“We’re home, honey!” the Rabbi called, bending down as the dog jumped up on his shins and got a scratch behind the ear.
“In the kitchen!” Flavia called back, and the Rabbi headed toward the back of the house with Chris and Fred on his heels. They walked through the large, funky living room, with its green tufted couch and hot pink chairs grouped around a glass coffee table covered with books, drawing pads, and colored pencils. The walls were a soft turquoise, and vivid oil paintings covered every square inch with abstract scenes of flowers, fruits, and pottery.
“Curt!” Flavia appeared at the threshold of her aromatic kitchen, threw open her arms, and hugged Chris, barely coming up to his chest because she was as short as the Rabbi.
“Hello, Flavia,” Chris said, hugging her back. She felt warm and soft, and he breathed her spicy perfume and garlic smells from cooking. Inwardly, he struggled to cross the Chris/Curt divide to her, the family, and the house. It was an occupational hazard of an undercover cop to always be inside himself, but Flavia and the Rabbi reached into his heart and yanked until he gave it to them, so Chris surrendered as best as he could. At least he knew he wanted to, even though he was The Untouchable.
“How have you been, Curt? Long time, no see!”
“Wonderful, you?”
“Terrific. I’m so glad you could come. You know we love when you hang with us.”
“I love to hang with you.”
“Yet you won’t come dancing with us? David told me he asks you.”
“I can’t right now—”
“You always say that!” Flavia pouted, pretending to be offended, her dark eyes flashing. Her features were beautiful in an exotic way, with a large curved nose, full lips, and striking cheekbones. Her figure was part of the same package, voluptuous in a flowing peasant dress. Black curls trailed freely to her shoulders, framing her lovely face.
“Curt!” the twins said in unison, looking up as they set the table. They were a matching mixture of Flavia and the Rabbi, with their mother’s round brown eyes, the same dark curls, and a ready smile from their dad.
“Ladies!” Chris couldn’t tell them apart for a minute, though he had known them a long time. He felt a pride in them as if they were his own daughters, which he knew was a ridiculous thought, even as he had it.
They laughed, coming over and giving him a quick hug. “I’m Leah, she’s Lina,” Leah said, smiling up at him.
“Wow! When did you two grow up?”
“When you got old!” Leah shot back, laughing.
“Curt, meet our friend Melissa Babcek.” Lina gestured behind her, and a slim blonde came out of the pantry with some cans.
“Hi, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Melissa said, and Chris realized that Flavia and the Rabbi were trying to set him up, yet again.
“Nice to meet you too. I’m—” Chris was about to say Chris Brennan, but he stopped himself. “Curt Abbott.”
“I hear you’re, like, the best ATF agent ever.”
“Not exactly,” Chris said, eyeing the Rabbi. “So much for confidentiality.”
The Rabbi waved him off. “Don’t give me that, Curt. She doesn’t need clearance to know you’re a star.”
Chris laughed it off, and they all sat down to a delicious dinner of vegetarian risotto and roasted branzino, covered with tomatoes, onions, and red peppers. He wolfed down a second helping as the conversation circulated easily, lubricated by chilled Sancerre. Melissa was a nice woman, telling funny stories about her life as an associate at a big law firm, and although Chris gave the right responses and said the right words, he felt apart from everyone. It was as if he could go only so far but no further, and by the end of dinner, Chris could feel the Rabbi’s eyes on him.
“Chris, let’s go outside. I need a cigar.”
“Sure, okay.” Chris followed him from the kitchen, through a set of French doors, and out to their back patio, a flagstone rectangle framed by a privacy fence covered by ivy and climbing rosebushes. At the center of the patio was a table and wire chairs painted red, and on the table sat a blown-glass ashtray with a half-smoked cigar and a Bic lighter.
“Sit down, please.” The Rabbi sat down, picked up his cigar, lit it, and took a long drag to bring it back to life. “So what did you think of Melissa?”
“I think she’s a lovely young woman who will make some guy a great wife.” Chris sat down.
“But not you?” The Rabbi’s cigar flared orange-red, and he leaned back in his chair.
“Not me.” Chris could see inside the kitchen through the glass doors, and Flavia and the three girls were talking, laughing, and feeding Fred bits of fish, which he kept dropping on the tile floor. A warm golden glow emanated from the kitchen, and soft jazzy music floated through the screen door.
“What’s going on, Curt?”
Curt. Chris. He tried to reposition himself in space and time. “Nothing.”
“I’m not buying that.” The Rabbi tilted his head back and exhaled a wispy funnel of cigar smoke, which was swept away by the city air.
“Alek ticks me off. I appreciate your going to bat for me.”
“Happy to do it, you know that. I think you’re right.”
“Thank you.” Chris glanced inside the kitchen, through the window, and he could see Fred walking on his hind legs for more fish. The women burst into laughter.
“Why do you want to stay with the operation so much?”
“Like I said. Something’s not right, and we’ve gotten away with too many peaceful Oklahoma anniversaries. We’re pressing our luck and—”
“And that would be the party line.”
“What do you mean?” Chris looked over, surprised at a new skepticism in the Rabbi’s tone.
“Don’t get me wrong, I believe you. But you’ve been undercover for years. There’s no operation you turn down, no matter how big or how small. And this one, you reached for, as soon as that video came in. You wouldn’t be denied.”
“Is something the matter with that?” Chris felt stung. “I’m doing my job.”
“Curt.” The Rabbi took another drag on his cigar, and its thick ash flared at the fat tip. “As your boss, I appreciate your dedication and your commitment. But as your friend, I don’t like it.”
“Why?” Chris scoffed. “Don’t treat me like I’m some cliché, the undercover burnout. I’m not that at all. I’m fine. I’m stable. I’m not showing any signs of PTSD.”
“That’s exactly what bothers me.” The Rabbi’s dark gaze narrowed behind his glasses. “You like undercover work too much. You don’t want to leave it.”
“Because I like what I do. I’m a workaholic, like you.”
“No, wrong, I hated undercover work. You know why? I like who I am and I love my life. I love Flavia and the girls, and I even love that fat dog.” The Rabbi gestured to the kitchen, but his gaze remained on Chris. “You like being under too much because it gives you an identity. Someone to be. A role to play.”