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“No! He is a coward. And you stood by him.”
“Abba, is everything okay?” Gal stared at him from the entrance to his bedroom.
“Yes, it’s nothing.” He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “I'll be right with you.”
“Erez, listen…” his mother said.
“You at least should have stayed with us,” he cut in, “with your sons and granddaughter.”
“Erez, listen. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t your father.”
“Yes, I know. But who could it be, and why didn’t you expose them?”
“Because it was me. I did it. I played with the research numbers.”
He thought he didn’t hear right.
“What are you saying?”
“I helped your father. Always. In everything. He’d done so much research and so many studies that culminated in this paper. Your father thought it might lead to a Nobel prize. He had no doubt that we were on the right track. And this paper was the key to his career. One final study’s numbers just weren’t quite there. And I told myself, ‘I can do this one thing, just one time, and no one will be the wiser, and we will never do this again.’ And so I did. I arranged the numbers to fit his theory.”
“Abba took the fall for you?” Cold anger at his mother replaced his disbelief.
“I told him I would say it was all me. He said no one would believe me. He was right. He isn’t bitter about it.”
“Come on…”
“Yes, it’s true. He is happier here, he says. No pressure, away from everything.”
“Away from us.”
“Come visit us. Send Gal. She is a big girl. We all make choices, Erez, and this was your father’s choice.”
She didn’t even sound guilty. Or remorseful. But he was exhausted from trying to make her see it from his point of view.
“Abba!” his daughter called from the living room. “Come already!”
“What!” he said in irritation. Gal showed him the inner pages of yesterday’s newspaper, pointing to an obituary notice right underneath an article about a famous opera singer accused of harassment.
“Didn’t you see this?” she asked. The notice announced Hannah Goldberg’s death. Hannah was mourned by her husband, Shlomo, her daughter, Dafna Ohayon and her two grandchildren, Ori and Tom.
“No, I didn’t! It’s Dafna’s mother. She didn’t tell me,” he said. Poor Dafna. Yes, she had her sons, but he wished he could have been there to hold and comfort her. It hurt that she didn’t contact him, and he had to learn it from the newspaper.
This was about choices. It was his choice to keep quiet about Kisharti, but he blamed Dafna. He agreed to her terms and then punished her for it. He would go to her tomorrow, pay his condolences, and apologize for the way he behaved.
Chapter 42
I Have A plan
It was a Tuesday, so there weren’t many surfers. But it was also because the waves were frequent and flat. He barely found his feet on the board before the swell petered down. The sea was shitty, fit neither for surfing, nor for paddleboarding. The underwater currents were strong, and he kept drifting to the left. He rowed back again, and again, riding the infuriating water. It was the only way to wear his bad mood down. He’d calm down here, then shower and drive to Dafna.
“Your girlfriend is here.” Eitan smirked, and he looked in disbelief, thinking his brother was messing with him.
But Eitan was telling the truth. There she was, lit from behind by the rising sun, wearing a lilac halter neck dress that reached just above her knees and ruffled in the morning wind. His heart threatened to leave his chest, and his feet lost touch with his brain. He crushed, swallowing salt water and coughing. He didn’t care. He waded to the beach, threw his board down, and ran to her.
“Hey,” he said, breathing hard, trying not to spray her. She was pale, her eyes red-rimmed, her cheeks drawn, the chestnut hair flying unchecked around her face. Her new tattoo peeped blue and purple, matching the dress perfectly.
“I heard about your mother. I’m sorry. How is your father? How are you?”
