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“Yes, I’m up for it! I feel like myself teaching, doing things.” Hannah was a strong-willed woman before her illness. She was fighting now too. “Where are my grandchildren? Ori and Tom?”
“The boys are with Ilan in Austria. They land back just after Yom Kippur.”
“If it didn’t work out, then you were right,” her mother said.
“About what?” Hearing ‘you were right’ from her mother was very rare.
“If you thought it was best to divorce Ilan, then you were right.”
Her mother raised her a certain way, drilling in that it was the wife’s role to cater to her husband’s needs. Despite her new experiences with Erez teaching her that submission was right for her when done a certain way, a part of her still believed that the end of her marriage was her fault. Yet, this small endorsement from her mother made her happy beyond reason.
“I just wish you moved on already,” her mother continued. “I heard Ilan has a girlfriend. You should have someone too. Young.”
She hadn’t spoken to Erez since they made love in his place two weeks ago, the day she persuaded him to wait with his report. Her not hearing anything meant that Erez had kept his promise to her and didn’t disclose his suspicions.
Their breakup ached more than she thought possible after such a brief relationship. She wanted to reach out to him, badly. But if she did, nothing would change. They would have the same argument about Kisharti. He’d want to turn in Nurit and Menni and she would ask him to wait. Menni and Daniel were due to return this Sunday, right after Yom Kippur. She and Nurit decided they would confront Menni then, tell him to come clean to the investor and the rest of management.
“Did I shock you?” her mother asked, and she realized she had been silent for too long.
“No, you didn’t. How young?”
“Do the math. You know the seven-year rule your father was always computing for you.”
“I did the math. I can go out with a thirty-year-old guy. If I bring one around, will that be okay with you?” she teased her mother.
“Sounds perfect,” Hannah said, deadpan. Then she laughed like she used to before she got ill. “I’m okay with anything that makes you happy. I love you Dafna.”
It took her a moment to realize that this was the first time her mother had ever told her she loved her. She teared up and looked away to hide it.
“Ach, I’m getting soft,” her mother huffed, “mimicking these American shows where they shout, ‘I love you’ to each other when they take out the trash.”
“It’s not so bad to say it every now and again. I love you, Imma,” Dafna said for the first time in her life.
***
Back home, she drank half a bottle of white wine and fell asleep. She dreamt of Erez. They were together in the Kisharti offices. He was bringing her coffee, saying, “I made it just the way you like it”, and then he was saying, “I miss you”, but before she could tell him I miss you too, the fire alarm went on. She started running from her office to the R&D open space, to warn Zoey and Nina, past The Thinking Nook, to Nurit’s office, but Nurit said, “It’s only a small fire, we can handle it here by ourselves”.
She woke up, her heart beating fast. The fire alarm was still going on.
A confused heartbeat later, she realized it was the insistent ringing of her house landline phone. It was still half dark outside as she raced downstairs. The ringing stopped, and then her mobile started its distinctive “Hungry Heart” ringtone, the one she and Ilan chose together in happier times, and she never changed. She raced back upstairs.
“Dafna,” her ex-husband’s voice was taut. “Your father called me, did he catch you?”
“No. What is it?”
“We’re on our way from the airport. We’re five minutes away. Stay put, don’t go over there. I’ll do it.”
She was used to obeying Ilan. She nodded at the phone even after he disconnected and called her father.
“Dafna,” her father cried. “Imma is gone. She fell asleep yesterday in the living room. I never…she died in her sleep.”
Imma is dead. This wasn’t real. They just spoke last night. Her mother was more herself than she’d been for months. She took a grip on herself, suppressing the wail of mourning. Later. She would grieve later. She needed to be there for her father now.
“Do you want me to come?” she asked.
“No. Don’t. You don’t need to see her like that. Ilan will.”
And here were her sons, flanking her on both sides. Tom was crying, and she buried her nose in his soft brown curls. Ori stood tall, keeping it in.
