“Work before play, every day, remember guys?” She tried to make it seem like she was talking to the kids, but her eyes drifted toward Chaim
When she was halfway down the stairs to the basement, Hindy heard a frightening crash, followed by a loud whoop. At the bottom, she surveyed the room, half expecting to find blood pooling into the carpet.
She quickly counted heads. Four blond boys, all whole and healthy, were circling her eye-of-the-storm husband who stood with a frisbee in hand. She watched him feint with his right hand, then send the disc spinning through the air with his left. The boys ran, long-legged, barefoot, and shockingly focused. Together they resembled a giant cyclone heading straight toward her freshly painted Chesapeake Blue walls.
Her husband didn’t even notice her watching; his whole being was immersed in the moment. It was this very lightness in him that drove her crazy. A quality of weightlessness, an ability to lose himself in things she neither possessed nor desired. It had her tilt her head sometimes and wonder how a married couple could possibly be so different. They were a pair of Matchbox cars who’d started out at the same point 15 years ago, then proceeded to spin wildly in opposite directions.
She’d thrown herself into school, earning a master’s in social work, then a doctorate in psychology, while he managed a high-end restaurant in the city. When she was finally done with her schooling, Chaim opened a burger joint in town, and she opened a private practice. At events she’d introduce him to colleagues, and they’d assume he was a lawyer or a doctor, but he was quick to clear up any misconceptions. “I flip burgers for a living,” he’d say breezily when asked about his profession. It infuriated her.
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