Lighting the Flames by Sarah Wendell

Author:Sarah Wendell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: romance, contemporary, summer camp, friends to lovers, hanukkah, jewish romance

Friday, December 19, 2014—28 Kislev 5775

Shabbat—fourth night of Hanukkah

Genevieve had no idea that Jeremy was leading part of that night’s Shabbat service. She’d expected to be next to him like she had been during the other services, whispering to him and elbowing him for making her laugh inappropriately. She looked down and allowed her hair to fall over her face for a moment.

She’d wanted him to be next to her.

That night she’d lit the yahrzeit candle for her parents, a short, fat candle in a glass jar that would burn for a little over a day. Glenn had lit a second candle with her, in memory of his mother. Ella, his daughter, had held his hand while he did it, and, just for a moment, Ella had leaned her head against Gen’s arm, connecting her with their family.

It hadn’t hurt as much as she’d expected. Grief was always behind her, Gen thought, and it still tackled her from behind sometimes, but she was moving away from it faster than she realized.

Things that sucked were changing into things that didn’t suck so much.

After she lit her yahrzeit candle, everyone gathered closer to light the Hanukkah candles. They filled one half of the menorah, and when, last of all, the Shabbat candles were lit, there was so much light, it illuminated everyone’s faces as they stood around the table.

She stood amid the crowd of families as they moved through the Sabbath service. She felt the glances in her direction, and if she lifted her eyes from the prayer book, someone was invariably looking over at her, and they’d smile, warmly, with kindness. It wasn’t irritating.

But Jeremy wasn’t next to her. She’d stood near him for several years’ worth of summers, for morning prayer, Shabbat evening services, Shabbat morning, Havdalah, and the prayers before and after the meals. Prayer for her didn’t feel complete without the scent of bug spray and pine trees, the sound of the wind in the branches, and Jeremy standing beside her.

That night, he was up front, talking about his hike that morning. He was so animated, his hands and body telling the story along with his voice. He looked like the grown-up version of himself again. Same T-shirt and fleece pullover, same beard and scruffy hair underneath the hat he wore instead of a kippah, but he stood straight and proudly tall. He didn’t have that languid, goofy restlessness that seemed a permanent part of him during the summer.

“On our snow hike this a.m.,” he was saying, “some of the campers talked about what they’d do if they got to lead part of Shabbat services, what they wanted to talk about. So I asked Scott—”

At this, Scott snorted. Apparently asking was not what had happened.

“Okay, I politely requested—”

Another snort that turned into coughing, with possibly a muttered denial.

“Okay, fine, I pounded my chest and bellowed across camp that we were taking over part of tonight’s service. Kids, you ready?”

From in between parents and behind older siblings, the youngest campers, all under ten, moved forward to the front of the room to stand with Jeremy.

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