For the past few days, he’d been waiting for a sign, an omen, a smoke signal— anything at all— to show him what his next step should be
The weekend in Aruba had been rejuvenating.
Libby and the kids had the time of their lives. At least Akiva assumed they did — he hadn’t really seen much of them.
Daddy’s idea of vacation was to work in the hotel conference room, air conditioner blasting, laptops and tablets balanced on laps, out of harm’s way from the steady supply of food and drink Vanessa kept placing on the oversized mahogany table.
Monday brought school and routine, cranky children and sunburns. It also brought an ache to Akiva’s side. It was like that horrible feeling he’d gotten after eating a plateful of veal at the Beth Israel dinner last year.
But what was hurting him now had nothing to do with fine cuisine; it was the whole Abrams Architecture thing. Daddy had been harassing him about it the entire weekend.
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