by Anna Levine
“We need someone to watch over the switchboard,” one of the nurses calls. “You,” she says, pointing to me. “I’ll show you what to do.”
She explains that I am to take messages from the parents and promise friends and loved ones that someone will get back to them soon. “It’s not easy,” she warns. But my voice is calm, efficient, and sympathetic. The nurse listens and nods in approval. I ask if I can slip in a call to my sister and leave a message on her phone that I’m fine, helping out in the hospital, and for her to call Mom and Dad and tell them not to worry.
“I’ll be back as fast as I can,” says the nurse.
A list of patients and their room numbers is dropped before me.
I pour myself another cup of tea and drink it down without tasting it.
The nurse from the children’s ward comes in. “How are things?” she asks, resting her hand on my shoulder.
“I know one of the soldiers,” I say, pointing to the paper on the desk. I drop my head in my arms, feeling the wall of resolve inside me beginning to crumble.
She pulls me to my feet. “Then what are you doing sitting here? Go. I’ll cover the switchboard. You have a more important job to do. Go on. And take off that stained smock.”
“But I look—”
“Gorgeous,” she says, smiling.
Without giving myself time to lose my nerve, I walk toward the emergency room. The room I’ve been avoiding.
I pause by the doorway. He’s talking to Jonas. I recognize Jonas’s long sandy hair beneath his cap and the sling around his shoulder. He’s standing by the bed. I lean against the doorjamb, catching snatches of their conversation.
Noah’s voice sounds broken. “…snapped at him about his boots. He never cleaned his boots right. Always smudged at the heels. Never shaved close enough either.”
I hear him choke up.
“Death is beyond our control,” says Jonas. His voice is soft as he struggles to keep it steady.
Noah gives a slight shrug and turns away. “I just wish I could have—” His voice catches.
“But you couldn’t have known. You can’t blame yourself.”
“No. But now all I can think about are all the stupid things I said to him. I can’t even hear his voice anymore. Just hear myself barking at him.” His voice cracks.
I squeeze my hands into fists, the nails biting into my palms. I peek around the corner. Jonas has turned aside, giving me a full view. Noah stares past me.
I can’t move. I can’t. I can’t go in there. The din of the hospital fades into the background. There are no other wards, no other wounded. There is only Noah. I gulp a huge breath, trying to push down the lump of fear.
“So, you know at the beach?” says Noah, his voice sounding faraway.
I strain to listen. His tone has changed.
“The beach?” says Jonas, sounding confused.
“Yeah. You know when you’re at the beach and it’s the end of the day?”
“Which beach?” says Jonas. “Tel Aviv?”
“Whatever. Tel Aviv, Nahariya. A beach. And then the sun, it starts to sink, and as the last bit of light is about to disappear, suddenly there’s this green light in the sky?”
“A green flash,” says Jonas. “It’s one of those rare natural wonders.”
“A phenomenon,” says Noah.
“So what about it?”
“I think I just saw one.”
There’s a pause. “Must be the drugs,” he says as he turns to follow Noah’s gaze.
Then noticing me, Jonas smiles. “Oh, that green flash.” He nods and moves away from Noah’s bedside. “Okay, Noah, I’m going to see how the other guys are doing. You sure you’ll be okay?”
“I think so. Wish I had my guitar, though. See if you can find one for me, later?”
“Sure.”
Jonas pauses beside me before leaving. “I’m glad to see you,” he says. Our eyes meet for a second, and I see that his are brimming with tears.
I take a step into the room. Noah watches me.
“Interesting uniform,” he says, nodding his head in approval. “I like it. Is that what the women combat soldiers are wearing these days?”
“In your dreams.”
“That’s true.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Most combat units for girls are in the canine corps training the dogs. First one I’ve heard that involves lost kittens.”
“Has Jonas told you everything?” He’s teasing me. I try laughing, but it sounds feeble even to my ears. His gaze is penetrating and I glance away, but not without noticing how thin his face has become.
“It’s good to see you,” he says. “I’d get up and hug you, but my leg—” He pauses.
No one’s trained me for what to say next and no words rush to my rescue. “How bad—”
“I’ll be all right”—he cuts me off —“which is more than I can say for some of the others.”
I take a few more tentative steps in. I can see he’s straining to get a whole look of me—all the way down to the green spiky shoes. I let his gaze linger.
I make it to the side of his bed. He reaches out. I run my fingers down the length of his arm. He turns his hand palm up. His long, delicate guitar fingers swallow my hand in his. I notice the shell burn marks on his inner arm and can’t stop myself from flinching.
Wiggling my fingers, I weave them through his. His hand feels steady, strong, and cool. We look at the way our fingers intertwine. It’s easier than looking at each other.
Somewhere in the corridor a medicine trolley wheels by. The generator pulses, making the lights flicker. A voice calls out for a nurse. Noah rests his head against the pillow, staring at the ceiling.
Suddenly, overwhelmed, my voice cracks, “Oh, Noah,” I say.
“What?” he asks softly.
I shake my head.
“Talk to me, Aggie.”
“It’s so much harder than I ever imagined.”
He waits for me to go on.
“I thought I could do it. Signed up for combat. Aced boot camp. Came up here on my own. Drove through a war zone. Dodged a rocket. Raced helicopters.” The words tumble out of me. “Lily said you’ve got to control your emotions. But the fear. The strain of fighting for control. The stress of wanting to be everywhere at once. I—I know I thought I could. But seeing you here—like this.” I shake my head. “I can’t. I’m not cut out for this.”
“For what?”
“This.” I gesture with my free hand. “You were right. It takes a certain type. And I don’t think I have it. I’ve been holding it all in. Doing what I have to. But inside,” I say, putting my hand to my heart, “inside I can’t anymore.”
He squeezes my hand. “I don’t think you understood me—”
“No, I didn’t then. I do now. I’m not cut out for this. I’m not brave enough.”
Our fingers are still intertwined. I try and pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let go. We’re silent for a few minutes. I wish I could absorb the pain that he is going through, make it easier, but know that’s impossible, too.
“So what made you come up here in the first place?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be home?”
“My parents think so. But I came because . . .” I pause, thinking back to what seems like a million years ago. “Lily called me. Her house was totaled by a rocket. I couldn’t sit at home and leave her to deal with it on her own, not after what we’d been through together.” I look at him pleadingly, hoping he won’t think the worse of me. “But now all I want to do is run away and be someplace else.”
Which at this point isn’t really true. I don’t want to be anywhere else except here, beside him.
“Wouldn’t we all?” he says, conviction lacking in his tone. “But we are where we are, and we have to make the most of it.”
He eases his grip, as if to let me free. But now I squeeze his hand harder. I sink into the chair by the bed and drop my head into my hands. I haven’t cried. I’m not going to. I’m not.
&nbs
p; We stay quiet for a while, our fingers entwined, inseparable. He hums the refrain of the song “Darkenu,” singing softly, “But you won’t walk alone. I’ll be there with you.”
I think I understand what he means. Seeing Noah and Jonas together, different in so many ways but connected. It’s a bond of brothers not less than the one between me and Hila or the one I’ve made with Lily. Had I thought it brave going north to be with Lily? Bravery had nothing to do with it. Lily had everything to do with it.
Finally I raise my head. Noah is still watching me. His eyes are softer, tender, slightly teasing.
“And just so as you know, I never had any doubt that you weren’t the type—or my type.”
“You’re teasing, and I’m too tired to come up with a witty quip.” And as if by admitting to the exhaustion, a wave of weariness washes over me.
“Where are you planning on sleeping tonight?” he asks.
I shrug. “Don’t know. Lily said she’d find me a place when I got back. I should call her.”
Noah sucks in a painful breath of air. He raises himself higher. I jump up ready to call the nurse for help, but all he’s done is shift himself to one side of the bed.
“It’s not the best or most private accommodation,” he says, his dimples betraying any hint of humility, “and certainly not the way I imagined our first night together. But if you want to join me—”
“You can’t be serious. Here?” I glance over my shoulder. “With you?” My voice catches in my throat.
“Well, sure. What about it? People are always holding out for the ‘perfect time.’” He slides his hand down the empty side of the bed. “But really, the perfect time is when you turn the present into what you want it to be.”
I’m reminded of Lily and the wedding and Avi and find myself blushing.
“Look, Aggie. It’s finally just the two of us. Shira’s not here to drag you off somewhere. I’m certainly not going anywhere.” His gaze coasts over me. “And you”—he takes a breath—“are wearing that incredible dress. What better timing than this?”
Totally embarrassed but totally convinced, I kick off the spikes and sit down on the bed. He watches, smiling, and raises an arm to make a place for me beside him. I lay down, resting my head in the nape of his neck. My body fits right next to his. His arm circles around my shoulder, drawing me closer.
“I’m sure this is against the rules,” I say.
“Not worse than running a red light.”
“What? Is there anything you don’t know?”
“About you? Plenty—at least a thousand things.” He nuzzles the crown of my head with his scruffy chin.
I tilt my head up to smile at him. He caresses my cheek, gently lifts my chin, and bends until his lips touch mine, and we kiss.
Chapter Twenty
A monitor starts beeping; a voice crackles over an intercom. I open my eyes to find Noah’s mother leaning over him on the other side of the bed.
“Mom,” he says. “Wow, you got here fast.”
“Fast? To me it felt like forever.” She gives him a kiss. Resting a hand on his forehead, as if trusting her touch more than any thermometer, she heaves a sigh of relief. “What do the doctors say? Are they taking care of you?”
Noah laughs and runs his hand down my side. “No complaints,” he says.
I sit up, wishing I could slip away unnoticed. Dalia’s face looks strained and creased in places where her smiles used to be. She is holding Noah’s hand, and the tears sliding down her cheeks are all she allows herself. She doesn’t speak anymore. Doesn’t utter a sound. Her shoulders shake silently as she struggles for control.
“I’ll be fine, Mom. Really.”
She nods her head. Takes a deep breath. Exhales.
I slip off the bed and start inching toward the door.
“Abigail.”
“Yes?” I turn around.
“Please, don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving. I just thought I’d . . .”
She clears her throat. “Wait. I have a message for you. There’s an army transport leaving here for Jerusalem. I promised your mother I’d make sure you were on it. Stay here with Noah. I’ll tell the driver I’ve found you and you’ll be joining them.”
She walks out of the room, chin up. I can tell that she needs a reason to leave and compose herself, though I know she’s also giving Noah and me a few more moments alone. I run back to him.
“I don’t want to go,” I say.
He reaches up to smooth down a curl that springs back. “Stubborn,” he says, tugging on a strand. “But still, you’re no match against my mom. You need to go back home. Your parents must be worried.”
“I want to stay here with you.”
“I may get a few days off .” He looks away from me and brushes his palm across his forehead. “But if the doctors say I’m fit and my unit is going back in, if I can, I need to be with them.”
As I open my mouth to object, he pulls me closer and places his lips gently by my ear. His breath is warm, intimate, sending tremors down my spine. “It’s just how things are, Aggie. It’s complicated, but I think you can understand. Anyway, one thing I know for sure, as soon as I get home, I’ll want you with me every second.” His lips linger by my ear. “And you’ll be there, right?”
I nod my head, too undone to answer.
“Take my jacket. You’re a danger walking around like that.”
I’m not sure how I manage to pull myself away, but I find myself swaddled in Noah’s army jacket, his mother’s arm around me leading me to an army bus, where she tucks me into a seat by the window.
“Thank you,” Dalia says as she kisses the top of my head. “Thank you for being there with Noah.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry you’ll miss Shira. She’s on her way up with her father.”
I cover my hands over my face and groan.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“I haven’t told Shira yet about me and Noah,” I say, cringing with embarrassment.
Dalia laughs. “And you’re telling me she hasn’t noticed how my Noah acts around you?” She strokes my head. “Okay. I promise I won’t say anything until you tell her.”
“Thank you.” I slump back against the seat. “Now I have to face my parents. They’re really mad at me, aren’t they?”
“They’re worried, of course. But they’re also very proud of you.”
“Really?” I stare up at her.
“Really. They told me all about how you’re determined to get into a combat unit. They said, ‘When our Aggie puts her mind to something, nothing stands in her way.’”
“I wish I could call them. Tell them I’m okay. Tell them I’m sorry for worrying them. But I’ve left my cell phone and all my stuff in the hotel room and now it’s too late to pick them up.”
“Here, take my phone.” She hands it to me. “I don’t need it.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t. There must be so many people who want to call you, see how you are, how Noah is—”
She shakes her head. “And that’s exactly why I don’t want it on me. I need some quiet time. Make your phone calls and then turn it off . I’m sure you could also use a few minutes to yourself.”
I take the phone and slip it into the pocket of Noah’s jacket. “Thank you.”
“I’ll get Shira to pick up your things—though I’m sure you’ll be back soon enough.” She gives me a knowing smile and leaves.
The bus fills up slowly with soldiers and civilians. A girl sits down next to me. I scrunch closer to the window, tilting my body away from her. I can feel her eyes peering at me curiously. I must be an odd sight in an army coat, short skirt, and high-heeled shoes.
“Nice outfit,” she says, laughing.
“Yes, I know. I look ridiculous.”
She sticks a bag of chips in front of me. “Want some?”
“Thanks,” I say. Taking a few, I realize how hungry I am.
I give her a grateful smile.
She looks me over.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
She’s wearing high-heeled summer sandals, tight jeans, and a black sleeveless shirt. She smells slightly like Amber Romance, a scent I recognize because Hila bought me some for my last birthday.
“You look really familiar,” I say, “but I’m sorry. My brain isn’t working.”
She laughs with a light kind of carefree lilt.
I take a closer look. I know I know her. But I’m stumped. Her hair is cut short and feathers softly over her ears. Green eyes, bright and candid, look at me teasingly. There’s something about her that is so familiar, but I draw a blank.
“I always get a kick out of it when this happens,” she says.
Leaning back into my seat, hugging Noah’s coat around me, I’m torn between wanting my solitude and a nagging curiosity. “Were you in one of my classes or something?”
She slaps her thigh and laughs louder. “You spend an intensive period with someone, and you’d think you’d leave more of an impression, but I guess not.”
“Okay,” I say. “Give me a hint.”
She clears her throat. Sits up and turns to me. Her jaw tightens. Her eyes narrow. Her posture stiffens. “Forty seconds. That hill. To the top! Back! Now!”
My mouth drops open. “Ken! Commander. Forgive me. I didn’t recognize you.” My spine becomes ramrod straight.
She slumps back and laughs. “Relax, Number Eighteen. We’re both off duty.” She runs her hand through her hair. “What’s your name again? I’m great with numbers but names . . .”
“Aggie.”
“Right! Abigail Jacobs.”
“Tami,” she says, reintroducing herself. “But I thought you were a Jerusalemite. What are you doing all the way up here?”
I tell her about Lily’s house being hit and the animals and helping out at the hospital.
“Why do I think you’re leaving out the best part?”
I squirm. “Must be the oversized army coat.”
She smiles. “Of course. A dead giveaway. I’ve got one, too.” She sighs. We both let our heads loll against the seat. The bus speeds down the deserted highway as dawn spreads across the horizon.
“What are you doing up here?” I ask.