“Sandra!” Blair tried calling out. It seemed his vocal chords had gone mute. He twisted and turned, made every attempt to be heard.
It was hopeless.
He called his daughter’s name again, believing it was she in the restaurant with him and not a stranger.
Then he went under…
Time passed with fuzzy irregularity. His thoughts were scrambled. Delirious, he became part of Sandra’s plight.
Both of them were falling.
With a herculean effort, he called for help.
Then, a needle pricked his arm.
He tumbled backwards, flying through inner space.
He prayed for a safety net.
He struggled to open his eyes. Light flooded in and they began to water.
“Welcome back, buddy.”
He turned toward the voice.
Someone who resembled Jeremy Samson was leaning over his bed.
“Sandra?” Blair said in a whisper.
“What about her?” Samson replied.
“Did she make it?”
“Make what?”
“The restaurant…” He sat up too quickly and was overpowered by vertigo.
Seeing his discomfort, Jeremy helped ease him back down.
His eyelids drooped and he began to drift.
“Blair?”
Is this reality or a dream? he wondered. “Where am I?” he thought to ask.
“Beit Cholim Shel Tikva.” Jeremy pronounced the name like a native. “One of the best hospitals in Israel.”
“Which is where, exactly?”
“Not far from your hotel. In central Tel Aviv.”
“H … how did I get here?”
“Don’t you remember?”
Sound stilled; he was gone again.
Darkness settled in his room. He tried moving onto his side. A fierce pain in his back took his breath away. Gasping, he lay still until it subsided. He went to scratch his scalp but touched a bandage instead.
Hesitantly, his hands traced a line from his neck to his arms. He touched his stomach and each thigh. Then his legs, one at a time.
All were intact.
He thanked God for small mercies.
Jeremy was there the following morning. “I’m sorry for not meeting you at the airport,” he said. “There was another terrorist bombing. Near the factory, this time. They wanted to question me. To see if I’d noticed anything suspicious. I had no way of getting word to you. By the time I got through with the authorities, it was too late to meet you at the airport or at your hotel. I came right to the restaurant. I arrived just after the Molotov cocktail exploded.”
“Molotov cocktail?”
“Yes.”
“Jeremy—”
“I’m here, boychick.”
“—what the hell happened to me?”
“You mean, you really don’t remember? You’re a hero, my friend.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Don’t look so surprised.” Jeremy grinned.
“But I didn’t do anything,” Blair said, confused. He tried to think his way through it. He had been in his favorite Italian restaurant … my god, the girl!
“How is she?” he quickly asked.
“If you mean the kid you saved, she’s fine.”
It was coming back. “And the others?”
Hesitation creased Jeremy’s brow. “Ten dead altogether. But most of the kitchen staff, you, and the girl, got out okay. I don’t know how you had the quickness of mind. You’re far more athletic than I’d given you credit for.”
Blair winced. “Yeah, I’m a real athlete.”
“Hey, don’t disparage yourself. You still work out at the gym a few times a week. It obviously paid off.”
“Sure, it did.” All those people, he was thinking. The girl’s parents and their friends. The girl’s playmates. The elderly couple who had come in last. All dead.
“What about the owner?” he asked. “That lady. I forget her name…”
“Moira Feldman? She survived as well. She is the one who spoke to the press about you. She saw what you did. Reporters are clamoring for a chance to interview you.”
“Did she give them my name?”
“Uh-uh. She didn’t know your name.”
“Good. I hope she never finds out.”
“Why do you say that? This is your chance for glory. A bona fide American hero. Don’t you want to be famous?”
“Uh-uh. Seriously, Jeremy. I don’t want you saying a word.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. If you value our friendship…”
The police interview took time. Finally, he was told he could leave the hospital. Truth be known, his headaches hadn’t quite subsided to the degree he’d let on. But his purpose for coming to Israel weighed heavily on his mind. He disliked the position he was in. And he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Jeremy showed up, dressed in an open-necked white sport shirt and Bermuda shorts. His sock-less feet were adorned with brown leather sandals.
Blair reflected once more on his friend’s youthful appearance, his red hair and freckles reminding him of a cartoon character whose name eluded him at the moment.
Jeremy handed him a small envelope with Hebrew writing on the front. “Your get-well gift,” he said.
Blair opened the envelope and smiled. If he couldn’t win the lottery back in the States, perhaps he could do so here.
“It’s up to forty million shekels,” Jeremy said.
He whistled at the amount, the equivalent of ten million American dollars.
Winded from the simple exercise of putting on his clothes, Blair slumped down on the edge of the bed.
“You sure you want to check out?” Jeremy asked. “That wasn’t a love tap to your head, you know. An inch or two to the left or right and you would have been killed.”
“Yeah. Thanks for reminding me. But I feel fine. Really, I do. I’ve got to get back to the States, Jeremy.”
“That quick?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Jeremy was quiet for a moment. “Stand up,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Stand up.”
When Blair stood, Jeremy put his hands on his shoulders and positioned him in front of the full-length mirror.
What Blair saw concerned him. Both eyes were swollen and bruised. A barely healed cut crisscrossed his cheek. He could spot some coagulated blood in his hair.
He turned to Jeremy. “No big deal,” he said, lying. “I’ve seen worse.”