Family Secrets
Learning about mine
Every family has them—seems like it's in our nature to hold them close. I didn't learn that my mother had been married before my father until I was about seventeen. And I don't know how old I was when I learned that my father had a sister who died as a child.
He must have been about seven or eight, so he didn’t remember much about her other than her name, Temmy. That wasn’t a name I’d ever heard before, so I did some research and discovered Temmy is a Yiddish name, specifically a shortened form of Temma, which is a Hebrew name meaning “whole” or “complete”.
It also shows up in the last name Temkin. My grandmother’s maiden name was Tomchin—at least that’s the way it came through when converted to English lettering. So maybe there’s a connection there. No one else in the family has a similar name. Ashkenazi Jews, like my family, name after the deceased, but there’s a general belief that you shouldn’t name a baby after someone who died young.
If you read the next in my Smiling Dog Café series, The Bridge Between Us, you’ll see that Temmy comes up. As I was writing, I thought that bringing her in was a way to honor her memory, as well as a device to bring two fractured siblings together.
In “The Bridge Between Us,” the mysterious Smiling Dog Café brings estranged siblings Barry and Leah Goldstein together after fifteen years apart. As they navigate their separate griefs—Barry mourning his wife Ellen and Leah recovering from the loss of her husband and unborn child—they discover that healing begins when they confront their shared past. The second book in the Smiling Dog Café series explores how family patterns echo through generations, and how sometimes the things we inherit aren't possessions but the courage to rebuild what's broken.
Though the first book was composed of two novellas, this one is a full-length novel. Alternating between the viewpoints of Barry and his sister Leah, as well as café owner Betty, gives a richness to the story and lets it develop slowly.
Why readers are finding comfort in the stories of The Smiling Dog Café:
No dramatic third-act crises - Unlike traditional novels that rely on last-minute catastrophes, these stories unfold naturally, honoring the quiet courage it takes to face everyday challenges
Cultural elements made accessible - Experience the beauty of diverse cultural traditions without getting lost in unfamiliar terms or concepts
Clear character distinctions - Even with multiple characters across different timelines, each person's journey remains easy to follow
Emotional resonance without emotional exhaustion - Feel deeply without being drained by manufactured drama
Be warned: one of my beta readers said, “You made an old man cry.”
Another wrote: “WOW!! One of the best books I have read. Not only a beautiful story, but parts I could relate to.”
Here’s a bit from the book:
When Barry Goldstein left the cemetery after burying his wife Ellen, a Labrador retriever appeared at the edge of his driveway. The dog sat watching his house with what looked impossibly like a smile. Barry tried to shoo it away, but something about its steady gaze reminded him of Ellen's final words about her childhood dog Molly, who “always knew when I needed her.”
Without fully understanding why, Barry found himself following as the dog led him through Brooklyn's back streets, past warehouses and empty lots, until they reached a weathered storefront he'd never noticed before. A sign hung above the door: “The Smiling Dog Café.” The scent of coffee and cinnamon drifted out, impossibly warm and inviting in this industrial wasteland.
Through the windows, he saw walls lined with portraits of dogs, each one captured in oils with extraordinary attention to detail. The Labrador that had led him there was nowhere to be seen, but its twin smiled down from a portrait above the counter.
Barry stood outside, his hand on the door handle, the warmth and music beckoning. But something held him back. Perhaps it was the weight of Ellen's address book in his pocket, or the rawness of his grief still too fresh to share. He wasn't ready for whatever waited inside, not yet.
He turned away, letting his feet carry him back toward home. But he remembered the café's location, tucking it away like one of Ellen's carefully filed memories. Maybe someday, when the edges of loss weren't quite so sharp, he'd come back. Maybe then he'd be ready to see what the smiling dog wanted to show him.
We’re forecast for heavy rain today and tomorrow so last night I baked two big pans of lasagna to keep us from having to go out. Hope you’re safe from floods or all kinds of disasters.
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