The Columbus Affair: A Novel

He smiled. “Call me Brian.”

“Why are you here?”

“I came to speak with you. Privately.”

Cautionary flags rose. This stranger was frightening her to the point that she even wished Rocha and Midnight were around.

Brian reached into his pocket and withdrew some folded sheets of glossy paper, which she recognized as her article from Minerva.

“I read this,” he said. “Fascinating stuff. Let me guess, Simon wanted to know your sources.”

It had been one of the first things they’d talked about, along with the fact that they were both Reform Jews. She’d immediately liked that about him. Unlike the Orthodox, Reform Jews believed the Torah, though divinely inspired, was actually written, edited, and revised by man. And while Reform Jews revered the Torah’s values and ethics, they were free to follow whatever they believed would enhance their personal relationship with God. Nothing was absolute. Everything was subject to interpretation. Even more important to her, Reform Jews treated the sexes equally.

“You still haven’t said what you want.”

The waiter returned with her wine.

“No, thank you,” Brian said to her. “I wouldn’t care for anything.”

To spite him, she savored a sip. “You won’t be here long.”

“Zachariah Simon is not what he claims to be. He’s using you.”

“For what?”

“To find out what your grandfather knew.”

She sipped more of the wine, trying to appreciate the smoky aftertaste. “How do you know this?”

“I know that he’s in Florida, where your grandfather is buried. I know that he’s made contact with your father. I also know that you just lied to your father in a shameful charade.”

“And the reason you’ve come here to insult me?”

“To try and save your miserable life.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TOM STEPPED FROM THE CAR AND ENTERED THE CEMETERY BENEATH a cloudless afternoon. This was a place where the Jews of central Florida had long been laid to rest. Decades ago, Abiram had been instrumental in securing the land and having it consecrated. It sat away from almost everything, among rolling hills, oak hammocks, horse farms, and orange groves.

He hated graveyards.

They were places of the past, and his was best forgotten.

He stared out at the matsevahs, the vertical slabs standing in ill-defined rows, most facing east, each a cut rectangle with modest decorative elements—circles, pitched corners, odd shapes. He recalled his training as a boy. Each stone evidenced the eternal essence of the person lying beneath. Since Alle had been in charge of burial and Abiram had been an uncompromising soul, he assumed she’d strictly adhered to ritual.

Which meant the marker would not have been erected until a year after death. During that time Alle would have kept his memory alive with regular visits and studied other graves, deciding carefully what the epitaph should be. Once convinced, she would have commissioned a carver and erected the matsevah in a simple ceremony.

None of which had involved him.

All he’d received was the deed to the house with a curt explanation from a lawyer that the property now belonged to him. He’d finally visited here one dismal afternoon, six months after Abiram’s death, standing in the rain and remembering their last encounter.

“I’m going to be baptized Christian,” he said.

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“Michele is Christian and she wants our children to be Christian.”

“That doesn’t require you to leave our faith.”

He shrugged. “I don’t believe in any of this. I never have. Judaism is important to you, not me.”

“You were born to Jewish parents. You are a Jew, and always will be.”

“I plan to be baptized Episcopalian. That’s Michele’s church.”

Shock flooded Abiram’s eyes. “If you do that, you and I will be through.”

“You and I were through a long time ago. I’m twenty-five years old, yet you treat me as if I were ten. I’m not one of your students. I’m your son. But if you no longer want me to be that, then that’s the way it’ll be.”

So he’d ceased being a Jew, married, become a Christian, and fathered a child. He and Abiram barely spoke after that. Family gatherings and holidays were the worst. His mother, though devout and respectful of her husband, had not been able to stay away. She’d come to California, but always alone. Never had he and Michele, as a family, visited Florida. Alle stayed with her grandparents for a few weeks every summer, flying back and forth alone. After his mother died those visits became longer. Alle had loved being with her grandfather. Abiram’s