Confluence. Stephen J. Gordon

and read the text.

      “I NEED YOU – NOW.”

      I texted back that I was on my way.

      S

      By the time I pulled my Grand Cherokee into the Solomon Stein Day School parking lot outside the Beltway, only a few cars were left. Being late in the day, students as well as most staff had gone for the weekend. The Day School was a K-8 private school, teaching both secular studies and Judaic courses. I hustled across the parking lot and over to a curved roof overhang, protecting the school entrance. I swiped in, knowing that a computer somewhere was recording my name and entry time. No sneaking in unnoticed.

      The building, like the parking lot, was all but abandoned. The lobby was a two story open affair with offices to the left and a floor to roof mural ahead of me to the right. It was some modern impressionist thing that I was told represented various events in Jewish history. Most observers couldn’t figure it out. The artist, rumor had it, had gotten the idea from the mural high up in the Capitol rotunda in Washington. Never mind that the Capitol mural was designed to look like a series of sculptures, or that it only went around the inside of the dome and wasn’t floor to ceiling. Here at the school, I don’t think anyone paid attention to this mural anymore. Around to the immediate right was a staircase, and I took the steps two at a time.

      On the second floor, I followed the corridor to the left, turned right past a storage room door painted in the style of the mural, and then walked past yellow walls covered with student art. Down a silent hallway, I found the office I was looking for. The door was closed and had the name Katie Harris inscribed on a brass plate at eye level. I knocked, waited for a “Come in,” and stepped inside.

      Katie was sitting behind a desk with neatly stacked piles of papers and folders. I always marveled at anyone who could keep a neat desk. Katie stood up. She was a petite woman in her early thirties, with her blonde hair pulled back with a barrette. She was wearing a peach jacket over a collarless white top and green skirt.

      “So where were you? I had to send a second text.”

      Katie came around her desk, and as she did, she took off her jacket to reveal that her white top was a tank top. I loved Katie in tank tops. They accented her tanned shoulders and her curves. And this white one was my favorite. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

      “If you must know, I was actually in a synagogue, thinking.”

      “You were in a synagogue. Thinking.”

      She put her arms around me and held me close. She kissed me.

      “Well,” she lowered her voice, “I was here…thinking…that tonight we have no plans. I get to spend the entire evening with you.” She inched her body closer until we were very close. We stood groin to groin.

      Katie moved her hips minutely and looked into my eyes.

      I peered back. “You keep doing that and I’ll lose…”

      “Lose what?” she whispered, as she moved her hips ever-so-slightly again.

      “I don’t remember.” I kissed her gently. “I guess I should tell Josh and Shelley we won’t be joining them for dinner.”

      We swayed slowly as one.

      “Who are Josh and Shelley?” she asked barely audible in my ear.

      “He’s the rabbi of the shul. Shelley’s his wife.”

      “Mmm.”

      “They’re nice.”

      “…And they invited us to dinner. That’s sweet.”

      I swallowed. I could feel my heart beating against her. “You’d like them.”

      We rested our heads on each other’s shoulders. I closed my eyes.

      “So, do you want to go?” Katie asked.

      I kissed the side of her neck, then paused. “Go where?”

      “To your new friends.”

      “What new friends?” I could smell her scent on the skin just below her ear. I breathed it in.

      She stopped swaying. “I think you should go.”

      “What?”

      “I think you should go.”

      “You do?”

      Katie pulled away just enough so we could look at each other. “Yeah. You’ve been looking for something lately.”

      “Have I?”

      She smiled. “You can’t hide anything from me. ”

      “Will you come?”

      She kissed me slowly. Then after a moment, “You should go by yourself.”

      I just looked at her.

      “I’m…not ready yet.” She paused. “I will…another time, just not tonight. “You go,” Katie repeated. “I’ll find something to do, and I’ll be waiting when you get back.”

      We pulled away a little more.

      “You don’t mind? What will you do?”

      “I don’t know. Maybe see if someone wants to try that new restaurant on Charles Street.”

      We separated completely, and I took a few breaths to settle my heart, which was definitely racing. After another moment, I looked at my watch. “I better get moving, then. I want to shower and change.”

      With that, Katie turned off her computer, switched off the lights, and we headed out.

      S

      As we had come in our own cars, we went our separate ways. Katie drove to her place – she lived in Cedarcroft, a neighborhood just inside the City line west of York Road – and I headed for a liquor store in a small shopping area just north of the Beltway on Reisterstown Road. The upscale shop was next to a cell phone retailer, and inside, after my inquiry, was directed toward a display of kosher red wines. I bought a bottle of Merlot.

      Back in my Jeep, a phone call to the Mandels confirmed that I was coming – solo. Josh gave me directions, which helped me visualize where to go.

      Thirty minutes later, I was in my shower. As water poured over my head, I leaned with both hands against the front wall, and let the shower cascade over me. I thought about the afternoon…sitting in the shul, trying to find solace. I thought about Katie in my arms. And I thought about a young man in an Israeli Army uniform walking through Jerusalem’s Old City with his fiancée.

      By the time I got myself together, darkness had fallen over the city. Josh had said to come about 8:00. I drove northward on tree lined Roland Avenue to Northern Parkway, up out of the Jones Falls valley and over toward Northwest Baltimore. As I headed up Park Heights Avenue toward the County line, I passed several synagogues to my right and left. Men dressed in dark suits, some in shirtsleeves and pants, were walking out of services. In a matter of minutes, I found the Mandels’ street. It was about four blocks from their synagogue, on a one-way street. I made the turn onto their block and parked almost immediately on the right. I grabbed the bottle of Merlot, and stepped onto the sidewalk.

      Their street was a long, straight block, maybe four car widths across, with older trees lining sidewalks on each side. As I came out of the Grand Cherokee, I looked up and down the block for cars of course, but also for people. It was an old habit…know who and what is around you. Even though the rabbi’s house was up the street on the left, I stepped onto the sidewalk on the right side and headed up the block.

      The May evening was cool. I was dressed in an open collared white shirt, blue blazer, and khakis. I would’ve come without the jacket, but it was Friday night and decided to err on the side of being better dressed. Despite that, there wasn’t even a thought about wearing a tie. An open collared shirt was a carryover from my Israel days.

      As I walked up the block, wine bottle in hand, I noticed that virtually