzeit
candle last
year on the first anniversary, she
’
d been with new
friends whose knowledge of her only went back a few months, none of
whom were Jewish. She
’
d been studying the Jewish community of Iceland,
which numbered fewer than a hundred people, some of whom
didn
’
t want to speak to her about their cultural heritage. Gen
looked around the Meira dining hall and realized there were more
than three times that many campers at Meira every summer. There
were nearly a hundred people in the building right now.

Maybe that was why
this year, surrounded by families and people who had known her
since she was seven, she felt like she was home. The thought
brought tears to her eyes. Not painful tears, but tears of
comforted relief. She
’
d returned from Iceland in late October, and had
set up what she thought of as her new life. New apartment, new
part-time job at the library, new classes for the spring semester.
She
’
d accepted the invitation to help run Winter Camp partly
because she knew she
’
d have people with her who would understand what
she was doing and why when she lit the candle for her parents, and
partly because she knew Jeremy would be working, too.

“
Hanukkah is a great miracle,
”
Scott continued. He
wasn
’
t reading from the paper any longer.
“
It
’
s made into a bigger
deal than it is, liturgically speaking, because of its proximity to
Christmas. And, as most kids will agree, there
’
s nothing wrong with
presents.
”

“
And
fried food,
”
Jeremy said from behind Genevieve. She looked up over
her shoulder without thinking, forgetting that her eyes were
probably red and her nose was definitely running.

Jeremy glanced at her,
then looked again. He
’
d noticed her tears, and his frowning attention
made her cheeks burn.

But he
didn
’
t say anything. He stepped close behind her and put one arm
around her, his hand across her shoulder, his chin resting on the
top of her head.

“
You
gotta love a holiday like that,
”
he murmured, continuing as if he
hadn
’
t noticed she was crying.
“
Commemorate victory
in battle with fried foods? Jelly doughnuts and latkes?
It
’
s
a beautiful thing.
”

Genevieve snorted and
felt the tears recede. She was tucked into the space between his
arms and she felt the warmth of his chest seeping into her skin,
chasing the sadness away. She sank past the electric sparks of his
touch into the comforting depth of their history together, setting
aside the things she wasn
’
t sure of to make
room for the many connections between them she never
doubted.

His voice vibrated through her when he spoke.

“
I
know where Scott hid the doughnuts, too,
”
he murmured low into
her ear, and she told herself it was the air moving over her skin
that made her shiver.
“
Want to grab
one?
”

She nodded.

“
When we
’
re done, come with me.
”

She nodded again, but
he didn
’
t move away from her.

The collective voices
of the families surrounded them as they finished the prayers in
Hebrew, and then in English, ending with the blessing over special
occasions, said only on the first night of Hanukkah and not the
others:
Blessed are you, Lord
our God, King of the Universe, who has granted us life, sustained
us, and brought us to this day.

Jeremy
’
s voice was soft, another layer to the warmth of his
embrace. Then she felt his lips against her head as he
spoke.

“
Amen
.
It
’
s doughnut
time.
”

*

Wednesday, December
17, 2014
—
25 Kislev 5775

“
Make art!
”

Twenty heads, some in fleece caps and others in
hoods, spun toward him as he stood in the doorway, stomping the
snow from his boots and preventing the screen door from slamming
against the frame. It looked like most of the kids in camp were
there, gathered around the main table, bent over their
projects.

“
Excellent!
”
Jeremy continued, his voice muffled bouncing off
the gray cinder-block walls as he pulled his balaclava away from
his mouth.
“
Bundled children making art! Have you started making
candles?
”

“
It
’
s all beadwork today, sorry,
”
Gen
replied.

“
Candles?
”
A pair of blue eyes above a neon-green fleece scarf
looked up at her, then over at Jeremy.
“
Cool!
”

“
Agreed, young sir.
”

Jeremy lowered his
voice from the deep bellow that filled the room to a more sedate
volume. If he kept it up, he wouldn
’
t be able to talk
when he went home.

Then he stopped and looked again. Everyone was
wearing coats, hats, and gloves, and he could see their breath in
the air above them.

“
Gen. Why is there no heat in here?
”

“
No
idea,
”
Gen said, rolling a tiny bead between two fingers as she
looked up at him.
“
Turned it on. Kept turning it up.
We
’
re still cold.
”

“
I
can fix that.
”
He turned to the group and spread his arms.
“
Who offers
jewelry for heat? I accept bribes!
”

No one answered, but he made his way over to the
space heater anyway, unzipping his parka and tossing it over an
empty chair. He was sweating under his coat, and could feel his
T-shirt sticking to his skin. He heard Gen gasp.

“
Dude, are you seriously wearing short sleeves?
It
’
s
below freezing!
”

“
Yup. Heavy labor this a.m.
”
He
’
d been moving bunk
beds in two of the family cabins, rearranging them so kids who
might need to use the bathroom in the middle of the night
didn
’
t have to climb down from a top bunk in the dark. Then
he
’
d
helped the kitchen staff unload some of the supplies
they
’
d ordered. If he didn
’
t see another
fifty-pound bag of flour again in his life, he
’
d be more than okay
with that. He was used to lifting heavy things, but not heavy
things that made him sneeze.

He knelt in front of the space heater, which was
propped up on two stacked benches, and pried off the cover. Ice
coated the heating coils top to bottom.

“
Well, this thing
’
s toast. Or the
opposite of toast.
”

“
I
’
ll hook you up with jewelry if you can hook us up with
heat,
”
Gen replied.

Jeremy smiled at her
over his shoulder. Her answering grin was quick, too quick, and she
looked down at the project in her hands. He stood up and moved
closer to look over her bent head at the green, blue, and silver
beads gathered in shiny puddles on the table in front of
her.
“
Hey, nice colors. Like Hanukkah and pine
trees.
”

“
Thanks.
”
She gestured with her chin.
“
Ella picked them out
for me.
”

Jer looked around at
the children seated at the table, each building a necklace or
bracelet, stringing one bead at a time into a pattern. Some kids
had bent the stringing wire back around itself so it looped and
coiled in swirls of color, the beads blending into a sweeping
pattern. Others were carefully assembling a line of colors that
marched in visible order. Ella, who was among the youngest campers,
was adding beads to her wire with slow, careful movements, her
fingertips peeking out from fingerless fleece gloves. Jeremy
strolled down the table looking at all the
campers
’
projects, stopping at Ella
’
s side.

“
Whoa, that is some coolness right there. Gen, you see this?
Ella has got some serious beadwork skills.
”

Genevieve hopped off
her stool and stood next to Jeremy to take a look. He looked down
at her. Well, he looked down at almost everyone he knew aside from
his father, but Gen was like a magnet for his attention. Her hair
was down again, a long ripple of dark brown curls spilling over her
shoulders and across her back. He was so used to seeing it pulled
back in a giant ponytail through a ball cap that
he
’
d
caught himself staring at her hair several times since
she
’
d arrived. She looked different with her hair down. Older,
almost. And her hair was so much longer than he remembered. Had she
cut it at all during the time she
’
d been
away?

“
Your necklace is way nice, Ella,
”
Gen was saying.
Ella
’
s cheeks turned pink, her skin matching the shiny fabric of
her parka.
“
Is that a present?
”

Ella nodded but
didn
’
t say anything else.

“
Gen, you need to get Ella to teach classes in the
summer.
”
Several of the older girls overheard and leaned over the
table to peek at Ella
’
s design.

“
Are
you coming to camp next summer?
”
Ella shrugged in reply to
Gen
’
s question, and hunched down farther over her
beads.

Jer put his hands on
Gen
’
s shoulders, turned her so she faced away from him, and
marched her down the length of the table back to her unfinished
necklace. He squeezed her shoulders gently before he let go so he
could put his coat back on and go find a space heater. Gen looked
over her shoulder at him and was about to speak when she froze, her
eyes wide, her mouth half-open on an indrawn breath.

She was staring at him. It took him a moment to
realize it, because his brain was speeding through every open
building, trying to find a space heater he could borrow for a few
hours then return before anyone noticed it was missing.

She was looking at where his T-shirt had ridden up
over his stomach, and when he absently scratched his chest, her
eyes followed his hand.

Was she checking him out?

He felt her gaze like a touch, her attention
traveling slowly up from his chest to his neck, his face, and then
finally to his eyes.

She was
totally
checking him out.