"Miss Walker? Annie? "The question?"

"Oh, yes, sorry, I was … thinking of something else."

"You are not doing so well today. I think you must be exhausted from your long day out yesterday."

"Em huh." Great, now her cognitive therapist probably thought she was sliding backwards into inarticulate gibberish. Instead, it was her body betraying her, reminding her, with an occasional twinge.

"I mean, yes, I agree, it was tiring and stressful, what with the flat tire and all."

"You will feel better in a day or two, I am sure. Now, I will read to you a series of numbers, and you are to repeat back to me as many as you can."

Numbers. How many times had they kissed? That first time, on the balcony, then while moving from the balcony, that was two, then…

"Miss Walker? Annie? You repeat the numbers back again please?"

"Oh, sure, sorry. Um, could you repeat them again? " Repeat … this was so not what she wanted repeated. She shifted in her seat, tried to sit up and pay attention, but the motion only reminded her of an area that had received very special attention recently.

"I will say a string of new numbers." The therapist spoke more slowly this time, perhaps rewarding her effort to sit up and pay attention. 'Oh- Oh- 6-4-6-9-1-1-7-2-0-2-8-9-Oh'.

Ooh, ooh. That was easy to remember, she'd said that quite a bit. Sixty four, the supposed number of postures in the Kama Sutra. Sixty-nine – Annie, calm down,she told herself, not all of these numbers can possibly have a sexual meaning. One hundred seventeen, the number of verses in the Song of Solomon which both the Chrisitan and Hebrew Bibles shared, twenty, according to a copy of Cosmopolitan she found in the seat back pocket on a plane, the average length in seconds of the female orgasm. Twenty-eight, the days of her usual cycle and had they been giving her birth control pills in that little cup every morning? She didn't think so. Nine – the average, in months, of human gestation. Oh! Indeed.

"Zero - zero-six-four-six-nine-one-one-seven-two-oh-two-eight-nine-zero."

"Very good!"

"Just had to find a way to concentrate," Annie said.

"Go to the front desk," the nurse told her. "Right now – you have a delivery." Annie wondered what that could possibly be, and since Eyal's scolding by the doctor the previous evening, she doubted that the was being allowed to see her today. Or tonight … the evening had been cut too short.

But there he was, grinning, a small paper shop bag hanging from its loop in his hand. "HI annie. Sorry I can't stay. But you left your bag in the car. It's already been searched by this lovely woman here, so I can give it to you." The close to elderly attending nurse was beaming.

"Oh, thank you," she said, reaching for it. He let the loop stay tangled in his fingers for a much longer moment than necessary, enjoying the touch. She glanced in the bag, seeing several things in it, and she was jolted by the intensity of happiness this present from him brought her. Under his arm was another, less fancy bag with something square in it. "Oh, and my mother sent along these," he said, passing them to her.

"Your mother?" The bag contained a clear plastic box of something that looked like pfeffernusse. But it was in a bakery-type box- there was even a label sealing the box, and it didn't say "Levin Baked Goods".

"Yes, I think she's warming up to you, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yes, she paid you a compliment."

"Oh really?"
"She said, and I quote, that for a skinny girl you ate your way through much more brisket than she anticipated."

"That's a compliment?"

"Trust me, that is."

"So she thinks the chance of me producing undersized children is dropping?"

"Something like that."

The nurse broke in. "The doctor is coming! You must go!"

"Breaking the rules as usual, I see."

"Always for you, Annie. Take care. " He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, accompanied by a concealed squeeze on a different cheek. "Hopefully I'll be off probation shortly!"

"Go, go, go, go now!" Eyal slipped away, Annie took her treasures back with her past the nurse, who regarded her with a warm smile. She bounced back to her room, contemplated the bag itself for a moment, then scrutinized its contents. Of course nothing was gift-wrapped – these were things she had presumably bought for herself. The thought of Eyal shopping in a tourist shop for her filled her with pleasure, it seemed so incongruous to think of him spinning the rack displays. Keychain – probably with an Israeli flag. No, the Lamborghini symbol. Very nice. A pocket guide to Israel – it would be nice to have something to read and recreate their day - and a plasticized folding map. A few postcards of pretty spots and one close to the view they could see from the restaurant where they had lunch. A mermaid magnet. And another book, not a current one, a vintage copy of something. "Mystical poets of the Middle East". It had a bookmark – oh now, there's the flag of Israel – stuck into it. There was no dedicating, no "for Annie" or , as she would prefer, Neshema. That would sadly be too obvious. She toyed with the book a bit before giving in and opening it to the marked page.

This Then is the Reason

Anonymous

After a thousand hours of scanning the horizon from the parapets

Spyglass in hand

Sure we are looking for the voyager,

For a rich ship filled with as many perfumes as it can hold

Or dangerous invaders, or a fleet of pirates, companies of soldiers,

Or a storm of dust or air or water.

None of these are true

No, not one

This is no watchtower but a lighthouse

Its fiery lens shines yearning for a flash from the hidden heart in the sun

This, then, is what is sought,

This, then, is the answer,

This, then, is the reason:

Love.