Chapter Thirty-Eight

 

Ezra

 

 

“Mom, we need to talk.”

“Ezra, hi. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Did you get my message last night?”

“Message? Where’d you leave it?”

“On the home phone. Your cell voicemail is full.”

“Oh, you know I never check either of those, honey.”

“That might explain why it’s full. My message said we need to speak urgently.”

“Is everything okay with Noah?” Concern spikes her voice an octave. “I checked in on him yesterday and—”

“The point of Noah gaining more independence at camp is to not check on him every day, Mom. I hope you haven’t been long-distance smothering.”

Because I’ve experienced that firsthand.

“Me? Smother? Of course not. He did happen to mention on one of our few calls that you don’t have any mezuzahs in the house.”

This turn of conversation has nothing to do with why I called or anything I’ve even considered. Ever. “Mezuzahs?”

“You grew up with them in our house, Ezra.”

“Of course I did, but—”

“And yet when I asked Noah if he had one hanging on his door, he said no.”

“Mom, how about you bring some with you when you bring Noah back and hang them on any door you see fit. Sound good?”

“Well, it’s your house, of course. It’s up to you.”

Is extreme patience a sport?

“Can we get back to the reason I called? It’s important.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. What do you need?”

“The truth.”

“Ezra, don’t be mysterious. The truth about what?”

“Did you have an affair with Joseph Allen?”

Shock reverberates in the silence that falls between us over the miles.

“Because that’s what some biographer has written in a book that’s publishing soon. Is it true?”

“It absolutely is not true,” she replies, her voice curt.

“So you deny it?”

“Do I deny having an affair of any kind with Joseph Allen? I unequivocally do.”

“Then what happened between the four of you the night of that argument?”

“That is none of your business. You are my only son, and I’ve sacrificed a lot for you. I’ve done all I could to ease your way in this world, as any mother should, but I do have a private life, and you have no right to it.”

“Mom—”

“You asked for the truth and I gave it to you. It’s a lie. When is the book coming out?”

“If Kimba gets her way, which she often does, it won’t come out at all, but it has been written and it’s due to publish soon.”

“Well, she has to stop it,” Mom says, anxiety tightening her words. “They’ll ruin that man’s reputation. And, oh God. Poor Janetta.”

“Are you worried she’ll believe it?”

There’s a long pause from the other end before my mother answers. “No. If anyone knows that’s a lie, it’s Janetta.”

“You two used to be so close, but after that night, everything changed.”

“People change.” There’s a shrug in her voice, but I don’t buy it. “We moved away and made new friends, new neighbors. Life goes on.”

“Are you telling me that what happened that night has nothing to do with this rumor? If there’s anything you can share that will clear your names, you have to tell me.”

“I’ve told you what you need to know, what you asked me. No, I didn’t have an affair with Kimba’s father.”

“Okay. Then we’ll figure out how to make this go away.”