Page 30 of On Fire Island

I would go back and forth from squealing with laughter to squealing with desire.

Now, in the substitute lanai, Ben’s phone rang again, and he answered it without thinking of the consequences. He was happy to hear it wasn’t his agent, but definitely not thrilled by the voice of my Rabbi on the other end.

“Hello, Benjamin, you know your mailbox is full,” she said, with the slightest hint of frustration. Ben heard a tone more akinto the wrath of God. While I had quickly considered this woman a friend, Ben never got past the notion that she was a rabbi. He thought of her as legit, holier than thou.

“You’re gossiping with a woman of God?” he would ask when overhearing us chatting on the phone like BFFs.

I never could resist a good story.

I had originally thought the relationship would have been a comfort to Ben when I was gone. It was one reason I pursued it, but it never clicked for him like it did for me.

“Sorry. I turned my phone off for shiva,” he said, hoping he had fulfilled some kind of commandment.

“That wasn’t necessary,” she said. “As far as I know, there is no mention of cell phones in the Torah.” She laughed. He didn’t. You could cut the awkwardness with a knife.

“So, I wanted to check in,” she plowed on, “and to let you know that there is a wonderful custom to mark the last day of shiva that you may find comforting—taking a walk around the block of the shiva home.”

Ben perked up at this. “I was looking for a way to mark it—so, that sounds nice.”

“Good,” she said.

“Can I ask what the religious reason is for this?”

I was surprised that he was asking, but also curious, as I had never heard of the ritual before either.

“One reason given is that on this walk, you accompany Julia’s soul on its path to the afterlife.”

Now I perked up.

The call ended with the Rabbi recommending a support group in the city and Ben pausing to pretend to make note of it. At least I thought he was pretending. I didn’t check because I was still stuck on the “accompanying me to the afterlife” part of theconversation. I wasn’t sure I was ready to go. Aside from the awful mental state of my husband, I really wanted to find out what happened with Renee and Gabe, and if Dylan and Matty ever get a condom. Plus, I was hoping to see my family one last time. Regardless, I did my best to lean in.

“Goodbye, Sally,” I exclaimed, kissing her all over her face. “Goodbye, fireplace that kept us warm on chilly nights. Goodbye, exact spot where we got engaged.”

Shep lumbered onto the porch.

“Goodbye, Shep,” I said. “Thank you for keeping an eye on my guy.”

Ben was attaching Sally’s leash to her collar.

“Where are you off to?” Shep asked. “Game’s on soon.”

“I’m supposed to take a walk around the block—to signify the end of shiva. Did you do that?”

“Caroline wasn’t Jewish, and I never really held up my end of things on that front.”

“I think it’s more for me than Julia. Wanna come?”

“It’s for me!” I shouted. “It’s time to say goodbye! Did you even listen to the explanation?”

“OK, why not?” Shep agreed.

Ben grabbed the glass canister that had once contained my candle, and the two left in silence. I followed, thinking it my big exit scene.

“Goodbye, house! I’ll miss you!” I shouted as the screen door slammed behind us. We walked to the corner at the midway street and turned right (“Goodbye, ball field!”). Another right on the next block (“Goodbye, Mr.Moskowitz, sorry we named you the Killer of Joy when you complained that our music was too loud!”) and headed for the beach (“Goodbye, deck that Martin Luther King made a speech from in the sixties!”).

Once there, we stood silently gazing at the ocean, the dependable ebb and flow and ebb and flow and ebb and flow.

“Grief is tidal,” Ben observed. “Calm one minute and crushing the next.”

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