The uneasiness between them was magnified on the car ride home. Something about the tightly finished, plush interior of the SUV stilted conversation, prompting both of them to focus instead on the driving and the scenery. Fortunately, Seattle was a very beautiful city and there was a lot to look at. The bridge to Mercer Island, in particular, was a striking roadway spanning the gleaming waters of Lake Washington. Water and mountains filled every inch of the horizon, and the sun had a way of bouncing its rays over the surfaces the way a thrown pebble would skim water.
Mercer Island itself was almost too picture-perfect to be true, its vibrant colors matching those of a storybook and its squeaky-clean tree-lined avenues almost extracted from a model train set.
“This place is so different,” Jeff remarked finally, shaking his head and holding back a chuckle.
“Why?” his father asked, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
Jeff shrugged his shoulders, staring blankly at a jogger who was waiting at the traffic light, adjusting his headphones with one hand and straightening his dog’s leash with the other.
“I don’t know. It’s just so different from Jerusalem.”
“Jeff,” Bernie responded quickly, “just a minute. Now I may not know every detail of your itinerary, but I do know that you weren’t only in Jerusalem, right? You were in England, France, Greece…”
“Turkey,” Jeff added.
“Right, Turkey. That must have been phenomenal. I mean, I have always wanted to go to Turkey. Istanbul, right?”
Jeff nodded.
“Well, you see, you experienced all of these places. What an adventure! Do you have to focus only on Jerusalem? Let’s forget about Jerusalem for the moment…”
“That’s a terrible thing to say, Dad.” Jeff’s face contorted.
Bernie’s grip on the wheel slackened momentarily and he narrowly avoided mounting the sidewalk where a woman was walking her poodle.
A little pale, he turned into a side street and pulled over.
He turned to his son. “Er…what did you say?”
“Dad,” Jeff said calmly, “there’s a verse that says if someone forgets Jerusalem then he may as well forget his right hand.”
Bernie leaned over to the passenger seat and stared into his son’s eyes with the scrutiny of an ophthalmologist.
“Jeff? Are you there? Jeff, do you read? What has happened to you?”
Jeff flexed his neck backwards to avert his father’s disconcerting glare.
“Dad, stop. I’m fine. I’m just the same guy.”
Bernie slowly retracted. His frown softened a little. At last, words that sounded normal. However, it was certainly not enough to eradicate his concerns.
“What does your mother think of all of this?” Bernie inquired, steering the car back onto the main road.
“She’s cool,” Jeff said. “She’s happy that I’ve found my direction.”
“Hmmm,” was all Bernie said.
Jeff looked away. There it was again, his father’s discreet sneer that served as a screen for yet another powerful jab at his ex.
The car turned down a steep and narrow driveway leading to a rambling three-story house right on the water. Tall dense foliage brushed at the alpine walls on all sides. The sound of the bristling leaves merged with the gentle lapping of the water against the jetty below, producing a hypnotic hum that massaged the senses.
“Wow, Dad!” Jeff exclaimed, climbing out of the car. “You told me you were moving, but I didn’t realize you were, like...moving!”
Bernie smiled, probably the first time he had done so the entire day. Now his son was finally speaking his own language. But it didn’t last very long.
“Does it really make you happy, Dad?” his son inquired as they climbed the rustic yet immaculate steps to the front door.
“What do you mean?” Bernie turned to him, his smile instantly souring. “Of course, I’m happy!” he snapped. His face burned red.
Jeff decided not to pursue the matter. Perhaps, for the moment, it was best to keep his thoughts about materialism to himself.
* * *
Bernie pulled out of the drive after showing his son his room and where everything was. He had to rush now to a meeting with a client downtown.
As soon as he was back on Island Crest Way, he drew out his cell phone and dialed.
“Connie, he’s gone insane.”
“What are you talking about, Bernie?” she asked without a trace of urgency in her voice. She had grown accustomed to Bernie’s sudden frantic outbursts about nothing.
“It’s Jeff. I don’t know what’s happened to him. He’s gone nuts. He’s saying blessings about the bathroom and forgetting his right hand for Jerusalem.”
“Bernie, you’re not making any sense.”
“That’s exactly my point!” he cried.
She sighed. “Look, let’s discuss this later this evening. I have a deadline to meet here and then I have to go home to prepare the meal for tonight. You did tell Jeff that you guys are eating at my place tonight, right?”
The line was silent, apart from a crackle in the reception.
Bernie had been so preoccupied by the change in his son that he had not only forgotten to tell him about the meal with Connie, he had also forgotten to tell him about Connie.
“B-e-rnie…” She pronounced his name in a protracted whine, her way of showing her disapproval. She had already predicted the answer, his silence having given him away.
“Er…that detail was overlooked.” His mind tended to switch into legalese whenever she would put him on the defense. It was partly humorous and partly annoying.
“Instructions acknowledged. Will confer at earliest opportunity.”
He hung up before she could launch into her discourse on the ramifications of his negligence. She tended to do that, although she was generally nice about it.
He quickly dialed his own home number as he approached the on-ramp to the I-90.
“Come on, Jeff, pick up,” he urged, hoping he would not get to hear the sound of his own recorded voice pleasantly informing him that he wasn’t home.
“Hello,” a groggy voice answered.
“Jeff? Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay.”
“Listen, I forgot to tell you that I...er... One second…”
He was going under a tunnel and the reception was getting fuzzy.
“…that I’m engaged,” he said, as he emerged on the other side.
“What?” The voice on the phone was no longer groggy.
“Yeah, I’m getting married, so...er…” Now he had to concentrate while he entered the freeway on the left, straight into the fast lane, one of Seattle’s convoluted roadway brainteasers that never failed to rattle the nerves.
“Uh...mazal tov...Dad!” Jeff managed finally as Bernie settled in behind another (older model) SUV.
“Thanks. Her name is Connie, and she’s planned a very special meal tonight to welcome you back.”
There was a long pause. “She has?”
“That’s right. She’s gone to a lot of trouble.”
“A lot of trouble,” Jeff repeated. “A lot of trouble.”
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