The City of Lost Secrets: A Mara Beltane Mystery (21 page)
“So you don’t regret coming to Jerusalem?” His finger was tapping again on the steering wheel, faster this time.
“Not at all! Are you kidding? I learned a lot and met someone who--” I stopped myself, realizing I was dangerously close to spurting out my feelings for Uri, something I promised myself I wouldn’t do again because feelings—-however deep or sincere--could never change our circumstances.
But at least a near verbal slip was easier to recover from. My first offense, which had occurred only about twenty minutes before in the doorway of my hotel room, would prove harder to forget.
I had opened my hotel room door and saw Uri’s handsome face and I threw myself into his arms and kissed him.
It wasn’t something I had planned to do, it just…happened. I heard a soft knock, I opened the door, and there he was, prepared to take me to the airport. He was glad to be able to see me one last time but sad to see me go, and he said as much, but with an intensity on his face that suggested he didn’t quite know how to express it.
But I did. In that split second I knew how to express my own feelings and emotions, and I hoped that a kiss would allow him to let go, to finally give in to his emotions, too. It could be our last chance, I thought. We might never see each other again. So I did what I thought the moment called for—-a chance to say nothing at all, a time to just feel. There was no other choice, in my mind, than to kiss Dr. Uri Nevon.
He had held me tightly to his chest and kissed me back, a moment that unleashed in me, simultaneously, pent-up longing for Uri and fear of crossing that line.
We kissed for several heated, blissful seconds and embraced for a minute or so more, and then it was over.
“Oh, goodness,” he had said, still standing in the doorway.
“I’m sorry.” I could feel his eyes on me, but I couldn’t look at him. Instead, I focused on a spot on the carpet.
He took my hand. “No, no. I’m glad you did,” he reassured me. “It just…well…it makes things harder.”
I slid my eyes up to the brown of Uri’s irises. “I know, but I’m willing to take that risk,” I said.
“Mara, you know we can’t.”
“Because of Ziva?” I asked. “Because you still love her?” The words had come out more harshly than I’d intended. I sighed and attempted to apologize for my cruelty, but Uri just waved me off. It was he, he had said, that owed me an explanation.
Uri didn’t need to clarify anything for me, least of all his feelings for Ziva. I knew he still loved her. But he offered a confession anyway.
He had said that he could deal with the consequences of breaking into the Talpiot tomb again. He could surround himself with rumors about his irresponsible behavior and the disdainful looks of his whispering colleagues. He could even live with the guilt of yet again recruiting Lev to help him break into the tomb because of the boy’s willingness to help. But what he couldn’t deal with was the heartache of wanting to explore a relationship with me and not being able to.
It was a cruel twist of fate, an irony he grappled with and ultimately was unable to reconcile. He was attracted to an American woman who lived thousands of miles away, but he was still in love with an Israeli woman who had betrayed him and lied to him and who no longer seemed to feel love for him at all.
There was no moving on for Uri Nevon. No resolution. No reconciliation. No compromise. As long as Ziva walked the earth, there could be no one else.
“Come to America,” I’d said impetuously, foolishly, attempting to change his mind. “We’ll start a new life together.”
“My life—-my work—-is here,” he said. “And your life is in America.”
So as we rode west along the highway to Tel Aviv, to the Ben Guiron airport and the jetliner that would carry me home, I couldn’t help but reflect on how right he was.
I could be a novelist anywhere in the world, but there was nowhere else I’d rather be than in the City of Brotherly Love. My life was in Philadelphia. My family. My career. My friends. My best friend Lisa. Even Thomas, my dear, sweet ex-husband, was within a half-hour drive. I was still very much in love with him, and as long as he walked the earth, I, like Uri, felt there could be no one else.
So entertaining the idea that Uri and I—-two people who were in love with other people—-could have a life together was frivolous at best. At worst, it would be disastrous. We both knew it, so there was no need to spend any more time discussing it.
We reached the airport and Uri parked the car curbside outside of the departures gate. He retrieved my luggage from the trunk and asked if he could help me carry my bags inside.
I shook my head, seeing no need to make our goodbye last any longer than it had to be. This brief moment would be hard enough. He nodded in agreement.
I sighed, knowing this was it.
“I’m very grateful for everything you did, and I care about you very much,” I said. I felt the tears coming, my eyes moistening with emotion, so I quickly added, “And I’m sorry for screwing up your life.”
Uri reached over and took my hand. “Mara yakiri.”
My dear Mara
. “Your apology is unnecessary. I have no regrets.”
“Thank you…for everything,” I stammered, attempting to quell the sudden hammering of my heart from Uri’s touch.
Uri smiled.
There was a brief pause where neither of us spoke. Uri swayed towards me ever so slightly, a subtle lean of his body as if gauging my receptiveness to a hug or kiss goodbye.
A hug would be appropriate, I thought, and far less damaging than a kiss. I reached up and gave his neck a quick, tight squeeze, allowing him just enough time to wrap his arms around my waist in a brief embrace. Anything longer that a second or two and I feared I’d never let go, or the tears would start again, or I’d say something inappropriate or imprudent.
I handed the envelope to Uri, the one I had been clutching in my hand since we’d left the hotel.
“Tell him I said goodbye and thank you,” I said.
He nodded, took the envelope from me, and put it in the breast pocket of his shirt.
And then I walked away, accepting that some stories aren’t meant to be told, some secrets aren’t meant to be revealed, and life, much like a sad, tragic story, doesn’t always have a happy ending.
June 2009
Dear Lev,
Today is my last day in Jerusalem. My work in your city is complete. I’m going home.
I’m sorry that because of the Sabbath and the early hour that I can’t see you one last time and tell you in person how grateful I am for all your help. You are truly a remarkable young man, and my life has been enriched for having known you. Had I known your and Uri’s plans to gain access to the Talpiot tomb, I never would have agreed to it. I would have walked away. As it is, I feel responsible for putting your life in danger and your future in jeopardy, and I am truly sorry. Please accept my apology.
Please also accept my deepest gratitude for making my story complete. Because of you, I feel that if I wanted to, I could write that best-seller. As it stands now, however, I wouldn’t feel right capitalizing on something that you and Uri were responsible for. Everything I accomplished I owe to you. But perhaps one day I’ll write the story I wanted to tell.
I wish you the best of luck with your studies at Hebrew University. Stay in school, learn all you can, and I know that you’ll find much success in the business world.
Before I forget, enclosed is ninety shekels. Please mail me another olive wood rosary, the finest one in your store.
Toda raba. Thank you very much.
Lehitra’ot. See you later.
Shalom,
Miss Mara
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