Free Julia’s Kitchen by Brenda A. Ferber Page B

figured that at some point Dad and I would talk about it, and I would finally understand what had happened. A whole month had gone by. I thought that must be enough. But now I knew he would never talk about the fire.
    Stinging tears filled my eyes. If Dad had died in the fire instead of Mom, everything would have been different. Mom would have talked to me. She would have explained it all. She wouldn’t have made me feel like an orphan. She would have made everything okay.
    I turned away from Dad and stared back at my reflection in the window. I didn’t want to see myself, so I closed my eyes.
    â€œCara?” Dad asked. “Do you understand?”
    I didn’t answer him. I didn’t want to ever talk to him again.
    *   *   *
    The next day at school Mr. Temby announced, “Okay, everybody, time to pass out your valentines.”
    My valentines! I’d left them at Marlee’s. Ugh! Would nothing ever go right for me? There was a great rumble of activity as everyone dug their valentines out from their desks. I walked over to Marlee.
    â€œI think I left my valentines at your house, Mar. Did you bring them?”
    â€œOh, really? That stinks! I didn’t see them.”
    â€œBut they were right next to yours.”
    â€œI don’t think so. I would have noticed.” Marlee pulled her valentines out of a Ziploc bag.
    I stood there picturing my stack of cards hidden under some pile at the Rosens’. “Well, what am I supposed to do?” I asked.
    â€œHow should I know?”
    â€œMarlee!”
    â€œWhat?”
    But I didn’t get to respond because Marlee was on her feet, passing out her valentines, not worried at all about me.
    I sulked at my desk and watched as everyone gave out their stupid cards. Why was Marlee being that way? Was she too excited about Valentine’s Day to care about me? It made me mad to think about it. And jealous. Marlee’s family and her house were intact. She could get excited about Valentine’s Day and bake sales.
    I remembered other Valentine’s Days. Every year Dad would buy those heart-shaped boxes filled with chocolates for Mom, Janie, and me. He’d say that we were the loves of his life. I was pretty sure he would ignore Valentine’s Day this year. And I didn’t want chocolate from him anyway.
    Mrs. Block poked her head into our room just then and asked to “borrow” me. So while everyone else read their valentines and ate sweets from the bake sale, I sat in the sunflower room with Mrs. Block and filled her in on the latest with Dad.
    â€œI don’t think Dad will ever explain what happened in the fire,” I said.
    Mrs. Block nodded. “He might not. It sounds as if he can’t.”
    â€œBut why not?”
    â€œI don’t know. Why do you think he can’t?”
    I picked at my nails and thought about Dad. Why couldn’t he talk about the fire? Because it hurt too much? Because he felt guilty? I hadn’t thought about his reasons before. I hadn’t cared. I’d only cared about what I needed—a parent to take care of me. And really, didn’t I deserve that?
    Mrs. Block looked at me, waiting patiently for my answer.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter, does it?” I asked. “His reasons, I mean. Because no matter what, it just stinks. I need him to talk about the fire, and he needs to forget about it. So there we are.”
    Mrs. Block nodded sympathetically. “Yes, there we are.”
    That night Dad and I ordered pizza and ate in front of the TV in the living room. I was sure he didn’t know that tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. And I wasn’t about to tell him.

eight
    On the way to Hebrew school the next Wednesday, Mrs. Rosen asked me if Dad and I would come for Shabbat dinner on Friday. Dad and I hadn’t done anything Jewish since shiva, and even though I was confused about God, especially since I’d found those mezuzot, I