“You left with her?” Now Michael was annoyed. “I told Leah to keep you here until I came back. It’s not safe where I went.”
Elizabeth ignored her father’s glare. “Dad, you’ve been gone, like, two days. I’m not sure what to believe. I don’t know if we’re in some kind of weird dream or what, but I don’t like the idea you’ve been thinking about finding Mom right now. Why would she be here? We have to get home. And now you’re saying you saw Jesus? Come on. Let’s not get crazy now.”
“It can’t be a dream, Elizabeth. I know what I saw. I know what I heard. I can smell food and taste it. I thought maybe Jesus could help us get Mom back.”
He raised his arms out to his sides, indicating the scene around them. “Elizabeth, c’mon, who would have believed any of this was possible? Jeez, after all those years in church, I don’t think I even believed that half those stories were real. And yet, look where we are. Seriously, do you really think this is some sort of dream?”
Elizabeth slapped at his arm in frustration. “Maybe it is a dream.”
“No, really. I know what I saw and it makes no sense. But if this place is possible, anything could be, right? Even your mother . . .”
“Whatever.” Elizabeth dropped her hands to her sides. “Can you just get us home?”
Michael winced, realizing how stupid he must sound to her. Why can’t I just let go?
He wrapped his arms around Elizabeth. “You’re right. This is just crazy talk. I’m sorry. I’m so hungry and thirsty . . . maybe I was seeing things? You know, lost out in the desert and all?”
“Lost in the desert . . . ?”
He grimaced at her, his eyes wide. “I got a little loco, I guess. Don’t worry; I’ll get us back tomorrow. Let me just get some water and food, okay?” Michael started to limp forward through the front gate.
Elizabeth saw the blood on his sandals; he really was in bad shape. Leah, who had been watching from the courtyard, noticed as well. She ran outside to help him, but Elizabeth immediately intervened and nudged her away.
“My father needs me,” she said pointedly.
Later they were sitting around the dining mat when Leah said, “We have some fresh bread, which Elizabeth helped make.”
“Really?” Michael said, looking at his daughter with surprise.
Elizabeth looked up and gave her dad a playful glance.
Leah laughed. “You sound surprised. Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, no, of course not,” he said with some pride in his voice. “I’m just still surprised we can even understand each other.”
“What do you mean?” Leah inquired.
“Well, we’re from Northport and you’re here in Jerusalem. Shouldn’t we be speaking different languages?”
“I’m speaking the language I’ve always spoken . . . and so are you.”
“English?”
“Pardon?”
“This can’t be,” he muttered under his breath, turning to Elizabeth wide-eyed.
Leah paused for a moment. “You know, Elizabeth was a big help to me while you were gone. She was very brave here all by herself. You should be proud of her.”
“I am,” Michael said, leaning in closer to touch Elizabeth’s hand.
Leah poured some water into their cups and they began to eat. “So you were able to find your way through the city?”
“Yes,” Michael said in between bites.
“Did you see that soldier?” Leah asked.
Michael hesitated. “No, never saw him.”
Leah looked at Michael. She leaned over and poured some more water in his cup, searching his face for an answer. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Michael tried to change the subject by describing to Elizabeth the marketplaces and buildings he had seen. He avoided any stories about the pain or tension he faced during his encounters with soldiers or civilians. He wondered if he should continue to discuss his theory on seeing Jesus.
That’s madness . . . this is all madness.
Elizabeth put down her cup and rubbed her eyes. “I’m not sleeping alone tonight,” she said through a yawn. “I’ve done that two nights in a row and you keep disappearing. Tonight, you’re staying with me. I need to keep an eye on you.”
Elizabeth pulled him up from the mat and brought him over to her bedroll, laid out in the small alcove she had tried to sleep in the night before. Dragging him down next to her, she whispered, “Don’t ever leave me again.”
He was quiet, sobered by the intense grip his daughter had on his arm. He began to rub her head. “Always remember I love you.”
She smiled, but the fatigue from her previous poor night of sleep coupled with all her anxiety regarding her father’s absence was too much. While looking into Michael’s face, she began to blink her eyes up and down several times.
“Close them, Baboo,” Michael said. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“I’m right here. . . Elizabeth, you’re okay.”
Her crying wouldn’t stop despite distracting sounds from the television, the radio, and even the stereo. The stroller was now against a wall in the living room, discarded there after he had unsuccessfully tried to calm her by pushing her around the house. Even his grand attempt to play “Silent Night” on a flute, an artifact he’d unearthed dating back to his grade-school days, failed to pacify her. So he stood there, two-year-old Elizabeth screaming under one arm with an old, tarnished flute anchored beneath the other.
Oh, Vick. What more do I have to do?
Anguished, Michael walked from room to room, searching for anything that would stop her screaming. He opened up drawers, showing their contents to Elizabeth. But the tears and wailing continued.
Back in his room, he noticed something caught in the bottom drawer of his dresser. It was where he kept the last few items of Vicki’s clothes. Wincing, he pulled it open and immediately saw her old blow-dryer. On cold nights, Vicki used to rub his back and warm him up by directing the hot air from the blow-dryer to his feet.
Michael pulled out the old dryer before placing Elizabeth down on the bed. She was squirming now, arms flailing and mouth wide-open with screams. Michael plugged in the blow-dryer and turned it on.
Initially, the hum of the dryer drowned out her screams. But as he rubbed Elizabeth’s forehead while carefully directing the hot air toward her little, exposed feet, she finally calmed down. Elizabeth reached over and grabbed his thumb. She gripped it tightly and closed her eyes.
Exhausted, Michael looked up toward the ceiling. “Thanks.”
Michael was distracted by the feeling that someone was watching him. Realizing it was Leah, he immediately glanced up.
“I’m sorry,” Leah whispered, looking away, “but are you sure you didn’t see the soldier?”
He glanced back at Elizabeth to make sure she was sound asleep.
“Actually, I did.”
Leah put her hands over her mouth.
“It’s okay. He doesn’t know where we are.”
“You have to be more careful! He will be looking for you again.”
“I know, but I’ll be okay.” He rubbed his eyes and shifted under her glare.
“But what about your daughter?”
“What about her?” Michael countered defensively.
“She can’t lose you,” Leah said, fixing his stare. “She would be all alone then. You don’t want that.”
“She told you about Vicki?”
Leah was silent for a brief moment. “She did . . . I’m sorry. I wish you had told me sooner.”
“I don’t need you to be sorry. We’re just fine.”
“But your daughter wasn’t fine today or yesterday without you. I hope you understand that.”
“I do.”
“Good,” Leah said gently, turning to leave.
Michael glanced at Elizabeth, who was peacefully sleeping now. “Excuse me, Leah? Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”
Leah nodded and smiled at him, leaving Michael to wonder once again, who was this woman?
8
A WOMAN’S
TOUCH