Page 3 of Caleb
Fishing has proven to help with the latter.
Once we’re done, the guys and I take the good fish to the kitchen, where I see Noa expertly carrying a few plates on her tray out to a table of diners. She’s wearing tight jeans and the restaurant’s navy-blue branded short-sleeved polo shirt. Her long hair is made up in a French braid. She looks effortlessly beautiful.
“Caleb,” Levi says behind me, startling me. I turn around and shake his hand. I’ve been jumpy all day. I blame it on the damn alcohol leaving my system.
I hadn’t seen Levi since I arrived. He was busy, and I dove right into work. It’s not that I was avoiding him. I knew it was a matter of time before he approached me. But I didn’t mind waiting for my headache to subside before talking to him. I’m still dragging this hangover behind me like a sack of rocks, and I’m sure it’s written all over my face.
“A word?”
I offer him a curt nod.
We walk toward the kitchen’s back door and step out to talk.
“How was your birthday weekend?” He’s probably trying to break the ice for the chiding that’s coming next.
“It was fine,” I say plainly. “Thank you.” I stand with my hands in a relaxed fist in front of me, letting him know he’s in charge, he’s the boss, and I’m at his will. It’s almost automatic—a habit.
“You reek of alcohol,” he whispers through his teeth. “And Noa’s distracted—spacey. I’m afraid she didn’t sleep at all last night.”
I remain silent. It’s best to let Levi do the talking.
Noa and I agreed to feed him a version that consisted of us not interacting at all during the weekend. I drove her here after she “called me this morning” because she “slept in.” She said she would blame it on insomnia. Thankfully, she didn’t drink much last night. I’m the one who went a little too far with the vodka, as per usual. No wonder I’m still getting flashbacks from the bar and walking back home hand in hand with Noa. That shit is liquid amnesia. One second you’re fine, and then God forbid, a light breeze hits you in the face, and you’re gone.
“I want you out of house four,” he says, crossing his arms loosely at his chest. “I’ve relocated you to house two. Tamar knows. So go to her if you have any questions. I’ve already had someone move your stuff to room six.”
This is about moving me farther away from Noa. And it’s not a bad idea. I’d do it too if I were him. So I keep my gestures to a minimum. I respect Levi, and I know I’ve broken his rules a few times since I arrived here two and a half months ago. He might’ve been more lenient regarding tardiness but getting involved with his niece might not be his cup of tea. And in a tight-knit community like this, it didn’t take long for everyone to find out, especially since she was the one who made sure of it.
“Of course,” I reply. “Whatever you need.”
Levi’s looking at me like he’s surprised I’m agreeing to his request without objection, almost suspicious. But I wouldn’t mind the added distance between Noa and me. The more I give in to her, the more she needs me. And the dynamic is nearing that inevitably tense point where I’m realizing there’s nothing left of me for her to hold on to.
“You coming in late sets a bad example for the rest of the young volunteers,” Levi continues. “They look up to you, Caleb. And we all know what happened that day. The innocent people you and your team were able to save from that horrific attack.”
And the ones we couldn’t save.
Levi’s words slice through my chest like a hot knife on butter. It’s never a good day to reminisce about the events that took place on December 8th last year. But this moment feels like the worst possible time to do it because physically, I’m feeling like shit. And the emotional whiplash from this past weekend’s bender isn’t providing any support for me to handle the conversation. However, Levi’s a smart man, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to cause me any pain. He wants me to “wake up,” I guess. But my problem is that I can’t put my thoughts to bed or Yonatan’s face out of my mind.
I’m trying to shut it all out and push it all away. To forget about the things that went wrong that day and the peopleIcouldn’t save.
A life for a life…
“What happened is not on you,” Levi says as if he had access to my thoughts. “God has a plan.”
Fuck, not again. I’ve had a myriad of thought-terminating clichés that are fundamentally a refry version of what Levi just said thrown in my face more times than I would care for. I know he means well, but it’s annoying.
Everything happens for a reason.
God works in mysterious ways.
Or my favorite …Only God can judge, whenever I express anger or powerlessness toward the situation.
Fuck that.
Sometimes I can’t help but question everything—even my faith. But if you’re carrying a gun all the time and hanging out with people who do too, eventually, someone’s bound to get shot. Even if the government says it’s fine.
I stare blankly at Levi because how does one respond to that?God has a plan?I wouldn’t mind if we could be briefed on such a plan every once in a while to preserve our sanity. But that’s the purpose of the thought-terminating cliché, isn’t it?
Accept. Dismiss.
