Page 23 of Caleb
“Yonathan saved your life,” she says, her eyes brimming with emotion. “He loved you.”
And now I can feel the flush burning its way up my neck. The rage rising once again. Yonathan didn’t deserve his fate. He deserved tolive. He was only twenty-one years old. What in the actual fuck?
The guilt of feeling like I’m living at his expense is eating me alive, as much as I want to pretend otherwise. The mental health cost I’ve paid for surviving that day is too steep. I’ll always feel indebted to him, his family, and life in general because of it.
God’s plan, my ass.
“Incoming tour bus. Large group of tourists approaching the church’s main gate. I’m moving closer to you. Keep it short, so we can leave soon. Over,” Aaron barks through the earpiece.
“We’re almost done,” I reply in Hebrew. “Do whatever you need to do. Out.” If Aaron has to come closer, so be it. I just don’t get why he wants to leave soon. To see Miss Murphy out of the house and getting some well-deserved fresh air is a win. I feel like Aaron’s a bit muddied by Ambassador Murphy’s paranoia.
“Is Aaron being Aaron?” Miss Murphy asks with a subtle smile.
“I just found out about his tourist phobia.” I smile. It’s a bit forced, but I’m hoping she doesn’t notice. She beams, which helps us transition away from the previous conversation. But I know I need a fucking smoke and a drink or two or maybe more to deal with the shit that stirred up inside me just now talking about Yon’s death. It felt good to talk about this, but it also didn’t. My brain hasn’t decided where I stand yet.
When in doubt, vodka.
“It’s nice to be out during the evening,” she says, looking around. “Although, it’s getting a bit chilly.”
I fire up from the seat.
Aaron’s right. We’ve lingered too long. I’ve talked too much. She’s getting cold. Miss Murphy is wearing a coat, but I would’ve gladly supplied her with an extra layer without question if I could. But I can’t. Not only would Aaron die from the mortification if he saw her wearing my jacket, but I need to keep my gun concealed.
We should leave.
“Caleb, wait,” she says, grabbing my wrist. My gaze drops to her hand, and she releases me.
“It’s getting cold, Miss Murphy. And we still need to get those white flowers you wanted to buy.”
“I’m fine.” She seems almost annoyed about me worrying about her. “Please … sit down. The flowers can wait.”
I do as I’m told because she’s the boss, and I’ve surrendered to the fact that this girl will always get her way with me.
“Thank you so much for sharing your story with me,” she says. “For trusting me. And I’m sorry you went through all of that. I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like. But I’m glad you’re okay and that you’re here now. That you’re safe.”
Safe.
The word ricochets inside my head. It’s something I’ve been mulling over since arriving in France. Having lived my entire life in Israel, I never knew what it would feel like if I ever left. And I do feel safe right now. But it’s not that I feltunsafewhen I was there because I truly didn’t. It’s just that I always carried a certain apprehension inside me without knowing it. A tension I didn’t realize was there until I left.
Israel will forever be my home, and growing up there made me the man I am today. And I know I’ll probably go back someday, but I don’t miss it. I miss my family and my friends. The food. The beach. But I certainly don’t miss the stress generated by the conflict that’s constantly slipping through the cracks of our borders.
“Thank you for listening,” I say with a nod. “I know it’s not an easy story to digest.”
“And I’m sure it’s not an easy one to tell either,” she tosses in.
“Could we … pretend like I never told you any of this? Like ever?” I know it’s a weird question to ask, but I feel like that’s a door best kept shut. “I don’t know. I just feel like—”
“I completely understand,” she says confidently. “More than you think. I know I’m tired of being the poor girl who lost her mother. So just know that when I look at you, I’ll see past that.”
This girl keeps surprising me. Not only is she smart, but she’s kind and empathetic. That’s exactly what I wanted, for her to just seemeand not my trauma. Back home, it was hard not to feel like everyone felt sorry for me. It made me feel pathetic and stuck in my feelings, like I couldn’t move past them because no one around me allowed me to, and I didn’t know how to open up to any of them. How could they understand?
I sigh. Only this time, the breath coming out of my mouth is charged with relief and a new sense of peace. I do feel lighter, even if the guilt has still got its teeth deeply sunk into my neck. It would be wise to get used to that feeling. I highly doubt it will ever go away.
A part of me hates myself for making this moment about me. And I’m doubting myself about saying what I want to say next, but I’ve already said more than I should’ve today, so what the hell.
“If you ever feel like—talking about anything, just know that I’m here to listen too.”
“Thank you.” She flashes a warm, genuine smile. “I’m sure you know plenty by now, though.”
