Jaffa, Israel.
Zachary Cohen wiped cold beads of perspiration from his brow. He pulled the needle from his vein, loosened the tourniquet, and sat back with a sigh. He put the lighter, a bag of meth crystals, and hypodermic needle in a tin and tossed them in the glove compartment. Zachary rolled down his shirtsleeve and grabbed his leather jacket from the passenger seat of the car.
He flipped the rearview mirror down towards him and studied the reflection. A pale, gaunt face stared back at him, dark circles beneath the eyes accentuating the ashen skin. He brushed his curly black hair with his fingers, rolled his shoulders, and prepared himself mentally.
Zachary pushed himself out of the car and strolled towards the entrance gate of a neat, whitewashed villa. A white-pebbled pathway led to the front door.
Some weeds had appeared between the white stones. Brambles sprouted in one of the flower beds. He bent down and tore them out halfheartedly, leaving the roots behind. This annoyed him intensely. He clawed at the embedded tubers, gouging the earth with his thumb. He stomped on the small hole he had made and cursed as a dizzy spell gripped him. He shook off a meth shiver and steadied himself against the gate, regaining his balance.
Symbolic of everything my life has become. Why would she want to stay here?
He opened the gate and crunched up the pathway towards the two-story home. His home. Rang the doorbell, two long buzzes and a short one as he always did when returning. He turned around and sauntered into the garden, inhaling the heady odor of the sweet alyssum blooming in the unkempt flowerbeds. Zach experienced another pang of guilt.
I should be here.
The front door flew open and Becky came bounding down the stairs, an expression of pure joy on her face. She swung a backpack in her hand. She buzzed towards him and launched herself into his arms with a child’s exuberance. He grabbed her and tossed her into the air, catching her gently. She giggled delightedly. Zach put her down, pouted his lips, and tapped them with his finger. “Give daddy a kiss.”
Becky planted a kiss onto his mouth and hugged his neck, her lips to his ear.
“I missed you, Daddy. Come on, let’s go,” she said bouncing up and down excitedly.
Sarah appeared in the doorway in a wheelchair, hugging her arms insecurely.
“I missed you too, my baby. I want to say hi to Mommy first, OK?”
She nodded, her dark hair bouncing on her shoulders.
Zach climbed the stairs to the porch. Sarah was watching him, a mixture of tenderness and uncertainty on her face. He kissed her forehead and kneeled next to her.
“You’ve been gone for a long time, Zachary,” she said and cupped his chin. “Is everything OK?”
He nodded.
“You’re a good man, Zachary.” She hesitated. “That man said things about you—“
He stood up. “I cannot get into that now, Sarah.”
“It still doesn’t change who you are,” she said and pursed her lips. “Who you are to me.”
He breathed deeply then squeezed her shoulder. “I miss you.”
“So why don’t you come back? Nothing has changed. You need to stop beating yourself up like this. This wasn’t your fault,” she said, slapping her thigh to enunciate her last sentence.
Zachary threw his hands in the air. “Back? Come back here?” he hissed through gritted teeth. Becky looked at them with wide eyes.
He sighed and glanced down at Sarah, his shoulders slumped. “I need to sort some things out first. You know that.” He stared at her, imploring Sarah to understand.
Rebecca was becoming restless. “Let’s go, Daddy. You promised, remember?”
He smiled at her. She had her mom’s long, dark hair.
“I remember, baby,” Zachary said, picking her up. He walked back to the car, threw Becky’s backpack onto the backseat, and fastened her into her car seat.
Sarah called to him. “Revenge won’t solve anything. Bruce is on this. He’ll get those bastards.” She absentmindedly brushed at the scar on her neck.
“I know, Sarah,” he said wearily and waved her away. “I’ll see you later.”
Zach climbed into the car and relaxed. He took a deep breath and looked back at his daughter. “Let’s go to the zoo, baby.”
“Yay,” she shouted bouncing up and down in her chair, beaming her marvelously exaggerated “Becky smile.”
He put the car into gear and sped off without looking back.
This can't go on forever. He yearned to sleep in his own bed again. To hold his wife in his arms. But he wasn’t ready. Not yet.
Sarah rolled the wheelchair back into the house, shut the door behind her, and sat still for a moment. She straightened her dress and sobbed, rocking back and forth in the wheelchair.
Yaya shuffled down the stairs. “He still doesn't want to come back?” she asked her daughter-in-law.
Sarah nodded, wiping tears from her eyes.
Yaya knelt next to her Sarah and embraced her. “He is like his father in that way. Once he puts his mind to something, he won't stop until he finishes.” She gave Sarah a hug. “It will all be OK, you'll see. Cohens are survivors; we always get through dreadful situations like these.”
Sarah sobbed and nodded with pursed lips, trying to fight back the tears. “I know, Mom,” she whimpered and looked up, seeking solace from the gods she hoped were there. “I know.”