A Remarkable Kindness (28 page)

Emily nodded but stayed busy folding some of the boys' shirts, avoiding Lauren's eyes.

Lauren helped pack the boys' things, wanting to push away her feelings, push away the tension between them. “What about Boaz and the boys?”

“Boaz said I could take them,” Emily replied. “But he isn't going to pay me child support. He'll pay to fly them back here each summer. I know that's fair.”

“That's it? He didn't fight for his sons? I thought he'd fight for them.”

“I was kind of hoping he'd fight, too.” Emily's voice dropped. “Because that would mean that he cared about losing us. Or at least about losing
them
.” She reached for some sweatshirts. “Lauren, I know how much he's suffered. But I can't stay because I feel sorry for him. During the war, I tried so hard. I wanted to make it better between us. I never saw Ali—it was too dangerous on so many levels—and I thought, okay, this is a sign that we're not supposed to be together. That I should be with Boaz. This was my life and I'd make the best of it. Then Rachel was killed and there was the cease-fire, but I felt like a war was still going on inside me.”

Lauren nodded.

“I know my mind works in strange ways, but I still believe what my father always told me, that nothing happens in God's world by mistake.”

“I highly doubt your father would have said that this time.”

“But he wouldn't have wanted me to be so unhappy.”

“He would have wanted you to try to work things out with Boaz.”

“Lauren, what else could I have tried to work out? It would have just meant living a sad, lonely life here in Boaz's house. Maybe it happened this way because fate forced my hand.”

Emily called this fate, Lauren thought bitterly. Wasn't it only a series of random accidents? Rash and reckless acts? Wasn't Emily about to give up everything, with no guarantee of anything in return?

“And Lauren,” Emily added, “when I saw Rachel in the burial house, I—”

“Please,” Lauren interrupted. “Please, let's not talk about her now.” Lauren was unable to shake the image, the cascades of Rachel's hair falling over the burial house table, so yellow it looked golden. Cutting the curls not covered in blood. That was something Lauren would never forget. Not until she was gone, too.

“When I saw Rachel lying there,” Emily continued, “it hit me hard that life is so short and forever is so long. You're here today, and poof, just like that, you're gone. You only get one chance in life.”

Lauren swallowed hard, an unspeakable sorrow trawling through her. She watched Emily zip up a suitcase. All this time, Lauren had hoped that Emily would stay with Boaz so that they
could watch their kids grow up, laugh, and have fun. She wanted them to be in this thing called life together. And now another thing she desperately wanted wasn't going to happen.

Blinded by tears, her head throbbing, Lauren stood up. “I want to leave first. Anything is better than watching you go.”

I
f there was one thing that unsettled Aviva, it was getting stuck in traffic. But there she was, trapped behind a line of cars in a Nahariya gridlock on the very Monday afternoon that she'd left school early for some personal time off. The driver in front of her honked and honked, then he jumped out and yelled at the next driver, “
Mah zeh?
Do you have to just sit there and show off your new SUV?”

When the cars began to move, Aviva managed to find a parking space by the department store and then walked along the boulevard, passing a clothing store, a photo shop, and a shoe store, all open again since the war and doing brisk business.

A block away from the sea, she found Lauren seated at a table in their favorite sidewalk café, dressed in chinos and a blue-and-white pin-striped shirt, looking unflappable, as usual. She stood,
they hugged hello, and then they sat down, looking over the menu they both knew by heart.

“What a treat to get to meet you for lunch,” Lauren said.

“I know. Hey, there's Nitzan Zlotnik.” Aviva tilted her head toward a guy with ratty-looking dreadlocks.

“Who?” Lauren looked up from her menu.

“Micha Zlotnik's son, Nitzan, the flame-thrower.”

“I thought his name was Eran.”

“His name
was
Eran. But Gila said that he wasn't getting a lot of flame-throwing jobs, so Rabbi Lapid told him that when people changed their names in the Bible, they changed their luck. So now he's Nitzan. It means the bud of a flower.”

“It means he's just as crazy as his father is.”

Aviva let out a laugh, though it hurt. It hurt to laugh and it hurt to breathe and it hurt to live. She was obliterated by grief. She looked up at the buttery light pouring down through the eucalyptus trees. The sun was shining and Aviva took it as a personal affront that there was light still left in the world. At least she still had two sons. Raz and Yoni, Raz and Yoni. At least there was comfort in that.

A waitress with a ring between her nostrils and a dragonfly tattoo on her neck took their usual order: first, two cappuccinos, then two grilled cheese sandwiches and salads, and then another round of coffee. When the waitress left, Aviva let out a deep sigh.

“I'm picking up what you're putting down,” Lauren said. “You look so sad, Aviva. Let's think of something happy—”

“Please help me think of something—”

“Let's see,” Lauren said quickly. “I heard from Julius. He's taking Hebrew and Arabic for his Middle Eastern studies at the university in Munich, and Rouven's planning on coming back to live here with Hila.”

“I hope you didn't try to talk him out of it.”

“No, honestly, I didn't. He's going to study at the Technion.”

“I never thought I'd see the day when I called an Aryan guy like Rouven a mensch,” Aviva said as the waitress returned with their coffee. “But he and Julius were amazing during the war.”

Lauren poured a pack of brown sugar into her cup, stirred, and took a sip. “Ah, this coffee is so good—even better than Peet's in Cambridge. I can't wait to get back there next summer with David. There's an incredible shoe store where I plan to shoot the lock off my wallet.”

“You sound really homesick.”

“I am,” Lauren admitted. “But I promised Emily I'd try not to be.”

“It's important that you and Emily parted on good terms.”

“I just didn't want her to leave.”

“Neither did I.” Aviva was sorry to see Emily go, but she also knew it was impossible to hold people back from making their own way through life's unexpected twists and turns. “You would have gone, too, if given the chance.”

“I'd already be packing my bags.”

“Lauren, I still believe it's worth living here. Even with everything that happens, I'm really proud I've been part of this country. There's no other place like it.”

“It is special but it's just so hard. I can't stop thinking about everyone
who was killed. I think about Yoni. And then I think about Rachel, and what a huge loss it was to the world—”

“Please don't start.” Aviva felt as if she were about to be flung out to sea on a shipwrecked boat, too far to ever return.

“I'm so sorry,” Lauren said. “I wish I could do something for you . . .”

“Just being with me is something.”

They did not speak. Watched two Ethiopian women walk by in long skirts and blouses, colorful and mismatched, white scarves tied around their backs, their babies snuggled inside. The waitress served them the sandwiches and salads.

“There was an Ethiopian woman in the maternity ward two nights ago,” Lauren remembered, eating her sandwich. “She spoke only a word or two of Hebrew. If she were back in Ethiopia, I'm sure she would have been with a lot of women, but here she was all alone.”

“But she had you. And it's a good thing they got out of there when they did.”

“I helped her as much as I could. And, Aviva, I really do try to see my cup as half-full.”

“I hope one day you'll see it as overflowing.”

“Emily told me the same thing. Oh, she called early this morning and wanted me to tell you that last night she had dinner with Ali and her mother. You remember Phyllis, right? A combination of Southern belle and saber-toothed tiger. But Emily said that after two Jack and gingers—that's Jack Daniels and ginger ale—Phyllis told them, ‘Y'all are crazy, but I see I can't stop ya.'”

“I can't wait to see them when I get there,” Aviva said.

“When you get where?”

“To Boston.”

“What? Don't tell me. Not you, too. No!”

“Don't panic—it's not forever. I'm taking my sabbatical and traveling next year.”

“Wow, that's the best news I've heard in a long time.” Lauren sounded sincerely relieved—and happy for Aviva. “Where are you going?”

“First to New York to stay with Jill. Then I'll head to Boston to be with Emily and Ali.”

“Maybe we could work it out so I'm there when you are.” Lauren put down her fork and knife. “I'll take you everywhere! We'll go to Faneuil Hall and Newbury Street and Boston Common and, let's see, Beacon Hill, which is pretentious and silly but it has beautiful cobblestone streets, and there are the absolute best corned-beef sandwiches at this deli in Brookline . . .”

“You can take me anywhere except to a Red Sox game.” Aviva ate some salad. “I'm hoping to get to a Yankees game with Yoni. The plan is that after he gets out of the army, he'll come meet me. We'll go to Costa Rica to stay with Raz—the three of us haven't been together in so long—and I can't wait. That's the only thing that keeps me going.”

“It's going to be so great.”

“But that's not the end of it. Yoni's friend, Tom Mosseri—”

“Bee-sting Tom?”

“Exactly. He's going to meet up with Yoni and they'll travel through South America while I'll head to Wyoming to spend time with Rachel's parents.”

“I'm so glad for you. What made you decide to finally go?”

“I never could before.” Aviva glanced away. “Certainly not after Benny was killed. I had to be close to him, close to his grave. And then Rafi died, and then I couldn't go when Raz was in the army, and then Yoni—I wanted to be here for him whenever he came home, even if all he did was give me a hug and eat dinner before going off with his friends or to be with Rachel . . .” Aviva stopped. “Lauren, if only I'd let her come with me to the hospital—”

“No,” Lauren said sharply. “You always say there's no such thing as
if only
—”

“But I can't stop thinking about her.” Aviva had tried to play it safe and not let Rachel go with her to outsmart fate, only to have fate trick all of them.

“Aviva, I always argued with Emily that what she called fate was completely haphazard, but since she left, I've been thinking about it a lot. And maybe what happened with Rachel was meant to happen—even if none of us will ever understand why.”

Aviva picked at her food. She thought of Eli coming to the house to pay a shiva call after Rachel had been killed—he'd seen an interview with Yoni on TV. Eli sat next to Aviva on the couch, and silence was all he had to offer. It was soothing nevertheless. An offering of consolation.

“I told Yoni that after he gets out of the army, he should go anywhere that soothes his soul,” Aviva said. “I told him to look for Rachel in the pages of a book, or out in the fields, or in the white waves of the sea. I told him not to feel bad if sometimes he
felt good again—she wouldn't have wanted him to be miserable, she wouldn't—”

Lauren's gray eyes glinted with tears. “Forget what I just said. None of it makes any sense.”

“You know, Lauren, I would have traded places with Rachel if it meant keeping her alive.”

“I know. But you couldn't. There's nothing we can do to make things different. Like in the hospital, there are times I feel so awful. Like when I have to place a dead newborn in his mother's arms.”

A pigeon landed on the sidewalk, pecking at some crumbs, the sunlight turning its gray wings silver. Aviva supposed that Rachel had been like one of those brilliant stars that burned out before its time.

Aviva wondered about life and death, and the sharp line that cleaved the two. She thought of that word,
cleave.
It could mean to divide and split with a cutting blow, or it could mean to cling closely to someone. One word containing two opposites. Kagan had given her rules to handle all that might happen, but this time she had to make up one for herself.

“Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.” That was her mother's voice, reaching Aviva from long ago, as if in a dream. “And all the things that cannot be changed must be endured.”

L
auren stood at the kitchen stove later that evening, trying to make Emily's boo-boo eggs for Maya and Yael. The girls sat on the counter singing “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” so loudly Lauren's ears ached. But not loud enough for her to miss the front door creaking open.

“Abba's home!” Yael shouted.

“Abba! Abba!
Abba!
” Maya joined in, jumping off the counter.

“Eema! Please take me down!”

Lauren helped Yael and turned, watching as David entered the kitchen and lifted the girls in his arms.

“Want boo-boo eggs, too?” Lauren tilted up her face to kiss him.

“I see you've expanded your repertoire. Maybe later. Right now, all I want is to get outside and take a walk with you. It's been a long day.”

“Isn't it raining?”

“It stopped. Let's carpe diem, as you'd say.” He placed Maya and Yael back down on the floor and switched to Hebrew. “Girls, you eat your dinner and we'll be right back. I want to be alone with Eema for a while. Maya, you're in charge.”

“Why is she always in charge?” Yael asked. “I'm old enough. I rode my bike to
gan
.”

“If you want to be in charge today,” David said, “you can be in charge.”

“You see?” Yael crossed her eyes at Maya.

“What do I care?” Maya stuck out her tongue.

Outside, the air was damp, windless, fresh, and laced with the minty smell of eucalyptus trees. Lauren and David walked by Sophie and Heinz Zuckerman's house, where a thin strip of light drifted out from between the slats of the wooden shutters over the living room windows.

“I bet Heinz is sitting right there,” David said.

“He misses Sophie so much. Which reminds me, David, when I met Aviva for lunch today, she told me she plans to travel for a whole year! I'm really going to miss her!”

“That's bad for you.” He took Lauren's hand. “But it's great for her.”

“I lost Rachel, then Emily—not really a loss, but she's not here anymore—”

“You promised you wouldn't start on that again—”

“I'm not. Just saying. And next year, no Aviva.”

“You'll make some new friends at your book club.”

“If we ever agree on our first book.”

They walked by Gila and Omri's
GARDEN OF EDEN HONEY
sign and then passed Boaz's house, cloaked in darkness.

“I feel sorry for him.” Lauren squeezed David's warm hand in hers.

“Me, too. I invited him for Friday-night dinner, but he doesn't want to come.”

“I hope you don't blame my cooking.”

“No, I don't. He did agree to go for a bike ride this Friday, so that's good.”

“Emily said that they've been talking a lot on the phone—more than they ever did.”

“And what about Jasmine?”

“Miserable as always. I don't know if she really believes that I didn't know anything about Emily and Ali, but she knows it wasn't my fault. And at least she doesn't have to see them together.”

Lauren and David reached the parking lot. She thought of the first day she had arrived in Peleg, when she had walked to the shore with David. She hadn't yet learned that life never went the way you expected it to go.

“Ali sent me another e-mail today,” David said. “He wrote, ‘I miss you, bro.' I guess he's learning Boston English.”

“So, you think he's going to make it there?”

“It's not going to be easy, but yes. Even if he has to deal with a different culture, with Emily's kids—and her mother.”

“Thank goodness Phyllis is just visiting from Charleston. Still, I can't see Emily and Ali lasting. So many conflicts. But looking back, I really didn't see us lasting together, either.” Lauren slowed
her pace because of a question that she had held at bay for so many years. “David, I need to ask you something—”

“Lauren, please don't ask me to move back to Boston to live near Emily—”

“It isn't that. I know what your answer would be, anyway. But you did promise you'd at least check out a fellowship.”

“Only a one-year fellowship,” he said. “And only because you promised me that we'll come back.”

“It's a deal.” Lauren stopped, peering at the black, rippling sea. She thought of the fish swimming at the seafloor, going on with their lives, waiting to ascend to the surface at first morning light. She thought of the book
Everything That Rises Must Converge.
The question that she had held back for so long now melted like a snowflake on the tip of her tongue. Lauren was afraid to ask David, but she had to know the answer, and he was the only one who could tell her.

“Remember when I first told you I was pregnant in Boston?” Lauren turned to him. “Remember how you asked me to marry you and move here?” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Did you really want to get married because of the baby—or because of me?”

Lauren studied his face. If he answered too quickly, she would know he was telling a lie. And if he answered too slowly, she'd know he hesitated because he didn't want to tell the truth. Lauren knew why people lied. She watched David's strong neck. She could see the exact bump of his Adam's apple. It didn't move.

“Sweetie,” he said. “I wanted you both.”

“That was the perfect answer!”

“When you smile like that you make my breath go away.”

“You
take
my breath away,” Lauren corrected. “Not ‘you
make
my breath go away.'”

“Do you want me to laugh at all your mistakes in Hebrew?” he asked. “How about the time you tried to ask Maya and her friends if they wanted grapes, but instead you asked them if they wanted
rocks
?”

“I just switched two letters,” Lauren said. “
Anavim, avanim
. You know I like anagrams.”

Across the parking lot, they climbed a cliff, the sea stirring against the rocks down below. When they stopped, Lauren heard music coming from the hotel.

“Leave it to Israelis to find something to celebrate after the war,” she said.

“The Arabs says the Jews are weak because we love life and they love death.”

“As if that's something to be proud of.”

“
Motek,
” David said, “sweetie, I have to tell you that you were very brave during the war.”

“Me? I didn't do anything brave.”

“But you did. You were so scared, but you still drove to the hospital and helped take care of the wounded and did what you had to do. You were very brave.”

“You never told me that.”

“I should have. I should have told you from the very start that it took a lot of courage for you to move here with me. I thought that if I admitted it was hard for you then you'd feel worse. But I was wrong not to say how brave you were, and I'm sorry.”

Lauren stood still, not speaking. The way he looked at her showed how much he loved her. He saw her in her very best light. Her most naked self, her truest self. The one that never lied.

The music floated toward them and David pulled her close. “This is nice.” He gathered her in his arms. “Dancing with you.”

“It's very nice.” Lauren listened to the music and the steady beat of his heart. “Things could be so wonderful here. And they're just not.”

“How is it possible that you always manage to ruin a perfect moment?”

“But David, that's not what I'm trying to tell you. I wanted to say that all this time, I've been kicking and fighting about being here. It's not my dream place—I know you know that—but I've been working really hard to accept that this is where I am.”

“So does that mean we can go home and make a baby?”

“Talk about ruining the perfect moment! The diapers, the crying, the no-time-to-yourself, the up-all-night, exhausted-all-day . . .” Then the words formed in her brain, Emily's words:
Accidents are God's secret plans for us
. Lauren hesitated. “You really want another child?”

He nodded.

For the first time, Lauren realized that she couldn't keep fighting her life, wanting it to be something other than what it was. It was what it was. “If she's a girl, we can name her Rachel. But honestly, David, if I have to say that
ch
sound with a Hebrew pronunciation, I'll feel like I'm always clearing my throat.”

“You can pronounce it however you want.” He kissed Lauren and she melted into his kiss, though she was halfway around the
world from the place she'd assumed she'd always be. But it was the place she was meant to be. She knew that now.

“I was thinking how Rabbi Lapid said that being in the burial circle is the greatest mitzvah because the dead can never thank you.” Lauren looked at David. “But I think the truth is that we can never thank the dead. I can never thank Rachel for teaching me how to really appreciate all I have right now. I feel so alive, so-so-
so—
”

“You can't know how good you make me feel,” David said, and this time she did not correct him. She held him as faint drops of rain fell on her hair and face. Lauren opened her eyes to the north. The night already hid the fold of hills along the border. The night hid the losses, the sorrows, the wars, the grief. But it also hid the beauty. The music kept going, and Lauren wanted to dive deep into the only now she had. She wanted to make it last, this one moment of joy, this one moment of life, before it slipped away from her, before it slipped away.