The call was a surprise; the reason behind it even more so. Though Rina had known Honey Klein née Hersh for years — the two girls had been classmates — she had never considered her a close friend. Their small Orthodox high school had had a student body of eighty-seven at the time of Rina’s graduation: twenty-two seniors — twelve boys, ten girls. Rina had been friendly with all the girls. But as the years passed, the two women had crossed paths only sporadically; the chance meetings had held nothing beyond pleasantries. Honey had married young to an ultra-religious Chasidic diamond dealer. She had four kids. She seemed happy.
So when Honey asked if she and the kids might spend a week with Rina and her family in Los Angeles, Rina thought it strange. Her first thoughts were: Why me and why here?
Peter’s ranch was located in the rural portion of the San Fernando Valley. The environs had wide streets and big commercial plots roomy enough for storage centers, wholesalers, and warehouses. Sure, the newer residential neighborhoods sprouted tract homes and apartment buildings, but there were still many ranches large enough to stable horses and livestock — parcels similar to Peter’s homestead, her homestead now. The area was LA’s last refuge of undeveloped scrubland, most of it hugging the timbered foothills of Angeles Crest National Park.
