Page 17 of Evading Exodus
“Well, the way my nerves are, I don’t think I could eat anything at the moment.”
“Right. Sorry.”
I rolled my eyes at him.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
“You just keep digging that hole deeper, don’t you?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I guess. Habits are hard to break; my mother taught me well.” We sat down on a nearby couch.
“She did. Mine, too, but there is one thing I learned early on in retail: don’t apologize for something you didn’t do or have no control over. Constantly saying you’re sorry paints you in a submissive role and the customers will take advantage of you.”
“True, and you’re right. I rarely apologize to customers if it’s not my fault. Just explain the situation and try to rectify it if I can. I must use the word ‘unfortunately’ a half dozen times a day.”
“I keep trying to get the techs over in Atlantic City to stop sayinglo siento, but like you said, it’s a hard habit to break.”
“Darren?” a familiar deep voice interrupted our conversation.
“Detective Bernstein?” I started to stand, but he indicated for me to stay seated. I rearranged my hold on JJ and held out my hand to shake his.
“Ronnie, good to see you.” They shook hands, then Detective Bernstein tickled the little girl in Ace’s arms, getting her to squirm. “Bonnie, how are you, baby girl?”
Ah ha! Bonnie!Finally, a real name.
“Is this James Junior?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied, nodding.
“Still feel bad I missed the bris.”
Ace and I cringed, circumcision not being a topic of pleasant conversation.
“How do you two know each other?” Ace asked, changing the subject.
“Work,” we replied in unison.
Ace chuckled. “I forgot that Mr. B. worked in the city.”
Mr. B.!“You’re Jake’s dad?” They looked nothing alike.
“Yes, I know.” Detective Bernstein replied. “Hold on a sec.” He walked over to Momma Lark and pulled away the woman talking to her. As she turned towards us, I could immediately see where Jake got his looks. Introductions were made and babies swapped hands.
Chapter 9: Giving Thanks
(The Ninth Plague: Darkness)
“What’s this?” I asked, bringing the glass to my nose and inhaling the sweet aroma.
“Mead. Jack makes it.” Ace answered.
“Oh, I’ve heard of it, but never tasted it before.”
“Well,” Jack said, as Ace took a sip into his mouth and savored it, “it’s not kosher for Passover, so we have to drink it now. This one is raspberry-flavored.”
“Fantastic, Jack. As always!” Ace exclaimed.
I tentatively took a sip. I’d never been much of a fan of alcohol, mostly because I didn’t care for the taste. All that changed once I met Ace and his friends. It looked like his brother was cut from the same cloth. My eyebrows rose in astonishment at the excellent, smooth, sweet flavor.
