Kim finished the morning lessons,
hoping her students hadn’t registered the full measure of her
distractedness. She slipped into an open court and after about twenty
minutes of aggressive slam therapy, her level of anxiety was somewhat
reduced. That left time for a quick shower. She’d filled every moment
of the morning to capacity, leaving the least possible room for her
fears. Now at just after 1 PM she tugged
her favorite jeans over half-dried legs, tied on purple running shoes
and shrugged into a chalk blue pullover, not much lighter than her
eyes. Her hair, once medium brown before chemo, had come back lighter,
wavy and, she realized, was just now long enough to dampen her collar
when wet. “Oh, God, not again” she thought. She whispered to her image
in the mirror, “You will not go there now.” and was out the door and
down the steps.
Midday sunshine had burned through
the fog and felt delicious after a morning in the nearly windowless
club. Warmth settled onto her shoulders and damp hair. She’d decided
against taking the bus in favor of a brisk walk through the “Aves.”
Sitting still for even a 10 minute bus ride could allow the blacks and
blues of fear to jimmy their way into her thoughts. Last month’s
considerations of returning to teaching high school English were no
match for the current variations on the themes of “Shit, I am really
dying.” and “Who is this man, really?” Christian had been serious and
mysterious on the phone yesterday, conceding that his work--which
subject he’d adroitly dodged in their prior conversations--was
“national security-related”. He’d asked if she had a passport (yes) and
promised to tell her all he can when they meet at the Arboretum in
Golden Gate Park about twenty minutes from now.
As she entered the park along the
eastern edge of the arboretum where 9th Avenue becomes Martin Luther
King Drive she was aware of the warm smell of freshly cut spring grass.
She began looking for Christian as she passed the sign for the
Shakespear Garden. At the first clutching thought of “what if he
doesn’t show up?” Christian materialized at her side as though they’d
been walking together for blocks.
“Hi beautiful, let’s walk,” he
said. His arm fit around her shoulders with an easy precision. He
bent to kiss her temple. Kim leaned into him as they steered down a
path away from the road. They stopped and clung together with tender
fierceness before settling onto a heavy redwood bench, worn smooth by
years of use.
“There’s lot’s to tell you, so
please hear me out all the way to the end,” he began. Kim nodded. He
promised that, within the conditions of his employment, he’d answer her
questions truthfully.
“I’m not who I’ve claimed to be. My
name is Ben Gold. For fourteen years I’ve worked in a special capacity
for the state of Israel…” With few particulars and no mention of
Mossad he thumb-nailed his history, from Nebraska to Israel to their
park bench in the dappled sunlight. He spoke with candor of his
brief dalliance with Bethany and subsequent misadventure with Kyle. Of
his nomadic and guarded life that had precluded any real human
attachments and of how his falling for Kim had brought him face to face
with the need to change his life if the two of them were to explore
being together.
“But Kim, the most important thing
now is to get you well. This will sound high handed, but I’ve arranged
for us to fly to Tel Aviv tomorrow. The University of Israel’s Medical
Center has your records. They want you there the day after tomorrow to
evaluate you for the most advanced proton irradiation therapy available
anywhere. Please, please agree to do this. I’ll see you through all of
it. There’s an apartment nearby where we’ll be comfortable. I’ll start
the process of closing out that part of my life. When we know you’re OK
we’ll leave Christian behind in Tel Aviv.” He paused. “So, what do you
say?”
“Yeah, that was a lot,” Kim half
whispered, inhaled deeply then shook her head to clear her mind as she
slowly exhaled. “What about your—your legal problems? That Kyle
thing. And Shay! How could I…?”
“Let me jump in here” said
Christian. “I spoke with Shay this morning. Seems a certain U. S.
federal agency has arranged for the SFPD to abandon the homicide
investigation and call it another earthquake fatality. They don’t want
to jeopardize the operation I came here to set in motion. Shay and I
still have a few things to work out, but he agrees this is your best
shot at beating the cancer.”
“Jesus! What can I say?” Kim found
herself almost giddy as a heavy chunk of tension loosened its grip.
“I’m just going to have to trust this, so I guess the first thing to do
is pack some warm weather clothes. When can I start to call you Ben?”
“Outside the bedroom, not until we’re out of Tel Aviv.”
Shay walked the two blocks from the
station for his customary Friday lunch at Arturo’s, a
not-very-glorified former drive-in, and took the only available outdoor
table. Cheap back yard variety plastic chairs were oxidized and
scuffed, the tables wobbled under squares of oilcloth, brightly
patterned in tropical fruits and flowers. He opened The Chronicle onto
the sticky surface, noting that the number and length of
earthquake-related articles were waning.
“Hey, you’re the detective I didn’t
meet the other day. Remember?” The pleasant voice belonged to the
attractive woman in black jeans and off-white cotton knit top standing
at his table.
“I remember, even without the lab coat. Med Ex office, Michelle, right? Care to join me?” Shay asked, pleasantly surprised.
“Thanks, I will. I was hoping to
sit outside. You told me about this place and I came here the next
day—kinda cruddy but good tacos al pastor. What else is good?”
Shay folded the newspaper and
admitted a little sheepishly “I seem to be stuck in Burritoville. Maybe
it’s time to branch out and explore new options. I mean…”
Michelle smiled and half winked.
“Sounds good, but let’s start with trying a couple new menu items.”
Their ensuing nervous chuckles signaled to Shay that the invitation
he’d issued last week in the MED EX office had not been so unwelcomed
after all. The flirtation lamp, it seemed, was now lighted.
“Ok, but let’s choose well, it’s my last day here. The M. E. is pretty well caught up now, so it’s back to Santa Rosa for me.
Shay cleared his throat: “Well in that case may I take you to dinner tonight.”
Michelle nodded, smiling: "OK, but
let’s share the dinner tab and go somewhere swell. Lunch, however, is
on you. You did invite me here after all, didn’t you? I mean to
collect.” Shay laughed, “It’s a deal, madam.”
"So, Detective Samuels, how’s your
investigation going on that strangled guy with the handcuffs?” Asked
Michelle, leaning in for details.
