Freefall (19 page)

“I'm sure they'd appreciate it. Find the nurses' station and ask there.” She looks at me. “There's a smock behind my desk. Put it on. You don't want to get that nice dress dirty.”

Leaving the children's ward, I weave my way around the bustle of doctors, nurses, and patients crowding the corridor. There is a buzz of activity around me.

I glance into the rooms. If Noah is here, that means he is wounded. If he isn't here—it could mean something much worse.

An orderly struggling with a stack of sheets and blankets calls me over. He dumps them in my arms. “Take these to the rooms at the end of the corridor. We need to have more beds ready. Quick. Move.”

I hike the load high in my arms, locking my chin on to the top of the pile so it won't tip over. Reaching the last room, I dump everything on the first bed, help the nurse make up the other beds, and head back for another load.

After five runs, my back aches. My arms throb from the strain. But I don't stop. There are rooms that still need to be readied, and the staff is expecting me to do it.

Someone puts a cup of tea in my hand and tells me to drink up. It's too sweet, too weak, and lukewarm. Disgusting. I gulp it down.

“Take these.” The orderly who had me hauling blankets and bedsheets now hands me two trays off a food trolley. “Room one hundred and six. The two first beds. When you're done, move on.”

I rush between rooms. Give out the trays of food. Collect the empty ones. Have no time to stop and breathe.

“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.

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.”