‘I was sorry,’ she said abruptly, ‘to hear of his passing. He was your father, after all. A selfish one, it’s true, but your father all the same. And your mother loved him, even when everyone else told her she shouldn’t. They all said that your mother chose poorly, did you know that? They told her to choose again. To marry a more appropriate boy.’
‘What did you tell her?’ Cohen asked before he could stop the words from leaving his mouth.
Momentarily, guilt seemed to cross Rushi’s face. ‘I told her to follow her heart. That’s what I did with my Guido. Well, it worked out for me, but not so well for your mother, in the end.’ Rushi sighed. ‘But she loved your father anyway, and she carried on loving him even after he left. She spent a long time waiting for him to walk back through her door, you know. She probably still is, even though he’s now crossed a threshold from which he can never return.’
‘She’s married again now,’ Cohen admitted. ‘Trust me, she isn’t waiting any longer.’
‘I know, and good for her.’ Rushi nodded. ‘But you never get over your first love. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?’
Cohen looked down, suddenly struggling for words.
Rushi sighed again. ‘I hear your own marriage didn’t work out. What happened? Your mother was sketchy with the details when we spoke about it.’
A familiar dart of bitter anger hit Cohen, and he scowled. ‘The details don’t matter,’ he said. ‘She left. That’s all I need to know. It’s all anyone needs to know.’
He looked up to find Rushi staring at him. ‘What?’ he asked, instinctively defensive.
But Rushi only shrugged. ‘You know, your mother always told me there was more to your father than what he showed to the world.’ She peered at Cohen intently, as though peeling away at the covers of his soul. ‘Will the world say the same about you though, young Ford? Hmm?’
Cohen looked down and swallowed hard.
‘I, uh ...’ He trailed off, his thoughts broken by the sudden presence of a woman, who stood beside them, looking at Rushi as though awaiting orders.
As she stood near him, Cohen felt something inside him melt a little. The stiff lines of his body, set by Rushi and thoughts of his father and self-recriminations, seemed to ebb away in the gentle tide of her presence. He smiled up at her and was immediately rewarded with a shy smile back. He didn’t try to hold down the feeling of triumph that swept through him, and he looked to Rushi, hoping she had witnessed this exchange between them.
But Rushi was looking at them both with a regretful, bittersweet expression.
‘I never introduced you,’ she said, indicating to the woman. ‘Cohen, this is my daughter, River. I adopted her when she was three years old.’
Cohen stopped to gape at Rushi, his mouth hanging open.
‘I didn’t know,’ he stuttered. ‘My mother didn’t tell me.’
Rushi sat back, her expression calm. ‘There’s no reason for you to have known. Guido and I adopted her years ago, while you were off doing your teenage sulk routine … oh yes, I know all about that, don’t think your mother didn’t tell me.’
Damn, Cohen thought. Damn.
The first woman he’d taken an interest in since Christine, and she was completely off-limits. He knew his mother would kill him if he did anything to offend Rushi, and while delivering a birthday gift a few months late was one thing, screwing around with a clearly beloved daughter was something else entirely.
Damn.
The woman – River, as he now knew – stood there watching while Cohen’s face fell and then stiffened. At his expression her own face dropped too, and she looked down at Rushi, her hands suddenly awakening in a flurry of movement.
Rushi frowned, her hands responding, while Cohen watched in amazement. They were arguing, he suddenly realised. But they were arguing without words.
They were arguing, Cohen realised, with their hands.
River threw up her hands, a gesture so like Rushi’s that Cohen sat back in amazement. She stomped off, and Rushi turned back to Cohen, clearly annoyed.
‘She likes you,’ Rushi told him. ‘She thinks I’m probably being too hard on you. She’s right, but I didn’t like her attitude.’
‘She’s deaf,’ Cohen whispered, still in shock and disbelief, and Rushi nodded.
‘Yes. She had meningitis as an infant. It destroyed her hearing.’
‘That’s awful,’ Cohen replied, but Rushi sat taller.
‘She’s alive,’ she spoke coolly. ‘It could’ve been much worse. But now you understand, of course, why you must keep away. Why she’s not for you.’
‘Because she’s your daughter?’
Rushi scowled. ‘No. Because she’s deaf. Because she can’t understand you, nor you her.’
‘But there’s always lip reading …’ Cohen started to protest, but Rushi shook her head.
‘Not all deaf people can lip read, Ford. River can follow lips a little, but not enough to communicate with you. She can hardly take your coffee order. She certainly can’t start a relationship with you.’ She suddenly frowned. ‘Not that anything like that was on your mind, I’m sure. You probably had less ... noble intentions.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Cohen said, but Rushi stared at him, her face hard.
‘I knew your father, and he wasn’t about noble intentions, let me tell you.’ Rushi leaned back, looking at Cohen keenly. ‘I know Ford men, and I don’t trust them.’
‘I’m not my father.’ Cohen’s voice was quiet. ‘And you don’t know me.’
For a moment they sat in silence. Finally, Rushi stood.
‘Keep away from my daughter, Ford. She’s beautiful, I know. And because she’s beautiful men have tried to take advantage of her. Her deafness ...’ Rushi, for a minute, looked lost for words. When she spoke again, her voice was harsh, a disapproving rasp. ‘Men have tried to exploit it. Don’t you do the same.’
‘But …’
‘No,’ Rushi interrupted firmly. ‘Keep away from her.’
Cohen swallowed hard, nodding slowly. He tried to forget River, tried to forget her smile, her eyes and the feel of her lips upon his skin. It was probably for the best, he told himself sternly. Ice cream and sweetness and women like River… they weren’t for a man like him. He didn’t deserve the good things in life. ‘Alright,’ he agreed, his voice low and regretful. ‘I’ll stay away.’
‘Good.’ Rushi gave him a curt nod. ‘Well, I’m going to take this upstairs,’ she picked up the gift. ‘It’s a little late for a birthday present, so tell your mother I’ll save it for Christmas. Wait, not Christmas …’ She paused, glancing at him. ‘When’s Hanukkah this year?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
Rushi stared at him. ‘You don’t know?’
He felt a shiver of discomfort go down his spine. ‘I don’t … follow the faith, these days.’
If Rushi was surprised, she kept it well hidden. ‘Well, I’m sure your mother just loves that. Your Uncle Israel, too.’ She paused. ‘He’s still living off the grid, is he?’