Page 43 of One of Them

G alvanized by panic, Anne ran from the scene as fast and as far as she could.

She reached the place where the kibbutz ended and the desert began and then stopped, panting from the exertion.

The wind had picked up, turning the air cool; it felt good on her hot, sweaty skin.

It was quieter here, but in her head the screaming still echoed.

Had anyone been hurt? Had Delia been hurt?

Now the wind was making her cold, and she began to shake.

Somewhere in her valise she had both a scarf and a hat, but the valise wasn’t there; she’d left it behind, and there was no way she was going back for it.

She stood there, still shaking, unable to form a coherent idea of where to go next or what to do. And then she saw it: the wagon, the glossy black horse. Ahmed! He’d come for her, just as he’d promised. As he approached, she could see the worry on his face.

“What’s happened?” He came nimbly down from the cart and stared. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” she croaked.

“You’re dirty.” He again offered his handkerchief.

Anne touched her palms to her cheeks; they felt gritty. Then she looked down at herself. Ash and dirt covered the front of her dress, and no doubt the back as well.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. You can tell me what happened on the way.”

“We can’t leave yet.” Although she had bolted from the explosion, now that she was safe—or safe enough—she could think of Delia.

“Why not?”

“There was an explosion and my friend is still back there. Maybe she’s hurt.”

“If she is, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Still. I have to know.”

“I’m leaving now and you should too. If you go back, I’m not going to wait.”

Anne thought about this as she attempted to clean her face with the handkerchief. She was desperate to know what had happened to Delia but if she went back now, she’d be stuck here all night or even longer. And Ahmed was right—even if Delia had been hurt, what could she do about it?

Extending her arm, she let him help her up to the wagon and as they drove away from the kibbutz, she told him more about the blast that had destroyed the dining hall.

“Grenades. They tossed them through the windows.”

“How do you know?”

He didn’t answer, and then she understood—he knew because this had happened before. And would happen again.

“Why would anyone bomb a dining hall?” She was almost talking to herself. “Or any place on a kibbutz? It’s not a military target. It’s just the place these people call home.”

“It was a place my people called home too,” he said.

Anne was quiet for the rest of the ride.

She could still feel the explosion reverberating through her, again and again.

Her breathing hadn’t slowed. Neither had her pounding heart.

Reflexively, she began to pat herself all over, to see if she’d been hurt.

Everything felt intact. But what about Delia? Was she all right?

“How can I find out what happened back there?” she asked Ahmed.

“What do you mean? You know what happened.”

“I know what happened to the building. But not to the people who were in it or near it. Was anyone hurt?”

Ahmed grunted. “Maybe. That was the plan.”

“Whose plan?” Her voice scaled up.

“Whoever did it.” Unlike Anne’s, his voice was cool and controlled. “Those grenades didn’t launch themselves.”

Drew was waiting for them when they arrived in Be’er Sheva. “Anne, are you okay? You’re a mess!” He hurried over to the wagon.

“I’m okay.” It wasn’t true, but she couldn’t say more just then.

“There was an explosion on the kibbutz,” added Ahmed. “She says she wasn’t hurt.”

“An explosion! Where?”

“I’ll tell you everything later,” Anne said. “Right now, I just want to clean myself up.”

Drew paid Ahmed for the day and thanked him for bringing Anne back unharmed. “I thought the kibbutz would be a safer place.”

“Right now,” Ahmed said, “no place is safe.”

That evening Drew took Anne’s hands across the table in the hotel’s restaurant. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“There was an explosion, and... I was terrified. I just... ran.”

“That was a good instinct,” he said. “The best instinct.”

“Delia didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t escape. I saw her in front of the dining hall. It was a moment before the explosion. I called her name. She heard me, I know she did, because she turned to look, and then—”

“And then what?” His voice was gentle.

“And then I was running. Gone. I didn’t stay to see if she was all right.”

“Of course you didn’t. You had to get away.”

“But what happened to her? I’ve got to know.”

“Tomorrow I can make some calls and—”

“Not tomorrow. Tonight.”

“You mean now?”

“Yes. Please, please , you have to do it now.”

“All right.” He stood up. “You wait here.”

While he was gone, the waiter set down their meals, but Anne didn’t touch her food.

Finally he came back.

“Well?” she said. “Did you find out anything?”

“I did.” He waited for a moment.

“You have to tell me!” she said. “Whatever it is, no matter how terrible.”

“Two people were killed,” he said finally.

“Was one of them—”

“Not your friend. But she was hurt—a concussion, a broken ankle, a dislocated shoulder.”

“Still alive? Not dead?”

“Not dead.”

“And where is she?”

“In the hospital. In Be’er Sheva.”

“Be’er Sheva. That means I can see her, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose so. But not tonight. You’re not going anywhere tonight except up to bed.”

They went upstairs early and said good night in front of the door to Anne’s room.

Earlier Drew had gone out to buy Anne some clothes—her valise was back at the kibbutz, and what she had been wearing was ruined—and while he hadn’t found a nightgown, he had come up with a pair of cream-colored men’s pajamas.

They were enormous, but the cotton was soft and smooth, and she rubbed her fingers against it for several seconds before putting the pajamas on and getting into bed.

Despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t sleep.

Two people had been killed. Blown up. Was it wrong to be grateful that Delia wasn’t one of them?

Eventually, Anne drifted off, but her dreams were filled with the wail of sirens, which turned into the sound of some animal howling.

She woke in a sweaty panic and groped for the lamp’s switch.

Even with the light on, the room felt strange and distorted.

She had to get up, get moving, remind herself that she was alive.

The hallway was dim. Still, she knew where Drew’s door was.

She stood in front of it for a few seconds before she knocked, softly at first, and then louder.

It took a moment before the door opened.

Drew looked sleepy, and his hair was sticking out on one side; somehow it was endearing.

And he was wearing only pajama bottoms; this was the first time she’d seen his handsome bare chest.

“Anne, what is it?”

Suddenly it engulfed her, a great wave of relief, and she began to sob, giving in to the tears she realized she’d been holding back for hours.

He pulled her into his arms and pushed the door closed behind her.

The room was dark, but the white sheets and coverlet were visible and the bed seemed to glow.

He brought her over to it, and she slowly sat down. The tears didn’t stop.

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “You’re all right. You can stay here if you want.”

Yes, she did want that, and she allowed herself to sink down onto the mattress.

He slipped in beside her, not touching. Her tears subsided, and she took a few deep breaths.

Now she was aware of the space between them, every inch of it.

She’d never been in bed with a man—that was what you did when you were married, not before.

She and Drew had kissed, and kissed passionately.

Twice he’d slipped his hand under her blouse, and once inside her bra.

She’d felt his excitement then, pressing that hard part of himself against her; she’d been excited by that too, excited that she could arouse him. But things had not gone any further.

Anne knew she should go back to her own room—immediately.

Nice girls didn’t behave this way. Yet she also knew that she would do nothing of the kind, nothing to break this invisible but powerful current that connected them.

Tentatively, she reached over to touch his naked back.

He didn’t react. But his skin—it was so smooth.

Warm. She wanted to keep touching it; touching it calmed her.

For several minutes, they didn’t speak, but she knew he was awake, alert and wholly aware of her hand caressing him.

Who was this girl? How had she become so bold?

Finally he turned around to face her. “Anne?” Her eyes had adjusted to the dark by now, and she could see the question on his face.

“Yes,” she said softly, as he moved closer and then closer still. “Oh yes, please yes.”

Anne woke feeling exhilarated, even giddy. What a wonderful end to an awful day. She sat up and stretched. Drew wasn’t there, but on the pillow where he’d laid his head was a note. I didn’t want to wake you; you were sleeping so soundly. Come meet me in the dining room when you get up. I love you.

And she loved him. She pulled back the covers.

There on the sheet was a smear of blood.

A slow flush of shame enveloped her. What they’d done in the dark was one thing; acknowledging it in the clear light of day was another.

Girls were ostracized for such behavior.

Delia had been expelled for it. Anne thought, for the first time in a long while, of Virginia and the others at Vassar—their judgment, their condemnation.

If they knew what she’d done... but why was she thinking of them?

They didn’t matter, not a bit. All that mattered was that Drew loved her.