The Matchmaker's Gift(2)
When she described the filament of light she had seen, the rabbi did not seem surprised. Instead, his eyes sparkled with possibility. “You have a calling,” he said to Sara. “You are young yet, but it will wait.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you mean?”
“The light you saw between your sister and her husband was not a trick of the sun. You have been blessed with eyes that can see the light of soulmates reaching for each other.”
Whether it was the rabbi’s words, the sip of brandy her father had given her, or the flicker of the strange electric bulbs, Sara’s head began to throb. The rabbi’s voice was like late spring rain—soft, but steady and persistent. The words he spoke next fixed themselves in her mind and clung to her for the rest of her life.
“You are a matchmaker, Sara Glikman. A shadchanteh for this strange, new world.”
TWO
ABBY
1994
The night that her grandmother Sara died, Abby dreamed of her in sharp and glowing detail. In Abby’s dream, Sara was the same as in real life—a five-foot-tall, plumpish woman wearing comfortable shoes, black slacks, and a cardigan sweater. The skin on her face was wrinkled but soft, her curls freshly dyed Nice’n Easy “Champagne Blonde.” When Abby woke in the morning, her grandmother’s voice was in her head. Would it kill you to dream of me in better clothes? Maybe make me taller or a little thinner, at least?
Grandma Sara had passed peacefully in her sleep, with a smile on her face, a stack of newspapers on her nightstand, and an empty cake plate on the floor by her bed. On the last day of her life, she had walked for three miles around her Upper West Side neighborhood. When she spoke to Abby on the phone that evening, she mentioned an upcoming coffee date with her neighbor. “Mrs. Levitz is coming tomorrow at ten. I promised her I’d make the cinnamon babka, but I don’t like to rush around in the morning, so I made two of them this afternoon. I put one in the freezer for you. I’ll give it to you when you come on Sunday.”
Abby forgot about the babka until the next morning, when her mother called her at work with the news. Sara hadn’t answered Mrs. Levitz’s knocks, so the neighbor asked the building’s doorman for the key. Sara’s entryway had been dark and still. There was no coffee brewing, no activity, no noise. An ambulance was summoned, but it was already too late.
Abby shut her office door and let the tears run down her cheeks. It was impossible to believe that her grandmother was gone. Fourteen years ago, Grandma Sara abandoned her retirement in Florida to help Abby’s mother raise her two daughters. In the winters, when New York turned snowy and gray, Abby would ask her grandmother if she ever missed the beach. But even on the coldest, most bitter days, Grandma Sara would smile and shake her head. “You and your sister are my sunshine,” she would say. “At my age, who wants to bother squeezing into a swimsuit?”
Abby stared at the lone photograph on her desk—a portrait with her sister and her grandmother, taken at Sara’s ninetieth birthday celebration. In the photo, all three women held up glasses of champagne. Abby wore her dark curls long and loose, while Hannah’s lighter waves were pinned up with flowers. Grandma Sara was in the middle, flanked by her two granddaughters, beaming at the camera.
Pressing the frame to her heart, Abby tried to conjure her grandmother’s voice—the vaguely old-world accent that clung to her vowels, the long-forgotten tunes she used to hum under her breath. Abby let her mind drift to the last time they were together, two days ago for their weekly Sunday lunch. The Nichols divorce had been all over the news, and, of course, her grandmother had brought it up. Sara was fascinated by her granddaughter’s legal career, interrogating her regularly about the details of her work.
“I read an article today, about the actress and the millionaire. Your firm represents the actress, yes?” Grandma Sara’s eyes had sparkled like a mischievous child’s.
“Grandma, you know I can’t talk about my cases. They’re confidential, remember?”
Sara held up her hand. “You don’t have to say a word. I have two good eyes and two good ears. I watch the news. I read the papers. I already know everything I need to know. It’s not over for those two, not by a long shot.”
Abby groaned and covered her face with her hands. “You just said you’ve read the articles! How can you possibly think it isn’t over?”
“I don’t believe everything I read. You assume everything they print is true?”
“Grandma, I told you. I can’t discuss it. All I know is that I’m working twelve-hour days for people who don’t want to be in the same room with each other.”
Sara stood from the sofa and refilled Abby’s coffee cup before settling back against the chenille cushions. “Sweetheart, you have to stop working so hard. All this tumult will come to nothing. Those two are staying together. End of story.”
“Michelle Nichols was in our office three times last week!”
Sara shrugged and sipped her coffee. “I see what I see, and I know what I know. There won’t be any divorce. Go ahead, tell your boss.”
“Should I tell her that’s my grandmother’s professional opinion?” Abby had heard a few stories of her grandmother’s matchmaking days, back when she was a young woman on the Lower East Side and later, as a young mother after the war. Sara had been out of the business for over forty years, but she still liked to lecture on matters of the heart. It could be a sore point between the two of them, especially when Sara tried to give her single granddaughter advice. In fact, it was the only thing they ever argued about.