Page 140 of Legally Yours

“The saying goes, behind every strong man is a strong woman.” She paused meaningfully, tapping her fingernail on the walnut trim of my nightstand. “It sounds to me like Brandon is strong enough for my granddaughter, but he needs someone to be strong for him too.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Bubbe shook her finger.

“Ah, ah, ah,no. Let me finish. You tell me this story, and I hear about a man who needs his woman. That’s you, Skylar, not this Miranda who clearly never loved him. I also hear about a man who’s been working to do his best by you and yours. He is protecting this family, and he wants to give you the world. Maybe this business with Victor Messina is a bad idea, or maybe there’s more to it than you think. If it’s bad, it seems to me he would need you to guide him away from it, not run when he needs you also. And you’re running for what? Because you’re scared of his money? Because you’re scared of his love for you? Maybe,bubbela, it’s because you’re scared of yourself and how you really feel.”

Bubbe paused again. I knew better than to argue back; I’d just get another finger-wagging. So, I stood there, didn’t even dare to move. I watched the dust flecks scatter in the streams of light that landed on the old plywood flooring.

When she had apparently waited long enough, Bubbe spoke again. “There is another person in this family who runs when things get hard, Skylar. A person who runs from the man who loves her. And I think you know who that is.”

My head snapped up. “That’s not fair! I amnothinglike my mother.”

Bubbe shrugged and walked to the door, where she braced a hand on the frame. “You are as much your mother as your father,bubbela, and that’s the truth. They each gave you half of your beautiful self, half your flaws, and half your strengths.But it’s up to you which parts of those halves you want to keep, or whether you want to be like either of them at all.” She flicked her head. “Now come downstairs before breakfast gets cold. I didn’t slave away in the kitchen for half the morning so you could turn your nose up at my blintz.”

* * *

The kitchen tablewas laid with the familiar green glass plates and matching juice glasses I had grown up with, along with a large baking dish of Bubbe’s blintzes. Dad sat with his feet propped up while he read thePostand sipped his coffee.

“Hey there, Pips,” he said with a smile.

He pulled his feet off the chair so I could join him. A week’s recuperation had done him good. Most of the bruises on his face had faded, and he no longer had to wear the nose brace. Although there was still a scab on his forehead, he looked almost like himself again. He was still in the same red and gray flannel bathrobe he had worn for so long that Bubbe had to patch the elbows at least three different times. The normalcy of the robe was a pleasant sight

“Morning, Dad,” I said with a quick kiss on his cheek.

Dad pulled on his mustache with his good hand before pouring himself another cup of coffee. The stitches in his hand were due for their first inspection next week, and there were no signs of infection. Bubbe had told me over the phone that he had gone to his first Gamblers’ Anonymous meeting as well as an appointment with a therapist. She’d driven him there herself.

Bubbe sat down and quickly filled the morning silence with a discussion of temple gossip and the latest news from her friends at the community center. Dad and I each simply ate our blintzes, which were filled with sweet ricotta and blueberries, just the way I loved. Once we were finished, Bubbe cleared the table while Dad and I continued to sip our coffee and juice, picking occasionally at the leftovers in the middle of the table. The room was warm and cozy. It was all so normal. Like Brandon Sterling and Victor Messina had never intruded on any of our lives.

“All right, I have my hair appointment, and then mah-jongg at three,” Bubbe announced as she finished wiping down the countertop.

“I don’t know why you need to get your hair done, Ma,” Dad said as he wiped a scrap of blueberry from his cheek with a paper napkin. “You already look like a princess.”

Bubbe set the sponge in its tray by the sink and smiled girlishly.

“You,” she said fondly with a pointed finger. “I’ll see you for dinner. Skylar, will you be here?”

I shook my head. “No, I’ve got to catch the four o’clock bus. I can’t miss any more class.”

Bubbe nodded with approval and pulled on her coat, which was the same shade of brown as the rest of her outfit. After checking that her sleeves were even, she marched over to where I sat and tipped her head, indicating wordlessly for a kiss on the cheek. I obliged.

“Love you, Bubbe,” I murmured.

“You too, sweetheart,” she said. “Danny, dinner’s at six.”

“Have fun, Ma.”

Dad raised his good hand in farewell, and we both watched her march militarily out of the house. He then picked up the folded copy of thePostand wordlessly handed me the sections he’d already read.

“So, Pips, when are we gonna see that young man of yours again?” Dad asked once Bubbe had pulled out of the driveway. He took a long sip of coffee.

I sighed. “I don’t think he’ll be around much, Dad. It…it didn’t work out.”

“That’s too bad,” he said mildly, as if he hadn’t told me just a short time ago that Brandon was perfect for me. He paused. “He seemed like a decent guy.”

“Yeah, well…” I shrugged, looking toward the window while I swallowed back tears. I didn’t want to cry, and the fact that it was over with Brandon was still so raw. “Dad?”

“Yeah, Pippi?”

“Dad, have you heard from Victor Messina recently?”

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