I didn’t go right home after that. I knew what was waiting for me there. Or, more accurately, what wasn’t waiting for me.
I drove up and down the streets of the city for another hour, with the window open.
Whistling Luna’s whistle. In the wind. If you could relive a moment in your life, what moment would you choose?
We said we’d meet on the beach in Beit Yanai. She already had a new boyfriend, I had a girlfriend. We hadn’t seen each other for almost a year, since the split. Out of the blue, she left me a voice mail: Want to meet up? Her teenage voice.
I had a haircut first thing in the morning. Even though I didn’t think there was a chance. She was waiting for me on the bluff, wearing the brown dress she knew I couldn’t resist. I kissed her on the cheek. The scent of her body lotion. I didn’t notice that she was carrying a leash until she said, Meet Luna.
Nice to meet you, Luna—I bent down and petted the dog’s head.
I thought you didn’t like dogs.
I don’t, I said.
Should we go down to the beach for a while? she said, taking off her shoes. Her feet. I took mine off too. We walked along the waterline until there were no more people. Luna walked at our side, occasionally barking at the waves.
You still live in Givatayim? she asked.
You still make shakshuka with feta cheese?
She laughed. The small snort she makes when she laughs wholeheartedly.
Let’s sit down for a while, she said, and took a large towel out of her bag.
We sat down. Close. Shoulders almost touching. Luna circled around us, agitated. We didn’t speak for a few minutes as we watched the sunset. And then Dikla put her head on my shoulder. At first I felt her soft hair. Then her cheek. I put my arm around her naked shoulder and pulled her toward me.
I’m tired of it, she said into my neck.
Of what?
Of fighting against it, she said.
I sighed and rested my cheek on her head, as if to say, So am I.
Suddenly, Luna climbed onto me and began licking my face. I was startled. I drew back. Her wet tongue. Her piercing paws. I tried to pry her off me gently.
Dikla laughed. You might not like dogs, but Luna likes you!
The pleasure is all mine, I said.
The pleasure is all mine? Since when do you say that?
People change, I said.
It grew dark, the first stars came out. Dikla lay back on the towel. Luna stretched out beside her, suddenly calm. I lay down too. My elbow touched hers, our faces to the stars. Then we turned to each other at exactly the same second, as if the same metronome were ticking in both of us. Her face, so close. Her wide mouth.
I can’t kiss you, she said, I have a boyfriend.
I can’t kiss you, I said, I have a girlfriend.
We kissed. A gentle kiss. Hesitant. I began to lift her dress and she caught my hand in hers and said: No. I stopped. Our fingers intertwined. I was still breathing quickly.
Maybe it’s a sign, I said.
What sign?
It was clear to me that she knew, but wanted me to say it out loud. So I said: If we can’t forget each other for such a long time, maybe it’s a sign.
Maybe, she said, uneasily.
Luna jumped over her and squeezed between us. Don’t be afraid, she doesn’t bite, you can pet her. She had a long white stripe in the middle of her forehead. I petted it gingerly.
She loves being petted there, Dikla encouraged me.
Where did you find her?
In front of the vehicle licensing bureau in Holon. Someone abandoned her there.
She’s sweet, I admitted.
So are you, Dikla said, looking at me warmly.
We kissed again. A long, hungry kiss this time. A prelude kiss—that we had to stop because Luna started kicking sand on us with her hind legs.
Sometimes she wants attention, Dikla apologized and pulled her over to us with her leash.
I tried to get my breath back, calm my hungry heart.
You have sand on your lashes, Dikla said. Close your eyes for a second.
I closed my eyes. She came very close and blew on my face, gently. Once, then again.
Chills ran up and down my spine.
I have to get back, she finally said.
Me too, I said.
She stood up. So did I. We brushed the sand off our clothes and, in the light of the moon, walked toward the parking lot. On the way, I boasted that my first book was coming out. In two months.
That’s great, she said, I’m really proud of you. I always wanted to marry a writer.
I remember, I said.
She described her new job enthusiastically. Those dramatic hand gestures of hers. I thought: She has finally found what she was meant to do, and I have found writing. Maybe now, when we’re happier with ourselves, we can stop screwing things up between us. I thought: Don’t say anything now. Absolutely not. You haven’t seen each other for a full year and it might freak her out. Let it ripen for a while.
I said: Is September okay for you?
Okay for what? she said, stopping suddenly. We were already fairly close to our cars.
For the wedding. Cyprus. Just you and me. And a month later, a party for family and friends.
You’re saying that just because you’re hot for me, she said teasingly.
I’m saying it because I love you.
I love you too, she said, suddenly serious. But…are you sure that’s enough?
A week later, she moved in with me and brought Luna with her. As a condition.
In September of that year, we got married. In Cyprus.
Two years later, Shira was born.
The only memento we had of Luna was a framed picture in the living room. It had been taken in the Ein Hod Artists’ Village—Luna with her leash tied to a
