Windows on the World (OLD VERSION) [BEING REWRITTEN]

[¹³] ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʳᵉᶜᵉᵈᵉⁿᵗ

Mr Rosenthal took the shelter analogy to a literal level when he interposed his body between Jeff and Phoebe, giving her a safe distance from him.

"You're praying to their God now?!" He scoffed and flailed his arms in a defeatist manner. "Of course... What else could one expect from Jew York!"

Walter took two more steps forward, reinforcing the barrier isolating Phoebe. Jeff may have been big in size, but Walter was taller, and, needless to day, in shape. His broad shoulders—now puffed up—made the fortitude that was usually hidden under his loose-fit suits stand out more notoriously. His imposing stance worked. Jeff remained stern in his expression, but his overly-confident pose was finally wavering. It was one against the rest of the congregation who was still there, and had approached in support.

There was not another peep from Jeff, whose last word was, instead, projecting his spit inches away from Walter's shoes before he retreated with a resentful walk down the street.

They all let out a breath of relief. All but Phoebe, who knew it was not the end of it. And yet, a sudden warmth on her palm managed to bring some comfort to her. It was Walter's hand, which had taken a hold of hers to beckon her away from where the incident had taken place.

"Who was that schmuck?" Mr Rosenthal asked while they passed by in front of him. He bent down stiffly to pick up the discarded yarmulke. He kissed it—an action which must've had some meaning—before catching up with them to give it back to Phoebe.

"Thank you, Mr Rosenthal," she told him with affliction because of the mortifying scene they'd caused, but grateful that he'd defended her.

"Don't mention it."

Walter had taken his cellphone out to place a call, and he still hadn't let go of her hand.

"Yeah, we're done here," he spoke into the phone.

In a matter of a couple of minutes, his driver appeared and stopped the car right in front of them. With haste, Walter opened the door for Phoebe, almost shoving her inside.

Mr Rosenthal poked his head through the open window a little.

"I'm sorry this happened. But I hope it doesn't put you off from visiting us again," he told Phoebe.

She only managed to give him a nod.

"Thanks again, Abel," said Walter.

Mr Reade drove away and Phoebe kept twisting her head back to look at the cars behind them at first.

"Let's stop for groceries," she said firmly when they were reaching the downtown.

"Phoebe, you don't have to cook anything now, okay? Let's just get something at the deli. Or better yet, we can get you home, if you prefer that."

"No, no. You haven't eaten in over a day... you need a good home cooked meal."

The last thing he wanted was to argue with her. If that was what she felt like doing, he would not stop her. Maybe it would even make her feel better, distract her. But he was concerned. This attitude, pretending like nothing had happened, that she was not shaken up at all... It could go either way.

At the grocery store, she walked ahead of him, throwing items into the cart that he was pushing. If not for that, the silence around them would have been absolute.

The moment they left the groceries on the kitchen counter, Phoebe washed her hands and began getting down to business. First, cutting up the vegetables for a stew that would sit well on an empty stomach.

Walter said a prayer and gulped down two big glasses of water—something that had been also been restricted for him over the last twenty-five hours. He gasped while he placed the glass down.