Annie Walker looked at the closed miniblinds crossing the window. From the glimmer between the slats she knew it was daytime. Perhaps she should open them. She vaguely recalled having the same internal conversation with herself at some point previously. Was that yesterday? She tried to remember. Her shoulders slumped with the effort.
If she opened the blinds, she or someone else would later have to close them. This seemed an unnecessary waste of effort.
Perhaps tomorrow she would open them.
II.
It felt like she had not been breathing, then, suddenly, the full anxiety catching in her chest, making her gasp for breath. She swallowed and it was hard for her saliva to slide down her throat; it seemed like she had no throat, no opening for air. She sat up. The movement seemed to ease the constriction and she took another breath, deeper this time, a slow sursurration of sound against the blip blip blip of her heart, racing. There was no monitor on her, and she didn't think she had made any noise, but still the nurse peeked in. "Everything ok?" she asked, her voice lilting, her hand shining a tiny flashlight. Mutely, Annie nodded. But the nurse came forward anyway, her other hand holding a tiny fluted paper cup. "This will help, I think! Help you sleep." Annie clawed the pills from the woman's hand and swallowed them as the nurse turned to pour her a cup of water. What was the woman's accent? I should know this. I should know that language she is using to note something about me on the chart, the many slight strokes, horizontal, vertical,no curves. Once, I knew that.
Another night. This time, she woke reeling from bizarre dreams, bodies with faces she knew drifting in the water, something trapping her by the ankle, a grey darkness broken abruptly by searchlights, noise, underwater explosions. Struggling toward consciousness, all she could think was that her career was over. Her career with the CIA was over. They did not keep spies on the roster who spent their days wondering if they could - or should - open the blinds and look out.
Then she tried to recall what the letters CIA stood for. Culinary Institute of America! she thought, momentarily triumphant.
No, that wasn't it. But it had something to do with America, anyway.
The nurse showed up with the cup of pills, this time the water already poured.
III.
"I think we open these today, just for a little while," the nurse - it was another nurse, but so similar, same uniform, same courteous, careful manner.
"No..." Annie protested, not sure why, but the light seemed too bright, unwelcome. She turned her head away.
IV.
Annie stared at the hairbrush. They had helped her shower, a comical dance in the oversize stall, one rapidly wet nurse with an elasticized clear plastic cap over her hair and nurse's cap, speckled with shower drops that made grey spots on the white fabric of her nurse's uniform. Now they had dried her off and blow-dried her hair though the noise was so loud it had brought tears to her eyes, and then she had struggled into different clothing, not her pyjamas and robe of which she had three identical sets. Now this cheap plastic brush pressed into her hand, and yet another encouraging pleasant nurse urging her to use it. To make her stop being encouraging, Annie raised it to her scalp and took a few unimpressive strokes. "Good, good, now don't you feel better!"
"No." Her negativity briefly nonplussed the nurse, whose eyebrows raised for a moment. Incomplete training, Annie thought. This one should have washed out. As I have.
"Oh... oh but you will, you will, you will see. Do a little more. You have a visitor waiting."
"A doctor?" She'd had no visitors that she could remember clearly, though she thought someone unknown to her had once sat at her bedside and asked questions at her for a time. When had that been?
"No, no, a visitor. A real visitor. It will be nice, you will see." The nurse was beaming at her, her eyebrows shooting up again, as if to encourage Annie's mood to rise. Her visitor seemed to be making the nurse happy, at least. But she felt her own heart start to race. Someone coming to analyze her, check her, find her officially unfit for service, for duty. She blinked her eyes. She would not cry.
They wanted to take her somewhere to Meet Her Visitor, but she would not go and they gave up and she stayed seated in her room. She brushed her hair some more. Maybe they would make the visitor go away, tell them she was having a bad day and to come back another time.
There was a knock at the door, a soft tapping, not as decisive as the nurses' knocks when they were finding out if she was ready to go to therapy or awake for a meal. There was something familiar about the knock, but it still made her stomach react; what was beyond her door, what was wanting to get in? She was clutching the brush like a weapon and staring at the door. The knock was repeated.
"Neshema?" She heard the word and stared at the brush in her hand. She got up and went to the door, pressed her hand against it, and said the word. She was breathing rapidly, but it was not with the anxiety, but with relief. Pressing herself up against the door was not the way to go. She might question opening the blinds, but opening this door was, conveniently for her, a no-brainer.
"Eyal."
"Annie." She stared at him. No wonder the nurse had been so happy, with him loitering about the facility, with his dark good looks and killer smile. But he seemed subdued, probably cautioned to be restrained, to match her mood, see what she presented.
Which, at this moment, was her collapsing against him and sobbing into his polo shirt and feeling one big hand cradling the back of her head, another sliding down to the small of her back. After a few minutes like that, she felt as if she could almost resume control, and pulled away, thinking that all the nurses' care in making her presentable had now been utterly lost. His shirt was visibly stained with tears. "I'm sorry," she said, backing up, feeling for the tissue box she knew was on the small round table.
"Nothing to be sorry about, Neshema. It's quite charming, really. Has anyone ever told you, you cry cute?" He helped her with her blind flailing for the Kleenex. "Your nose hardly reddens at all, and your eyes are sparkling in a very fetching manner. Admittedly, we could do without the nasal discharge - here, blow - there. Much better."
"Thank you. But why are you here?"
"I was given the assignment to look in on you."
"From Joan?" The name came easily to her mind now. Joan was her boss. She worked for Joan. At the CIA, which was not the Culinary Institute of America but the Central Intelligence Agency.
"You know I don't work for Joan. From Rivka, but I presume Joan - or Auggie - must be behind it somehow." Auggie! Another name, one that lifted her heart. 'It would not be the first time that Auggie, who loves you, would send me to do what he cannot, even if it means putting another man who does - in your - lovely bedroom!" Eyal twisted the pole that opened the blinds. The light poured in, illuminating the standard nursing-home bed with its plain counterpane and the serviceable furniture. But Annie was still working out his last sentence - Auggie who loves you - another man who does - does what? Did Eyal just tell me he loves me? She couldn't tell if her brain wasn't working or if Eyal was being deliberately obscure. "That's better," he said, gesturing at the light. "It's a beautiful lovely day out, Neshema. I'm taking you to the beach."
"The beach?"
"Yes," he said, looking at her for a moment with real concern, realizing she must never have looked out the window. He quickly wiped away his somber expression with a smile. "Yes, the beach. Didn't I tell you the beaches in Israel are the best in the world? Better than the French Riviera?" She went over to the window, stared out through the slats. The blue ocean was only a hundred meters away. She sat down, for a moment exhausted. "It's Hebrew," she said."That's the nurses's accent, that's what they are writing on the chart. It's Hebrew. "
"It usually is, in Israel."
He had a cheap oversized beach bag with him, and now he pulled out a suit for her. It was the plainest black one-piece she'd ever seen, with a high neck, capped shoulders, full back coverage and a skirt. She lifted it up by one strap. "The Amish make bathing suits?" He smiled broadly and she saw him relax a little more with her.
"Well, I didn't know how you'd feel, going out in a crowd for the first time in a while. And I didn't want you to think I was planning on taking some pervy advantage of you." She continued to dangle it from her finger.
"I'll wear the other one, Eyal."
"What other one?"
"The other one I'm positive you have in the bottom of that big bag of yours."
"Very good, Annie Walker. You know me." He dug for a moment, pulled out another plastic bag, tossed it over to her. She fumbled slightly at the sudden throw, but caught it. The second suit tumbled out onto her lap. It was still far from the most revealing bathing suit she'd ever owned, but it was bright red, the same shade as her car back home, and had a deep back. "Now that's more like it."
"I'm glad you approve. I'll leave you to put that on - there's a sarong to wrap around yourself, and some sandals. No heels, sorry."
"I'm not sure I'd remember how to walk in heels."
"Like riding a bike, it will all come back to you."
"Will it?" she asked, briefly serious, looking up as she tested the sandals. They fit perfectly.
"Yes, Annie, it will," he said, quietly. "I guarantee it."
He'd even thought to bring her a pair of sunglasses with big lenses, making her look like a publicity-shy movie star. But the sunlight was so bright after the dim room that it did hurt her eyes, and she was grateful for them. Life seemed so busy outside, especially as they drew close to the beach itself, following a winding cement path down from the facility which was on top of a small cliff overlooking the ocean. The beach was a popular one, filled with fit young Israelis and a few families. In the excitement of leaving the facility - and of being with Eyal - she hadn't had time to be anxious. But now, walking toward the water, she could feel the familiar chilling sensations emerging in her stomach. But she didn't want to appear weak and ... foolish with him. His free hand grazed her shoulder and gave her a little squeeze.
"We're doing good?"
"Um hm," she replied, her lips tight. He had noticed something about her, some hesitation she was unaware of.
They stepped forward onto the sand, which felt warm through her sandals, a few grains pushing their way in through the leather straps. She walked quite normally, she thought, through the irregular rows of blankets and umbrellas and for-rent loungers. She stared at the water. It was a moderately calm day, waves coming in, sending up a soft froth that children half her size were playing in happily. He spread out a thin blanket on the sand. He held out to her a tube of suntan lotion and proceeded to take off his pants, revealing his swimming shorts, and pull his shirt off over his head. She was startled and staring. Something was different - "You're not shaving your chest!"
"Ah, you remember, from Zurich? I was fresh off of seducing a diplomat's wife for information. She had a thing against body hair. And besides," he added confidentially, "Going au naturel conceals some of the scars at least. Do my back, would you?"
"Sure." For a moment she was mesmerized by those scars, now inches from her nose. It was quite a map, and she had been present when some of them were created. Just before he could ask if she'd gotten lost, she began smearing on the lotion, too fast, too nervously, then too slowly, too seductive-seeming, then back to much too quick. And much too wet. She'd used twice as much as she needed, and rubbed it into her own arms and tried to erase the white residue from him. This was great. She could not even confidently apply suntan lotion to Eyal's back. "There you go!" she said, handing back the tube.
"Would you like me to do you?" And she waited too long to answer that, finally saying "Sure!" again and turning her back to him. He gently moved her hair out of the way and covered her back perfectly. Not too fast, not too slow. Not too firm a pressure, not too light. Then a few kneads along the top of her shoulders, which felt wonderful and made her realize how tightly she was holding herself - and probably had been for weeks, no matter what medications they were giving her.
"You can keep doing that forever."
"I'll hold you to that." He kept rubbing her shoulders until a child's ball bounced onto their blanket, followed by several squealing children bent on retrieving it, breaking their connection. "Ready to go in?"
"You go first. I'm going to sit here for a few minutes."
"Okay." He waited an instant, as if willing her to change her mind, but then ran to the edge of the water, waded in a few feet, then dove in.
He returned, his arms raised so he could push back his wet hair as he ran back up the sand, looking vigorous and powerful. "The water's perfect, " he announced, settling back down beside her. She stared out at it. "You know I nearly drowned this time."
"Yes, I know."
"So they briefed you?"
"Not on everything. Nothing - operational. But a few things, things that might be problems for you." He lay beside her, silent. "Look, Annie, a lot of it I probably can't help you with. That's what they're up there for. But this? Swimming? Water? This I think I can do for you, Annie. Let me?" He looked at her with his most appealing smile, one that was impossible not to smile back at. "Besides, Annie, this beach is very special. It has a mermaid."
"Oh Eyal, really? You expect to coax me into the water with a story about a mermaid?"
"It's true. It's been in all the newspapers. Of course, certain unromantic individuals believe it is nothing but a marketing ploy for a local hotelier - but I'm a believer."
"Really? You really think if I go into the water, I'm going to see a mermaid?"
"I don't know about that. But I absolutely believe I will see one. Let's go."
She got to her feet, took a step toward the water, but hesitated, all her fears flooding her. He swept her up in his arms.
"What?"
"She who hesitates is lost, and I'll never let you be lost, Annie."
"Wait! Stop! Eyal, put me down! Eyal, I'm serious!"
"As you wish."
Splash.
He had been kind to her; the water was only knee deep as she scrambled to her feet. And it was perfect, slightly warm, buoyant, and spiced with the evaporated salt of the Mediterranean, so different from the sweeter Pacific waters she had grown to love with Ben. She'd had no fear of the water then, not on their first encounter or when they had found each other again. He had been everything for her. Then there had been Simon, on the shores of Cuba, and suddenly the landscape of love had opened up wider than she had imagined possible. And now she was here with Eyal, his dark eyes watching her every move. A slightly larger than usual wave crashed against her, and she felt a brief moment of panic, breathed in a noseful of foam, and it left her coughing. Eyal said nothing, let her compose herself, but stayed near. She glanced back at him and for a moment, before he realized she was looking at him, she saw an expression of such passionate tenderness on his face that it made her miss another wave and that one knocked her off her feet, submerging her, startling her. But there was Eyal, his face a professional, competent mask now, helping her to her feet, standing beside her through a dozen waves, then, finally, stepping away from her. moving beyond where the slope of the beach entered into the sea. He swam in place. "Come to me, Annie. Let me take you into deeper water. You know I won't let you drown." And she pressed her feet against the small smooth pebbles, kicked off, and swam to him.
Author's Note: If you have a second, Please Do Review! That feedback is what got the rest of this story created ... Also, there is an extension to this scene under Chapter Seven - think of it as the "DVD" bonus :) Thank you!
