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out.”
    “ I hope.”
    Rebecca gestured in dismissal. “Listen, she’s better off marrying Mordechai than some Thai guy who bows to Buddha and eats cats.”
     

     
     
     
    It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
     
    Rebecca and I arrived early at the synagogue and lingered in the foyer to shake hands and hug friends. Other than Yom Kippur, which was ten days away, Rosh Hashanah attracted the highest attendance. It was heartwarming to see everyone gather to celebrate the ancient holiday.
    Jose Santoro, our part-time custodian, beckoned me from the service door. We walked outside together, around the back. The AC compressor sat on a concrete pad near the wall. It rattled in an uneven cycle, pitching up and down with a metallic knocking that I recognized from last year.
    I groaned. “Not again.”
    “Sorry, Señor Doctor,” Jose said. “Is no good. Is broken.”
    “We can’t afford a new system now.” Even if the cost had remained the same as last year’s replacement quote, it would wipe out the synagogue’s meager financial reserve and require borrowing on top of it. We had managed to keep the AC going another year, but here we were again. “Is Mat Warnick here?”
    Jose nodded. “I see truck in parking lot.”
    “You’re a good man.”
    He smiled, showing a cracked front tooth. We “shared” Jose with a church down the street, paying him cash for half-time while getting more than full-time from him. Other than Jose, the two congregations had little contact.
    “ I’ll call Mat Warnick.” Heading back inside, I prepared myself for unpleasantness. A hardworking man didn’t come to the synagogue with his wife and kids expecting to be asked to work in the outdoor heat while everyone else celebrated the New Year Eve service.
    I found Mat in the prayer hall, wearing a pressed shirt and a tie, seated with his twins, one on each side, reading to them from a children holiday book. I heard his son ask, “And when will the rabbi blow the shofar?” It reminded me how Debra had always been excited at hearing the ram’s horn.
    “Happy New Year!” I shook Mat’s hand.
    “ And to you.” He let go of my hand and buried his eyes in the book. “Don’t even ask.”
    “ How did you know?”
    He pointed at an air vent overhead. “How do you know when a patient’s blood flow is screwy?”
    “ Take a quick look, that’s all. Maybe it’s just a loose bolt, or a hose.”
    “ There are three hundred heating-and-cooling guys in the yellow pages. Can’t you call one of them?”
    I knew Mat couldn’t say no, so I just waited.
    “ Pretend I’m not here.”
    I couldn’t do that, so I asked, “How is your brother doing?”
    Mat gave me a look that said: Not fair!
    Jonathan Warnick, a healthy communications specialist in the U.S. Army, had come back from Afghanistan with multiple internal injuries. Neglectful with his medications, he developed blood clots, and I operated on him in the last minute. But he was back at the hospital a month later with a stomach full of sleeping pills. I spent the night with Mat and their elderly mother until Jonathan’s condition turned around and had visited him every day during weeks of psychiatric treatment. A year later, we all danced together at his wedding to a nurse from the psych floor, who made him add an extra marriage vow: I shall never try to kill myself again.
    “My baby brother is the new king of Silicon Valley,” Mat said, getting to his feet. “His company is preparing for an IPO. You should call him up, ask for a donation. A new cooling system maybe?”
    Jonathan had started a website while still in the hospital—VetBestMate.com—which had become the largest singles site for veterans and those who want to date them.
    Marching up the aisle with clenched fists, Mat said, “I’m doing it for you, Rusty, but it’s not fair!”
    “ You’re right, and I really appreciate it.” What else could I say? If the AC died now, the prayer hall would quickly heat up