Hana accepted the call from Bart Kendall.
“I didn’t hear from you about my proposal for participation in the documentary,” the producer said.
“I’ve been in Israel,” Hana replied. “But I didn’t forget. I was still thinking about it.”
“We begin filming the day after tomorrow,” Bart said. “It will take at least a week, so I can fit you in at your convenience. Your part will involve a static shot, so we should be able to take care of it in two to three hours.”
“What do you mean by a static shot?”
“You would be talking to the camera, not moving around on a location or a set.”
During the conversation, Hana was sending up a prayer for direction. No answer came, but even a small opportunity to counter BDS might be worth pursuing.
“Would you be asking questions or will I give a presentation?” Hana asked.
“I’m not the narrator, so it would be a presentation with a lead-in sentence or two introducing you. Prepare something and send it over. We can work from there. You have my email, correct?”
“Yes. Would I have to sign a release or permission form?”
“Of course. Otherwise, we couldn’t use your image or voice.”
“Could you send over the release form before I make up my mind?”
“Sure, but it’s routine stuff we use on all our commercial shoots.”
The call ended. Inspired, Hana put together several paragraphs that included moral perspectives and economic reasons why the movement was off-base and counterproductive to peace in the region. She was about to send it to Bart when an email popped up with the release form attached.
Hana opened and read the two-page document. The first page granted Bart’s company permission to use her image and voice in the project. There were no red flags. The second page looked fine until the last paragraph, which included the language “Producer retains the right to edit participant’s role in the manner best suited to the goals of the project within his sole discretion.” She immediately called Bart.
“Like I said, that’s standard language,” he said when she asked him about the sentence. “It would be an unnecessary step to obtain approval after a film has been edited.”
Hana paused before answering to be sure of what she wanted to say. “Then I’m going to pass,” she said. “I need to express myself and what I believe in strictly my own words. On an issue like this, it’s not unreasonable to have input into what’s edited out or how it’s presented.”
“Suit yourself,” Bart said curtly. “I was willing to give you a chance to voice your opinion, and you rejected it.” The producer’s tone of voice reinforced Hana’s decision.
The following morning, Hana told Daud about the project.
“I’m glad you turned it down,” he said bluntly. “The producer of the documentary has an agenda. How did you meet this guy?”
“At church and then he took me out to dinner at a nice restaurant,” Hana answered.
“What’s his name?”
“Bart Kendall. I had no idea what he had in mind until the end, so he wasn’t completely honest. You’re not going to contact him, are you?”
“No, no. But you asked for my opinion, and I gave it to you.”
“Oh, I talked to Mikael yesterday and asked him about you.”
“What did he say?”
“That you needed to improve on your footwork if you wanted to be a better footballer. Otherwise, he recommended you switch to rugby.”
Daud smiled. “Mikael always told the truth. What else?”
“He said you were a serious man everyone on the team respected.”
That night Hana awoke from a nightmare in which she was surrounded by black shapes that rushed toward her and then retreated. She drank a glass of water in her bathroom before going into the living room to pray. One of the worst parts of the dream was a vague sense that Daud was present but not coming to her aid. She didn’t want to place too much emotional weight on any person—her help came from the Lord—and she took the dream as a warning not to do so. After a short prayer, a sense of peace returned, and the disturbing aftereffects of the dream receded.
In the morning, she found herself more confident and relaxed during her Skype conversation with the investigator. Sometimes, a bad dream could have a good impact.
Hana had a productive day at the office working on several projects for Mr. Collins. Late in the afternoon, she received a text and a cute photo from Sadie via Ben’s phone inviting Hana and Leon to come over for another visit at the townhome.
Jakob loosened his tie. It was eight thirty when he sent the last email and turned off his computer. No other lawyers remained in the office building, and he was about to request a different Uber driver because he assumed Emily was at school when she texted:
Out of class. You said you were going to work late. Let me know if you need a ride.
Thirty minutes later Emily picked him up. She was wearing an evening gown with a string of pearls around her neck. Jakob did a double take when he slipped into the passenger seat of the car.
“No comments.” Emily held up her hand. “We had a chamber music performance this evening. This is how a musician dresses when playing a viola in a Vivaldi piece.”
“I thought you dressed up because I needed a ride after eight.”
Emily grinned. “That’s a comment.”
In the close confines of the small car, Jakob caught a whiff of perfume. He took a deeper breath.
“Are you having sinus problems?” Emily asked. “That can cause a terrible earache during takeoff and landing. Do you have any of those soft things that screw into your ears to relieve pressure? They’re either pink or orange, and they sell them at most drugstores.”
“Are you a paid spokesperson for the company?”
“No, but you really should get some.”
The formal outfit didn’t have an impact on the former police officer’s driving habits. She abruptly changed lanes in traffic. They stopped for a red light at an intersection not far from Jakob’s apartment. Nearby was a commercial area with a couple of restaurants.
“Did you eat supper before the performance?” Jakob asked.
“No, I play better on an empty stomach.”
“Would you like to grab a bite to eat? There’s a great pizza place in the next block. It’s next to a Laundromat.”
Emily pressed her lips together tightly for a moment. When she did, Jakob noticed how much red lipstick she’d used. The light turned green. She stomped on the gas and suddenly lurched to the left as the car swerved into the parking lot.
“I’ve always wanted to eat here,” she said as she whipped the car into a parking place.
“Seriously? It really is good, especially if you like thin-crust pizza.”
Jakob held the door open for her as they entered the crowded restaurant. With Jakob wearing a tie and Emily in an evening gown, they were the best-dressed couple in sight. A young hostess looked them over with a puzzled expression on her face.
“It’s prom night,” Jakob said.
The hostess rolled her eyes and led them to a table for two beneath a large poster of the Atlanta skyline. They ordered individual pizzas. Jakob’s featured meats; Emily went vegetarian.
“And before you ask, I eat meat,” Emily said after the waitress left. “But in moderation. I’ll probably ask for a bite of your pizza.”
Emily looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Jakob followed her gaze and saw nothing.
“I like the music track they’re playing,” Emily said. “Classic rock guitar was incredibly innovative. That’s Eric Clapton.”
“I don’t know much about him other than his name.”
For the next ten minutes Emily delivered a lesson in music history covering the 1960s and ’70s. Her passion for the subject shone through.
“Have you thought about teaching?” Jakob asked when she finished.
“That’s the plan,” she replied. “The competition for performance jobs is insane, and I’d rather work with kids than temperamental conductors.”
“Kids can be temperamental, too.”
“Yes, but I’d be in charge.”
Their food arrived. Jakob slid his pizza toward Emily. “Select first,” he said.
Emily carved off half a slice. Jakob then ate a big bite that was scorching hot. He quickly chased it with a gulp of beer.
“Are you okay?” Emily asked.
“I’m not sure,” Jakob answered. “Do you remember when you called me brave?”
“Yes.”
Jakob pointed at the pizza. “Right now, I’m afraid of this hot pizza.”
Later at home, Jakob thought about his time with Emily as he logged on to the internet. She’d had a tough childhood living with an alcoholic father and a mother who’d suffered through three failed marriages. Instead of focusing on the pursuit of terrorists on the other side of the world, Jakob typed in the Uber driver’s name. Two articles from the Atlanta paper popped up, both about her days working as an undercover officer combating sex trafficking. Emily’s identity was revealed because she testified in the trial of two men from Thailand charged with kidnapping, aggravated assault, and other crimes based on the illegal transportation of teenage girls from Southeast Asia into the United States. The aggravated assault charges especially caught Jakob’s interest. The men were violent predators who didn’t hesitate to attack or maim those who opposed them. Detective Emily Johnson was part of the team that arrested them following a brief gun battle. She knew as much as or more than Jakob did about living under the threat of danger.
Saturday morning, Hana told Daud she was going to see Ben and Sadie. The investigator had already received a full account of the birthday party.
“It will be the middle of the night in Israel when I’m there, but I’d like to introduce you to Sadie,” she said. “Would you send me a video telling her hello? She understands basic greetings in Hebrew, but it would need to be mostly in English.”
“What exactly should I say?” Daud asked skeptically. “I rarely talk to little kids.”
“Not much. I just want Sadie to put a face to a name. I’ll tell her more about you myself.”
“I’d like to hear that conversation.”
“Girls only.” Hana smiled. “It will also be good for Ben to see you.”
“Should I say anything about Gloria?”
Hana paused. “That might make Sadie sad. She doesn’t understand the lawsuit and won’t be listed as a plaintiff on the pleadings.”
“Why does she think you’ve dropped into her life?”
“She isn’t analyzing it, just feeling the love.”
“That’s powerful,” Daud said.
“I hope so.”
It was five when Hana arrived at the Neumann townhome. Ben had picked up a Mexican take-out dinner. Sadie’s tastes were simple; her desired fare was two basic tacos, but she was proud that she could tolerate a dash of mild hot sauce. Every time she took a bite, she fanned her open mouth with her hand.
“You don’t have to put hot sauce on it,” Ben said after the fourth display of hand waving. “The meat is seasoned.”
“No, it’s the way you’re supposed to eat them,” Sadie answered. “Marquita at my school told me. They’re hotter than the spicy chicken Poppy buys me.”
Hana and Ben were eating bite-size empanadas, chilaquiles, and delicately seasoned rice. When the meal was over, Hana took out her phone and showed them the video sent by Daud.
“I understand him!” Sadie squealed when he greeted her by name in Hebrew and asked how she was doing.
“Keep listening,” Hana said.
Daud’s deep voice continued in English: “Hana tells me you are a beautiful and smart girl. She enjoyed your birthday party and told me about it. I live in Jerusalem. I hope that someday I will meet you in person in Israel or in the United States. Please hug Hana and kiss her on the cheek. If you want to send me a video, I would like to see it. Bye-bye.”
“Let’s watch it again,” Sadie said immediately.
The little girl held the phone in her hand and stared at the screen while the video replayed. After viewing it the second time, she returned the phone to Hana and gave her a tight hug followed by a kiss on the cheek.
“If you marry Daud, will you live with him in Israel or Atlanta?” Sadie asked.
“Who said I was going to marry him?” Hana asked in surprise.
“It happens,” Sadie said matter-of-factly. “Let’s make a video for him.”
As soon as the video started, Sadie launched into a lecture explaining how Daud should treat Hana. Both Ben and Hana laughed so hard they were on the verge of tears.
“I’m serious,” Sadie said when she’d finished and they stopped the recording.
“And right,” Ben replied. “I’m sure Hana appreciates all the help you gave her.”
“Absolutely,” Hana said.
“Can I play in the backyard with Leon?” Sadie asked.
Hana and Ben stayed at the kitchen table.
“May I ask you a personal question about Daud?” Ben asked when they were alone.
“Yes.”
“Sadie assumed you were dating him. Is she right?”
“We saw each other a couple of times when I was in Israel, and we’ve talked almost every day since I returned. Sadie is right. Daud and I are attracted to each other.”
“Which is your business, not mine. My concern is that Daud’s involvement in the case stays at the right level. It seems to Jakob and me that you’re involving him in everything, instead of giving him a defined role.”
“He has a defined role,” Hana replied defensively. “He’s investigating the case. Once that’s complete, he won’t have an active role. And don’t worry about my personal feelings affecting my professional responsibilities.”
After Sadie came inside, she and Hana sat in the living room so that Sadie could show off her literary skills by reading two picture books, both of which showed signs of frequent use. Written inside the front cover of one of the stories was an inscription from Gloria to Sadie: To my precious Sadie Ann—May your heart find the same love of beauty and kindness as Katelyn. All my love, Mommy.
“I didn’t know your middle name was Ann,” Hana said.
“I don’t like it that much. That’s why everyone calls me Sadie.”
The book was about a little girl named Katelyn who helped her mother plant a flower garden. The mother became ill, and Katelyn faithfully tended the flowers, taking bouquets to her mother in the hospital. The child began delivering flowers to other people in the hospital, who were blessed by her kindness and shared bits of their lives with her. The watercolor illustrations were a perfect complement to the text. As Sadie turned the pages, Hana, sensing the mother would die and the last flowers Katelyn gave her would be placed on her grave, began to dread the outcome. However, the mother recovered, and the final scene was a year later when Katelyn took flowers to the hospital to celebrate the birth of her little brother. When Sadie finished, Hana noticed Ben standing in the doorway to the kitchen listening.
“I’d rather have a little sister than a brother,” Sadie announced when she closed the book. “But that can’t happen until Daddy gets married again.”
“Let’s read another book,” Hana said without looking at Ben.
“Will you stay for my bathtime?” Sadie asked. “I don’t need help except with my hair. It gets all tangled and angry.”
“I’m not sure—”
“One more book and then Hana needs to take Leon home,” Ben said. “He’s a tired puppy and fell asleep on the floor.”
In the middle of the night, Hana had a dream. She and Sadie, dressed in clothes from the 1940s, were standing next to each other on a train station platform. A train rumbled into the station and stopped. A conductor called for those who had tickets to board. Hana leaned over to Sadie, who was clutching a yellow ticket in her hand, and told her this wasn’t their train. Hana opened her purse to check her own ticket. It wasn’t there. Frantically, she rummaged through the purse but found nothing. The conductor issued a final boarding call, and Sadie calmly stepped forward. At that moment, a woman appeared at the top of the steps to the train car.
It was Gloria Neumann.
A smile on her face, Gloria held out her hand to Sadie, who ran up the steps to embrace her mother. They held each other with a fierceness reserved for mother and child. When Gloria lowered Sadie to the floor, the little girl looked back at Hana and blew her a kiss. The train pulled out of the station, leaving Hana numb with loneliness and abandonment. When the train disappeared from sight, Hana looked down at her hand. In it was her ticket. As she woke up, it took several seconds for her conscious mind to engage.
Hana got up and walked into the living room, then knelt in front of the sofa and closed her eyes. The images were so fresh and vivid, she felt on the verge of slipping back into the dream. She focused on a possible interpretation. The little girl might want to board the train to be with her mother, but her ticket was for a later departure. One likely meaning was like a punch in the stomach—the dream foretold Sadie’s premature death. Hana buried her head in the fabric of the sofa and sobbed. Her breath came in gasps.
Twice before in her life she had cried like this during prayer. Hana knew they were tears of intercession, drops of salty water that cause heavenly ripples as large as tidal waves. The prophet Jeremiah once wrote: “Oh, that my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears! I would weep day and night for the slain of my people.” This night Hana wept not for a nation, but for a seven-year-old girl descended from the ancient Jewish prophet. She cried out from the depths of her spirit and asked the Lord God Almighty to protect the child’s life until she reached the fullness of days allotted to her.