The following morning, they were seated in the coffee shop of Blair’s hotel. Jeremy was wearing mustard-colored shorts and a yellow, short-sleeved shirt. Blair, in his suit and tie, felt not only overdressed but conspicuous.
Their night had ended early. Jeremy wouldn’t stop talking about his idea of censoring the news media. When he wasn’t lamenting the reach of fanatics in the Middle East, he was expressing his disgust with the way the war on terror was being fought. Blair decided that broaching the one topic on his own mind would best be reserved for today.
The hotel was busy but they were able to snare one of the last available tables in the coffee shop, where the buffet spread was extensive. From tuna and salmon to smoked fish; herring, hummus, and couscous. Plus a variety of breakfast meats, as well as dairy products.
Blair was too nervous to eat. He chose a single slice of rye toast and coffee.
Jeremy, on the other hand, heaped more onto his plate than the plate seemed able to hold. Eggs and sausages, pancakes and bacon. He’d even added hash brown potatoes and a grilled tomato. “Good thing I’m not hungry,” he said.
Blair leaned back and kept his thoughts to himself. Jeremy began to discuss Cyber-tech’s potential now that their rival had been eliminated.
Once his friend completed his meal, Blair steadied himself. But before he could speak, Jeremy said, with a grin, “Still have that huge bug up your ass?”
“What bug is that?” Blair asked, playing dumb.
“You mean, I have to spell it out for you?”
“Jeremy…”
“I’m listening. What bullshit story are you ready to tell now?”
“It’s not bullshit.”
“Oh, no? What is it, then? Didn’t you come back here for the same bloody reason as before?”
Blair could see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes. “I’m here to ask for a favor,” he said.
“Sure you are. And why is that?”
“I explained on my last trip. My bank—”
“Fuck your bank! They can’t tell you how to run your business!”
Blair’s spirits sunk. “I have to make this happen,” he said quietly.
Jeremy remained mute.
Before losing his nerve, Blair removed a check from his shirt pocket. It was for seven thousand dollars. All the money he had in his saving’s account. He handed it to him.
Jeremy’s look went from disbelief to anger.
“Call it an investment,” Blair quickly explained. “To be used at your discretion.”
“Do you want dessert?” Jeremy asked.
Blair shook his head.
“Some fruit, perhaps?”
He waited.
“They have great kiwi here. Or maybe some watermelon?”
Blair prepped himself, knowing he had no other card to play.
Jeremy handed the check back. “I can’t accept this,” he said. “And you should be ashamed for even offering it.”
Embarrassed, Blair held his tongue, but he soon started to feel awkward. Finally, he thought to ask his friend why he left the city of his birth, Los Angeles, to start a new life in Israel.
Jeremy regarded him with a bemused look in his eye, but he held his tongue.
“What?” Blair said. “It’s something we never discussed.”
“So, after all these years, you’re suddenly curious?”
“That’s right.” Blair’s smile was forced.
Reluctantly, it seemed, Jeremy began to explain about his past, how his father had split when he was still a boy. “It was just me and my mother,” he continued, “left to fend for ourselves. My mom was a breast cancer survivor. She slaved away as a bookkeeper, putting in well over sixty hours a week. We weren’t exactly rich, but we never lacked for anything. She made sure I had what I needed to get through college.
“After I graduated, I ended up working at a number of sales jobs in the toy industry, eventually becoming a Costco specialist. Which was fortuitous, as you know, what with Costco being one of the few major accounts still headquartered on the West Coast.
“After a few years, I was able to build up a decent nest egg and I decided to do something meaningful for my mother. She’d been working so hard, never taking time off, never taking a vacation.
“Week after week I tried handing her brochures on some of the most exotic places in the world, from Hawaii to New Zealand, to Bali in Indonesia. She kept turning them aside.
“But I persisted. I told her people got sick, had nervous breakdowns, even died from too much work, and I wasn’t going to let this happen to her. She didn’t say yes overnight, but eventually I got her to understand how much this meant to me.
“Almost another month went by. And I guess she grew tired of my pestering her, because she finally agreed. Her choice was a cruise to the Middle East.”
“To Israel?” Blair interrupted.
“It was part of the itinerary,” Jeremy said. “Anyway, by the time she was packed and ready to go, she was acting like a kid, and I knew I had done the right thing.
“I started to receive emails almost from the first moment her ship left Frankfurt, Germany. I got to know about every port she stopped at, every city and country she visited.
“Then days went by without a word. One minute I was inundated with information, the next there was nothing. I figured she must be in one of those blackout zones that happen when you travel, especially by sea.
“It was at the end of day five when she got in touch by phone. Apparently, my mother wasn’t feeling well so she had visited the ship’s doctor who, in turn, had insisted she see a specialist in Tel Aviv.
“The news couldn’t have been worse. My mom’s cancer was back. This time, it had metastasized from her breast to her lungs. She needed immediate treatment.
“My mother wanted to have it done there. I didn’t like that idea, told her it would be best to get a second opinion from her oncologist in LA. She wouldn’t listen. So I immediately dropped everything and flew to Israel, met with the doctor, did not like the prognostication. I stayed for almost three weeks before returning home.
“Two trips later I knew what had to be done. My mom had sacrificed so much for me as a child; I couldn’t allow her to fight this battle alone. I wrapped up my affairs and left America for the last time.”
Blair sat at rigid attention. This was not the kind of story he expected.
“The first thing I did after arriving in Tel Aviv was move into my mother’s flat, just on the outskirts of town. She had picked the apartment in haste and there wasn’t much to recommend it, but it suited her purpose.
“In just a short period of time my mom lost a ton of weight. As a matter of fact, her health in general seemed to deteriorate before my eyes. You have no idea what it’s like to care for someone and see this bloody disease eat away at them, to consume them.
“We talked for hours at a time, my mother reminiscing about her childhood in Hungary, where she was born. It was a great relief to immigrate to the United States, she told me, but it still did not quite feel like home to her. Israel was where she always felt she belonged, where she wanted to be buried, where, before she died, she wanted to rediscover her Jewish roots.”
Blair’s ears perked. Jewish roots?
“For the next few months,” Jeremy went on, “I helped her do just that, arranging meetings with history buffs and scholars, volunteers for the most part, all well-versed in fact and fiction. My mother took it all in with a zeal I never knew she possessed, right up until the final weeks of her life, when she was bedridden and barely conscious.
“After my mom’s passing, I realized I wanted to stay in Israel. Truth is, the moment I first set foot here, I became enthralled with the people.
“Not only did I want to stay, I decided I wanted to make a difference. And I did. In ways that would surprise you. In ways you couldn’t imagine.
“End of story.”