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“Now let me have the paddle.” She was ambitious to succeed.
Erez swam alongside her as she rowed on her knees towards the Herzliya marina, relishing the physical exercise of cutting into the water, even managing to hit a faster pace. But her knee joints and hips were complaining about her prolonged crouched position, so she steadied herself, placing the paddle on the board. Then slowly, laboriously, she stood.
“Look!” She laughed just like Gal did, and just like her, a tiny wave caused her to lose her balance. She fell into the warm embrace of the Mediterranean, enjoying the splash, the water in her hair and on her face. This time she climbed onto the board alone, refusing Erez’s lift.
She climbed to her feet again, and fell again. And again. Until she grasped that smaller movements were better. And to put her feet on the board just so. And to not let a pair of arresting green eyes make her lose concentration. “You’re marvelous,” Erez complimented her, and she believed him.
Her knees were red from kneeling, and the sun was way higher in the sky, heating the board and her nape.
“It’s getting hot,” Erez said. They swam back the short distance to the shore, where she stood under the strong flow of the beach shower, rinsing the salt from her hair and body. Gal and Eitan were with the large group, talking and laughing. They were apart, drinking the sweet tea that Erez brought and munching biscuits.
“It’s the best morning I’ve had in a long time,” she told him.
“I told you the sea was the best upper.”
He waved his daughter over.
“Abba, did you see me?” Gal hopped to them. She was a truly beautiful girl, especially when she smiled and showed her dimple like now. Except for her green eyes, she didn’t resemble Erez.
“I did,” he said. “You’re a natural. And you can have the apartment tonight.”
“Great, how come?” The dimple deepened.
“I’m going to Dafna’s,” he declared and folded his arms. Gal’s brows furrowed. Erez’s daughter seemed like a good kid, but her behavior before was unacceptable and Erez was right to put her in place. She met Gal’s eyes unapologetically but was careful not to smile.
“Okay, I guess,” Gal said as if her father needed her permission.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Erez told her.
“I can’t wait.”
Chapter 28
I Want More, But
It was still twilight when he parked his car in the neat suburban street across from her sprawling villa. He brought his laptop with him, to show her Kisharti’s excels, and an overnight bag, which he left in the car. He was determined to share his suspicions with Dafna. Namely, that Nurit was cooking the books to lower the churn rate, the percentage of service subscribers who discontinue their subscription, and make Kisharti look better for potential investors. It was a very serious accusation and before he made it, he would check Nurit’s numbers more thoroughly. On Sunday, two days from now, it would be his last day in Kisharti. To further check his suspicions, he needed help from within.
A leafy avocado shaded the steppingstone trail leading to Dafna’s villa. Two large plants, overflowing with petunias, stood on either side of the heavy wooden door.
Dafna had on a cotton dress, a checkered pattern in gray, pink, and black, loose everywhere but on her gorgeous bust. She seemed to have an indefinite supply of feminine dresses, and they all made her look ravishing. He thought about a past relationship, the longest one he’d maintained, not long after his divorce. It was a six-month relationship with a lawyer who only ever wore pantsuits. She was smart and confident, like Dafna, but lacked her calm and quiet fortitude. They broke up because she pressured him about having children–and that was when he realized he didn’t want any. Gal was enough.
He chose his T-shirt with care, wearing one of Gal’s birthday gifts. ‘Awesome like my Daughter’ it said in multiple colors on a black background. He wore long denim, a mistake, and he was glad that the air conditioning in her house was on. The interior was airy and spacious. An open floor plan, connecting the living room, dining area, and kitchen. Her green back garden showed through the living room’s French doors.
“I love this dress. Is it the German lady?” he asked. “The one you wore this morning?”
“No, this is Maya Negri, she is an Israeli designer.”
“Is she expensive, too?” he asked before he thought better of it.
For several years now, he had a good salary, usually better than the women he dated. He wasn’t rich, though. His parents left Israel and sold their house to buy one in Australia. He’d paid for most of his daughter’s expenses, and he’d been financing his little brother these past eight years. He was used to being the provider. It was part of his identity. He needed to get used to the fact that Dafna was many times richer than him.
“Yes.” She turned away from him with a swirl of her skirt. Her hair fell over her face as she busied herself, taking a tall crystal glass and mixing a drink. “I’m drinking an Americano. Would you like one?”
“Americano as in Campari, Martini Rosso, and soda?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, please.” She had style, this was a drink fit for hot summer nights.
