Yaffa stood silently for several moments, her eyes lowered in the face of her father’s accusing glare.

“Who’s – been – going – through – my – papers?” he repeated.

She opened her mouth and closed it, her heart racing; she felt like she was 9 years old again and trying to defend herself for forging Mommy’s signature on her test.

“I, um—”

She took a breath. She wasn’t a child; she was a perfectly responsible adult, and what was more, she’d sacrificed the past month — no, her entire summer! — helping her parents. Organizing their anniversary party, taking charge of their medical needs, driving, cooking, shopping — she’d done it all! And this was the thanks she got? All her father could do was walk into the house and criticize her?

She clenched her fist as she felt fury boil up inside. “Do you know why I went through your papers? Because Mommy asked me to! Because she needed help paying the bills while you were away! Because I worked hours and hours to find you an aide for when you came home and I needed to figure out the financing!”

Her father opened his mouth to say something, but once the dam had broken, Yaffa couldn’t stop.

“Do you understand just how much work it took all of us to keep everything afloat here? Me, Ari, Debbie, our kids!” She pictured the kids’ excitement in putting together a beautiful homecoming party for Grandpa —an effort which he’d completely disregarded, practically pushing them out of his way as he grumpily asked to lie down.

Larry was frowning. “Yes. I – app – appre – appre –.” He swiped his hand in the air in frustration at his inability to get out his words.

“Appreciate?” Yaffa suggested, her voice coming out more aggressively than she’d intended. She unclenched her hand. It wasn’t her father’s fault that he’d gotten sick.

He nodded. “You – and – Ari – thank you.” He closed his eyes. “But – money – why – not – ask – me?”

Yaffa stared at him. Was her father so blind to his new reality? “Dad,” she said in a gentler voice. “You weren’t in a state at the time …” She saw her father’s face begin to crumple, and, heart smiting her, she tried again. “B’ezrat Hashem, you and Mommy should continue in good health for many years. But this health scare gave us all a wake-up call. At some point, things will need to be transferred over … we’ll need to know how to manage …” She stopped; her father was vehemently shaking his head.

“Not – now. I’m – not – dead – yet.”

***

“What do you do with such an attitude?” Yaffa burst out. Ari, who had come after work to join the celebration, was helping Yaffa and Debbie clean up, while the kids sat in the living room looking at old pictures with their grandmother. Yaffa had just related her earlier conversation with their father.

Ari glanced at the closed den door. The only time Dad had emerged this afternoon was to meet the new aide Marie, who’d helped him eat his dinner. Their father had insisted on eating in the kitchen rather than with the rest of them in the dining room, which had made Yaffa upset. But Ari had understood; for a man like Dad, there was nothing more humiliating than needing assistance with such a basic task.

Now he said, “It’s understandable, particularly now when he feels so out of control, that he wants to retain control of whatever he can.”

Yaffa rolled her eyes. “Shkoyach on the psychology, but it’s not going to help us care for him and Mom as they age.”

Ari shrugged. “We’ll deal with that hurdle when we come to it. For now, if we want to restore his level of independence as much as possible, we need to make him feel that he still is independent.”

Debbie, who’d been swiveling her head back and forth between the two of them, now snorted. “This is all so beautiful, but, honestly, this discussion is a waste of time. Why do you need to worry about who’s going to care for them in their old age? Did you forget that they have the money to do that? What we really need to worry about is our old age! Let’s not lose focus on our goal here.”

Ari winced. He couldn’t believe his wife’s callousness. The irony was that Debbie was really a very good daughter-in-law; even before his father’s heart attack, she was always helping them with errands or having them over for meals. Where had this crude focus on money suddenly come from?

Yaffa flashed Debbie a sharp glance. “We need to focus on both,” she said clearly, in the direct way that Ari could never manage. “They’re our parents.” She paused, and added, “I saw Mom looking at that old Newsweek you left her. She seemed really confused.”

“Not just confused,” Ari murmured. “Worried. She came over to me and asked if Debbie had a specific reason for giving her a six-year-old magazine.”

Debbie chuckled. “Good! That means it’s working. Yaffa, how are you doing on your research?”

Was he imagining the slight hesitation in his sister’s voice? “Good, yeah, I’ve already collected a number of articles I’ve found online. But I wasn’t sure what to do with them exactly. I mean, it’s one thing to bring a whole magazine, like you did; but to just hand them an article and say, ‘Here, I thought this topic would interest you’?”

Debbie waved her hand. “You don’t just hand it to them. You lend them a book with the article stuck inside, and you say, oops, forgot I left that there. You include them in a bcc’ed group email with the article attached and write, ‘Guys, this story happened to someone I know!’”

Ari raked his fingers through his hair. When had Debbie become such a schemer? Yaffa was nodding slowly. “Impressive plotting,” she said with a laugh. However, Ari couldn’t help but notice her staring into space a few minutes later, her brow creased.

***

“So, Mom, how was the big welcome home party?” Ilana asked. “Oh, it was very nice,” Gail answered. “It was so sweet of the kids.” Ilana wondered if it was just a poor connection, or if her mother’s voice lacked its usual cheeriness.

Chapter 24 Summary: The grandchildren throw Larry a surprise homecoming party. Debbie refuses to allow Ari to miss work to bring his father home and Yaffa does instead. Larry is upset to discover that people have been going through his financial documents.

“Enjoying having Dad back?” she pressed. Yaffa had been oddly reticent when she’d spoken to her the other day, giving vague answers about things being fine. Or maybe she’d just been busy? Maybe she didn’t think it was necessary to go into detail with a sister who lived across the world?

“Certainly,” Gail responded. “Only, I must say, taking care of Dad is a lot more work than I expected.”

“But you have an aide!”

Now her mother sounded distinctly huffy. “Oh yes, a woman who barely speaks English. It’s certainly not the same as having my own children around to help.”

Ilana paused, blindsided by the jab; it had been many years since her mother had given her a guilt trip for making aliyah. “I – I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I wish I could help more.”

Gail’s voice softened. “Oh, I’m not blaming you,” she said. “You have an excuse.”

Ilana’s eyebrows crinkled. Then who was she complaining about? Surely not Ari and Yaffa; they’d done so much! Did she expect them to leave their own families and move in with her and Dad?

“I thought Ari and Yaffa have been helping a lot,” she said.

“Not anymore. They don’t visit, they don’t call, other than the day Dad came home.” And now Ilana heard what it was in her mother’s voice — not bitterness; bewilderment. “It’s as if … as if I’ve done something to offend them. But I don’t know what.”

Ariella Aaron is an internationally published writer with a unique talent for writing stories that are entertaining and thought-provoking, with characters who are eminently relatable. A former resident of northern New Jersey, Ariella has now transplanted her family to Israel, where she is happily living the dream of raising her brood in our homeland.